“Benthelm! Nachste Station, Benthelm!”
The train was slowing down, the first of twostops before Osnabruck. Joel moved forward intothe darkest area and inched his head in view of thewindow behind him, confident that he could not beseen by a man facing light reflected off a panel ofglass. What he saw again startled him not by theactivity, but by the inactivity. The hunter made nomove toward the door; instead, he sat down facingforward, a commuter finding a more comfortableseat, nothing else on his mind. The train came to astop; those passengers getting off were forming aline in front . . . in front.
There had been a sign above this last door, butsince he could not read it, he had simply gonethrough. He looked now at the exit doors; therewere no handles. Obviously that incomprehensiblesign was there to inform anyone who approachedthe door that it was not an exit. If he had beenfacing
a trap before, he was in a cage now, a steel cage thatbegan moving again, as the wheels gathered speedagainst the tracks. A racing jail from which there wasno escape. Converse reached into his shirt pocketand took out his cigarettes. He had been so close tothe barbed wire; he had to think!
A rattle? A key . . . a bolt The door of a heavywood with the word FRACHT stenciled on it openedand the figure of a stout man emerged, preceded byhis stomach.
“Sin Zigarette for Sei, wahrend ich sum Pinkelngehe!” said the railroad guard, laughing, as he crossedthrough the short, dark corridor to the door. “Dannein Whisky, ja?”
The German was going for a drink, and althoughhe had pulled the door of his domain nearly shut, hehad not closed it; he was an untroubled man, aguard with nothing he felt worth guarding. Joelpushed the heavy panel open and went inside,knowing what would happen; it had to happen theinstant the guard walked by the hunter on his way to“ein Whss
. ,,
icy.
There were half a dozen sealed crates androughly ten cages holding animals dogs mostly andseveral cats, cowering in corners, claws extended atthe sound of growls and barks. The only light camefrom a naked bulb swaying on a thick wire from theceiling beyond another cage, this one built for manwith wire mesh at the end of the freight car.Converse concealed himself behind a crate near thedoor. He reached under his priestly coat and pulledout the gun with the perforated cylinder, the silencer.
The door opened cautiously, millimeter bymillimeter the weapon appeared before the hand orthe arm. Finally there was the man, the foot soldierfrom Aquitaine.
Joel fired twice, not trusting a single shot. Thearm crashed back into the edge of the half-opendoor, the gun spinning out of the killer’s hand, asingle spurt of blood erupting near the executioner’swrist. Converse sprang from behind the crate thepatrol was his, and so was the stretch ofbarbed-wirefence!Hecould climb it and crawl over now!The rock had smashed the window in the barracks!The staccato barrage of machine-gun fire was sprayingwhere he was not! Seconds, only seconds, and he wasout!
Joel pinned the man to the floor, gripping histhroat and pressing one knee on his chest oneprolonged squeeze and the soldier from Aquitainewould be dead. He held the barrel of the gun againstthe man’s temple.
“You speak any English?”
“la/” coughed the German. “I . . . speak English.”
“What were your orders?”
" Follow you. Only follow you. Don’t shoot! I amAngestellte! I know nothing!”
“A what?”
“A hired man!”
“Aquitaine!”
“What?”
The man was not Iying; there was too muchpanic in his eyes. Converse raised the gun andabruptly shoved it into the German’s left eye, theperforated cylinder pressed deep into the socket.
“You tell me exactly what you were told to do!The truth and I’ll know a lie and if you lie, yourskull will be all over this wall! Talk to me!”
“To follow you!”
“And?”
“If you left the train we were to phone thePolizei Wherever. Then . . . the orders were to killyou before they came. But I would not do that! Iswear by my Christ I would never do that! I am agood Christian. I even love the Jews! I am un-employed!”
Joel crashed the weapon into the man’sskull the patrol had been taken out! Ile could climbthe fence now! He pulled the German behind a crateand waited. How long it was impossible to tell; timehad lost its meaning. The railway guard came back,somewhat more drunk than sober, and took refugebehind his wire-meshed office with the single lightbulb.
The other cages were not so serene. The smellof human blood and sweat was more than the dogscould take; they began to react. Within minutes therailway car labeled FRACHT became a madhouse,the animals were now hysterical the dogs snarling,barking, hurling themselves against their cages; thecats, provoked by the dogs, screeching, hissing,backs arched, fur standing on end. The guard wasperplexed and frightened; anchoring himself to thechair in his sanctuary of wire mesh, he poured morewhisky down his throat. He stared at the cages, hiseyes wide within the folds of puffed flesh. Twice helooked at a glass-encased lever on the wall inchesabove the desk, above his hand. He had only to liftthe casing and pull it.
“Rheine/ Nachste Station, Rheine!”
The last stop before Osnabruck. Before long theGerman would revive, and unless Joel’s eyes were onhim at that instant the man would scream and anemergency lever would be pulled. Too, there wasanother man only cars behind who was also hired tofollow him, to kill him. To remain where he was anylonger was to let the trap close. He had to get off.
The train stopped, and Converse lunged for thedoor, his movement causing a dozen caged animals tovent their anger and confusion. He pushed back thebolt, opened the heavy door and raced into theforward car. He ran up the aisle a priest perhaps onan errand of mercy repeatedly apologizing as herushed past the departing passengers, intent only ongetting off before an unconscious body was found, alever pulled, an alarm sounded. He reached the exitand leaped from the second step to the platform; helooked around and ran into the shadows of thestation.
He was free. He was alive. But he was miles awayfrom an old woman waiting for her priest.
Valerie kept running, afraid to look behind, butwhen she forced herself to turn her head she saw theArmy officer ing with the driver of the Army car.Seconds later she looked again as she reached thecorner of Madison Avenue. The officer was nowrunning after her, shortening the distance betweenthem with each stride. She raced across the street justas the light turned, and the blaring of horns signifiedthe anger of several drivers.
Thirty feet away a taxi heading north had pulledto the curb and a gray-haired man was lethargicallystretching himself out onto the pavement, tired,unwilling to accept the morning. Val ran back intothe street, into the traffic, and raced to the cab’sdoor; she opened it and climbed in as the startledgray-haired man was receiving change.
“Hey, lady, you crazy?” yelled the black driver.“You’re supposed to use the curb! You’ll getflattened by a bus!”
“I’m sorry!” cried Val, sinking low and back on theseat.
What the hell? “My husband is running up the streetafter me and I win not be hit again! I hurt.He’s he’s an Arrny officer.”
The gray-haired man sprang out of the cab likea decathalon contender, slamming the door behindhim. The taxi driver turned around and looked ather, his large black face suspicious. “You tellin’ thetruth?”
“I threw up all morning from the punches lastnight.”
“An officer? In the Army?”
“Yes! Will you please get out of here?” Val sanklower. “He’s at the corner now! He’ll cross thestreet he’ll see mel”
“Fret not, ma’am,” said the driver, calmlyreaching over the seat and pressing down the lockson the rear doors. “Oh, you were right on! Here hecomes runnin’ across like a crazy man. And wouldyou look at them ribbons! Would you believe thathorseshit excuse me, ma’am. He’s kinda skinny,ain’t he? Most of the real bad characters wereskinny. They compensated that’s a psychiatricterm, you know.”
“Get out of here!”
>
“The law’s precise, ma’am. It’s the duty of everydriver of a medallion vehicle to protect thewell-being of his fare. . . . And I was an infantrygrunt, ma’am, and I’ve waited a hell of a long timefor this particular opportunity. Having a real goodreason and all that. I mean, you sure can’t deny thewords you said to me.” The driver climbed out ofthe cab. He matched his face; he was a very largeman, indeed. Val watched in horrified astonishmentas the black walked around the hood to the curband shouted, “Hey, Captain! Over here, on thesidewalk! You lookin’ for a very pretty lady? Likemaybe your wife?”
“What?” The officer ran up on the pavement tothe black man.
“Well, Captain-baby, I’m afraid I can’t salute’cause my uniform’s in the attic if I had anattic but I want you to know that thissearch-and-destroy has successfully been completed.Would you step over to my jeep, sir?”
The officer started to run toward the taxi butwas suddenly grabbed by the driver, who spun himaround and punched him first in the stomach, thenbrought his knee crashing up into the Army man’sgroin, and finally completed the “assignment” byhammering a huge fist into the officer’s mouth. Valgasped; blood spread over the captain’s entire faceas he fell to the pavement. The driver ran back tothe cab,
climbed in, shut the door and pulled the gear; thetaxi shot forward in the traffic.
“Lawdy, lawdy!” said the driver in a caricature ofSouthern dialect. “That felt real good! Is there anaddress, ma’am? The meter’s running. ”
“I . . . I’m not sure.”
“Let’s start with the basics. Where do you want togo?”
“To a telephone . . . Why did you do that?”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
“You’re sick! You could have been arrested!”
“For what? Protecting a fare from assault? Thatbad character was actually rennin’ toward my caband the vibes were not good, not good at all. Also,there weren’t no cops around.”
“I presume you were in Vietnam,” said Vial, aftera period of silence, looking at the large head ofblack hair in front of her.
“Oh, yes, I was accorded that privilege. Veryscenic, ma’am.”
“What did you think of General Delavane?General George Marcus Delavane?”
The cab suddenly, violently, swerved as thedriver gripped the wheel and slammed his heavy footon the brake, causing the taxi to bolt to a stop,throwing Val against the rim of the front seat. Thelarge black head whipped around, the coal-black eyesfilled with fury and loathing and that deep un-mistakable core of fear Valerie had seen so manytimes in Joel’s eyes. The driver swallowed, hispiercing stare somehow losing strength, turninginward, the fear taking over. He turned back to thewheel and answered simply, “I didn’t do muchthinking about the General ma’am. What’s theaddress missus? The meter’s running.”
“I don’t know…. A telephone, I have to get to atelephone. Will you wait?”
“Do you have money? Or did the captain take itall? There are limits to my concern, lady. I don’t getno compensation for good deeds.”
“I have money. You’ll be well paid.”
“Show me a bill “
Valerie reached into her purse and pulled out ahundred dollars. “Will that do?” she asked.
“It’s fine, but don’t do that with every cab youwant in a hurry. You could end up in Bed-Stuy adamn good-lookin’ corpse.”
“I don’t want to believe that.”
“Oh, my, we have a liberal! Suck to it, ma’am,until they stick it to you. Me, I want ”em all toiry!Your kind don’t really get it we do. You only getthe periphery, you dig? A couple of rapes in theclassy suburbs and some of them might be open todispute; and a few heists of silver and jewelry hell,you’re covered by insurance! Where I come fromwe’re covered by a gun under the pillow, and Godhelp the son of a bitch who tries to take it fromme.”
“A telephone, please. ”
“Your meter, lady.”
They stopped at a booth on the corner ofMadison and Seventy-eighth Street. Valerie got out,and took from her purse the sheet"of St. Regisstationery with the Air Force telephone number. Sheinserted a coin and dialed.
“Air Force, Recruit Command, Denver,”announced the female operator.
“I wondered if you could help me, miss,” saidVal, her eyes darUng about at the traffic, lookingfor a roving brown sedan with u.s. ARMY printedacross its doors. “I’m trying to locate an officer, arelative, actually . . .”
“One minute, please. I’ll transfer you.”
“Personnel, Denver Units,” came a second voice,now male. “Sergeant Porter.”
“Sergeant, I’m trying to locate an officer,"repeated Valerie. “A relative of mine who left wordwith an aunt that he wanted to reach me.”
“Where in Colorado, ma’am?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“The Springs? The Academy? Lowry Field orpossibly Cheyenne Mountain?”
“I don’t know that he is in Colorado, Sergeant.”
“Why did you call Denver, then?”
“You were in the telephone book.”
“I see.” The Army man paused. “And this officerleft word that he wanted to reach you?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t leave an address or a telephonenumber.”
“If he did, my aunt lost it. She’s quite elderly.”
“The procedure is as follows, miss. If you willwrite a letter to the MPC Military PersonnelCenter at the Randolph Air Force Base, SanAntonio, Texas, staking your request and theofficer’s name and rank, the letter will beprocessed.”
“I don’t have time, Sergeant! I travel a greatdeal I’m calling from an airport now, as a matter offact.”
“I’m sorry, miss, those are the regulations.’
“I’m not a "miss’ and my cousin’s a general andhe really does want to speak to me! I just want toknow where he is, and if you can’t tell me, certainlyyou can call him and give him my name. I’ll call youback with a number where he can reach me. That’sreasonable, isn’t it, Sergeant? Frankly, this is anemergency.”
“A general, ma’am?”
“Yes, Sergeant Potter. A General Abbott.”
“Sam Abbott? I mean, Brigadier General SamuelAbbott?”
“That’s the one, Sergeant Potter.”
“Porter, ma’am.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Well, I can’t see any security breach here,miss ma’am. Everybody knows where GeneralAbbott is stationed. He’s a popular officer and in thenewspapers a lot.”
“Where is that, Sergeant? I’ll personally tell himyou’ve been most helpful to both of us.”
“Nellie Air Force Base in Nevada, ma’am, justoutside Las Vegas. He commands the advancedtactical maneuver squadrons. All the squadroncommanders get their final training at Nellis. He’sthe man…. May I have your name, please?”
“Oh, good Lord! There’s the last boarding call formy plane! Thank you, Sergeant.” Valerie hung up thephone, her eyes still scanning the street, trying todecide what to do whether to call Sam now or wait.Suddenly she realized she could not call; it wouldmean using a credit card, origin of call anddestination listed. She went back to the taxi.
“Lady, I’d just as soon get out of here, if youdon’t mind,” said the driver, a quiet urgency in hisvoice.
“What’s the matter?”
“I keep a police scanner in my cab in case there’sproblems in my neighborhood, and I just heard theword. An Army captain was clobbered on Fifty-fifthand Madison by a black driver of a taxi headingnorth. Lucky for me they didn’t get the license or thecompany, but the description’s pretty good. "A bigblack son of a bitch with a size-twelve fist’ was theway those mothers put it.”
“Let’s go,” said Val. “I hate to say this, and Imean that but I can’t get involved.” The cab spedforward, the driver
turning east on Eightieth Street. “Is my husbandpressing charges?” she asked.
“No, I’m off the hook there,” replied the
driver.“He must have punched you real bad. He just fledand had nuthin’ to say. Bless his white heart. Whereto?”
“Let me think.”
“It’s your meter.”
She had to get to Las Vegas, but the idea ofgoing back to Kennedy or LaGuardia airportsfrightened her. They seemed too logical, too easilyanticipated. remembered. About five or six yearsago she and Joel were weekending with friends inShort HiDs, New Jersey, when Joel got a call fromNathan Simon, teeing him he had to fly to LosAngeles on Sunday for a Monday-morning meeting.All the legal papers would be sent to the BeverlyHills Hotel by air express. Joel had taken the planefrom Newark Airport.
“Can you drive me to Newark?”
“I can drive you to Alaska, lady, but Newark?”
“The airport.”
“That’s better. It’s one of the best. I guessNewark’s okay, too. I got a brother there and, hell,he’s stiD alive. I’D swing through the park atSixty-fifth and head down to the Lincoln Tunnel. Doyou mind if I turn on the scanner again?”
“No, go right ahead.”
The voices went in and out, then the driverpushed a button and they became steady: “Incidentat Fifty-fifth and Madison is a negative.. PrecinctTen has called it off as the victim refused assistanceand did not identify himself. So patrols, onward andupward. We helps them what helps themselves. On,brothers.”
“Oh, he’s a brother!” shouted the driver in reliefas he turned off the radio. “You catch that "incidentis a negative’? They coulda used him in Nam, inthose big body-count press conferences…. Come tothink of it, he was probably there not with thepress, just one of the bodies. They never did get itright.”
Valerie leaned forward on the seat. “I asked youabout Nam. About General Delavane. Would youted me about him?”
It was nearly a minute before the black replied,and when he did so, his voice was soft, evenmellifluous. And somewhere at the base of it wasabject defeat. “My driver’s identification is lookin’ atyou, lady. I’m drivin’ you to Newark Air
THE AQUITAINE
PROGRESSION 535port thaws what you’re payin’ for, and that’s whatyou’ll
The rest of the ride was made in silence, anoppressive sense of fear pervading the cab. After allthese years, thought Val. Oh, God
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 62