“Two hundred dollars Amer"kaner,” said the captain.
Converse had the money in his right-hand pocket.He reached down for it, his eyes briefly glancing atthe portside window where he saw two other menclimb on board below in the dim light. They did notglance up; they had not seen him in the wheelhouseshadows.
The blow came suddenly, without warning, theimpact such that Joel doubled over, his breathknocked out of him, and gripped his stomach. Infront of him the surly bull of a captain was shakinghis right hand the grimace on his face indicatingsharp pain. The German s fist had crashed into thegun lodged in Converse’s belt. Joel staggered backinto the bulkhead, leaned against it, and loweredhimself to the floor as he reached under his jacketand took out the weapon. On his haunches, his legsbracing him against the wall, he aimed the automaticat the captain’s huge chest.
“That was a rotten thing to do,” said Converse,breathing hard, still holding his stomach. “Now, youbastard, your jacketl”
“Was… 9″
“You heard mel Take it off, hold it upside down,and shake the goddamned thingI”
The German slowly, reluctantly, slid off hiswaist-length coat, twice darting his eyes to the left ofJoel, toward the wheelhouse door. “I look only fordrugs.”
“I’m not carrying any, and if I were, I suspectwhoever sold them to me would have a better way toget across the river than with you. Turn it upsidedown! Shake it!”
The captain held his coat by the bottom edge andlet it fall away. A short, ugly revolver plummeted tothe floor, clacking on the wood, followed by thelighter sound of a long knife encased in a flat bonehandle, flared at the end. As it struck the deck theblade shot out.
“This is the river,” said the German withoutelaboration.
“And I just want to cross it without anytrouble and trouble to someone as nervous as I amis anyone walking through that door.” Converseangled his head, gesturing at
the wheelhouse entrance on his left. " In my state ofmind, I’d fire this gun. I’d probably kill you andwhoever else came in here. I’m not as strong as you,Captain, but I’m afraid, and that makes me muchmore dangerous. Can you understand that?”
“Ja. I not hurt you. I look only for drugs.”
“You hurt me plenty,” corrected Joel. “And thatfrightens me.”
“Nein. Bitte . . . please.”
“When do you take the boat out?”
“When I say.”
“How many crew?”
“One man, that is all.”
“Liar/” whispered Converse sharply, the gunthrust forward.
“Zwei. Two men . . . today. We pick up heavycrates in Elten. On my word, is normal only oneman. I can t pay more.”
“Start the engine,” ordered Joel. “Or engines. Ionly know Chris-Crafts and Bertrams, which is asilly fucking thing to say.”
“What?”
“Do it!”
“Die Mannschaft. The . . . crew. I must give orders.”
“WaitI” Converse crawled sideways past thewheelhouse door, glancing above to his left at thethick wooden paneling of the pilot’s window, his gunnever once wavering from its line of fire into theGerman’s chest. Again, he used the bulkhead andhis braced legs to shinny himself up the wall; he wasin shadows, with a clear view of the bow and,through both wheelhouse windows behind him, thestern of the boat. In sight were the fore and aftpilings on both sides, the lines looped around thethick protrusions of weather-beaten logs. The twocrewmen were sitting on a storage hatchway, smok-ing cigarettes, one drinking from a can of beer. “Allright,” said Joel, clicking the hammer back on theautomatic a weapon he was not sure he could useaccurately within ten feet. “Open that door and giveyour orders. And if either of those men down theredoes anything but free those ropes, I’ll kill you. Canyou understand that?”
“I understand . . . everything you say, but you donot understand me. I search you for drugs not agrosse Mann the Polizei do not go after suchpeople, they leave them alone.
They go after the small people who use theriverboats. It makes them look good, you see. Iwould not hurt you. I only protect myself. I want tobelieve what my Neffe nephew told me, but I mustbe sure.”
“Your nephew?”
“The seaman from Bremerhaven. How you thinkhe got his job? Ach, main Bruder sells flowers! It ishis Frau’s shop! He once sailed the oceans as I did.Now, he is a Blumenhandler!
“I swear to Christ I don’t understand anything,”said Joel, partially lowering his gun.
“Maybe you understand if I tell you he offered topay me one half of the fifteen hundred dollars youpay him.”
“A consortium of thieves.”
“Rein, I not take. I tell him buy a new Gitarre.”
Converse sighed. “I have no drugs. Do you believeme?”
“Ja, you are only a fool, he told me. Rich foolspay more. They cannot tell people how foolish theyare. The poor do not care.”
“Do those little bromides run in the family?”
“What?”
“Forget it. Give the orders. Let’s get out of here.”
“Ja. Watch through the windows, please. I do notwant you to be more afraid. You are right. A manafraid is much more dangerous.”
Joel leaned back against the bulkhead as thecaptain shouted his orders. The engines started andthe lines were released from their pilings. It was socontrary, he thought. Hostile, belligerent men whostruck out in anger were not always his enemies,while pleasant, seemingly friendly people wanted tokill him. It was a world he knew nothing about, along stretch from a courtroom or a boardroom wherecourtesy and “killing” could mean a variety of things.There were no such grey areas a hundred years agoin the camps and the jungles. One knew who theenemy was; the definition was clear on all sides. Butduring the past four days he had learned that therewere no defined lines for him now. Converse staredout the window, at the pockets of mist rising out ofthe water, a few spiraling up to catch the early lightin their clouds of vapor. His mind went blank. Hedid not care to think for a while….
“Five, perhaps six minutes,” said the captain,swinging the wheel to his left.
Joel blinked; he had been in a peaceful,rest-filled void, for how long he was not sure. “Whatare the procedures?” he asked, conscious of therising orange sun firing what was left of the rivermists. “I mean, what do I do?”
“As little as you can, answered the German. “Justwalk like you walk the pier every morning and gothrough the repair yard to the street. You will be inthe south part of the town of Lobith. You will be indie Niederlande and we never saw each other.
“I understand that, but how?”
“You see that Bootshafen?’ said the captain,pointing to a complex of docks with heavy winchmachinery and hoisting devices across the water.
“It s a marina. "
Ja, marina. My second petrol tank is empty Isay I test. I stall the engines three hundred metersoffshore and go in. I yell at the Dutchman’s pricebut I pay, because I do not buy from the deutschethief this far downriver. You get off with one of mycrew, have a cigarette and laugh at your stupid cap-tain then you walk away.
“Just like that?’
”la. ,,
“It’s so easy.
“la. No one said it was difficult. You only haveto keep your eyes clear.
“For the police?”
“Nein,” said the captain, shrugging. “If there isPolizei they come to boat, you stay on board.”
“Then who am I looking for?”
“Men who may watch you, may see you walk away."
“What men?”
“Gesindel, Gauner what you call scum. Theycome each morning to the piers and look for work,most still drunk. Watch for such men. They willthink you have drugs or money. They will breakyour head and steal.”
“Your nephew told me to watch the men onyour own boat.”
“Only the new man, he is a Gauner. He chokeson his beer hoping it will clear his head. He thinkshe fools me but he does not. I keep him on board,tell him to scrape the
rail something. The other isno problem for you. He is loyal to me an Idiot witha strong back and no head. The riverboats do nothire him. I do. Verstehen?”
"I think so. By the way, I have to get toAmsterdam. Is there a train here?”
“No train in Lobith. You take the omnibus toArnhem. The train to Amsterdam is in Arnhem. Iuse it many times when my ships dock in dieNiederlande. The omnibus stops at the railroadstation. Not long ride.”
“Ships? Large ships?” asked Joel, struck by thecaptain’s words.
“I once sailed the oceans, not a stinking river.Fifteen years of age I ship out with main Bruder. Bytwenty-three I am Obermaat "petit’ officer goodmoney, good life…. Very happy.” The Germanlowered his voice as he throttled back the enginesand spun the wheel starboard; the boat skidded onthe water. “Why talk? It is over,” he added angrily.
“What happened?”
“It is not for you, Amerikaner. ” The captainpushed the throttle forward; the engines coughed.
“I’m interested.”
“Warum? Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it takes my mind off myown problems,” said Converse honestly.
The German looked briefly at him. “You ask?Okay. We never see each other…. I stole money,much money. It took the company purser ninemonths to find me. Aber, ach, he find me! It wasmany years ago. No more oceans, only the
. ,,
ever.
“But you said you were making good money.Why did you steal?”
“Why do most men steal?”
“They need it the money or they want thingsthey can’t have normally, or they’re just basicallydishonest, which I don’t think you are.”
“Go back. Adam stole the apple, Amerikaner.”
“Not exactly. You mean a woman?”
“Many years ago. She was with child and shedid not want her man on the seas and the ships.She wanted more.” The captain permitted himselfthe slightest glint in his eyes and a touch of a smileon his lips. “She wanted a flower shop.”
From the core of his stomach, his painmomentarily forgotten, Joel laughed. “You’re quitea guy, Captain.” I never see you again.”
“Then your nephew “
“Never see you again!” the German broke in, nowlaugh444 ROBERT LUDLUM
ing out loud himself, his eyes on the water as heheaded into the Dutch marina.
Converse leaned against a piling smoking acigarette, the visor of his cheap cap angled over hisforehead, his eyes roaming up and down the pierand beyond to the repair yard in the Dutch marina.The men milling about the huge machinery weremechanically going about their tasks while thosearound the boats seemed more intent on inspectingthan doing, shaking their heads solemnly. Thecaptain argued with the dispenser of fuel, makingobscene gestures at the rapidly climbing figures onthe glass-encased face of the pump while hissoftheaded deckhand grinned several feet away. Onboard, the Gauner alternately leaned over therailing, a large wire brush in his hands, and abruptlyturned back to his scraping whenever his employerglanced over at him.
The time was right, thought Joel as he pushedhimself away from the piling. No one anywhere hadthe slightest interest in him; the dismal chores andthe early-morning dissatisfactions took precedenceover the insignificant and unfamiliar.
He started walking up the pier, his pace casualto the point of being slovenly but his eyes alert. Heproceeded to the edge of the repair yardapproaching a row of hulls in dry dock. Beyond thelast elevated boat, no more than three hundred feetaway, was an inordinately tall hurricane fence andan open gate. A uniformed guard sat on the leftdrinking coffee and reading a newspaper, his chairangled back into the crisscrossing wire mesh. Seeinghim, Joel stopped, his breath suspended, an internalalarm going off for no reason. Men passed backand forth through the gate, but the guard did not somuch as glance at anyone, his eyes devouring onlythe tabloid on his lap.
Converse turned, a last look at the river.Suddenly he became aware of the captain. TheGerman had run to the base of the pier and wasgesturing wildly, pressing his hands forward in short,rapid strokes. He was trying to warn Converse.Then he shouted at the top of his lungs; men staredat him and turned away, none caring to be involved.They had seen too much in the early hours on thewaterfront, the slashing with hooks too frequentlythe language of the docks.
“Laugh Run! Get oral!”
Joel was mystified; he looked around. Then he sawthem.
Two no three burly men were lurching up from thepier, their glassy eyes focused on him. The first manstaggered forward to the left of the captain. TheCerman grabbed his shoulder, swinging him around,stopping him, but only for seconds as the other twomen crashed their fists into the captain’s neck andspine. They were animals Gauner their nostrils in-flamed by the scent of a trapped fat quarry whomight keep them in food and drink for days.
Converse dove under the row of dry-dockedboats, smashing his head on several hurts as hescrambled toward the other side and the shafts oflight beyond. He could see frantic legs pounding theearth behind him; they were gaining on him; theywere running, he was crawling. He reached the endof the suspended row of hulls, sprang out and startedfor the gate. He pulled out his shirt, tore off thelower section and held it against the cuts on his headas he walked rapidly past the guard and through thegate. He looked around. The three men were arguingfuriously, drunkenly, among themselves, twocrouching and peering unsteadily under the boats.Then the man standing saw him. He shouted to theothers; they stood up and started after Joel. He ranfaster, unfit he could see them no longer; the animalshad given up.
He was in the Netherlands; the welcome was lessthan gracious, but he was there, one step closer toAmsterdam. On the other hand he had no ideawhere he was right now except that the town wasnamed Lobith. He had to catch his breath and think.He stepped into a deserted storefront, where a darkshade behind the entrance made the glass a dimmirror it was enough. He was a mess. Think. ForGod’s sake, think)
Mattilon had told him to take the train fromArnhem to Amsterdam, he remembered that clearly.And the captain of the barge had said he had to takean “omnibus” from Lobith to Arnhem; there was notrain in Lobith. The first thing he had to do wasreach the railroad station in Arnhem, clean himselfup, then study the crowds and judge whether to riskbecoming part of them. And relative to thisconsideration, his mind darted in several directionsat once. The plain-lensed glasses had long sincedisappeared, undoubtedly during the insane events inWesel; he would replace them with dark glasses.There was little he could do about the scrapes on hisface, but they would appear less menacing after soapand water, and certainly in or around a railroadstation something could be done about his tornclothing…. And a map. God
damn it, he was a pilot! He could reach Point Afrom Point B and he had to do so quickly. He hadto reach Amsterdam and find a way to makecontact with a man named Cort Thorbecke andcall Nathan Simon in New York. There was somuch to do!
As he walked out of the storefront he wassuddenly aware of what was happening to him. Ithad happened before a lifetime ago, in the jtingles when the fear of the night sounds hadpassed and he c ould watch the dawn and accuratelyplot his directions, his lines of march, his survival.He was thinking, his mind functioning again. Allthings considered, he was far less the man thanwhat he had been, but he could be better than hewas he had to be. Every day that passed broughtthe generals of Aquitaine closer to whatevermadness they were planning. Everywhere. He andthey had to reverse roles. The hunted had tobecome the hunter. Delavane’s disciples hadconvinced the world he was a psychopathic assassin,and so they had to find him, take him, kill him andhold him up as one more example of the spreadinginsanity that could be contained only with theirsolutions. Aquitaine had to be exposed anddestroyed before it was too late. The countdownwas in progress, the commanders surely, inexorably,moving into their positions, consolidating theirpowers.
Move! shouted Converse silently to himself as hewalked faster down the pavement.
He sat in the last car of the train, still wary butsatisfied by the progres
s he had made. He had doneeverything cautiously but without wasting mohon,his concentration absolute, aware of a dozenpossible dangers eyes that stared at him, a man ora woman seen twice in too short a bme, a clerkdelaying him by being more helpful than the hourand the crowds would normally permit. Thesecalculated possibilities were his readouts, his dials,his gauges; without clearance he would abort allforward motion, takeoff canceled, the escape hatchsprung, safety found in the streets. His equipmentwas not an aircraft that was an extension of himself,it was himself; and he had never flown with suchprecision in his life.
ENGLISH SPOKE had been the sign tacked tothe roof of the busy corner newsst.md in Lobith. Hehad asked directions to the “omnibus” to Arnhemwhile buying a map and a newspaper, holding bothclose to his face. The owner was too preoccupiedwith customers to notice his appearance and
shouted rapid instructions, more useful in thepointed finger than in the words. Joel found the busstop some four blocks away. He sat in the crowdedvehicle, his face buried in a newspaper he could notread, and forty-odd minutes later he got off at therailroad station in Arnhem.
First on his checklist was a trip to the farthestwashbasin in the men’s room, where he cleanedhimself up. He had brushed his clothes as best hecould and looked in the mirror. He was still a mess,but somehow he looked more like a man who hadbeen injured than one who had been beaten; therewas a difference.
Next, outside in the station, he converted hisdeutsche marks and five hundred American dollarsinto florins and guilders. He then bought a pair ofwide-rimmed dark glasses at a pharmacy severaldoors from the currency exchange. As he got into thecashier’s line, his hand casually covering the bruiseson his face, his eyes fell on a cosmetics counteracross the far aisle. It triggered a memory.
Shortly after their marriage, in one of thosemaddening accidents that only happen at the mostinopportune times, Valerie had slipped on a foyerrug and fell, hitting her head against the corner of anantique hallway table. By seven that night she hadwhat Joel had described as "one hell of a mouse”; theblack eye was an almost perfect oval, arcing from thebridge of her nose to the edge of her left temple. Atten the next morning she was scheduled to lead abilingual presentation for agency clients fromStuttgart. She had sent him out to the drugstore fora small bottle of liquid makeup, which, except atclose range, had concealed the bruise remarkablywell.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 52