The Road to Omaha: A Novel

by Robert Ludlum

  “They can’t do that!”

  “They did, and Charlie wants to thank whoever S. L. Devereaux is with all his heart. As he put it, ‘I’d love to buy that asshole a drink, but I don’t think he’s going to live long enough.’ ”

  “General,” said the quiet voice of Cyrus M, his following words like cracks of muted thunder. “Do we forget the Soldier of the Century?”

  The Hawk’s face went white; his eyes roamed in short spastic movements seeing nothing, bespeaking only the furies of his inner conflict. “Oh, Jesus and Caesar!” he murmured gutturally as he sank into the chair across from Pinkus. “My God, what do I do?”

  “It’s a trap, sir, I sincerely believe that,” added the huge black mercenary.

  “Suppose you’re wrong?”

  “There’s nothing in the Nobel committee’s history to support that kind of error.”

  “History? For Christ’s sake, man, there’s nothing in the last forty years of history to support the tearing down of the Berlin Wall or the breaking up of the whole Soviet Union! Things are changing everywhere.”

  “Some things don’t change. Stockholm doesn’t change.”

  “Goddamn, Colonel, I’ve given my life, devoted my life to the army and got screwed by the panty-laced, pricky-shit politicians! Do you know what that award would mean to me—to every man who served under me in three wars!”

  “Just a minute, General.” Cyrus looked over at Devereaux. “May I ask you a question—Sam … and may I call you Sam, since I think we’re beyond the hired-guard situation?”

  “ ‘Massa’ doesn’t fit, from either side. Sure, what is it?”

  “Does this trap, as I know damn well it is, have anything to do with this Supreme Court thing you’re all yelling about? I understand your security, but you need my help, and in all conscience, I can’t professionally give it without knowing more than I do. As a chemist, I demanded accurate component equations from my subordinates; as a mere, I have to know the fundamental components, period, in order to act accordingly.”

  Devereaux turned first to Aaron, who nodded without hesitation, then looked at Jennifer, who paused, then nodded reluctantly. Finally, Sam walked over to Eleanor on the couch. “Mother, it would please me greatly if you and Mrs. Lafferty could find something to do in the kitchen.”

  “Call Cora,” said the grand dame of Weston, Massachusetts, without moving.

  “Hey, come on, fancy-dan girl!” cried Erin Lafferty. “I gotta get rid of the salad bowl and you can make us some tea! Guess what I found, Mrs. Great One? Hennessy, VSOP!”

  “She’s been talking to our shameless cousin,” said Eleanor, instantly rising. “It is quite past time for tea, isn’t it? Come along, Aaron, we’ll do tea.”

  “That’s Erin, Missy—”

  “Yes, of course, you don’t look at all Jewish. Do you like chamomile?”

  “No, I like Hennessy.”

  “Definitely, Cora. Have you known her long?”

  “Well, she’s from the Roman side and I’m the other, but we get together on this committee we formed to try to get those idiots together—”

  “We’ll discuss it all over tea, Errol, and perhaps I’ll join your committee. Of course, I’m High Anglican.”

  “Cora couldn’t spell it.” The two ladies, arm in arm, walked through the kitchen door.

  “Desis One and Two,” said Sam. “Will you stop looking like that! Everything General Mac promised you will happen—believe me I know, both the good and the bad, and yours is only good.”

  “Privado,” explained the Hawk. “¿Confidential, comprenden?”

  “Sure, man, we go out with the romano gitano. He’s crazy, y’know, man? He spins around a lot and always he’s smiling. But, he’s gotta be good in the streets, y’know what I mean? We could do good together.”

  “Bear in mind, my captains!” shouted MacKenzie. “You are now under my command! No more streets, no more muggings, no more thievery, and no more hostility to civilians! Haven’t you learned a goddamned thing?”

  “Chu right, Heneral,” answered Desi the First contritely. “Sometimes we just slip back widdout t’inking. We’re gentlemen an’ h’officers now, so we godda t’ink different. Chu right.… We go outside wid the loco gitano.” Desis One and Two walked into the tiled foyer and out the front door.

  “What was that all about?” asked Cyrus, looking at the deserted foyer. “I understood the Spanish, but not your ‘command’ and the fact that they were captains. In what army?”

  “In the Army of the United States, Colonel—oh, sorry, you don’t like that.… Let’s say I’m training ’em up, because we could do a lot worse.”

  “Never mind, General,” said the mercenary, shaking his head. “It’s beyond me, and at this moment, I’d rather concentrate on—this moment, on where we are. Will someone explain?”

  Glances were exchanged, but it was Jennifer Redwing, daughter of the Wopotamis, who held up her hand and insisted on speaking. She described everything they knew about the Wopotami brief to the Supreme Court, then persuasively outlined what she believed was the forthcoming destruction of the Wopotamis as a result of the Court’s action, whichever way it went.

  “With merely the specter of the suit, the entire federal government will react furiously, making our people out to be traitors and pariahs, and setting in motion the condemnation of our land, shutting down the reservation and dispersing all those living there. Washington has to, for the absolute preservation of the Strategic Air Command is uppermost, and not exactly secondmost is the army of defense contractors—hell, the Pentagon itself—who will be calling for our blood.… On the other side, there’ll be hordes of carpetbaggers of every persuasion descending on the tribe and corrupting everyone in sight, hoping for a hunk of the improbable but potential legal pie, or publicity, but all with their eyes on the bottom line. My God, there’ll be more Rainbow Coalitions after a dollar than there are colors in a Jackson Pollock, and every bit as wild.… Finally, there’ll be nothing left of us but censure and decadence, a people surfeited with slander, greed, and rot, ultimately losing the no-win fight and discarded. That’s not what I want for my brothers and sisters, whom I dearly love.… There, I’ve said it, and I hope you were listening, General Genghis Gun-in-the-Cookie-Jar.”

  “Except for your final comment,” said Aaron Pinkus, riveted in his chair, “that was a lovely summation.… I make no judgment about that comment, my dear, merely its effect on a jury, which, I suspect, would be negative.”

  “I don’t know about that, Commander.” MacKenzie Hawkins sat motionless, his eyes locked with those of the Wopotami daughter. “I figure I’m part of the jury here, and it had a pretty positive effect on me.”

  “What do you mean, Mac?” asked Devereaux, from his expression obviously anticipating the unexpected.

  “May I present my side, little lady?” said the Hawk, rising to his feet. “… Excuse me, you’re not ‘little’ in any sense, but you are a lady, and I mean no disrespect by the term.”

  “Go ahead,” said Jennifer icily.

  “I started this enterprise nearly three years ago with a few thoughts in my head, none of them too damned clear because I’m a soldier, not a thinker, except where military strategy’s concerned. What I mean by that is I’m no intellectual, and I don’t waste a lot of time trying to analyze things like motive or morality or justification and all the rest of that stuff. If I did, I would have lost a hell of a lot more fine young men in combat than my record shows.… Surely I was looking for a magnificent score—I can’t think small—because that kind of challenge appeals to this discarded old soldier. Also, it had to be fun, and somebody who did or was doing something wrong should pick up the tab. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I never intended to hurt the means to the payoff, only those who found it necessary to pay, namely those who did something wrong.”

  “But you are hurting the ‘means,’ ” interrupted Jennifer angrily. “Namely, my people, and you damn well know it!”
<
br />   “May I finish, please?… When I learned what had happened to the Wopotamis over a hundred years ago, it kinda reminded me of what had happened to me—and, with what I can piece together about Colonel Cyrus here—what happened to him.… We were all sacrificed by government big shots, who either had their hands in the real cookie jar or were furthering their own political ambitions, or who were just plain liars abusing the trust that had been placed in ’em! It doesn’t matter whether it was a century ago, a decade ago, three months ago, or yesterday. In the words of our mercenary friend here, it’s got to stop! We’ve got the best system of living together the world has ever known, but there’s always somebody trying to louse it up.”

  “None of us is running in the angelic sweepstakes, Mac,” said Devereaux softly.

  “Hell, no, Sam, but nobody elected us or appointed us and had us swear under oath to behave ourselves for the benefit of a couple of hundred million people we don’t know. Now if the colonel here is right, there’s somebody else way high up trying to stop a citizen—not just me, but a citizen—from carrying out his constitutional right to appear before the Court. There we go again!… And if our friend here who doesn’t like to be called ‘colonel’ is wrong, and I really am the Soldier of the Century—well, I couldn’t accept that grand award if I knew I walked away from finding out whether there is or there isn’t some big government cannon trying to stop that citizen who happens to be me.”

  “Rather well done, General,” said Aaron, leaning back in the chair. “Actually, for a man unschooled in the law, quite remarkable.”

  “What do you mean ‘unschooled,’ Mr. Pinkus?” objected Jennifer, in her tone perhaps a touch of jealousy. “He wrote the damned brief.”

  “I submit he constructed it, my dear. Painstakingly adapting text book terms and phrases to suit his points. That’s translation, not creation.”

  “And I submit,” said Sam, “a certain ego aside, this is irrelevant.” He turned to the Hawk. “But I’m puzzled by a few items you didn’t bring up, and if they don’t prove to you that somebody pretty damned important is trying to stop all of us, I don’t know what the hell will. May I remind you—”

  “Son, I’m way ahead of you,” interrupted Hawkins quickly, firmly. “You’re referring to the previous assaults.”

  “Right on, Mac. The two hotels, a Black Maria racing out to my house, and four armed-to-the-teeth military gorillas at the ski lodge. Who sent them? The tooth fairy?”

  “We never would have found out, boy, take my word for it. You don’t know how these things are put together—with mirrors and smoke and so many blind relays it’d take longer than the Iran-contra thing to find out who’s where and what’s his function. Hell, Sam, I invented those procedures behind a half a hundred enemy lines. That’s why I did what I did and in each case sent back the message that they couldn’t do it!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said a bewildered Aaron.

  “Neither do I,” added a perplexed Jennifer.

  “Are you people lawyers or shoe clerks?” cried MacKenzie in exasperation. “If you’re in the middle of a life-or-death trial and you need information you know is there but nobody wants to give it to you, how do you get it?”

  “Vigorous cross-examination,” replied Pinkus.

  “With heavy emphasis on perjury,” added Redwing.

  “Well, I suppose you’ve got your points, but we’re not operating in a courtroom. There’s another way—”

  “You provoke it,” said Devereaux, interrupting, his eyes briefly, amusingly in contact with the Hawk’s. “You make an outrageous statement or a series of statements that elicit a hostile response that confirms the information.”

  “Goddamn, Sam, I always said you were the best! Remember London, in Belgrave Square, where I told you how to handle that scumbag traitor—”

  “We will not refer to your previous relationship, General!” ordered Aaron. “We don’t care to hear a thing about it.”

  “It’s also irrelevant,” said a defensive Jennifer.

  “Oh, I see!” exclaimed Sam, grinning falsely at his Indian Aphrodite. “You can’t stand it when I come up with something you haven’t thought of!”

  “Irrelevant!”

  “When these two children stop squabbling,” said Pinkus, “will you please explain your strategy, General?”

  “If the colonel here—my colonel—is right, the explanation’s sitting on a runway at Logan Airport. Air Force Two, Commander! Who sent it?… Unless, of course, I really am the Soldier of the Century, in which case we’re back in an invasion landing craft without a motor, drifting into a heavily fortified beach without maneuverable protection.”

  “I won’t try to follow that, but—” Suddenly Aaron stopped, turning his head in several directions until he saw what was missing. It was the mercenary, Cyrus M, his bulk filling an antique chair by the elegant antique white desk, his mouth gaping, his wide dark eyes staring at them. “Oh, there you are, Colonel.”

  “What?”

  “Have you been listening?”

  Cyrus nodded his large head and answered slowly, precisely. “Yes, I’ve been listening, Mr. Pinkus,” he began quietly, “and I’ve just heard the most extraordinary story since a few clowns claimed nuclear fusion could be accomplished in ice water for twelve cents a gallon.… You people are nuts! You’re crazy, insane, certifiable!… Is any of this true?”

  “It’s all true, Cyrus,” said Devereaux.

  “What the hell have I gotten into?” roared the giant black chemist. “Excuse my language, Miss Redwing. I’m trying to put it all into an equation and it’s not easy.”

  “No apologies are necessary, Cyrus, and why don’t you call me Jenny? I’m a little put off by the ‘Miss’.”

  “Voodoo,” said the mercenary, getting out of the chair, but conscience-stricken enough to look down and see if he had broken it. “If it’s true,” he continued, walking toward the trio of attorneys and the manic ‘Soldier of the Century,’ whose intense expression obviously caused Cyrus extreme discomfort, “… if it is true, I don’t think there’s any alternative but to test out this Nobel committee. Hire your actor, Mr. Pinkus. We’re going onstage.”

  21

  Truce had descended on the beach house in Swampscott, Massachusetts, a fitting prelude to the battles ahead. Under the neutral guidance of Aaron Pinkus, a document was drawn up between General MacKenzie Hawkins, a.k.a. Thunder Head, current Chief of the Wopotamis, and Sunrise Jennifer Redwing, ad hoc spokeswoman for said American Indian tribe, wherein all powers of attorney were transferred to Ms. Redwing upon signatures and notarization. Samuel Lansing Devereaux, temporary attorney-of-record, consented to relinquish all duties following a joint appearance with the tribe’s permanent attorney, the aforementioned Ms. Redwing, before the Supreme Court of the United States, should such a joint appearance be required.

  “I’m not sure I like the last part,” Jennifer declared.

  “I don’t like it at all!” said Sam.

  “Then I don’t sign.” The Hawk was adamant. “To change attorneys at the last minute could mean a glitch, a delay, and I’ve put too much blood, sweat, money, and tolerance into this enterprise to accept that. Besides, Miss Red, I’ve given you full control over all negotiations, so what more do you want?”

  “What more?… No appearance at all, no brief, no Supreme Court.”

  “Come now, my dear,” said Aaron. “It’s too late for that. Not only is the hearing on the Court’s calendar, but you could be losing a genuine opportunity for your people. Surely, with yourself in charge, that elevator to hell can be short-circuited.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Jennifer. “If there really is serious consideration, a quick settlement with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, perhaps two or three million dollars, and life goes on, no waves. We could build four or five schools on the reservation and hire some fine teachers—”

  “I definitely do not sign!” roared the Hawk.

  “Why, General?
Isn’t it enough to pay you off?”

  “Pay me off? Who the hell said anything about paying me anything! I don’t need money—Sam and I have more than we can ever spend in Switzerland!”

  “Mac, shut up!”

  “… all legally obtained from the scum of the earth, who I can assure you will never sue us for it!”

  “Enough, General!” Aaron Pinkus sprang—as best he could—to his feet. “There’ll be no further references, audible or written, to previous events of which we know nothing.”

  “Fine by me, Commander, but I’ll still make my position clear. I haven’t spent three years of my life to settle for a few dollars any SAC supplier would give us out of petty cash.”

  “Us?” exclaimed Jennifer. “I thought you didn’t want anything.”

  “I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about the principle involved.”

  “How do you spell that,” asked Redwing sarcastically. “As in the interest on your principal?”

  “You know what I mean, little lady. You’re selling out the tribe—my tribe, incidentally.”

  “What did you have in mind, Mac?” said Devereaux, knowing the futility of trying to change the Hawk’s mind—in principle.

  “We’ll start at five hundred million, a nice round figure—nothing but spit to the Pentagon—and a hell of a cheap buy-out.”

  “Five hundred—” Jennifer’s bronzed face had grown darker as the blood rushed to her head. “You’re a mad-man!”

  “You can always scale back your artillery, but you can’t bring it up if there’s none in reserve.… Yup, five hundred mega-big ones or I don’t sign. Maybe we should put that in there, Commander, like an addendum or whatever you call it.”

  “That would be unwise, General,” said Pinkus, glancing at Sam. “If ever examined, it could be construed as a precondition bordering on collusion.”

  “Then I want a separate paper,” said MacKenzie, frowning. “She’s not going to sell my people down the dark river of the evil spirits.”

  “Your … Oh, my God!” Jennifer sank down on the couch. “The dark river of the … oh, shit.”