Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

. . communicatum-directorum between

  the party of. . . and the party of. .

  . Goddamn! You boys got your training

  in clandestine operations.'

  D'Artagnan smiled; the waxed

  moustache stretched a little. "Ask

  your questions, monsieur."

  And so it began.

  Les Chateaux Suisse des Grands

  Siecles was nothing if not thorough

  and speeific~in the language of a

  lease that 176

  would never from that moment on see the

  light of day. To begin with all

  identities were held sacrosanct, never

  to be divulged to any individual,

  organization, court, or government. No

  law, national or international,

  superseded the agreement; it was the

  only law. Payments were made to the firm

  either in cash or treasurer's checks; in

  the case of the Shepherd Company, from

  a Cayman Island depository.

  Whenever explanations of "source" were

  desirable, they would be expedited where

  necessary and in the interests of

  controlling outside curiosity. In the

  case of the Shepherd Company, the sole

  explanation of"source" was a loose

  federation of international

  philanthropists interested in the study

  and promulgation of an historic

  religiosity.

  All supplies, equipment,

  transportation, and services would be

  expedited in complete confidentiality by

  Les Chateaux Suisse des Grands Siecles

  and consigned to branch offices in

  Zermatt, Interlaken, Chamonix, or

  Grenoble. Any and all deliveries of

  consequence to Le Chateau Machenfeld

  would be made between the hours of mid-

  night and 4 A. M. Drivers, technicians,

  and laborers, where possible, would be

  from the ranks of the Shepherd Company's

  brotherhood,. who would be sent down

  from Le Machenfeld to the branch

  offices. In the absence thereof, only

  employees of Les Chateaux Suisse who had

  no less than ten years acceptable

  service with the firm would be assigned

  the deliveries.

  All payments were to be made in

  advance, based on book retail value,

  with a surcharge of 40 percent for the

  confidential services of Les Chateaux

  Suisse.

  "That's a lot of percent," said

  MacKenzie.

  "It's a very wide boulevard," replied

  D'Artagnan. "We don't avail ourselves to

  those who drive in narrow streets. We

  think our consultation fee is ample

  proof of this."

  It was, thought the Hawk. The

  "consultation fee" applied against

  whatever lease was arrived at, if a

  lease ureas signed was $500,000.

  "You do mighty fine work, Mr.

  D'Artagnan," said Hawkins, taking up a

  fountain pen.

  "You're in good hands. In a few days

  you will, as it were, vanish from the

  face of the earth."

  177

  . .

  ~ .~

  "Don't worry. Everybody I

  know that's everybody will be

  extremely grateful never to hear from

  me again. Seems I generate

  complications." The Hawk laughed

  quietly to himself. He signed his

  name: George Washington Rappaport.

  D'Artagnan left with MacKenzie's

  treasurer's check drawn on the Cayman

  Islands' Admiralty Bank. The amount

  was for $1,495,000.

  The Hawk picked up a handful of

  photographs and walked back to the

  hotel sofa. As he sat down, however,

  he knew he could not dwell on the

  majesty of Machenfeld. There were

  other immediate considerations.

  Machenfe}d would be worthless without

  the personnel to train within its

  borders. But former Lieutenant General

  MacKenzie Hawkins, twice winner of the

  Congressional Medal of Honor, knew

  where he was going and how to get

  there. Ground Zero was several months

  away. But the journey had begun.

  He wondered how Sam and Midgey were

  doing. Goddamn, that boy was getting

  around! .

  The helicopter descended, dropping

  straight down and causing

  torrential.clouds of sand to blast up

  in increasingly furious layers from

  the desert floor. So thick was the

  enveloping storm that the only way Sam

  knew they had landed was the jarring

  thud of the undercarriage as it met

  and was swallowed by the dunes.

  They had been in the air somewhat

  longer than had been anticipated.

  There had been a minor navigational

  problem: The pilot was lost. It had to

  be the pilot since it was unthinkable

  to admit the possibility that the

  eagle's tent of Azaz-Varak was in the

  wrong place. But at last, they saw the

  complex of canvas below.

  The sand settled and Peter Lorre

  opened the hatch. The desert sun was

  blinding. Sam held Madge's arm as they

  stepped out of the aircraft, if the

  sun was blinding, the sand was

  boiling. "Where the fuel! are we?"

  Payee!" '4igee!" 'ltigee!" 'perigee!

  "

  The screams were everywhere, and

  from everywhere there was rushing

  movement. Turbaned Arabs, their sheets

  flying in the wind like a hundred

  white sails, raced out of 178

  the various tents toward them. Peter

  Lorreand Boris Karloff flanked Sam,

  gripping his arms as if displaying an

  animal carcass. Madge stood in front,

  somewhat protectively thought Devereaux

  uncomfortably, as though she were about

  to give instructions to a slaughterhouse

  butcher. The racing battalion of sheets

  and turbans formed two single lines that

  created a corridor leading slightly

  uphill in the sand to the largest of the

  tents, about fifty yards away.

  Peter Lorre's nasal shriek filled the

  air 'perigee! The eye the falcon! The

  hurler of lightning! The god of all

  khans and the sheik of all sheiks!" He

  turned to Sam and screamed even louder.

  "Kneel! Unworthy white hyena!"

  "What2" Devereaux wasn't arguing; he

  just thought the sand would melt his

  trousers.

  "It is better to kneel," said the

  deep-throated Boris Karloff, "than to

  find yourself standing on stumps."

  The sand was, indeed, uncomfortable.

  And Sam, in an instant of real human

  concern, wondered what Madge was going

  to do; she wore a very short skirt above

  her desert boots. He squinted and looked

  at her.

  He need not have indulged in human

  concern, he thought. Madge was not

  kneeling at all. Instead she had moved

  slightly to the side and was standing

  erect-. She was spectacular.

  "Bitch," he whispered.

 
"Keep your head," she answered quietly.

  "That's meant figuratively I think."

  '14iyee! Behold the prince of thunder

  and lightning!" shrieked Peter Lorre. ~

  There was movement at the tent at the

  end of the corridor of abus and turbans.

  Two minions swept back the front flap

  and prostrated themselves on the ground,

  their faces in the sand. From the

  shadowed recesses emerged a man who was

  a mayor disappointment, a walking

  anticlimax, to the dramatic preparations

  for his entrance.

  The prince of thunder and lightning was

  a spindly little Arab. Peering out from

  the shrouds was about the ugliest face

  Devereaux had ever seen. Below the

  outsized, narrow, hooked nose,

  Azaz-Varak's lips were curled actually

  curled so that his thick black moustache

  seemed fused to his nostrils. The pallor

  of his skin (what could be seen) was 179

  .

  .

  a sickly beige, which served to

  emphasize the dark, deep circles under

  his heavy-ridded eyes. '

  Azaz-Varak approached, lips

  pressing, nostrils sniffing, head

  bobbing. He looked only at Madge. When

  he spoke there was a certain authority

  in his whine.

  "The wives of the lion's lair, the

  royal harem none understand the

  awesome responsibilities that befall

  my generous person. Would you like a

  camel, lady?"

  Madge shook her head with a certain

  authority of her own. Azaz-Varak

  continued to stare.

  "Two camels? The airplane?"

  ' "I'm in mourning," said Madge

  respectfully but firmly. "My wealthy

  sheik passed away just after the last

  crescent moon. You know the rules."

  The heavy-ridded eyes of Azaz-Varak

  were filled with disappointment, his

  curled-up lips smacked twice as he

  replied. "Ahh, it is the awesome

  burdens of our faith. You have two

  crescents of the calendar to survive.

  May your sheik rest with Allah.

  Perhaps you will visit my palaces when

  your time has passed."

  "We'll see. Right now, my escort is

  hungry. Allah wants him to protect me;

  he can't do that if he faints."

  Azaz-Varak looked at Sam as though

  studying the preslaughtered carcass.

  "He has two functions, then. One:

  worthy, one despicable. Come, dog. To

  the eagle's tent."

  "That's where the food is, isn't

  it?" Devereaux smiled his best, most

  ingratiating smile as he scrambled to

  his feet.

  "You will partake of my table when

  our business is concluded. Pray to

  Allah that it is finished before the

  northern snows come to the desert. Did

  you bring the unmentionable

  agreement?"

  Devereaux nodded. "Did you bring any

  hot corned beef?"

  "Silence!" shrieked Peter Lorre.

  "Lady," said Azaz-Varak, addressing

  Madge, "my servants will see to your

  every wish. My palaces are lovely; you

  would like them."

  "It's tempting. We'll see where I am

  in a month or so." She winked at

  Azaz-Varak. His lips went through a

  series 180

  l

  of wet pressings before he snapped his

  fingers and proceeded toward the

  eagle's tent.

  The minutes stretched into quarter

  hours, those to the inevitable hour,

  and then two more of them. Devereaux

  honestly believed he had reached the

  end. A promising legal career was

  being snuffed out, starved out, in the

  middle of some godforsaken stretch of

  desert, seventy miles south of a

  ridiculously named place called Tizi

  Ouzou in North Africa.

  What made the ending so ludicrous

  was the sight of Azaz-Varak poring

  over each sentence of the Shepherd

  Company's limited partnership papers,

  with eight to ten screeching Arabs

  looking over his shoulder, arguing

  vehemently among themselves. Every

  page was treated as though it were the

  only page; every convoluted and

  unnecessary legalism torn apart for a

  meaning that was not there. Sam saw

  clearly the terrible irony: the

  esoteric legalistic nonsense that was

  the essence of every lawyer's

  livelihood was keeping him from his

  own survival.

  An insane thought went through his

  pained brain: if all legal documents

  were written to be understood between

  meals all meals postponed until said

  understanding was clear the state of

  justice would be on a much higher

  plane. And most lawyers of his

  acquaintance out of work.

  Every now and then one of

  Azaz-Varak's ministers would carry

  over a page and point to a particular

  paragraph, asking him in excellent

  English what it meant. Invariably

  Devereaux would explain that it was a

  standard clause

  which invariably it was and not

  important.

  If it was not important, why was the

  language so confusing? Only

  significant items were in confusing

  words; otherwise there was no need for

  the confusion.

  And, too, good things were stated

  clearly; unworthy things were often

  obscured. Did standard mean unwor thy?

  And so it went. Until at one point Sam

  screamed.

  Nothing else; he simply screamed.

  Azaz-Varak and his gaggle of

  ministers looked over at him. They

  nodded as if to say, "Your point is

  well taken." And then went back to

  screaming at each other.

  181

  At the instant the darkness started to

  cloud his vision his last look at living

  things, thought Sam, he heard the words,

  whined by the sheik of sheiks.

  "The northern snows have reached the

  desert, unspeakable one. These foul papers

  are life camels' prints in storms of sand:

  They are without meaning. Not any meaning

  that would bring the wrath of Allah, or

  certain international authorities. My

  generous, all-knowing person has signed

  them. Not that I subscribe to the

  despicable suggestions made to my ear, but

  only to help unite the world in love, you

  hated dog."

  Azaz-Varak rose from the mountain of

  pillows beneath him. He was escorted to a

  screened-off section of the enormous tent

  by several hunched-over ministers and

  disappeared- beyond the silks.

  Peter Lorre came up to Sam, the limited

  partnership agreement in his hands. He gave

  it to Devereaux and whispered, "Put this in

  your pocket. It is better that the eye of

  the falcon not fall on it again."

  "Is falcon edible?"
/>   Perplexed, the tiny Arab looked at Sam.

  "Your eyeballs are swimming in their

  sockets, Abdul Deveroo. Have the faith of

  the Koran, first paragraph, book four."

  "What the hell is that?" Sam could hardly

  speak.

  "'The feasts were brought among the

  unbelieving infidels and no longer were

  they unbelieving.'"

  "Does that mean we eat?"

  "It does. The god of all khans has ordered

  his favorite: boiled testicle of camel

  braised with the stomach of desert rat."

  '~igeeeeeel" Devereaux. blanched and

  leaped up from the floor of the eagle's

  tent. The spring had been sprung; there was

  nothing left but self-annihilation. The end

  was at hand; the forces of destruction

  called for his finish in an explosion of

  violence.

  So be it. He would meet it swiftly.

  Surely. Without thought, only blinding

  fury. He ran around the pillows and over

  the rugs and out onto the sand. It was

  sundown, his end would come with the orange

  sun descending over the desert horizon.

  Boiled testicles! Stomach of rat! - 182

  .1

  "Madge! Madge!"

  If he could only reach her! She

  could bring back news of his demise to

  his mother and Aaron Pinkus. Let them

  know he died bravely.

  "Madge! Where are you?!"

  When the words came he felt

  stirrings of bewilderment that were

  contradictory to the last thoughts of

  those who were about to perish.

  "Hi, sweetie! Come on over. Look

  what I've got here. It s a gas!

  Sam turned, his ankles deep in sand,