Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt

by The Rhineman Exchange [lit]

  'Here we are. Come on, captain,' said Ballantyne getting out, indicating

  the screen door of the screened enclosure. 'My associate, Paul Hollander,

  is waiting for us.'

  Hollander was another middle-aged civilian. He was nearly bald and wore

  steel-rimmed spectacles that gave him an appearance beyond his years. As

  with Ballantyne, there was a look of intelligence about him. Both small and

  capital L Hollander smiled genuinely.

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  'This is a distinct pleasure, Spaulding. As so many others, I've admired

  the work of the man in Lisbon.'

  Capital I, thought David.

  'Thank you. I'd like to know why I'm not him any longer.'

  'I can't answer that. Neither can Ballantyne, I'm afraid.'

  'Perhaps they thought you deserved a rest,' offered Ballantyne. 'Good Lord,

  you've been there -how long is it now? Three years with no break.'

  'Nearer four,' answered David. 'And there were plenty of "breaks". The

  Costa Brava beats the hell out of Palm Beach. I was told that you - I

  assume it's you - have my orders . . . . . I don't mean to seem impatient

  but there's a nasty teenager with a major's rank flying the plane. He's

  impatient.'

  'Tell him to go to blazes,' laughed the man named Hollander. 'We do have

  your orders and also a little surprise for you: you're a lieutenant

  colonel. Tell the major to get his uniform pressed.'

  'Seems I jumped one.'

  'Not really. You got your majority last year. Apparently yqu don't have

  much use for titles in Lisbon.'

  'Or military associations,' interjected Ballantyne.

  'Neither, actually,' said David. 'At least I wasn't broken. I had

  premonitions of walking guard duty around latrines.'

  'Hardly.' Hollander sat down in one of the four deck chairs, gesturing

  David to do the same. It was his way of indicating that their meeting might

  not be as short as Spaulding had thought. 'If it was a time for parades or

  revelations, I'm sure you'd be honored in the front ranks.'

  'Thanks,' said David, sitting down. 'That removes a very real concern.

  What's this all aboutT

  'Again, we don't have answers, only ex cathedra instructions. We're to ask

  you several questions - only one of which could preclude our delivering

  your orders. Let's get that over with first; I'm sure you'd like to know at

  least where you're going.'Hollander smiled his genuine smile again.

  'I would. Go on.'

  'Since you were relieved of your duties in Lisbon, have you made contact -

  intentional or otherwise - with anyone outside the embassy? I mean by this,

  even the most innocuous good-bye? Or a settling of a bill - a restaurant,

  a store; or a chance run-in with an acquaintance at the airport, or on the

  way to the airport?'

  'No. And I had my luggage sent in diplomatic cartons; no

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  suitcases, no traveling gear.'

  'You're thorough,' said Ballantyne, still standing.

  'I've had reason to be. Naturally, I had engagements for the week after I

  returned from the north country. . . .

  'From where?'asked Hollander.

  'Basque and Navarre. Contact points below the border. I always scheduled

  engagements right after; it kept a continuity. Not many, just enough to

  keep in sight. Part of the cover. I had two this week; lunch and

  cocktails.'

  'What about themT Ballantyne sat down next to David.

  'I instructed Marshall - he's the cryp who took my orders -to call each

  just before I was supposed to show up. Say I'd be delayed. That was all.'

  'Not that you wouldn't be thereT Hollander seemed fascinated.

  'No. Just delayed. It fit the cover.'

  'I'll take your word for it,' laughed Hollander. 'You answered

  affirmatively and then some. How does New York strike youT

  'As it always has: pleasantly for limited periods.'

  'I don't know for how long but that's your assignment. And out of uniform,

  colonel.'

  'I lived in New York. I know a lot of people there.'

  'Your new cover is simplicity itself. You've been discharged most honorably

  after service in Italy. Medical reasons, minor wounds.' Hollander took out

  an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it across to

  David. 'It's all here. Terribly simple, papers ... everything.'

  'O.K.,' said David, accepting the envelope. 'I'm a ruptured duck in New

  York. So far, very nice. You couldn't make it the real thing, could youT

  'The papers are simple, I didn't say authentic. Sorry.'

  'So am 1. What happens thenT

  'Someone's very solicitous of you. You have an excellent job; good pay,

  too. With Meridian Aircraft.'

  Weridian?'

  'Blueprint Division.'

  'I thought Meridian was in the Midwest. Illinois or Michigan.'

  'It has a New York office. Or it does now.'

  'Aircraft blueprints, I assume.'

  'I should think so.'

  'Is it counterespionageT

  'We don't know,' answered Ballantyne. 'We weren't given

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  any data except the names of the two men you'll report to.'

  'They're in the envelope?,

  'No,' said Hollander. 'They're verbal and to be committed. Nothing written

  until you're on the premises.'

  'Oh, Christ, this all sounds like Ed Pace. He loves this kind of nonsense.'

  'Sony, again. It's above Pace.'

  4What? ... I didn't think anything was, except maybe Holy Communion . . .

  . Then how do you report? And to whom?'

  'Priority courier straight through to an address in Washington. No

  department listing, but transmission and priority cleared through Field

  Division, Fairfax.'

  Spaulding emitted a soft, nearly inaudible whistle. 'What are the two

  namesT

  'The first is Lyons. Eugene Lyons. He's an aerophysicist. We're to tell you

  that he's a bit strange, but a goddarnned genius.'

  :In other words, reject the man; accept the genius.'

  Something like that. I suppose you're used to it,' said Ballantyne.

  'Yes,' answered Spaulding. 'And the other?'

  'A man named Kendall.' Hollander crossed his legs. 'Nothing on him; he's

  just a name. Walter Kendall. Have no idea what he does.'

  David pulled the strap across his waist in the removable seat. The 13- 1 Ts

  engines were revving at high speed, sending vibrations through the huge

  fuselage. He looked about in a way he hadn't looked at an airplane before,

  trying to reduce the spans and the plating to some kind of imaginary

  blueprint. If Hollander's description of his assignment was accurate - and

  why shouldn't it be? - he'd be studying aircraft blueprints within a few

  days.

  What struck him as strange were the methods of precaution. In a word, they

  were unreasonable; they went beyond even abnormal concerns for security. It

  would have been a simple matter for him to report to Washington, be

  reassigned, and be given an in-depth briefing. Instead, apparently there

  would be no briefing.

  Why not?

  Was he to accept open-ended orders from two men he'd never met before?

  Without the sanction of recognition - even intro-

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  duction -from any military authority? What the hell was Ed
Pace doing?

  Sorry. . . . It's above Pace.

  Those were the words Hollander had used.

  . . . cleared through Field Division, Fairfax.

  Hollander again.

  Except for the White House itself, David realized that Fairfax was about as

  high up as one could go. But Fairfax was still military. And he wasn't

  being instructed by Fairfax, simply 'cleared.'

  Hollander's remaining 'questions' had not been questions at all, really.

  They had been introduced with interrogatory words: do you, have you, can

  you. But not questions; merely further instructions.

  'Do you have friends in any of the aircraft companies? On the executive

  levelT

  He didn't know, for God's sake. He'd been out of the country so damned long

  he wasn't sure he had any friends, period.

  Regardless, Hollander had said, he was to avoid any such 'friends'- should

  they exist. Report their names to Walter Kendall, if he ran across them.

  'Have you any women in New York who are in the public eye?$.

  What kind of question was that? Silliest goddamned thing he'd ever heard

  of! What the hell did Hollander mean?

  The balding, bespectacled Az-Am agent had clarified succintly. It was

  listed in David's file that he had supplemented his civilian income as a

  radio performer. That meant he knew actresses.

  And actors, Spaulding suggested. And so what?

  Friendships with well-known actresses could lead to newspaper photographs,

  Hollander rejoined. Or speculations in columns; his name in print. That,

  too, was to be avoided.

  David recalled that Jhe did know - knew - several girls who'd done well in

  pictures since he'd left. He'd had a short-lived affair with an actress who

  was currently a major star for Warner Brothers. Reluctantly he agreed with

  Hollander; the agent was right. Such contacts would be avoided.

  'Can you absorb quickly, commit to memory, blueprint specifications

  unrelated to industrial design?'

  Given a breakdown key of correlative symbols and material

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  factors, the answer was probably yes.

  Then he was to prepare himself - however it was done - for aircraft design.

  That, thought Spaulding, was obvious.

  That, Hollander had said, was all he could tell him.

  The B- 17 taxied to the west extreme of the Lajes runway and turned for

  takeoff. The disagreeable major had made it a point to be standing by the

  cargo hatch looking at his wristwatch when Spaulding returned. David had

  climbed out of the jeep, shaken hands with Ballantyne and held up three

  fingers to the major.

  'The timer lost count during the last chukker,' he said to the pilot. 'You

  know how it is with these striped-pants boys.'

  The major had not been amused.

  The aircraft gathered speed, the ground beneath hammered against the

  landing gear with increasing ferocity. In seconds the plane would be

  airborne. David bent over to pick up an Azores newspaper that Hollander had

  given him and which he'd placed at his feet when strapping himself in.

  Suddenly it happened. An explosion of such force that the removable seat

  flew out of its clamps and jettisoned into the right wall of the plane,

  carrying David, bent over, with it. And he'd never know but often speculate

  on whether that Azores newspaper had saved his life.

  Smoke was everywhere; the aircraft careened off the ground and spun

  laterally. The sound of twisting metal filled the cabin with a continuous,

  unending scream; steel ribs whipped downward from the top and sides of the

  fuselage - snapping, contorted, sprung from their mountings.

  A second explosion blew out the front cabin; sprays of blood and pieces of

  flesh spat against the crumbling, spinning walls. A section of human scalp

  with traces of burnt hairline under the bright, viscous red fluid slapped

  into Spaulding's forearm. Through the smoke David could see the bright

  sunlight streaming through the front section of the careening plane.

  The aircraft had been severed!

  David knew instantly that he had only one chance of survival. The fuel

  tanks were filled to capacity for the long Atlantic flight; they'd go up in

  seconds. He reached for the buckle at his waist and ripped at it with all

  his strength. It was locked; the hurling fall had caused the strap to bunch

  and crowd the housing with

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  cloth. He tugged and twisted, the snap sprung and he was free.

  The plane - what was left of it - began a series of thundering convulsions

  signifying the final struggle to come to a halt on the rushing, hilly

  ground beyond the runway. David crashed backward, crawling as best he could

  toward the rear. Once he was forced to stop and hug the deck, his face

  covered by his arms, a jagged piece of metal piercing the back of his right

  shoulder.

  The cargo hatch was blown open; the air force sergeant lay half out of the

  steel frame, dead, his chest ripped open from throat to rib cage.

  David judged the distance to the ground as best his panic would allow and

  hurled himself out of the plane, coiling as he did so for the impact of the

  fall and the necessary roll away from the onrushing tail assembly.

  The earth was hard and filled with rocks, but he was free. He kept rolling,

  rolling, crawling, digging, gripping his bloodied hands into the dry, hard

  soil until the breath in his lungs was exhausted.

  He lay on the ground and heard the screaming sirens far in the distance.

  And then the explosion that filled the air and shook the earth.

  Priority high-frequency radio messages were sent back and forth between the

  operations room of Lajes Airfield and Field Division, Fairfax.

  David Spaulding was to be airlifted out of Terceira on the next flight to

  Newfoundland, leaving in less than an hour. At Newfoundland he would be met

  by a pursuit fighter plane at the air force base and flown directly to

  Mitchell Field, New York. In light of the fact that Lieutenant Colonel

  Spaulding had suffered no major physical disability, there would be no

  change in the orders delivered to him.

  The cause of the B-17 explosions and resultant killings was, without

  question, sabotage. Timed out of Lisbon or set during the refueling process

  at Lajes. An intensive investigation was implemented immediately.

  Hollander and Ballantyne had been with David when he was examined and

  treated by the British army doctor. Bandages around the sutures in his

  right shoulder, the cuts on his hands and forearms cleaned, Spaulding

  pronounced himself shaken but operable. The doctor left after administering

  an intravenous sedative

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  that would make it possible for David to rest thoroughly on the final legs

  of his trip to New York.

  'I'm sure it will be quite acceptable for you to take a leave for a week or

  so,' said Hollander. 'My God, you're lucky to be among us!'

  'Alive is the word,' added Ballantyne.

  'Am I a mark?' asked Spaulding. 'Was it connected with meT

  'Fairfax doesn't think so,' answered the balding Hollander. 'They think

  it's coincidental sabotage.'

  Spaulding watched the Az-Am agent as he spoke. It seemed to Dav
id that

  Hollander hesitated, as if concealing something.

  'Narrow coincidence, isn't it? I was the only passenger'

  'If the enemy can eliminate a large aircraft and a pilot in the bargain,

  well, I imagine he considers that progr~ss. And Lisbon security is rotten.'

  'Not where I've been. Not generally.'

  'Well, perhaps here at Terceira, then.... I'm only telling you what Fairfax

  thinks.'

  There was a knock on the dispensary door and Ballantyne opened it. A first

  lieutenant stood erect and spoke gently, addressing David, obviously aware

  that Spaulding had come very close to death.

  'It's preparation time, sir. We should be airborne in twenty minutes, Can

  I help you with anything?'

  'I haven't got anything, lieutenant. Whatever I had is in that mass of

  burnt rubble in the south forty.'

  'Yes, of course. I'm sorry.'

  'Don't be. Better it than me.... I'll be right with you.' David turned to

  Ballantyne and Hollander, shaking their hands.

  As he said his last good-bye to Hollander, he saw it in the agent's eyes.

  Hollander was hiding something.

  The British naval commander opened the screen door of the gazebo and walked

  in. Paul Hollander rose from the deck chair.

  'Did you bring iff he asked the officer.

  'Yes.' The commander placed his attach6 case on the single wrought-iron

  table and snapped up the hasps. He took out an envelope and handed it to

  the American. 'The photo lab did a rather fine job. Well lighted, front and

  rear views. Almost as good as having the real item.'

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  Hollander unwound the string on the envelope's flap and removed a

  photograph. It was an enlargement of a small medallion, a star with six

  points.

  It was the Star of David.

  In the center of the face was the scrolled flow of a Hebrew inscription. On

  the back was the bas-relief of a knife with a streak of lightning

  intersecting the blade.

  'The Hebrew spells out the name of a prophet named Haggai; he's the symbol

  of an organization of Jewish fanatics operating out of Palestine. They call

  themselves the Haganah. Their business, they claim, is vengeance - two

  thousand years' worth. We anticipate quite a bit of trouble from them in

  the years to come; they've made that clear, I'm afraid.'