They hit heavy traffic at the tunnel and then onthe turnpike; it was the start of the weekend andvacationers were heading for the Jersey shore. Theairport was worse; it was jammed, cars backed up fora quarter of a mile in the departure lanes. Finallythey edged up into a parking space and Valerie gotout. She paid the driver a hundred dollars above thefare and thanked him. “You’ve been much more thanhelpful, you know that…. I’ll never really know whybut I’ll think about it.”
“Like I said, it’s my business. I got my reasons.”
“I wish I could say something, something thatcould help.”
“Don’t try, lady. The green is enough.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Sure, it is until something better comes along,and that ain’t gonna be in my lifetime…. You takecare, missus. I think you got bigger problems thanmost of us. You said too much, which I don’t recall,of course.”
Valerie turned and went into the terminal. Thelines in front of the counters were horrendous, andbefore joining one she had to know which one.Twenty minutes later she was in the proper line andnearly an hour after that she had a ticket to LasVegas on American’s 12:30 flight, another hourbefore boarding. It was time to see if it all madesense. If Sam Abbott made sense, or whether shewas grasping desperately at a man she onceremembered who might not be that man any longer.She had exchanged $20 in bills for two $10 rolls ofquarters. She hoped it would be enough. She took anescalator up to the second floor and went to atelephone at the far end of the wide corridor pastthe shops. Nevada information gave her the numberof the main switchboard at Nellis Air Force Base.She dialed and asked to be put through to BrigadierGeneral Samuel Abbott.
“I don’t know if he’s on the base yet,” said theoperator.
“Oh?” she had forgotten. There was a three-hourtime difference.
“Just a minute, he’s checked in. Early-morningflight schedule.”
“General Abbott’s office.”
"May I speak to the general, please. The nameis Parquette, Mrs. Virginia Parquette.”
“May I ask what this is in reference to?” askedthe secretary. “The general’s extremely busy and isabout to head down to the field.”
“I’m a cousin he hasn’t seen in a long time,actually. There’s been a tragedy in the family.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”
“Please tell him I’m on the line. He may notrecall my name; it’s been so many years. But youmight remind him that in the old days we had somewonderful dinners in New York. It’s really mosturgent. I wish someone else were making this call,but I’m afraid I was elected.”
“Yes yes, of course.”
The waiting put Valerie in the last circle of hell.Finally there was a click, followed by the voice sheremembered.
“Virginia . . . Parquette?”
“Yes.”
“Ginny from New York? Dinner in New York?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the wife, not the sister.”
“Yes!”
“Give me a number. I’ll call you back in tenminutes.”
“It’s a pay phone.”
“Stay there. The number.”
She gave it to him and hung up, frightened,wondering what she had done, but knowing that shecould not have done anything else. She sat in theplastic chair by the phone, watching the escalators,looking at the people going in and out of thevarious shops, the bar, the fast-food restaurant. Shetried not to look at her watch; twelve minutespassed. The phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Valerie?”
“Yes!”
“I wanted to get out of the office too manyinterruptions. Where are you? I know the areacode’s New Jersey.”
“Newark Airport. I’m on the twelve-thirty flightto Las Vegas. I’ve got to see you!”
“I tried to call you. Talbot’s secretary gave meyour number “
“When?”
“”Starting two days ago. I was in the Mojave onmaneuvers and too bushed to turn on a radio wedidn’t have newspapers. A man answered, and whenhe said you weren’t there I hung up.”
“That was Roger, Joel’s father. He’s dead.”
“I know. They say it was most likely suicide.”
“No!. . . I’ve seen him, Sam. I’ve seen Joel! It’s alllies!”
“That’s what we have to talk about,” said thegeneral. “Call me when you get in. Same name. Idon’t want to pick you up at the airport; too manypeople know me over there. I’ll figure out a placewhere we can meet.”
“Thank you, Sam!” said Valerie. “You’re all we haveleft.”
“We?”
“For the time being, yes. I’m all he has left.”
Converse watched from the far dark corner ofthe railroad station as the train for Osnabruckstarted up, its huge wheels pressing into the tracks,groaning for momentum. At any moment heexpected whistles to pierce the quiet night and thetrain to stop, a bewildered half-drunken guard run-ning from the freight car, screaming. None of ithappened. Why? Was the man more than halfdrunk? Had the sounds of the enraged animalsdriven him further into the bottle strengthening hisresolve to remain in the safety of his cage? Had heseen only a blur racing to the door in the dim light,or perhaps nothing, an unconscious bodysubsequently not discovered? Then Joel saw thatthere was another possibility a brutal one. He couldsee a figure running forward through the second tolast car, twice lunging between the seats, his facepressed against the glass. Moments later the man wasleaning out above the lower door of the first exit, thesteps below blocked off by the heavy solid gate. Inhis hand was a gun, held laterally across his foreheadas he squinted against the station lights, peering intothe shadows.
Suddenly the killer made his decision. He grippedthe metal rim and leaped over the guardrail,dropping to the ground, rolling over in the gravelaway from the gathering speed of the train. Thehunter from Aquitaine was in panic he dared notlose the quarry, dared not fail to carry out hisassignment.
Converse spun around the corner and racedalong the dark side of the building to a parking area.The passengers who had gotten off the train werestarting their automobiles
or climbing into them; two couples were chatting onthe near platform, obviously waiting to be pickedup. A car came curving in off the road beyond; themen waved, and in moments all four were inside,laughing as the car sped away. The parking area wasdeserted, the station shut down for the night. Asingle floodlight from the roof illuminated theemptiness, a border of tall trees beyond the wideexpanse of coarse gravel gave the appearance of animmense impenetrable wall.
Staying as best he could in the shadows, Joeldarted from one space of darkness to another untilhe reached a solid, indented arch at the end of thebuilding. He pressed his back against the brick andwaited, his hand gripping the gun at his side,wondering if he would have to use it, if he wouldeven have a chance to use it. He had been lucky onthe train and he knew it; he was no match forprofessional killers. And no matter how strongly hetried to convince himself, he was not in the junglesa lifetime ago, not the younger man he had beenthen. But when he thought about it as he wasthinking about it now those memories were all hehad to guide him. He ducked out of the shadowedarch and quickly dashed to the corner.
The explosion came, blowing out the stone tothe left of his head! He lunged to his right, rollingon the gravel, then quickly rose to get away fromthe spill of the floodlight. Three more shatteringexplosions tore up the rock and earth around hisfeet. He reached a dark row of foliage and doveinto the bushes, instinctively knowing exactly whathe had to do.
“Augh!Aughhh . . . !” His final scream ended ona convincing note of agony.
He then crawled through the underbrush as fastas he could penetrate the tangled nets of pricklygreen. He was at least ten feet away from where hehad shouted; he pivoted on his knees and remainedstill, facing the floodlit expanse beyond the bushes.
It happened, as it had happened before whenthree children in official pajamas had killed anotherchild indelicately in the jungle. Anxious men
weredrawn to the last sounds they heard as this hunterfrom Aquitaine was drawn now. The man stalkedout of the darkness of the railroad station’s rearplatform, his gun extended, held steady with bothhands. He walked directly, cautiously, to that smallsection in the overgrowth where the screams hadcome from.
Converse scratched the ground noiselessly until hefound
a rock larger than his fist. He gripped it and waited,staring, feeling the drumming in his chest. The killerwas within eight feet of the border of greenery. Joellobbed the rock, arcing it in the air to his right.
The crunching thud was loud. InstantlyAquitaine’s soldier crouched and fired one roundafter another two, three, four! Converse raised hisweapon and pulled the trigger twice. The man spunto his left, gasping, as he clutched his stomach andfell to the ground.
There was no time to think or feel or considerwhat had happened. Joel crawled out to the graveland raced over to his would-be executioner; hegrabbed him by the arms and dragged him back intothe bushes. Still, he had to find out. He knelt downand held his fingers against the base of the man’sthroat. He was dead, another scout taken out in thewar of the modern Aquitaine, the militaryconfederation of George Marcus Delavane.
There was no one around if there had been, thegunshots would have provoked screams and broughtrunning feet; the police would have been summoned;they would have been there by now. How far awaywas Osnabruck? He had read the schedule and triedto figure out the times, but everything had happenedso swiftly, so brutally, he had not absorbed what heread. It was less than an hour, that much he knew.Somehow he had to get word to the station at Osna-bruck. Christ, how?
He walked out on the platform, glancing up atthe sign: RHEINE. It was a start; he had countedonly the stops, not the names. Then he sawsomething in the distance above the ground, highabove with lights on the inside. A tower! He hadseen such towers dozens of times in Switzerland andFrance they were signal depots. They dotted theEurail’s landscape, controlling the trains that spedacross their sectors. He started running along thetracks, suddenly wondering what he looked like. Hishat was gone, his clothes soiled, but his clerical collarwas still in place he was still a priest.
He reached the base of the tower. He brushed offhis clothes and tried to smooth his hair; Composinghimself, he began climbing the metal steps. At thetop he saw that the steel door to the tower itself wasbolted, the inch-thick bulletproof glass a sign of theterrorist times speeding trains were vulnerabletargets. He approached the door and rapped on themetal frame. Three men were inside, huddled overelec
tronic consoles; an elderly man turned from thenumerous green screens and came to the door. Hepeered through the glass and crossed himself, butdid not open the door. Instead there was a suddenechoing sound projected into the air, and the man’svoice emerged from a speaker: “Was ist, Hochwur-den?”
“I don’t speak German. Do you speak English?”
“Englander?”
“Yes ja. “
The old man turned to his associates andshouted something. Both shook their heads, but oneheld up his hand and came to the door.
“Ich spreche. . . a little, Mr. Englander. Nichtcome enter here, verstehen?”
“I have to call Osnabruck! A woman is waitingfor me a Frau!
“Ohh? Hochwurden! Eine Frau?”
“No, no! You don’t understand! Can’t anybodyhere speak English ?”
“Sie speeches Deutsch?”
“No!”
“Warten Sie, ” said the third man from theconsole. There was a rapid exchange between thetwo men. The one who spoke “a little” turned backto the door.
“Eine Kirche, ” said the man groping for words.“Church! Din Pfarrer priest! Er spricht Englisch.Drei . . . three strassen . . . there!” The Germanpointed to his left; Joel looked down over hisshoulder. There was a street in the distance. Heunderstood; there was a church three blocks away,and a priest who spoke English, presumably a priestwho had a telephone.
“The train to Osnabruck. WhenP When does itget there?” Converse pointed to his watch. “When?Osnabruck?”
The man looked over at the console, thenturned back to Joel and smiled. “Zwolf Minuten,Hochwurden!”
“How? What?”
“Zwolf… tvelf.”
“Twelve?”
”la!”
Converse turned and clattered down the steps;on the ground he ran as fast as he could toward thestreetlamps in the distance. Once there, he raced inthe middle of the street clutching his chest, vowingfor the five hundredth time to
give up cigarettes. He had persuaded Val to throwthem away; why hadn’t he taken his own advice? Hewas invulnerable, that’s why. Or did he simply carefor her more than he cared for himself? Enough!Where was the goddamned church ?
It was there, on the right. A small church withfake spires, a silly-looking church with what lookedlike a decorated Quonset hut for a rectory beside it.Joel ran up the short path to the door, a door witha hideously bejeweled crucifix in the center arhinestone Jesus; rock along with Christ andknocked. Moments later an overweight, cherubic manwith very little white hair, though perfectly groomed,opened the door.
“Ah, Guten Tag, Herr Kollege.”
"Forgive me,” said Converse, out of breath. “Idon’t speak German. I was told you speak English.”
“Ah, yes, indeed, I should hope so. I spent mynovitiate in the Mother Country as opposed to theFatherland you understand the difference ingender, of course. Come in, come rnl A visit from afellow priest calls for a Schnaps. "A touch of wine’sounds better, doesn’t it? Again the MotherCountry so soft, so understanding. My, you’re anattractive youmg manl”
"Not so young, Father,” said Joel, stepping inside.
“That’s relative, isn’t it?” The German priestwalked unsteadily into what was obviously his livingroom. Again there were jeweled figures mounted onblack velvet on the walls the cheap stones glittering,the faces of the saints unmistakably feminine. “Whatwould you like? I have sherry and muscatel, and forrare occasions a port I’ve been saving for very specialoccasions…. Who sent you? That wicked novice fromLengerich?”
“I need help, Father.”
“Great Jesus, who doesn’t? Is this to be aconfessional? If so, for God’s sake give me untilmorning. I love the Lord my God with all my souland all my strength and if there are sins of theflesh, they are Satan ’s. Not I, but the Archangel ofDarknessl”
The man was drunk; he fell over a hassock andtumbled to the floor. Converse ran to him and liftedhim up, then lowered him into a chair a chair bythe only telephone in the room.
“Please understand me, Father. Or don’tmisunderstand
me. l have to reach a woman who’s waiting for me atOsnabruck. It’s important!”
“A woman? Satan! He is Lucifer with the eyes offire! You thinly better than me?”
“Not at all. Please. I need help!”
It took ten minutes of pleading, but finally thepriest calmed down and got on the telephone. Heidentified himself as a man of God, and moments laterJoel heard the name that allowed him to breathesteadily again.
“Frau Geyner? Es tat mir leid . . . ” The old priestand the old woman talked for several minutes. He hungup and turned to Converse. “She waited for you,” hesaid, frowning in bewilderment. “She thought you mighthave gotten off in the freight yards…. What freightyards?”
“I understand.”
“I do not. But she knows the way here and will pickyou up in thirty minutes or so…. You have sobered me,Father. Was I disgraceful?”
“Not at all,” said Joel. “You welcomed a man introuble there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Let’s have a drink. Forget Schnaps and "a glass ofwine’; they’re a bore, aren’t they? I have someAmerican bourbon in the refrigerator. You areAmerican, are you not?”
“Yes, and a glass of bourbon would be just fine.”
- “Good! Follow me into my humble kitchen. It’sright
through here, mind the sequined curtain, dear boy. Itis toomuch, isn’t i
t? . . . Oh, well, for all of that whateverit is I’ma good man. I believe that. I give comfort.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Where were you schooled, Father?” asked the priest.
“Catholic University in Washington,” repliedConverse pleased with himself that he remembered andanswered so quickly.
“Good Lord, I was there myself” exclaimed theGerman priest. “They shunted me around, youunderstand. Do you remember what’s his name . . . ?”
Oh, my God! thought Joel.
Frau Hermione Ceyner arrived, and took Conversein tow commandeered him, in fact. She was a smallwoman far older than Joel had imagined. Her face waswithered, remmding him of the woman in theAmsterdam station, and dominated by wide, intenseeyes that seemed to shoot out bolts of electricity. Hegot in the car and she pushed the lock
in place. She climbed behind the wheel and sped upthe street, reaching what had to be sixty miles anhour in a matter of seconds.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,”said Converse, bracing his feet against thefloorboard.
“It is nothing!” exclaimed the old woman. “I havemyself taken out officers from airplanes that crashedin Bremerhaven and Stuttgart and Mannheiml I spatin soldiers’ eyes, and crashed through barricades! Inever failed! The pigs could not touch me!”
“I only meant that you’re saving my life, and Iwant you to know I’m grateful. I’m aware thatValerie your niece, and my . . . my formerwife told you I didn’t do the things they said I did,and she was right. I didn’t.”
“Ach, Valerie! A sweet child, but not veryreliable, ja? You got rid of her, jaP”
“That’s not exactly the way it happened.”
“How could she be?” continued HermioneGeyner, as if he had not spoken. “She is an artist,and we all know how unstable they are. And, ofcourse, her father was a Frenchman. I ask you, couldshe have a greater disadvantage? Franzase! Theworms of Europe! As untrustworthy as their wine,which is mostly in their stomachs. They’re drunkards,you know. It’s in their blood.”
“But you believed her where I was concerned.You’re helping me, you’re saving my life.”
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 63