Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

it. It pains me to have caused it. As

  that great Roman, Marcus Aurelius,

  observed: We must all do what we have

  to do, at the moment fate demands that

  we do it. But as the Indian prophet,

  Baga Nishyad, also observed: Buckets

  filled with tears can be spread over

  grain and the rice will grow like

  jewels. I do not have jewels,

  gentlemen, but I do have riches for

  each of you. Deserved rewards. Sums of

  money that will lessen your pain, and

  send you back to the lands of your

  choice, to live in freedom, freedom

  from fear, from oblivion. And from

  want. Here. I pass among you these

  small index cards. Each is a passport

  to your personal nirvanas. Let me

  explain."

  And Sam did.

  And the seven subordinate officers

  studied the cards, glancing at one

  another as they did so.

  "Do you speak French?" asked one of

  the Frenchmen.

  Devereaux laughed a touch too gaily

  he felt. "Not really."

  "Thank you," said the Frenchman,

  turning to the others. "Vous parley loos

  fran~aisi"

  To a man they nodded affirmatively.

  So they all began speaking French.

  Quietly. Rapidly. Until seven heads

  nodded once again affirmatively. Sam

  was touched; he knew they were trying

  to find a way to thank him.

  Which was why he was bewildered when

  two of the men suddenly approached and

  grabbed him, spun him around, and

  began wrapping his wrists in wire.

  1 ~

  "What the hell are you doing?" he

  yelled. "What are you doing to my

  hands? And what the hell is that?"

  He gestured his head at the red

  kerchief the Greek had whipped from

  his neck and was now twirling.

  - 'And what the hell are they?!"

  He referred to a number of metallic

  cracks that sounded strangely like

  weapons being inspected.

  "We have that compassion you spoke

  of, monsieur," said the Frenchman. "We

  offer a man the choice of a blindfold

  before we execute him."

  "What!?"

  "Be brave, signore," said the

  Italian. "We all know this business.

  We accept the odds or we do not play."

  "Ya," added the Viking. "It is a

  game. Some yin. Some lose. You lost."

  "Whaaat?!"

  'wake him dawn to the patio," said

  the second Frenchman. "We'll tell the

  staff it's target practice."

  "Mac! Maac! Maaac!" He was led down

  the hallway. Several pairs of hands

  clapped themselves over his mouth he

  bit them. "For Christ's sake! Hawkins'

  Where the fuck

  a,.. .

  are your!

  Again the hands clamped over his

  face. The cordon marched with

  precision down the hallway toward the

  magnificent winding staircase.

  Devereaux again forced his mouth open

  and bit furiously at the flesh around

  his teeth; hands and arms whipped back

  momentarily. It was enough for Sam to

  kick out behind him and for an instant

  free himself.

  He raced and plunged bodily down the

  curving steps, tumbling over and over

  as he fell.

  "Hawkins! You son of a hitch, get

  out here! These maniacs want to shoot

  me!"

  He bounced over the treads, careened

  against the wall and plummeted

  shoulders over backside down into the

  last straightaway. His shouts were

  progressively blurred, but the overall

  meaning was unmistakable.

  "Shit-kickers! Blindfolds ouch!

  Pistols! Goddamn you oh ohh .

  Hawkins! Uhu! Jesus my head!"

  He reached the bottom of the staircase,

  a disheveled 234

  heap. The Hawk strode through the

  cathedral arch from the drawing room,

  a cigar clenched between his teeth,

  several folded maps in his hand. He

  looked at Sam on the Roorand then up

  at the band of subordinate officers..

  'Coddamn, boy! This changes

  everything!"

  Once again his clothes were taken.

  Only now there weren't even any

  dresses in the closet. His meals were

  brought up by Rudolph.

  The Hawk explained that it had taken

  a command counterdecision to save his

  life; and the troops did not like it

  one bit.

  "For a fact, I nearly had a mutiny

  on my hands before the brigade set its

  colors," Hawkins had told him the next

  morning.

  "Set its what? Never mind, don't tell

  me."

  "I mean it, son. I had to take stern

  measures and let them know right off

  that in matters of extreme prejudice,

  no authority regardless of

  consensus exceeded that of a field

  general. It was touch and go for a

  while, but I've handled the roughest

  in my day. Those pups, good as they

  are, Weren't any match. It's in the

  eves, boy. Always the eyes.

  "I don't understand," Devereaux had

  moaned sincerely. "I spelled

  everything out beautifully. I

  unraveled the whole ball of wax. The

  background, the motive. Jesusl Even

  the money! I had them!"

  "You had nothing," the Hawk replied

  concisely. "You made two big mistakes.

  To begin with, you assumed that such

  a group of men, such a fine contingent

  of officers, would accept money

  surreptitiously, without earning it

  "Get off it!" Devereaux had roared

  his interruption. "You can't sell that

  honor-among-thieves bullshit because

  I won't buy it!"

  "I think you're misjudging, boy, but

  if that's the way you see it, there's

  your second mistake to consider."

  "What mistake?"

  "One of the oldest traps in Interpol

  is to set up a hot bank account and

  send someone after it. I'm surprised

  you didn't know that. You set up seven

  all at once."

  235

  .~.

  l

  Sam had retreated under the

  eiderdown quilt and pulled it over his

  head. Unfortunately, he could not

  block out MacKenzie's words.

  "You know, Sam, life is a series of

  compartments, some related to each

  other, most separate. But every once

  in a while these parallel

  compartments, as I call them, have to

  acknowledge one another's existence.

  Now, you saved my life in Peking. You

  brought to bear your skills and your

  experience and kept me from that

  oblivion I hear you talked about. And

  last night, here in Switzerland, I

  saved your life. Using what skills and

  experience I have. We're even. Our

  compartments in this area aren't

  parallel anymore. So don't S
uck son.

  I can't be responsible. And that's the

  word of a general officer."

  By the end of two weeks, Sam was

  sure he'd lose what was left of his

  sanity. The mere thought of clothes

  drove him mad. Throughout his! life

  clothes were an accepted part of

  living sometimes pleasant, even

  ego-fulfilling but they had not been

  a subject he ever dwelled on for any

  length of time.

  That's a nice jacket; the price is

  okay. Get it. Shirts? His mother said

  he should get shirts. What's wrong

  with Filene's? So I'm a lawyer. Okay,

  1 Press. Shirts and gray flannels.

  Socks? His bureau drawer somehow

  always had socks in it. And shorts and

  handkerchiefs. A suit was a pretty big

  occasion, the few times in his adult

  life when he went out and bought one.

  Still, he'd never been tempted to have

  one tailor-made. And in the goddamned

  army, his civilian jackets and

  trousers were on hand only because

  they meant a change from the goddamned

  uniform. No. Clothes had never been a

  major factor in ho life.

  They were now.

  But necessity~art of which was not

  losing one's sanity was the mother of

  invention. And truer words were never

  said. So Sam began to invent, and the

  thesis of his invention was that he

  was undergoing a sincere change of

  position..

  It had to be gradual, based on

  available alternatives. Since he was

  so completely, intrinsically, legally

  enmeshed in the Shepherd Company's

  operations and since all ave836

  nues of separation had been blocked,

  what was the point of fighting any

  longer? Life was compartmentalized;

  and he was locked into a big vault

  named MacKenzie Hawkins which also

  held some forty million dollars, which

  was a lot of chopped liver.

  Maybe, just maybe, his negative

  approach was selfdefeating, all things

  considered. Perhaps, just perhaps, he

  should be putting his energies into

  productive channels; find areas where

  he could contribute. After all, there

  was one indelible bottom line. If the

  Shepherd Company got blown up, a hell

  of a lot of shrapnel would find its

  way into the hide of the second and

  only other corporate officer of

  record.

  These were the conjectures he began

  to put into words haltingly, without

  much conviction at first during

  MacKenzie's daily visits at the start

  of the third week. But he realized

  that simply saying them was not very

  persuasive. The Hawk had to see his

  mind working, observe the

  transformation.

  By Wednesday he had built up to the

  following:

  "Mac, have you considered the legal

  aspects after you know, after "

  "Ground Zero's good enough. What

  legal aspects? Seems to me you've

  obliged nicely in that department."

  "I'm not so sure. I've been involved

  in a fair amount of plea bargaining.

  From Boston to Peking."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Nothing. I was just oh, nothing."

  By Thursday, this: "There could be

  consequences abler. . . this Ground

  Zero. . . that you haven't thought

  out. A cancer could be growing on the

  presidency of the Shepherd Company

  that ultimately may cripple the

  office."

  "Spell it out, boy."

  "Well.... No, never mind. It's just

  conjecture. What was all that noise

  this afternoon? It sounded very excit-

  ing "

  The Hawk squint-eyed him before

  being pulled into the question.

  "Goddamn, it was exciting," he

  answered after several seconds.

  "Nothing like the evolvement of

  precision in maneuvers! It fires up a

  man's heartl What the hell were you

  talking~about? This cancer stuff."

  - 237

  "Oh, forget it. The old legal brain

  was just wandering. Are the maneuvers

  really all that. . . top drawer?"

  "Yeah . . ." Hawkins rolled the

  cigar from one side of his mouth to

  the other. "They're all right, I

  guess."

  On Friday: "How was the practice

  today? Sounded great."

  "Practice? Goddamn, it's not practice,

  it's maneuvers!"

  "Sorry. How were they?"

  "A little sloppy; we've got some minor

  difficulties."

  "Sorry, again. But I've got

  confidence in you. You'll straighten

  things out."

  `'Yeah. . ." The Hawk paced at the

  foot of the bed, his cigar a mashed

  pulp. "I may have to pick up a few

  diversion troops. Two or three, that's

  all. I wasn't concentrating. And,

  goddamn, Sam, I would have been

  on-thebarrel-sight except for the

  trouble you've caused!"

  "I told you. I really regret all

  that. I wasn't concentrating "

  MacKenzie stopped and blurted out

  the words. "Do you mean that?"

  "Yes," replied Devereaux slowly,

  with conviction. "The first thing a

  lawyer learns is to deal with facts,

  hard evidence. All of it, not just the

  bits and pieces. I isolated. I m truly

  sorry.

  "I won't pretend to understand that

  bullshit, but if you feel the way I

  think you're saying, what the hell

  were you talking about yesterday? And,

  damn it, the day before. Those

  'consequences' after Ground Zero."

  Bingo! as they said in Boston,

  thought Devereaux to himself. But he

  showed no emotion, he was the calm

  probing attorney with his client's

  best interests at heart. "All right.

  I'll spell it out. I know those trust

  accounts Mac. Excluding the one major

  trust, which I gather is yours, your

  seven men can draw (or have their

  consigners draw) up to three hundred

  thousand on the basis of the first

  code releases. The second code

  releases are on a printout sheet in

  one of the other documents. The print-

  out requires your countersignature and

  I assume you'll send it to Zurich just

  before you leave for Ground Zero. Am

  I right so far?"

  "I really skull-sessioned that trust

  business. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. Yet. With the second release

  each man has a a3s

  total of five hundred thousand,

  correct? That's his fee, right? A half

  a million for Ground Zero. Everybody

  the same.

  "Not bad for six weeks' work."

  "There are other things to consider.

  Plea bargaining on a large scale can

  include more than immunity. And not

  just through writing a book, altho
ugh

  I understand a lot of cash is funneled

  through publishers these days."

  "What are you talking about?" The

  Hawk quashed his cigar out on the

  bedpost.

  "What's to prevent any or all of

  your subordinate officers from going

  straight to the authorities through

  intermediaries, of course and making

  separate deals? After the fact. They

  have your~money; they avoid

  prosecution because they cooperate.

  Remember, we're talking about one of

  the biggest scores in history. They

  would make a few thousand on top of

  what they've got."

  MacKenzie's squinting eyes suddenly

  widened in relief. And

  self-satisfaction. There was

  definitely a sense of triumph in his

  grin. "Is that what you've troubled

  yourself over, boy?"

  "Don't make light of it '

  "Hell, no, I won't. And I didn't.

  None of my men would do anything like

  that. Because they're going to want to

  disappear like jackrabbits running

  from a brush fire. They won't surface

  anywhere for fear of colliding with

  each other."

  "Now I don't understand," said Sam

  dejectedly.

  The Hawk sat on the bed. "I've

  covered all that, son. Sort of in the

  same way I lashed you to the loaded

  howitzer. You gave me the idea. I

  intend to say good-bye to each officer

  separately. And with each I'm going to

  hand him an open-faced bearer bond

  worth an additional half million. And

  tell him he's the only one getting it.

  Because like a good general officer