Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt

by The Rhineman Exchange [lit]

  'Then, Mr. Ambassador,' interrupted David, hoping to stem another post

  analysis by the pedagogical diplomat, 'these were not provinclanos. They

  called themselves extranjeros. Displaced persons, I gathered!

  'Extranjero is a rather sarcastic term. Inverse morbidity. As though

  employed by a reservation Indian in our Washington. A foreigner in his own

  native land, you see what I mean?'

  'These men were not from Argentina,' said David quietly, dismissing

  Granville's question. 'Their speech pattern was considerably alien.'

  'Oh? Are you an expert?'

  'Yes, I am. In these matters!

  'I see.' Granville leaned forward. 'Do you ascribe the attack to embassy

  concerns? Allied concerns?'

  'I'm not sure. It's my opinion I was the target. I'd like to know how they

  knew I was here.'

  Jean Cameron spoke from the couch. 'I've gone over everything I said,

  David.' She stopped and paused briefly, aware that the ambassador had shot

  her a look at her use of Spaulding's first name. 'Your place was the fourth

  apartment I checked into. I started at ten in the morning and got there

  around two o'clock. And leased it immediately. I'm sorry to say it was the

  patio that convinced me.'

  David smiled at her.

  6Anyway, I went to a real estate office at Viamonte. Geraldo Baldez is the

  owner; we all know him. He's partisan; has no use

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  for Germans. I made it clear that I wanted to rent the apartment for one of

  our people who was living here and who, frankly, found the embassy

  restrictions too limiting. He laughed and said he was sure it was Bobby. I

  didn't disagree.'

  'But it was a short lease,' said David.

  'I used it as an excuse in case you didn't like the apartment. It's a

  standard three-month clause.'

  'Why wouldn't Bobby - or anyone else - get his own placeT

  'Any number of reasons. Also standard ... here.' Jean smiled, a touch

  embarrassed, thought David. 'I know the city better than most; I lived here

  for several years. Also there's a little matter of expense allowance; I'm

  a pretty good bargainer. And men like Bobby have urgent work to do. My

  hours are more flexible; I have the time.'

  'Mrs. Cameron is too modest, Spaulding. She's an enormous asset to our

  small community.'

  'I'm sure she is, sir.... Then you don't think anyone had reason to suspect

  you were finding a place for an incoming attach6.'

  'Absolutely not. It was all done in such a ... lighthearted way, if you

  know what I mean.'

  'What about the owner of the building?' David asked.

  'I never saw him. Most apartments are owned by wealthy people who live in

  the Telmo or Palermo districts. Everything's done through rental agencies.'

  David turned to Granville. 'Have there been any calls for me? MessagesT

  'No. Not that I'm aware of, and I'm sure I would be. You would have been

  contacted, of course.'

  'A man named Kendall. . . .'

  'Kendall?' interrupted the ambassador. 'I know that name. . . . Kendall.

  Yes, Kendall.' Granville riffled through some papers on his desk. 'Here. A

  Walter Kendall came in last night. Ten thirty flight. He's staying at the

  Alvear; that's near the Palermo Park. Fine old hotel.' Granville suddenly

  looked over at Spaulding. 'He's listed on the sheet as an industrial

  economist. Now that's a rather all-inclusive description, isn't it? Would

  he be the banker I referred to yesterday?'

  'He'll make certain arrangements relative to my instructions.' David did

  not conceal his reluctance to go into the matter of Walter Kendall. On the

  other hand, he instinctively found him-

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  self offering a token clarification to Jean Cameron. 'My primary job-here is

  to act as liaison between financial people in New York and London and

  banking interests here in Buenos ... BA.'David smiled; he hoped as genuinely

  as Jean smiled. 'I think it's a little silly. I don't know a debit from an

  asset. But Washington okayed me. The ambassador is worried that I'm too

  inexperienced.'

  Spaulding quickly shifted his gaze to Granville, reminding the old man that

  'banking interests' was the limit of identities. The name of Erich

  Rhinemann was out of bounds.

  'Yes, I admit, I was.... But that9s neither here nor there. What do you

  wish to do about last night? I think we should lodge a formal complaint

  with the police. Not that it will do a d

  bit of good.'

  David fell silent for a few moments, trying to consider the pros and cons

  of Granville's suggestion. 'Would we get press coverage?9

  'Very little, I'd think,' answered Jean.

  'Embassy attach6s usually have money,' said Granville. 'They've been

  robbed. It will be called an attempted robbery. Probably was.' -

  'But the Grupo doesn't like that kind of news. It doesn't fit in with the

  colonels' view of things, and they control the press.' Jean was thinking

  out loud, looking at David. 'They'll play it down.'

  'And if we don't complain -assuming it was not robbery -we're admitting we

  think it was something else. Which I'm not prepared to do,' said Spaulding.

  'Then by all means, a formal complaint will be registered this morning.

  Will you dictate a report of the incident and sign it, pleaseT Obviously,

  Granville wished to terminate the meeting. 'And to be frank with you,

  Spaulding, unless I'm considerably in the dark, I believe it was an attempt

  to rob a newly arrived rich American. I'm told the airport taxi drivers

  have formed a veritable thieves' carnival. Extranieros would be perfectly

  logical participants.'

  David stood up; he was pleased to see that Jean did the same. 'I'll accept

  that, Mr. Ambassador. The years in Lisbon have made me overly ...

  concerned. I'll adjust.'

  11 daresay. Do write up the report.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  41111 ga him a stenographer,' said Jean. 'Bilingual.'

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  'Not necessary. I'll dictate it in Spanish.'

  'I forgot! Jean snufled. 'Bobby said they'd sent us a bright one.,

  David supposed it began with that first lunch. Later she told him it was

  before, but he didn't believe her. She claimed it was when he said that BA

  stood for Montevideo; that was silly, it didn't make sense.

  What made sense - and they both recognized it without any attempt to

  verbalize it - was the total relaxation each felt in the other's company.

  It was as simple as that. It was a splendid comfort; the silences never

  awkward, the laughter easy and based in communicated humor, not forced

  response.

  It was remarkable. Made more so, David believed, because neither expected

  it, neither sought it. Both had good and sufficient reasons to avoid any

  relationships other than surface or slightly below. He was an impermanent

  man, hoping only to survive and start somewhere againwithaclear head and

  suppressed memories. That was'important to him. And he knew she still

  mourned a man so deeply she couldn't possibly - without intolerable guilt

  -push that man's face and body and mind behind her.

  She told him partially why herself. Her husband had not been the image of />
  the dashing carrier pilot so often depicted by navy public relations. He'd

  had an extraordinary fear - not for himself - but of taking lives. Were it

  not for the abuse he knew would have been directed at his Maryland wife and

  Maryland family, Cameron would have sought conscientious objector status.

  Then, too, perhaps he hadn't the courage of his own convictions.

  Why a pilot?

  Cameron had been flying since he was in his teens. It seemed natural and he

  believed his civilian training might lead to a Stateside instructor's

  berth. He rejected military law; too many of his fellow attorneys had gone

  after it and found themselves in the infantry and on the decks of

  battleships. The military had enough lawyers; they wanted pilots.

  David thought he understood why Jean told him so much about her dead

  husband. There were two reasons. The first was that by doing so openly, she

  was adjusting to what she felt was happening between them; atoning,

  perhaps. The second was less clear but in no way less important. Jean

  Cameron hated the war; hated it for what it had taken away from her. She

  wanted him

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  to know that.

  Because - David realized - her instincts told her he was very much

  involved. And she would have no part of that involvement; she owed that

  much to Cameron's memory.

  They'd gone to lunch at a restaurant overlooking the waters of the

  Riach6elo Basin near the piers of DArsena Sud. She had suggested it - the

  restaurant and the lunch. She saw that he was still exhausted; what sleep

  he'd managed had been interrupted constantly with pain. She insisted that

  he needed a long, relaxing lunch, then home to bed and a day's

  recuperation.

  She hadn't meant to go with him.

  He hadn't meant for her to.

  'Ballard's a nice guy,' said Spaulding, pouring a clear white Col6n.

  'Bobby's a dear,' she agreed. 'He's a kind person.'

  'He's very fond of you.'

  'And I of him.... What you're speculating on is perfectly natural, and I'm

  sorry to spoil the wilder melody. Is melody right? Granville told me who

  your parents were. I'm impressed!

  'I've refused to read music since the age of eight. But "melody's" fine. I

  just wondered!

  'Bobby gave me a thoroughly professional try, with enormous charm and good

  humor. A better girl would have responded. He had every right to be angry.

  . . . I wanted his company but gave very little in return for it.'

  :He accepted your terms,' said David affirmatively.

  I said he was kind.'

  'There must be ten other fellows here. . .

  'Plus the marine guard,' interjected Jean, feigning a lovely, unmilitary

  salute. 'Don't forget them.'

  'A hundred and ten, then. You're Deanna Durbin!

  'Hardly. The marines rotate off the FMF base south of La Boca; the staff -

  those without wives and kinder - are plagued with the embassy syndrome!

  'What's that?'

  'State Department-eye-tis.... The quivers. You seem to be singularly

  lacking in them.'

  'I don't know whether I am or not. I don't know what they are.'

  'Which tells me something about you, doesn't it?'

  'What does it tell you?'

  'You're not a State Department climber. The "eye-tis"

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  syndrome is treading lightly and making damned sure everybody above you -

  especially the ambassador - is happy with your sincerest efforts.'Jean

  grimaced like a boxer puppy, her delicate chin forward, her eyebrows down -

  mocking the words. Spaulding broke out laughing; the girl had captured the

  embassy look and voice with devastating accuracy.

  'Christ, I'm going to put you on the radio.' He laughed again. 'You've

  described the syndrome. I see it, Lord! I see it P

  'But you're not infected by it.' Jean stopped her min-dcry and looked into

  his eyes. 'I watched you with Granville; you were just barely polite. You

  weren1 looking for a fitness report, were youT

  He returned her gaze. 'No, I wasn't.... To answer the question that's

  rattling around that lovely head of yours so loud it vibrates - I'm not a

  Foreign Service career officer. I'm strictly wartime. I do work out of

  embassies on a variety of related assignments for a couple of related

  reasons. I speak four languages and because of those parents that impressed

  you so, I have what is euphemistically described as access to important

  people in goverm-nent, commerce, those areas. Since I'm not a complete

  idiot, I often circulate confidential information among corporations in

  various countries. The market place doesn't stop humn-dng for such

  inconveniences as war. . . . That's my contri. bution. I'm not very proud

  of it, but it's what they handed me.'

  She smiled her genuine smile and reached for his hand. V think you do

  whatever you do very intelligently and well. There aren't many people who

  can say that. And God.knows you can't choose.'

  I "What did you do in the war, daddy?" . . . "Well, son,"

  David tried his own caricature. ' "I went from place to place telling

  friends of the Chase Bank to sell high and buy low and clear a decent profit

  margin." ' He kept her hand in his.

  'And got attacked on Argentine rooftops and ... and what were those

  stitches in your shoulder?'

  'The cargo plane I was on in the Azores made a rotten landing. I think the

  pilot and his whole crew were plastered.'

  'There. See? You live as dangerously as any man at the front. ... If I meet

  that boy you're talking to, I'll tell him that.'

  Their eyes were locked; Jean withdrew her hand, embarrassed. But for

  Spaulding the important thing was that she believed him. She accepted his

  cover extension without question. It

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  occurred to him that he was at once greatly relieved and yet, in a way,

  quite sorry. He found no professional pride in lying to her successfully.

  'So now you know how I've avoided the State Department syndrome. I'm still

  not sure why it's relevant. What the hen, with .a hundred and ten men and

  marines. . . .'

  'The marines don't count. They have sundry interests down here in La Boca.'

  'Then the staff - those without the "Wives and kinder" - they can't all be

  quivering.'

  'But they do and I've been grateful. They'd like to get to the Court of St.

  James's someday.'

  'Now you're playing mental gymnastics. I'm not following you.'

  'No, I'm not. I wanted to see if Bobby had told you. He hasn't. I said he

  was kind.... He was giving me the chance to tell you myself.'

  'Tell me whatT

  'My husband was Henderson Granville's stepson. They were very close.'

  They left the restaurant shortly past four and walked around the docks of

  the Dixsena Sud waterfront, breathing in the salt air. It seemed to David

  that Jean was enjoying herself in a way she hadn't in too long a time. That

  it was part of the instant comfort between them, he realized, but it went

  further. As if some splendid relief had swept over her. -

  Her loveliness had been evident from those first moments on the staircase,

  but as he thought back on that brief introduction, he knew what the<
br />
  difference was. Jean Cameron had been outgoing, good-natured ... welcoming

  charm itself. But there'd been something else: a detachment born of

  self-control. Total control. A patina of authority that had nothing to do

  with her status at the embassy or whatever other benefits derived from her

  marriage to. the ambassador's stepson. It was related solely to her own

  decisions, her own outlook.

  He had seen that detached authority throughout the morning - when she

  introduced him to various embassy employees; when she gave directions to

  her secretary; when she answered her telephone and rendered quick

  instructions.

  Even in the byplay with Bobby Ballard she glided firmly, with

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  the assurance of knowing her own pattern. Ballard could shout humorously

  that she could 'get irresponsibly drunk' because by no stretch of the

  imagination would she allow herself to do that.

  Jean kept a tight rein on herself.

  The rein was loosening now.

  Yesterday he had looked at her closely, finding the years; and she was

  completely unconcerned, without vanity. Now, walking along the docks,

  holding his arm, she was pleasantly aware of the looks she received from

  the scores of waterfront Bocamos. Spaulding knew she hoped he was aware of

  those looks.

  'Look, David,' she said excitedly. 'Those boats are going to crash head

  on.'

  Several hundred yards out in the bay, two trawlers were on a collision

  course, both steam whistles filling the air with aggressive warnings, both

  crews shouting at eacb~ other from port and starboard railings.

  'The one on the right will veer.'

  It did. At the last moment, amid dozens of guttural oaths and gestures.

  'How did you know?' she said.

  'Simple right of way; the owner would get clobbered with damages. There'll

  be a brawl on one of these piers pretty soon, though.'

  'lAt's not wait for it. You've had enough of that.'

  They walked out of the dock area into the narrow La Boca streets, teeming

  with small fish markets, profuse with fat merchants in bloodied aprons and

  shouting customers. The afternoon catch was in, the day's labor on the

  water over. The rest was selling and drinking and retelling the

  misadventures of the past twelve hours.

  They reached a miniature square called - for no apparent reason - Plaza