The Aquaintaine Progession

by Ludlum, Robert

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Ah have an idea this fine young man who Iknew as a mere saplin’ led never learned about thequantitative effects of old demon whisky.”

  “Ohh?” The metre d’ looked at Johnny Reb afashionable gossipmonger relishing a new rumor.

  “He had several mites too much, that’s all andthat’s jest between us.”

  “He vas not in focus….”

  “He started bustin’ corks before the sun hit thewhites of the west cotton.” They reached the frontentrance, the unit of busboys maneuveringWashburn out the door. “Who was more entitled?That’s what I say.” Thayer removed his wallet.

  "ha, I agree.”

  “Here,” said the Southerner, removing bills. “Ihaven’t had hme to convert, so there’s a hundredAmerican that should cover the tab and plenty forthe boys outside…. And here’s a hundred foryou for not talkie’ too much, verstehen ?”

  “Completely, main Herr!” The German pocketedboth $100 bills, smiling and nodding his headobsequiously. “I vill say absolutely nozzing!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. It might be a goodthing for Molly’s boy to learn that it ain’t the end ofthe world if a few people know he’s had a drink ortwo. Might loosen him up a bit, and in mah Georgiajudgment, he needs a little

  Joosenin . Maybe you might wink at him when henext comes m.

  “Vink?”

  "Give him a friendly smile, like you know and it’sokay. Verstehen?”

  "/a, I agree! He vas entitled!’

  Outside at the curb, Johnny Reb instructed thebusboys just how to place Major Norman AnthonyWashburn IV into the backseat. Stretched out, facingup, supine. The Southerner gave each man a $20American bill and dismissed them. He then spoke tothe two men in front, pressing a button so they couldhear his voice beyond the glass partition.

  "Ah got the jump seats down,” he said, pullingthe velvet backs out of the velvet wall. He’s out.Come on and join me, Witch Doctor. And you,Klaus, you entertain us with a long drive in yourbeautiful countryside.”

  Minutes later, as the limousine entered abackcountry road, the overhead light switched on,the doctor unbuckled Washburn’s belt, slid thetrousers down, and rolled the charge d’affaires overand into the seat. He found the area he wanted atthe base of the spine, the needle held above in hissteady hand.

  “Ready, chap? "asked the dark-skinnedPalestinian, yanking down the elastic top of theunconscious man’s shorts

  “You got it, Pookie,” answered Johnny Reb,holding a small recorder over the edge of the jumpseat. “Right where he won’t find it for a week, if heever does. Take him up, Arab. I want him tony.”

  The doctor inserted the long hypodermic needle,slowly pressing his thumb on the plunger. “It will bequick,” said the Palestinian. “It is a heavy dose andI’ve seen it happen when the patient began babblingbefore the interrogator was ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Put him on track instantly. Ask direct questions,canter his concentration immediately.”

  “Oh, Ah will, indeed. This is a bad man, Pookie.A nasty little boy who tells tall tales that ain’t gotnothin’ to do with a big catfish that broke off ahook.” The Southerner gripped the unconsciousWashburn’s left shoulder and yanked him forward,face up on the seat. “All right, Molly’s boy, let’s youand me talk. How come you got the audacity to messaround with an officer of the United States Navynamed Fitzpatrick? Con

  nal Fitzpatrick, boy! Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick,Fitzpatrick! C’mon, baby, talk to Daddy, ’causeyou’ve got nobody else but Daddy! Everyone youthink you got is gone! They set you up Molly’s boy!They made you lie in print so the whole worldknows you lied! But Daddy can make it right. Daddycan straighten it all out and put you on top righton the very top! The Joint Chiefs the bid chief!Daddy’s your tit, boy! Grab it or suck air! Where’dyou put Fitzpatrick? Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick! “

  The whisper came as Washburn’s body writhedon the seat, his head whipping back and forth, salivaoozing out of the edges of his mouth. "Scharhorn,the isle of Scharhorn. . . . The Heligoland Right.’

  Caleb Dowling was not only angry butbewildered. Despite a thousand doubts he could notlet it go; too many things did not make sense, notthe least of which was the fact that for three dayshe had been unable to get an appointment with theacting ambassador The scheduling attache claimedthere was too much confusion resulting from WalterPeregrine’s assassination to permit an audience atthis time. Perhaps in a week…. In short words,actor, get lost, we have important things to do andyou’re not one of them. He was being checked,shoved into a corner and given the lip service onegives to a well-known but insignificant person. Hismotives as well as his intelligence were undoubtedlybeing questioned out loud by arrogant, harrieddiplomats. Or someone else.

  Which was why he was sitting now at a backtable in the dimly lit bar of the Konigshof Hotel.He had learned the name of Peregrine’s secretary,one Enid Heathley, and had sent the stunt man,Moose Rosenberg, to the embassy with a sealedletter purportedly from a close friend of MissHeathley’s in the States. Moose’s instructions hadbeen to deliver the envelope personally, and asRosenberg’s size was formidable, no one in thereception room had argued. Heathley had comedown in person. The message was short and to thepoint.

  Dear Miss Heathley:

  I believe it to be of the utmost importance

  thatwe talk as soon as possible. I will be in the bar oftheKonigshof at 7:30 this evening. If it is convenientplease have a drink with me, but I urge you not to

  speak to anyone about our meeting. Please, no one.

  Sincerely,C. Dowling

  It was seven-thirty-eight and Caleb was growinganxious. For the past several years he was used topeople being on time for appointments andinterviews; it was one of the minor perks of being PaRatchet. But there could be several reasons why thesecretary might not wish to meet with him. She knewthat Peregrine and he had become friends of sortsand also that there were actors who were known toseek publicity from events they had nothing to dowith, posturing with statesmen and politicians whenthey couldn’t spell out a position on slavery. Hehoped to hell . . .

  There she Divas. The middle-aged woman hadcome through the door, squinting in the dim light.The maltre d’ approached her, and moments latershe was escorted to Dowling’s table.

  "Thank you for coming,” said Caleb, rising asEnid Heathley took her chair. “I wouldn’t have askedyou if I didn’t think it was important,” he added,sitting down again.

  "I gathered that from your note,” said thepleasant-faced woman with signs of grey in her hairand very intelligent eyes. Her drink ordered, casualtalk covered its arrival.

  "I imagine it’s been very difficult for you,” saidDowling.

  “It hasn’t been easy,” agreed Miss Heathley. “Iwas Mr. Peregrine’s secretary for nearly twenty years.He used to call us a team, and Jane and I Mrs.Peregrine are quite close. I should be with her now,but I told her I had some last-minute things to do atthe office.”

  “How is she?”

  “Still in shock, of course. But she’ll make it.She’s strong. Walter wanted the women around himstrong. He thought they were worthwhile and theyshouldn’t hide their worth.”

  “I like that kind of thinking, Miss Heathley.”

  Her drink came, the waiter left, and the secretarylooked quizzically at Caleb. "Forgive me, Mr.Dowling, I can’t say I’m a devoted follower of yourtelevision show, but, of course, I’ve seen it a numberof times. It seems that whenever I’m asked to dinnerand the magic hour arrives, meals are suspended.”

  “I’d suggest those people upgrade their kitchens.”

  The woman smiled. “You’re too modest, but that’snot

  what I mean. You don’t sound at all like the manon the television screen.”

  “Because I’m not he, Miss Heathley,” said theformer university professor, his expression serious,his intelligent eyes level with hers. “I assume weshare certain traits because I’ve the physicalinstrument through whi
ch his fictions are filtered,but that s the extent of any similarity.”

  “I see. That’s very well put.”

  “I ve had practice saying it. But I didn’t ask youhere to expound on theories of acting. It s a subjectwith limited appeal.”

  “Why did you ask me?”

  “Because I don’t know whom else to go to. Well,I do, but I can t get near him.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The acting ambassador, the one who flew overfrom Washington.”

  “He’s up to his ears “

  “He should be told,” interrupted Caleb. “Warned.”

  “Warned?” The woman’s eyes grew wide. “Anattempt on his life? Another killing that maniac,Converse?”

  “Miss Heathley,” began the actor, his posturerigid, his voice quiet. “What I’m about to say mayshock you, even offend you, but as I said, I don’tknow another person I can go to at the embassy.However, I do know there are people over there Ican’t go to.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not convinced that Converse is either amaniac or that he killed Walter Peregrine.”

  “What? You can’t be serious! You’ve heard whatthey say about him, how unbalanced he is. He wasthe last person with Mr. Peregrine. Major Washburnestablished that!”

  “Major Washburn is one of those people I’drather not see.”

  “He’s considered one of the finest officers in theUnited States Army,” objected the secretary.

  “Then, for an officer he has a strange concept oftaking orders from a superior. Last week I broughtPeregrine to meet someone. The man ran andWalter told the major to stop him. Instead,Washburn tried to kill him.”

  “Oh, now I understand,” said Enid Heathley, hertone unpleasant. “That was the night you arrangeda meeting with Converse it was you, I remembernow! Mr. Peregrine told

  me. What is this, Mr. Dowling? A Hollywood actorprotecting his image? Afraid he’ll be held responsibleand his ratings, or whatever they are, willplummet that is the word, isn’t it? Thisconversation is despicable. "The woman moved herchair back, prepared to leave.

  “Walter Peregrine was a man of his word, MissHeathley,” said Caleb, still immobile, staring at thesecretary. I think you’ll agree with that.”

  "And?”

  He made a promise to me. He told me that ifConverse reached him and asked to meet with him,I’d come along. Me, Miss Heathley. Specifically notMajor Washburn, whose achons that night at theuniversity were as bewildering to him as they were tome.”

  The middle-aged woman held her place, her eyesnarrowed, concerned. "He ureas upset the nextmorning,” she said softly.

  Damned angry better describes him, I think. Theman who ran away wasn t Converse and he alsowasn’t crazy. He was dead serious, with the speech ofsomeone used to authority. There was or is somekind of confidential investigation going on involvingthe embassy. Peregrine didn’t know what it was, buthe intended to find out. He mentioned that he wasgoing to call Washington on a scrambler phone. I’mnot up on the technology, but I don’t think a personplaces a call like that unless he’s worried thatsomeone might try to tap the line.”

  He did place a scrambler call. He told you that?”

  Yes, he did. And there’s something else, MissHeathley. As you correctly stated, I’m the oneresponsible for Walter Peregrine ever having heardof Converse, and I don’t feel very good about it. Butisn’t it odd that in spite of the fact that it wasn’t asecret you knew, Washhurn knew nobody hascome to question me since Walter was killed?”

  No one?” asked the woman incredulously. “ButI included your name in my report.”

  “Whom did you give it to?”

  "Well, Norman was handling everything….” EnidHeathley stopped.

  “Washburn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you speak to anyone else? Weren’t youquestioned?”

  “Yes, of course. An inspector from the Bonnpolice. I’m sure I mentioned your name I’mpositive I did.”

  “Was anybody else in the room?”

  "Yes,” said the murdered ambassador’s secretary.“Norman,” she whispered.

  “Strange behavior for a police department, isn’tit?” Caleb leaned forward, but only slightly. “Let mereemphasize something you just said, Miss Heathley.You asked me if I was a Hollywood actor trying toprotect his image. It’s a logical question, and if youever saw the unemployment lines in Los Angelesyou’d understand just how logical it is. Don’t youthink other people believe the same thing? I haven’tbeen questioned because specific people here inBonn think I’m shaking in Pa Ratchet’s boots,keeping silent so as to protect that image and theratings that make it possible. Oddly enough, thatreasoning is my best physical protection. You don’tkill off a Pa Ratchet unless you want the wrath ofmillions of viewers who, in my judgment, wouldlatch on to the flimsiest connection to raisehysterical questions. National Inquirer, you arethere.”

  “But you’re not keeping silent,” said Enid Heathley.

  “I’m not talking loudly, either,” corrected theactor. “But not for the reasons I’ve described. I oweWalter Peregrine I know that better than anyoneelse. And I can’t pay that debt if a man I think isinnocent is hanged for his murder. But here’s whereI step back into my own confusion. I can’t becertain. I could be wrong.”

  The woman returned Dowling’s stare, thenslowly frowned, keeping her eyes on him. “I’m goingto leave now, but I’d like you to stay here for awhile, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m going to callsomeone I think you should see. You’ll understand.He’ll reach you here no paging, of course. Do ashe says, go where he wants you to go.”

  “Can I trust him?”

  “Mr. Peregrine did,” said Enid Heathley,nodding. “And he didn’t like him.”

  “That’s trust,” said the actor.

  The phone call came and Caleb wrote out theaddress. The doorman at the Konigshof secured hima taxi, and eight minutes later he got out in front ofan ornate Victorian house on the outskirts of Borm.He walked up to the door and rang the bell.

  Two minutes later he was ushered into a largeroom once a library, perhaps but now with shadescovering the obvious bookshelves. Shades that weredetailed maps of East and West Germany. A manwearing glasses got up from behind a desk. Henodded perfunctorily and spoke. “Mr. Dowling?”

  “Yes.”

  "I appreciate your coming out here, sir. My nameis not important why not call me George?”

  “All right, George.”

  “But for your own confidential information andI must stress confidential I am the station chief forthe Central Intelligence Agency here in Bonn.”

  “All right, George.”

  “What do you do, Mr. Dowling? What’s your lineof work?”

  “Ciao, baby,” said the actor, shaking his head.

  The first indefinite light of dawn crept up thelower wall of the eastern sky, and along the river pierboats bobbed in their slips, straining their lines,creating an eerie symphony of creaks and thumps.Joel walked beside the young merchant seaman, hishand unconsciously straying to his face, to the newsoft hair that was the outgrowth of a stubble. He hadnot shaved in four days, not since Bonn, and now hehad the beginnings of a short, neat beard, not yet fullbut no longer an unkempt bristle. One more day andhe would have to begin clipping it, shaping it,another plane of removal from the photograph in thenewspapers.

  And in one more day he would have to decidewhether or not to phone Val at Cape Ann. Actually,he had made his decision negative. His instructionshad been clear enough and the possibility that hertelephone was tapped was more than he couldhandle. Yet he wanted so terribly to hear her voice,to hear the support he knew he would find in it.Negative. To hear it was to involve her. Negative!

  “It is the last boat on the right,’ said the seaman,slowing his pace. “I must ask you again, because Igave my word. You carry no drugs.”

  “I carry no drugs.”

  “He may want to search you.”

  “I can’t permit that,”
Converse broke in, thinkingof his money belt. What could be mistaken for acache of narcotics would reveal many times theamount of money for which most of the dregs onthe riverfront would kill.

  “Maybe he want to know why. Drugs bring badpenalty, long time in prison.”

  “I’ll explain to him privately,” said Joel, thinkingagain. He would do so with his gun in one hand andan additional $500 bill in the other. “But I give youmy word, no drugs.”

  “It iS not my boat.”

  “But you made the arrangements, and you knowenough about me to come after me if they cameafter you.”

  “la, I remember. Connect-teecut I been to visitfriends in Bridge-port. A broker house, avice-president. I find you if I have to.”

  “I wouldn’t want that. You’re a nice fellow who’shelping me out and l m grateful. I won t get you introuble.

  “Ja,” said the young German, nodding his head.“I believe you. I believe you last night. You talkvery good, very high class, but you were stupid. Youdid a stupid thing and your face is red. A red facecosts more than you want to pay so you pay muchmore to make it go away.”

  “Your homilies are getting to me. "

  “Was ist?”

  “Nothing. You’re right. It’s the story ofupper-level management. Here.’ Joel had the bills inhis left-hand pocket; he pulled them out. “Ipromised you fifteen hundred dollars. Count it, ifyou like.”

  “dye? If is not there I talk loud and you stayhere. You are too afraid to risk that.”

  “You’re a natural-born lawyer.”

  “Come, I bring you to the captain. To you, he isonly’captain.’ You will be dropped off where hesays…. And be careful. Watch the men on the boat.They will think you have money.”

  “That’s why I don’t want to be searched,”admitted Converse.

  “I know. I do my best for you.”

  The seaman’s best was not quite good enough.The captain of the filthy barge, a short hulk of a manwith very poor teeth, brought Joel up to thewheelhouse, where he told him in broken butperfectly clear English to remove his jacket.

  “I explained to my friend on the dock that I can’tdo that. "