The Aquaintaine Progession

by Ludlum, Robert

  The telephone rang, for a moment paralysingher. She stared at it, terrified but forcing herself tostay in control. Sam Abbott was dead, and he toldher only he would call only he. My God, thoughtVal, they’d found her, just as they’d found her inNew York. But they would not repeat the mistakesthey had made in New York. She had to remaincalm and think and outthink them. The ringingstopped. She approached the phone and picked itup, then pressed the button marked O. "Operator,this is room nine-one-four. Please send the securitypolice up here right away. It’s an emergency.”

  She had to move quickly, be ready to leave theinstant the security men arrived. She had to get outand find a safe telephone. She had heard the stories;she knew what to do. She had to reach Joel inOsnabruck.

  Colonel Alan Metcalf, chief intelligence officer,Nellis Air Force Base, walked out of the telephonebooth and looked around the shopping mall, hishand in the pocket of his sport jacket, gripping thesmall revolver inside. He glanced at his watch; hiswife and three children would be in Los Angelessoon, then reach Cleveland by late afternoon. Thefour of them would stay with her parents until hesaid otherwise. It was better this way since he hadno idea what the “way” would be like.

  He only knew that Sam Abbott had run thatsub-mach

  maneuver a thousand times; he knew every stresspoint and P.S.I. throughout the entire aircraft, andhe never flew a jet that had not been scannedelectronically. To ascribe that crash to pilot error wasludicrous; instead, someone had lied to that pilot, acircuit and backup shorted. Sam was killed becausehis friend, Metcalf, had made a terrible mistake.After talking with Abbott for nearly five hours,Metcalf had called a man in Washington, telling himto prepare a conference the following afternoon withtwo ranking members each from the NSC, G-Twoand naval intelligence. The reason-of-record:Brigadier General Samuel Abbott had pertinent andstartling information about the fugitive Joel Converserelative to the assassinations of the Americanambassador in Bonn and the supreme commander ofNATO.

  And if they could so readily, so efficiently kill theman who had the information, they might easily goafter the messenger, the intelligence officer bringinghim in. It was better this way, with Doris and thekids in Cleveland. He had a great deal to do and aterrible debt to repay.

  The Converse woman! Oh, Christ, why had shedone it, why had she run so quickly? He hadexpected it, of course, but he had hoped againsthope that he would reach her in time, but it had notbeen possible. First there was Dpris and the kids andplane reservations and the call to her folks; they hadto get out; he could be next. Then racing to the field,his revolver beside him in the car, and ransackingSam’s office as Nellis’ intelligence officer, aparticularly loathsome duty, but in this casevital and questioning Abbott’s distraught secretary.A name had emerged: Parquette.

  “I’ll pick her up,” Sam had said last night. “She’sstaying at the Grand and I promised only I’d phoneher. She’s a cool lady, but she had a close call inNew York. She wants to hear a voice she knows andI can’t blame her.”

  Cool lady, thought Alan Metcalf, as he climbedinto his car, you made the biggest mistake ofyourshortenedlife. With me you had a chance tolive perhaps but now as they say in this part ofNevada, the odds are heavily against.

  Nevertheless she would be on his conscience,reasoned the intelligence officer, now speeding intothe cutoff toward Route 15 and points south.

  Conscience. He wondered if those silent bastardsin Washington had Joel Converse on their collectiveconscience. They had sent a man out and abandonedhim, not even having

  the grace to make sure he was killed quickly,mercifully. The programmers of the kamikazeswere saints beside such people.

  Converse. Where was he?

  Joel stood silently as Leifhelm’s man removedhis gun and turned to speak to the assembled row ofsenile old women in the high-backed chairs. Hespoke for less than a minute, then grabbed Converseby the arm his and their trophy forcing Joel toface Hermione Geyner, whose true prisoner he was.It was a mystical ritual of triumph from a time longpast.

  "I have just told these brave women of theunderground,” said the Cerman looking at Converse,“that they have uncovered a traitor to our cause.Frau Geyner will confirm this, ja, meine Dame?”

  "Baja!” spat out the intense old woman, her facealive with the fierce joy of victory. “Betrayal!” shescreamed.

  “The telephone calls have been made and ourinstructions received,” continued Leifhelm’s soldier.“We shall leave now, A merikaner. There’s nothingyou can do, so let us go qui

  “If you had this whole thing so organized, whythose two men on the train, including that one?”asked Joel, nodding at the man with his arm in thesling, instinctively stalling for time, an attorneyallowing an adversary to compliment himself.

  “Observed, not organised,” answered theGerman. “We had to be sure you did everythingexpected of you. Everyone here agrees, Stimmt Has,Frau Geyner?”

  “Pa!” exploded Valerie’s aunt.

  “The other one is dead,” said Joel.

  “A loss for the cause and we shall mourn him.Come!” The German bowed to the ladies, as did histwo companions, and led Converse through thelarge double doors to the front entrance. Outside onthe decrepit porch, Leifhelm’s hunter gave the thickenvelope to the man with the sling and issued

  orders. Both nodded and walked rapidly down thesteps, the wounded man steadying himself on arickety railing, and then they hurried to the right ofthe long circular drive. Down at the far exit, near thecountry road, Joel could see the shape of a longsedan in the darkness.

  The three prison guards led him out of thecompound It was the middle of the night, and he wasbeing transferred either to another camp or to his ownexecution, the killing ground somewhere in the densejungle where his screams would be muted. The headguard barked a command to his two subordinates, whobowed and began running down the road toward acaptured American Jeep several hundred yards away inthe darkness He was alone with the man, thoughtConverse, knowing the moment would not come againexcept as a corpse. If f t was going to ha Open, it hadto ha ppen now. He moved his head slightly, loweringhis gaze to the dark outline of the gun in the guard’shand….

  The German’s hand was steady, the weapon itheld rigid against Joel’s chest. Inside the house, theold women had broken into song; their pathetic frailvoices were raised in some victory anthem heardthrough the large casement windows open for thesummer breezes. Converse inched his right footaround the floorboards on the porch, testing severaland finding one weaker than the others. He presseddown with his full weight; the resulting creak wasloud and sharp. Startled, the German turned at theechoing sound.

  Now. Joel grabbed the barrel of the gun, twistinghand and steel back and clockwise; he hammered theman across the porch into the wall while gripping theweapon with all his strength, twisting tighter andshoving it into the man’s stomach.

  The gunshot was partially muffled by cloth andflesh, by the noise of an engine starting and theexcited singing of senile voices that came through theopen windows. The German collapsed, his headsnapping, his eyes bulging; there was a stench ofburnt fabric and intestines he was dead. Conversecrouched, then whipped around to look down at thelong U-shaped drive, half expecting to see the twoother men racing toward him with guns extended.Instead, he saw the lights of the car in the distance;it was on the country road outside, now turning intothe entrance gate on the left. It would be at theporch in moments.

  Prying the weapon out of the German’s hand, Joel

  dragged him across the floorboards into the shadowsto the right of the steps. Seconds now.

  Get the Jeep. Use the Jeep. The nearest vehiclecheck was five miles down the road they had seen iton work details. Get the Jeep! Cover the ground! TheJeep!

  The long sedan pulled up in front of the porchand the man with his arm in the sling got out of theright front door. Converse watched him from behindthe thick corner pillar as the wounded Germanstood on the pavement, looking up into theshadows.

  “Konig?”he asked softly, questioning.
“Konig,was ist?” He started up the steps, his left handawkwardly, tentatively, going inside his jacket.

  Joel spun around the pillar and rushed down theold stair case. Grabbing the wounded man by thesling, he jammed the pistol into the foot soldier’sthroat; he turned him around and rushed him backto the car, then crashed his head against the roof ashe crouched and thrust the weapon through theopen front window.

  The astonished driver was quicker than the footsoldier; he was already yanking his gun out of anunseen holster. He fired wildly, shattering thewindshield. Converse fired back blowing the man’shead half out of the window.

  Take the bodies into the jungle! Don’t leave themhere near the compound! Every second counts, everyminute!

  Joel sprang up and pulled the wounded Germanaway from the car as he opened the front door.“You’re going to help me, you good Christian!” hewhispered, remembering the whining supplication ofa killer in a freight car. “You do as I tell you oryou’ll join your friends. Capisce, or is it verstehen?Whatever the hell it is, you do as I say, do youunderstand me? I’m a panicked man, mister on theedge, and I’ll argue that position in front of theSupreme Court! . . . What the hell am I saying? I’vegot the gun and I’ve killed again it gets easierwhen you don’t want to be killed yourself. AfovelThat lousy son of Gestapo on the porch! Bring himdown here! In the backl”

  Perhaps a minute later, Joel would never knowthe time the wounded man was behind the wheeldriving with diflficulty, the two corpses in thebackseat. A tableau of horror Converse thought hewould vomit. Fighting back the nausea, he watchedevery landmark in the countryside as he directed thedriver to take this turn and that pilotage indeli

  left and sped down the country road as HermioneGeyner slammed the door shut on the porch.

  There was nothing any longer without risk,thought Joel, as he crawled out of the foliage, butthe risk for him now was one he faced with a degreeof confidence. Aquitaine had used up Frau Geyner;there was nothing more it could learn from her. Toreturn to a madwoman held a greater risk for them.Envelope in hand, he walked across the ugly drive,up the creaking steps, and across the sagging porchto the door. He knocked, and ten seconds later ascreeching Hermione Geyner opened it. He then didsomething so totally unpredictable so completely outof character, he did not believe it himself as hefollowed through with the sudden impulse.

  He punched the old woman squarely in thecenter of her lower jaw. It was the beginning of thelongest eight hours of his life.

  The bewildered security police from theMGM-Grand Hotel reluctantly refused Valerie’soffer of a gratuity, especially as she had raised itfrom $50 to $100, thinking that the economy of LasVegas was somewhat different from New York’s andcertainly Cape Ann’s. They had driven around thestreets of the old and the new city for nearlyforty-five minutes, until both men, both professionalsin their work, assured her that no one was followingtheir car. And they would put a special patrol on theninth floor in an attempt to catch the man who hadharassed her, who had attempted to gain entrance tothe room. They were, of course, naturally chagrinedthat she took a room across the boulevard at CaesarsPalace.

  Val tipped the bellman, took her small overnightbag from him, and closed the door. She ran to thephone on the table by the bed.

  “I half to go to the toilet!” shouted HermioneGeyner, holding an fee pack under her chin.

  “Again?” asked Converse, his eyes barely open,sitting across from the old woman, the envelope andthe gun in his lap.

  “You make me nervous. You struck me.”

  “You did the same and a hell of a lot more to melast night,” said Joel, getting up from the chair andshoving the gun under his belt, the envelope in hishand.

  “I vill see you hanging from a rope! Betrayer! Howmany

  hours now? You think our operatives in theUntergrund will not miss me?”

  “I think they’re probably feeding pigeons in thepark cooing along with the best of them. Go on, I’llfollow.”

  The telephone rang. Converse grabbed the oldwoman by the back of her neck and propelled herto the antique desk and the phone. “Just as wepracticed,” he whispered, holding her firmly. “Do it!”

  "Baja?” said Hermione Geyner into thetelephone, Joel’s ear next to hers.

  “Tame! Ich bin ’s, Valerie!”

  “Val!” shouted Converse, pushing the old womanaway. “It’s me! I’m not sure the phone’s clean; shewas set up, I was set up! Quickly! Tell Sam I waswrong I think I was wrongl The countdown couldbe assassinations all over the goddamned place!”

  “He knew that!” shouted Valerie in reply. “He’sdead Joel! He’s dead! They killed him!”

  “Oh, Christ! There’s no time, Val, no time! Thephone!”

  “Meet me!” screamed the ex-Mrs. Converse.

  “Where? Tell me where?”

  The pause was less than several seconds, aneternity for both. “Where it began, my darling!”cried Valerie. “Where it began but not where itbegan…. The clouds, darling! The patch and theclouds!”

  Where it began. Geneva. But not Geneva. Clouds,a patch. A patch!

  “Yes, I know!”

  “Tomorrow! The next day! I’ll be there!”

  “I have to get out of here…. Val … I love you somuchl So much!”

  ”The clouds, my darling my only darling oh,God, stay

  Joel ripped the telephone out of the wall asHermione Geyner came rushing at him, swinging aheavy brass-handled poker from the fireplace. Theiron hook glanced off his cheek; he grabbed herarm and shouted, “I haven’t got time for you, youcrazy bitch! My client doesn’t have time!” He spunher around and pushed her forward, picking up theenvelope from the table. “You were on your way tothe bathroom, remember?”

  In the hall Converse saw what he had hoped hewould

  bly imprinted on the mind for the flight back withouta radio or a map or a means to obtain either. Theyreached what looked like a series of rocky pasturesat the base of a mountain, and Converse told theCerman to get off the road. They clambered overseveral hundred yards until there was a sharp declinethat ended at a dense row of trees. He ordered thedriver out.

  He had given the last guard a chance. He was a kidin a mismatched uniform; his eyes were intense but hisface raised questions. How much was felt, how muchindoctrinated? He had given the boy the child asimple exam, and a believer had failed the examination.

  “Listen to me,” said Joel. “You told me on thetrain that you were hired but that you didn’t want tokill anybody. You were just unemployed and neededa job, is that right?”

  “Yes! I kill no one! I only watched, followed!”

  “All right. I’ll put the gun away and I’m going towalk out of here. You go wherever you want to go,okay?”

  “Ich verstehe! Yes, of course!”

  Converse shoved the weapon in his belt andturned, his fingers still gripping the handle as hestarted up the slope. A scratch! The crunching soundof rocks displaced by moving feet! He pivoted,dropping to his knees as the German lunged.

  He fired once at the body above him. The footsoldier screamed as he arced in the air and rolleddown the hill. A believer had failed the examination.

  Joel walked up the incline with the envelopeaddressed to Nathan Simon and across the rockyfield to the road. He knew the landmarks; the pilotin him would make no mistakes. He knew what hehad to do.

  He was concealed far back in the bushes on theedge of Hermione Geyner’s property, thirty yardsfrom the decaying house, twenty from the U-shapeddrive,"which was filled with ruts and bordered bybrown overgrown grass, dead from the heat and lackof water. He had to stay awake, for if it was going tohappen, it would happen soon. Human nature couldtake only so much anxiety; he had played upon thetruism too often as a lawyer. Answers had to begiven to anxious men panicked men. The sun wasup, the birds foraging in the early light, myriadnoises replacing the stillness of the night. But thehouse was silent, the large casement windows,through which only hours ago the voices ofdemented old women had helped muffle gunshots,were closed, man
y of the panes

  cracked. And through all the madness, the insanityof violent events, he still wore the clerical collar,still had his priestly passport and the letter ofpilgrimage. The next few hours would tell himwhether or not they were of any value.

  The roar of an engine came first and then thesight of a black Mercedes swerving off the countryroad into the drive. It sped up to the porch, joltingto a stop; two men climbed out and the driver racedaround the trunk to join his companion. They stoodfor a moment looking up at the porch and thewindows of the house, then turned and scanned thegrounds, walking over to Hermione Geyner’s carand peering inside. The driver nodded and reachedunder his jacket to pull out a gun; they went back tothe steps, taking them rapidly, heading across theporch to the door. Finding no bell, the man withouta gun in his hand knocked harshly, repeatedly,finally pounding with a closed fist while twisting theknob to no avail.

  Guttural shouts came from inside as the doorswung back, revealing an angry Frau Geyner dressedin a tattered bathrobe. Her voice was that of ashrewish teacher lambasting two students forcheating when in fact they had not. Each time oneof the men tried to speak her voice became evenmore shrill. Cowed, the man with the gun put itaway, but his companion suddenly grabbed Valerie’saunt by the shoulders and spoke harshly, directly,forcing her to listen.

  Hermione Geyner did listen, but when shereplied her answers were equally harsh anddelivered with authority. She pointed down at theovergrown drive and described what she hadapparently witnessed in the dark, early-morninghours what she herself had accomplished. The menlooked at each other, their eyes questioning andafraid, but not questioning what the old woman hadtold them, only what she could not tell them. Theyraced across the porch and down the steps to theircar. The driver started the engine with a vengeanceso pronounced the ignition mechanism flew into ahigh-pitched, grinding scream. The Mercedesplunged forward, skirting past Frau Geyner’s car,and in a sudden attempt to avoid a hole in theovergrown pavement, the driver swung to his left,then to his right, skidding on the surface, the tiressliding on the crawling vine weeds until the side ofthe car careened into the disintegrating stone gate.Roars of abuse from both men filled the morningair as the Mercedes straightened itself out and racedthrough the exit. It swung