As they approached the arch, Joel laughed alittle louder and made it a point to clap theDutchman’s shoulder a little harder, his cap stillangled down over his forehead. He followed severalnods with a shrug or two and then with agood-humored shaking of the head; with browsfurrowed and lips constantly moving, he wasobviously in fluent conversation. Through narrowedeyes Converse saw that Leifhelm’s guard was staringat him; then the man looked away. They passedthrough the arch and in the corner of his vision Joelwas abruptly aware of a head whipping around, thenof a figure pushing other figures out of his path.Converse turned, looking over the Dutchman sshoulder. It happened. His eyes locked with those ofLeifLelm s guard. The recognition was instant, andfor that instant the Cerman panicked, turning hishead back toward the ramp. He started to shout,then stopped. He reached under his jacket andmoved forward.
Joel broke away from the couple and beganracing threading his way through succeeding walls ofbodies, heading for a series of archlike ascendingexits through which sunlight streamed into theornate terminal. Twice he looked behind him as heran; the first time he could not see the man, thesecond time he did. LeifLelm’s guard was screamingorders to someone across the way, rising on theballs of his feet to see and be seen, gesturing at theexit doors in the distance. Converse ran faster,pulling his way through the crowd toward the stepsthat led to the massive exit. He climbed thestaircase swiftly but within the rhythm of the mostharried departing passengers, holding to the center,trying to call as little attention to himself aspossible.
He bolted through a door into the sunlight, intototal confusion. Below was water and piers andglass-covered boats bobbing up and down, peoplerushing past them, others ushered on board underthe watchful eyes of men in white-and-blueuniforms. He had come off a train only to emergeon some kind of strange waterfront. Then heremembered: the railroad station in Amsterdam wasbuilt on an is
land facing the center of the city; thus it was knownas the Centraal. Yet there was a street two streets,three streets bridging the water toward other streetsand trees and buildings . . . no time! He was out inthe open and those streets in the distance were hiscaves of survival; they were the ravines and the thick,impenetrable acres of bush and swamp that wouldhide him from the enemy! He ran as fast as he couldalong the wide boulevard bordered by water andreached an even wider thoroughfare clogged withtraffic, buses, trams, and automobiles, all at theirown starting gates, anxious for bells to release them.He saw a dwindling line at the door of an electrictramway, the final two passengers climbing on board;he raced ahead and, just before the door swung shut,he stepped up into the tram the last fare.
Spotting an empty seat in the last row, he walkedquickly to the back of the huge vehicle. He sat down,breathing hard, desperately, the sweat mathng hishairline and his temples and rolling down his face,the shirt under his jacket drenched. It was only thenthat he realized how exhausted he was, how loud andrapid the tattoo in his chest, how blurred his visionand his thoughts. Fear and pain had combined intoa form of hysteria. The desire to stay alive and thehatred of Aquitaine had kept him going. Pain? Hewas suddenly aware of the ache in his arm above hiswound, an old woman’s last act of ven-geance against what? For what? An enemy?Money? No time!
The tram started up and he turned in his seat tolook out the rear window. He saw what he wanted tosee. Leifhelm’s guard was racing across theintersection, a second man running to join him fromthe waterfront quad. They met, and the words theyexchanged were obviously exchanged in near panic.Another joined them, from where Joel could not see;he was suddenly just there. The three men spokerapidly, Leifhelm’s guard apparently the leader; hepointed in several directions, issuing orders. Oneman ran down the street, below the curb, and beganchecking the half-dozen or so taxis in the traffic jam;a second stayed on the pavement, slowly making hisway around the tables of a sidewalk cafe, then goinginside. Finally, Leifhelm’s guard ran back across theintersection, dodging cars, and reaching the curb, hesignaled. A woman walked out of a store and methim at the corner.
No one had thought of the tram. It was his firstcave of survival. He sat back and tried to collect histhoughts, know
ingthey would be difficult to face. Aquitaine wouldpenetrate all of Amsterdam, canvass it, tear it apartuntil they found hirn. Was there conceivably a wayto reach Thorbecke or had he been fooling himself,reaching into the past where too often accidents andmisplaced arrogance led to success? No, he couldnot think for a while. He had to lie down in thecave and rest, and if sleep came, he hoped thenightmares did not come with it. He looked out thewindow and saw a sign. It read DAMBAK.
He remained on the electric conveyance for wellover an hour. The lively streets, the lovelyarchitecture of the centuries-old buildings and theendless canals calmed him. His arm still ached fromthe old woman’s teeth but not severely, andthoughts of cleansing the wound faded. He couldnot weep for the old woman, but as with certain,strange witnesses at a trial, he wished he knew herstory.
Hotels were out. The foot soldiers of Aquitainewould scour them, offering large sums for anyinformation about any American of his generaldescription which they now specifically had.Thorbecke would be watched, his telephone tapped,his every move and conversation scrutinised. Eventhe embassy, or consulate whichever it was inAmster dam would have another military charged’affaires or his equivalent on the prowl for a signalthat a non-assassin wanted to come in and start theprocess of rectification. If his perceptions wereright, that left him with only one escape hatch. Na-than Simon.
Nathan the Wise, Joel had dubbed him once,only to be told that a Gentile with his intelligenceshould certainly come up with something moreoriginal. Then after a particularly long session at theoffice in which Nate detailed in excruciating detailwhy they should not take on a client named Lie-bowitz, who in his opinion would put too great aburden on the obligation to respect a client’sconfidence, and during which Lawrence Talbot haddozed off, Converse suggested that he alter hissobriquet to Nathan the Talmudic-pain-in-the-ass.Nate had roared, shocking Talbot awake, andproclaiming, “I love it! And Sylvia will love itbetterI”
Joel had learned more about the law fromNathan Simon than from anyone else, but there wasalways a distance between them. It was as thoughNate never really wanted them to be too close inspite of the obvious affection the older man had forthe younger. Converse thought he understood; itwas
a question of loyalty. Simon had two sons, who, mthe properly guarded phrase, “were in business forthemselves in California and Florida.” One soldinsurance in Santa Barbara, and the other ran a barin Key West. Nate Simon was a tough act to follow,and Joel was given a hint of just how hard it was onelate afternoon when Simon offered to buy him adrink at "21' after a harrowing conference on FifthAvenue.
“I like your father, Converse. I like Roger. Hehas minimal legal requirements, of course, but he’sa good man.”
“He has no legal requirements, and I tried to stophim from coming to us.”
“You couldn’t. It was the gesture he had to make.Put some business where the son is. Very touching.”
“With an unnecessary will that you much toogenerously charged him only two hundred dollars for,and some crazy disposition of his war medals tothree differentnshtutions for which you refused tobill him on patriotic grounds?”
“We were in the same theater of operations.”
“Where?”
“Europe.”
“Come on, Nate. He’s my father and I love himbut I also know he’s off the wall. Take him out of avintage prop and he’s not sure where he is. Pan Amgot their money’s worth, not in any administrativesense, but because he was a pistol at conventions.”
Nathan Simon had gripped his glass that late afternoon at “21,” and when he spoke, the quietthunder of a deeply troubled man poured forth.“You have respect for your father do you hear me,Joel? My friend Roger offered a gesture to his son,for it was all he had, all he could imagine. I had agreat deal more and I didn’t know how to make suchgestures. I only gave commands…. He said I couldstill do it
. I’m going to take up flying.”
Simon would help him only if he was convincedthere was substance to his case. But he would legallylean over backwards in the negative if he thought arelationship or personal sentimentality was beingused to manipulate him. Of course, if an indictmentfollowed, he would rush in for the defense after thefact. That was professional; those were his ethics.And by now Valerie would have sent him theenvelope with the dossiers and their awesomeimplications. They were the substance Simonrequired. Knowing Val, she would have sent themdown by car, the great American postal servicehaving
given rise to a score of competitors who eschewedthe taxpayer’s dollar. Joel’s d’ cisionwas made. Sincethere was a five-hour time difference, he would waituntil early evening and then call Nathan Simon. Hewas functioning again.
The tram came to the last stop before its returnrun. At least he was the only one left on board; hewalked up the aisle, got off and saw another. He goton. Sanctuary.
A hundred streets and a dozen crisscrossedcanals later, he looked out the window, encouragedby the seedy neighborhood he saw, washed clean onthe surface but with the promise of far moreinteresting bacteria below. There was a row ofpornography shops, their wares in magnified displaysin the storefronts. Above, in open windows, garishlypainted girls stood provocatively, brassieres slippedon and off lethargically, faces bored but pelviseschurning. The crowds in the streets were animated,some curious, some feigning shock, others interestedin buying. There was a carnival atmosphere, oneinto which he could melt, thought Converse, as hegot out of his seat and went to the door.
He wandered aro"md the streets, astonished,even embarrassed, as he always was when sex wasparaded so publicly. He enjoyed sexual encountersand never lacked for them, but for him the privacyof the acts was intrinsic to their fulfillment. Hecould no more walk through one of those neon-litdoors up-to-heaven than he could have performeda bowel movement on the curb.
There was a cafe across the street; it was abovea canal, tables on the sidewalk, dark within. Whatstruck him was the crowd that hovered around thedoorway, many people simply glancing in and goingon, drawn briefly to some curious oddity inside.Regardless, it was the crowd that attracted him;there was anonymity in numbers. He crossed thethoroughfare, weaved his way through the crowdand went inside. Sleep might be out of the question,but he needed food. He had not eaten a real mealin nearly three days. He found a small empty tablein the back of the room, and was stunned that atelevision set, clamped above on the wall, wasblaring inanities. He could not understand. Therewas no television in the Netherlands during theafternoons” How many times had he heardcolleagues and friends remark that one of the mostcivilised aspects of traveling in Holland was theabsence of the idiot box until seven o’clock in theevening? Conversely, there were those sportsenthusiasts who bemoaned the fact that cer
tain events were not shown, but on the whole theverdict came down in favor of Dutch civility andrestraint. Yet here was a television set in fulloperation. It undoubtedly accounted for thosecurious passersby on the street who glanced inside,shaking their heads in bewilderment as they went ontheir way.
Then Joel saw the folded card on the table, theannouncement in four languages, English first.
In accord with the advances in teknology we are
pleased to bring our patrons and visitors fromoutsidethe Netherlands recordings of our national programs.
Video tapes! It was a come-on, an innovative ploy tolure customers; this was the district for it. And heunderstood why the English language was first: epluribus unum. Let’s not lose touch with the tube.At least the tapes were in Dutch; it helped, but notmuch.
Straight whisky helped, too, but again not much.The anxiety of the hunted came back and he keptturning his head toward the entrance, at any momentexpecting to see one of the foot soldiers of Aquitainewalk through the door, out of the sunlight and intothe cave to find him. He went to the men’s room atthe rear of the cafe, removed his jacket, placed thegun with the silencer in the inside pocket, and torehis left sleeve. He filled one of the two basins withcold water, and then he plunged his face into it,pouring the water through his hair over the back ofhis neck. He felt a vibration, a sound! He whippedhis head up, gasping, frightened, his handinsdncbvely reaching for his coat on a hook. A portlymiddle-aged man nodded and went to a urinal.Quickly Joel looked at the teeth marks on his arm;they were like a dog bite. He drained the sink,turned on the hot water faucet, and with a papertowel squeezed and blotted the painful area untilblood emerged from the broken skin. It was the besthe could do; he had done much the same thing alifetime ago when attacking water rats swam throughthe bars of his bamboo cage. Then in another kindof panic, he had learned that rats could befrightened. And killed. The man at the urinal turnedand went out the door, glancing uncomfortably atConverse.
Joel layered a paper towel over the teeth marks,put on his coat and combed his hair. He opened thedoor and went
back to his table, once again annoyed by the blaringtelevision on the wall.
The menu, like the announcement about thetelevision, was in four languages, the last Oriental,undoubtedly Japanese. He was tempted to go forthe largest, rarest piece of meat he could find, buthere his pilot’s control dictated otherwise. He’d hadno solid sleep in days oddly enough since hisimprisonment at I eifhelm’s compound, where thesleep itself had been greatly induced by the hugequantities of very decent food, all part of thehealing process for a deflecting pawn. A heavy mealwould make him drowsy, and one did not By a jetgoing six hundred miles an hour in that condition.At the moment his air speed was approaching MachI. He ordered filet of sole and rice; he could alwaysorder twice. And one more whisky.
The voice! Oh, Christ. The voice! He washallucinating! He was going mad! He was hearing avoice an echo of a voice he could not possibly behearing!
“. . . Actually, I think it’s a national disgrace, butlike so many others, I speak only English.”
“Frau Converse “
“Miss Fraulein I think that’sright Charpentier, if you don’t mmd.”
“Dames en heron . . .” a third voice broke inquietly, authoritatively, speaking Dutch.
Converse gasped for the air he could not find,gripping his wrist, closing his eyes with suchintensity that every muscle in his face was in pain,twisting his neck away from the source of theterrible, horrible hallucination.
“I’m in Berlin on business I’m a consultant fora firm in New York "
“Mevrouw Con verse, of juffronw Charpen tier,coals use . . . ",
Joel was now sure that he was mad, insane! Hewas hearing the impossible. Ilearing! He spunaround and looked up. The television screen! It wasValerie! She was there!
“Whatever you S.ly, Fraulein Charpentier, willbe accurately translated, I can assure you.”
“Coals juJfrouw (>harpentier zoduist zei . . .” Thethird voice, the voice in Dutch.
“I haven’t seen my former husband in severalyears three or four, I’d say. Actually, we’restrangers. I can only express the shock my wholecountry feels….”
“7uffrouw Charpentier, de uroogere mevronw Con-”erse . . . “
" . . . he was a deeply disturbed man, subject toextreme depressions, but I never imagined anythinglike this.”
“Hid most mentaal gestoord zidn . . .”
“There’s no connection between us, and I’msurprised you learned I was flying to Berlin. But Iappreciate the chance to clear the air, as we say.”
“Mevrouw Converse gelooft . . . “
“In spite of the dreadful circumstances over which,of ourse, I had no control, I’m delighted to be inyour beautiful city. Half-city, I guess, but yours is thebeautiful part. And I :lear the Bristol-Kempinski….I’m terribly sorry, that’s what Ale call a “plug’ and Ishouldn’t. ”
“It is a landmark, Fraulein Charpentier. It is notverboten ver here. Do you feel at all threatened?”
“Mevrouw Converse, vault u rich bedreigd?”
“No, not really. We’ve had nothing to do witheach other or s
o long.”
My God! Val had come over to find him! Shewas sending him a signal signals! She spoke everybit as fluent German Is the interviewer! They kept intouch every month; they had lunch together sixweeks ago in Boston! Everything she was saying wasa lie and in those lies was the code. Their coderReach me!
The Aquaintaine Progession
PART THREE
Joel was stunned, but he had to control his panicand try to isolate the words, the phrases. Themessage was in them! The Bristol-Kempinski was ahotel in West Berlin, he knew that. It was somethingelse she had said, something that should trigger amemory one of their memories. What was it?
I haven’t seen my former husband in years…. No,only one of the lies. He was a deeply disturbed man….Less a lie, but not what she was trying to tell him.Actually, we’re strangers…. There’s no connectionbetween us….Another lie, but with some truth in it….Stop it! What was it! … Before, earlier…. I’m aconsultant…. That was it! .
“May I speak with Miss Charpenher, pleased Myname is Mr. Whistletoe, Bruce Whistletoe. I’m theconfidential consultant for Springtime antiperspirantfor which your agency is doing some artwork, and it’surgent, most urgent!” Con molta forza.
Val’s secretary had been a talker, a marvelousspreader of in-house gossip, and whenever Joel andValerie had wanted an extra hour for lunch or evena day, he would make such a phone call. It neverfailed. If a demanding vice-president (one of dozens)wanted to know where she was, the excitablesecretary would tell of an urgent call from one ofthose outside watchdogs of a very large account. Itwas enough for any ulcer-prone executive, andValerie’s understated professionalism took care ofthe rest. She would say “things” were under controland rarely did a relieved account man pursue whatmight give him an acid attack.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 54