The Aquitaine Progression

by Robert Ludlum

  “Excuse me, please, Commander,” he said courteously, walking through the door, and approached Joel, his hand outstretched. “Herr Converse, may I introduce myself? The name is Leifhelm. Erich Leifhelm.”

  11

  Joel took the German’s hand, too stunned to do anything else. “Field Marshal …?” he uttered, instantly regretting it—he could at least have had the presence of mind to say “General.” The pages of Leifhelm’s dossier flashed across Converse’s mind as he looked at the man—his straight hair, still more blond than white, his pale-blue eyes glacial, his pinkish skin lined, waxen, as if preserved for decades to come.

  “An old title and one, thankfully, I have not heard in many years. But you flatter me. You were sufficiently interested to learn something of my past.”

  “Not very much.”

  “I suspect enough.” Leifhelm turned to Fitzpatrick. “I apologize for my little ruse, Commander. I felt it was best.”

  Fitzpatrick shrugged, bewildered. “You know each other, apparently.”

  “Of one another,” corrected the German. “Mr. Converse came to Bonn to meet with me, but I imagine he’s told you that.”

  “No, I haven’t told him that,” said Joel.

  Leifhelm turned back, studying Converse’s eyes. “I see. Perhaps we should talk privately.”

  “I think so.” Joel looked over at Fitzpatrick. “Commander, I’ve taken up too much of your time. Why not go downstairs to dinner and I’ll join you in a while?”

  “Whatever you say, sir,” said Connal, an officer assuming the status of an aide. He nodded and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

  “A lovely room,” said Leifhelm, taking several steps toward the open French doors. “And with such a lovely view.”

  “How did you find me?” asked Converse.

  “Him,” replied the former field marshal, looking at Joel. “Ein Offizier, according to the front desk. Who is he?”

  “How?” repeated Converse.

  “He spent hours last night at the airport inquiring about you; many remembered him. He was obviously a friend.”

  “And you knew he’d checked his luggage? That he’d be back for it?”

  “Frankly, no. We thought he might come for yours. We knew you wouldn’t. Now, please, who is he?”

  Joel understood it was vital that he maintain a level of arrogance, as he had done with Bertholdier in Paris. It was the only route he could take with such men; to be accepted by them, they had to see something of themselves in him. “He’s not important and he knows nothing. He’s a legal officer in the Navy who’s worked in Bonn before and is over here now, I gather, on personal business. A prospective fiancée, I think he mentioned. I saw him the other week; we chatted, and I told him I was flying in today or tomorrow and he said he’d make it a point to meet me. He’s obsequious, and persistent. I’m sure he has delusions of a civilian practice. Naturally—under the circumstances—I used him. As you did.”

  “Naturally.” Leifhelm smiled; he was polished. “You gave him no arrival time?”

  “Paris changed any possibility of that, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, Paris. We must discuss Paris.”

  “I spoke to a friend who deals with the Sûreté. The man died.”

  “Such men do. Frequently.”

  “They said he was a driver, a chauffeur. He wasn’t.”

  “Would it have been wiser to say he was a trusted associate of General Jacques-Louis Bertholdier?”

  “Obviously not. They say I killed him.”

  “You did. We gather it was an uncontrollable miscalculation, no doubt brought on by the man himself.”

  “Interpol’s after me.”

  “We, too, have friends; the situation will change. You have nothing to fear—as long as we have nothing to fear.” The German paused, glancing around the room. “May I sit down?”

  “Please. Shall I ring for a drink?”

  “I drink only light wine and very sparingly. Unless you wish … it’s not necessary.”

  “It’s not necessary,” said Converse as Leifhelm sat in a chair nearest the balcony doors. Joel would sit when he felt the moment was right, not before.

  “You took extraordinary measures at the airport to avoid us,” continued Hitler’s youngest field marshal.

  “I was followed from Copenhagen.”

  “Very observant of you. You understand no harm was intended.”

  “I didn’t understand anything. I just didn’t like it. I didn’t know what effect Paris would have on my arrival in Bonn, what it meant to you.”

  “What Paris meant?” asked Leifhelm rhetorically. “Paris meant that a man, an attorney using a false name, said some very alarming things to a most distinguished and brilliant statesman. This attorney, who called himself Simon, said he was flying to Bonn to see me. On his way—and I’m sure with provocation—he kills a man, which tells us something; he’s quite ruthless and very capable. But that is all we know; we would like to know more. Where he goes, whom he meets. In our position, would you have done otherwise?”

  It was the moment to sit down. “I would have done it better.”

  “Perhaps if we’d known how resourceful you were, we might have been less obvious. Incidentally, what happened in Paris? What did that man do to provoke you?”

  “He tried to stop me from leaving.”

  “Those were not his orders.”

  “Then he grossly misunderstood them. I’ve a few bruises on my chest and neck to prove it. I’m not in the habit of physically defending myself, and I certainly had no intention of killing him. In fact, I didn’t know I had. It was an accident purely in self-defense.”

  “Obviously. Who would want such complications?”

  “Exactly,” agreed Converse bluntly. “As soon as I can rearrange my last hours in Paris so as to eliminate any mention of my seeing General Bertholdier, I’ll return and explain what happened to the police.”

  “As the adage goes, that may be easier said than done. You were seen talking together at L’Etalon Blanc. Undoubtedly, the general was recognized later when he came to the hotel; he’s a celebrated man. No, I think you’d be wiser to let us handle it. We can, you know.”

  Joel looked hard at the German, his eyes cold yet questioning. “I admit there are risks doing it my way. I don’t like them and neither would my client. On the other hand, I can’t go around being hunted by the police.”

  “The hunt will be called off. It will be necessary for you to remain out of sight for a few days, but by then new instructions will be issued from Paris. Your name will disappear from the Interpol lists; you’ll no longer be sought.”

  “I’ll want assurances, guarantees.”

  “What better could you have than my word? I tell you nothing when I tell you that we could have far more to lose than you.”

  Converse controlled his astonishment. Leifhelm had just told him a great deal, whether he knew it or not. The German had as much as admitted he was part of a covert organization that could not take any chance of exposure. It was the first concrete evidence Joel had heard. Somehow it was too easy. Or were these elders of Aquitaine simply frightened old men?

  “I’ll concede that,” said Converse, crossing his legs. “Well, General, you found me before I found you, but then, as we agreed, my movements are restricted. Where do we go from here?”

  “Precisely where you wanted to go, Mr. Converse. When you were in Paris, you spoke of Bonn, Tel Aviv, Johannesburg. You knew whom to reach in Paris and whom to look for in Bonn. That impresses us greatly; we must assume you know more.”

  “I’ve spent months in detailed research—on behalf of my client, of course.”

  “But who are you? Where do you come from?”

  Joel felt a sharp, sickening ache in his chest. He had felt it many times before; it was his physical response to imminent danger and very real fear. “I am who I want people to think I am, General Leifhelm. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “I se
e,” said the German, watching him closely. “A sworn companion of the prevailing winds, but with the power beneath to carry you to your own destination.”

  “That’s a little heavy, but I guess it says it. As to where I come from, I’m sure you know that by now.”

  Five hours. More than enough time to put the puppets in place. A killing in New York; it had to be dealt with.

  “Only bits and pieces, Mr. Converse. And even if we knew more, how could we be certain it’s true? What people think you are you may not be.”

  “Are you, General?”

  “Ausqezeichnet!” said Leifhelm, slapping his knee and laughing. It was a genuine laugh, the man’s waxen face creasing with humor. “You are a fine lawyer, mein Herr. You answer—as they say in English—a pointed question with another question that is both an answer and an indictment.”

  “Under the circumstances, it’s merely the truth. Nothing more.”

  “Also modest. Very commendable, very attractive.”

  Joel uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again impatiently. “I don’t like compliments, General. I don’t trust them—under the circumstances. You were saying before about where I wanted to go, about Bonn, Tel Aviv, and Johannesburg. What did you mean?”

  “Only that we have complied with your wishes,” said Leifhelm, spreading his hands in front of him. “Rather than your making such tedious trips, we have asked our representatives in Tel Aviv and Johannesburg, as well as Bertholdier, of course, to fly to Bonn for a conference. With you, Mr. Converse.”

  He had done it! thought Joel. They were frightened—panicked was perhaps the better description. Despite the pounding and the pain in his chest, he spoke slowly, quietly. “I appreciate your consideration, but in all frankness, my client isn’t ready for a summit. He wanted to understand the parts before he looked further at the whole. The spokes support the wheel, sir. I was to report how strong they were—how strong they appeared to me.”

  “Oh, yes, your client. Who is he, Mr. Converse?”

  “I’m sure General Bertholdier told you I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “You were in San Francisco, California—”

  “Where a great deal of my research was done,” interrupted Joel. “It’s not where my client lives. Although I readily admit there’s a man in San Francisco—Palo Alto, to be exact—whom I’d like very much to be my client.”

  “Yes, yes, I see.” Leifhelm put the ends of his fingers together as he continued, “Am I to understand that you reject the conference here in Bonn?”

  Converse had taken a thousand such questions in opening gambits with attorneys seeking accommodations between corporate adversaries. Both parties wanted the same thing; it was simply a question of flattening out the responsibility so that no one party would be the petitioner.

  “Well, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” Joel began. “And as long as it’s understood that I have the option of speaking to each man individually should I wish to do so, I can’t see any harm.” Converse permitted himself a strained smile, as he had done a thousand times. “In the interests of my client, of course.”

  “Of course,” said the German. “Tomorrow—say, four o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll send a car for you. I assure you, I set an excellent table.”

  “A table?”

  “Dinner, naturally. After we have our talk.” Leifhelm rose from the chair. “I wouldn’t think of your coming to Bonn and forgoing the experience. I’m known for my dinner parties, Mr. Converse. And if it concerns you, make whatever—security arrangements you like. A platoon of personal guards, if you wish. You’ll be perfectly safe. Mein Haus ist dein Haus.”

  “I don’t speak German.”

  “Actually, it’s an old Spanish saying. Mi casa, su casa. ‘My house is your house.’ Your comfort and well-being are my most urgent concerns.”

  “Mine, too,” said Joel, rising. “I wouldn’t think of having anyone accompany me, or follow me. It’d be counterproductive. Of course, I’ll inform my client as to my whereabouts, telling him approximately when he can expect my subsequent call. He’ll be anxious to hear from me.”

  “I should think so.” Leifhelm and Converse walked to the door; the German turned and once more offered his hand. “Until tomorrow, then. And may I again suggest while you’re here that you be careful, at least for several days.”

  “I understand.”

  The puppets in New York. The killing that had to be dealt with—the first of two obstacles, two sharp, sickening aches in his chest.

  “By the way,” said Joel, releasing the field marshal’s hand. “There was a news item on the BBC this morning that interested me—so much that I phoned an associate. A man was killed in New York, a judge. They say it was a revenge killing, a contract put out by organized crime. Did you happen to hear anything about it?”

  “I?” asked Leifhelm, his blond-white eyebrows raised, his waxlike lips parted. “It seems people are killed by the dozens every day in New York, judges included, I presume. Why should I know anything about it? The answer, obviously, is no.”

  “I just wondered. Thank you.”

  “But … but you. You must have a …”

  “Yes, General?”

  “Why does this judge interest you? Why did you think I would know him?”

  Converse smiled, but without a trace of humor. “I won’t be telling you anything when I tell you he was our mutual adversary—enemy, if you like.”

  “Our? You really must explain yourself!”

  “As you—and as I—said, I am what I want people to think I am. This man knew the truth. I’m on leave of absence from my firm, working confidentially for a personal client. He tried to stop me, tried to get the senior partner to cancel my leave and call me back.”

  “By giving him reasons?”

  “No, just veiled threats of corruption and impropriety. He wouldn’t go any further; he’s on the bench and couldn’t back it up; his own conduct would be suspect. My employer is completely ignorant—angry as hell and confused—but I’ve calmed him down. It’s a closed issue; the less it’s explored, the better for us all.” Joel opened the door for Leifhelm. “Till tomorrow—” He paused for a brief moment, loathing the man standing in front of him but showing only respect in his eyes. “Field Marshal,” he added.

  “Gute Nacht,” said Erich Leifhelm, nodding his head sharply once in military acknowledgment.

  Converse persuaded the switchboard operator to send someone into the dining room for the American, Commander Fitzpatrick. The task of finding the naval officer was not easy, for he was not in the dining room or the bar but outside on the Spanische Terrasse having a drink with friends, watching the Rhine at twilight.

  “What goddamned friends?” demanded Joel over the phone.

  “Just a couple I met out there. He’s a nice guy—an executive type, pretty much into his seventies, I think.”

  “And she?” asked Converse, his lawyer’s antenna struck by a signal.

  “Maybe—thirty, forty years younger,” replied Connal with less elaboration.

  “Get up here, sailor!”

  Fitzpatrick leaned forward on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his expression a mixture of concern and astonishment as he looked over at Joel, who was smoking a cigarette in front of the open balcony doors. “Let me run this again,” he said warily. “You want me to stop someone from getting your service record?”

  “Not all of it, just part of it.”

  “Who the hell do you think I am?”

  “You did it for Avery—for Press. You can do it for me. You have to!”

  “That’s backwards. I opened those files for him, I didn’t keep them closed.”

  “Either way it’s control. You’ve got access; you’ve got a key.”

  “I’m here, not there. I can’t scissor something out you don’t like ten thousand miles away. Be reasonable!”

  “Somebody can, somebody has to! It’s only a short segment, and it’s got to be at the end. The final interview.�
��

  “An interview?” said Connal, startled, getting to his feet. “In a service record? You mean some kind of operational report? Because if you do, it wouldn’t be—”

  “Not a report,” interrupted Converse, shaking his head. “The discharge—my discharge interview. That stuff Press Halliday quoted to me.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Fitzpatrick held up his hands. “Are you referring to the remarks made at your discharge hearing?”

  “Yes, that’s it. The hearing!”

  “Well, relax. They’re not part of your service record, or anyone else’s.”

  “Halliday had them—Avery had them! I just told you, he quoted my words verbatim!” Joel walked to a table where there was an ashtray; he crushed out his cigarette. “If they’re not part of the record, how did he get them? How did you get them for him?”

  “That’s different,” said Connal, obviously remembering as he spoke. “You were a POW, and a lot of those hearings were put under a debriefing classification, and I do mean classified. Even after all these years, many of those sessions are still touchy. A lot of things were talked about that no one to this day wants made public—for everyone’s good, not just the military’s.”

  “But you got them! I heard my own words, goddamn it!”

  “Yes, I got them,” admitted the Navy lawyer without enthusiasm. “I got the transcript, and I’d be busted to seaman third class if anyone knew about it. You see, I believed Press. He swore to me he needed it, needed everything. He couldn’t make any mistakes.”

  “How did you do it? You weren’t even in San Diego at the time, that’s what you said!”

  “By calling the vaults and using my legal-release number to have a photostat made. I said it was a Four Zero emergency and I’d take responsibility. The next morning when the authorization came in by pouch for countersignature, I had the chief legal officer at the base sign it with a lot of other things. It simply got buried in the paper work.”