. . mythical David could be killed or crippled or have his face shot off.
That's a horrible thought, isn't it?'
'Yes. I imagine that possibility has occurred to several hundred thousand
men by now. It's horrible.'
'But they're different. They have armies and uniforms and certain rules.
Even in airplanes ... their chances are better. And I say this with a
certain expertise.'
He looked at her intently. 'Stop.'
'Oh, not yet. Now, I'm going to tell you how you can score a goal. Why does
my hypothetical David do what he does? ... No, don't answer yet.' She
stopped and smiled weakly. 'But you weren't about to answer, were you? It
doesn't matter; there's
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a second part to the question. You get extra points for considering it.'
'What's the second partT He thought that Jean was recapitulating an
argument she had memorized. Her next words proved it.
'You see, I've thought about it over and over again . . . for this
make-believe game . . . this make-believe agent. He's in a very unique
position; he works alone . . . or at least with very, very few people. He's
in a strange country and he's alone. . . . Do you understand the second
part nowT
David watched her. She had made some abstract connection in her mind
without verbalizing it. 'No, I don't.'
'If David is working alone and in a strange country and has to send codes
to Washington . . . Henderson told me that . . . that means the people he's
working for have to believe what he tells them. He can tell them anything
he wants to.... So now we come back to the question. Knowing all this, why
does the mythical David do what he does? He can't really believe that he'll
influence the outcome of the whole war. He's only one among millions and
millions.'
'And ... if I'm following you ... this make-believe man can send word to
his superiors that he's having difficulties . . . ..
'He has to stay on in Buenos Aires. For a long time,' she interrupted,
holding his hand fiercely.
"And if they say no, he can always hide out in the pampas.'
'Don't make fun of me I' she said intensely.
'I'm not. I won't pretend that I can give you logical answers, but I don't
think the man you're talking about has such a clear field. Tight reins are
kept on such men, I believe. Other men could be sent into the area . . .
woud be sent, I'm sure. Your strategy is only a short-term gain; the
penalties are long and damned stiff.'
She withdrew her hands slowly, looking away from him. 'It's a gamble that
might be worth it, though. I love you very much. I don't want you hurt and
I know there are people trying to hurt you.' She stopped and turned her
eyes back to him. 'They're trying to kill you, aren't they? ... One among
so many millions . . . and I keep saying to myself, "Not him. Oh, God, not
him." Don't you see? . . . Do we need them? Are those people -whoever they
are-so important? To us? Haven't you done enough?'
He returned her stare and found himself understanding the
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profundity of her question. It wasn't a pleasant realization. ... He had
done enough. His whole life had been turned around until the alien was an
everyday occurrence.
For what?
The amateurs? Alan Swanson? Walter Kendall?
A dead Ed Pace. A corrupt Fairfax.
One among so many millions.
'Seflor Spaulding?' The words shocked him momentarily because they were so
completely unexpected. A tuxedoed maltre d' was standing bythe edge of the
booth, his voice low.
'Yes?'
'There's a telephone call for you.'
David looked at the discreet man. 'Can't you bring the telephone to the
table?'
'Our sincere apologies. The instrument plug at this booth is not
functioning.'
A lie, of course, Spaulding knew.
'Very well.' David got out of the booth. He turned to Jean. 'I'D be right
back. Have some more coffee.'
'Suppose I wanted a drink?'
'Order it.' He started to walk away.
'David?' She called out enough to be heard; not loudly.
'Yes?' He turned back; she was staring at him again.
' "Tortugas" ' isn't worth it,' she said quietly.
It was as if he'd been hit a furious blow in the stomach. Acid formed in
his throat, his breath stopped, his eyes pained him as he looked down at
her.
'I'll be right back.'
'Heinrich Stoltz here,' the voice said.
'I've been expecting your call. I assume the switchboard gave you the
number.'
'It was not necessary to telephone. The arrangements have been made. in
twenty minutes a green Packard automobile will be outside the restaurant.
A man will have his left arm out the window, holding an open pack of German
cigarettes this time. I thought you would appreciate the symbolic
repetition.'
'I'm touched. But you may have to alter the time and the car.' 'There can
be no changes. Herr Rhinemann is adamant.'
'So am L Something's come up.'
'Sorry. Twenty minutes. A green Packard automobile.'
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The connection was severed.
Well, that was Stoltz's problem, thought David. There was only one thought
in mind. To get back to Jean.
He made his way out of the dimly lit comer and sidled awkwardly past the
bar patrons whose stools were blocking the aisle. He was in a hurry; the
human and inanimate obstructions were frustrating, annoying. He reached the
arch into the dining area and walked rapidly through the tables to the rear
booth.
Jean Cameron was gone. There was a note on the table.
It was on the back of a cocktail napkin, the words written in the heavy wax
of an eyebrow pencil. Written hastily, almost illegibly:
David. I'm sure you have things to do -places to go - and I'm a
bore tonight
Nothing else. As if she'd just stopped.
He crumpled the napkin in his pocket and raced back across the dining room
to the front entrance. The maitre d' stood by the door.
'Seftor? Is there a problemT
'The lady at the booth. Where did she go?V
'Mrs. Cameron?'
Christ! thought David, looking at the calm portefio. What was happening?
The reservation was in his name. Jean had indicated that she'd been to the
restaurant only once before.
'Yes! Mrs. Cameron! Goddamn you, where is she!?'
'She left a few minutes ago. She took the first taxi at the curb.'
'You listen to me .....
'Sefior,' interrupted the obsequious Argentine, 'there is a gentleman
waiting for you outside. He will take care of your bill. He has an account
with us.'
Spaulding looked out the large windowpanes in the heavy front door. Through
the glass he could see a man standing on the sidewalk. He was dressed in a*
white Palm Beach suit.
David pushed the door open and approached him.
'You want to see meT
'I'm merely waiting for you, Herr Spaulding. To escort you. The car should
be here in fifteen minutes.'
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30
The gre
en Packard sedan came to a stop across the street, directly in front
of the restaurant. The driver's arm appeared through the open window, an
indistinguishable pack of cigarettes in his hand. The man in the white Palm
Beach suit gestured politely for Spaulding to accompany him.
A , s he drew nearer, David could see that the driver was a large
man in a black knit, short-sleeved shirt that both revealed and
accentuated his muscular arms. There was a stubble of beard,
thick eyebrows; he looked like a mean-tempered longshoreman,
the rough image intended, Spaulding was sure. The man walking
beside him opened the car door and David climbed in.
No one spoke. The car headed south back toward the center of Buenos Aires;
then northeast into the Aeroparque district. David was mildly surprised to
realize that the driver had entered the wide highway paralleling the river.
The same road he had taken that afternoon with Leslie Hawkwood. He wondered
whether the route was chosen deliberately, if they expected him to make
some remark about the coincidence.
He sat back, giving no indication that he recognized anything.
The Packard accelerated on the wide river road which now swung to the left,
following the water into the hills of the northwest. The car did not,
however, go up any of the offshoot roads
as David had done hours ago. Instead the driver maintained a steady, high
speed. A reflecting highway sign was caught
287
momentarily in the glare of the headlights: 27gre 12 W.
The traffic was mild; cars rushed past intermittently from the opposite
direction; several were overtaken by the Packard. The driver Checked his
rear- and side-view mirrors constantly.
In the middle of a long bend in the road, the Packard slowed down. The
driver nodded his head to the man in the white Palm Beach suit beside
David.
'We will exchange cars now, Herr Spaulding,' said the man, reaching into
his jacket, withdrawing a gun.
Ahead of them was a single building, an outskirts restaurant or an inn with
a circular drive that curved in front of an entrance and veered off into a
large parking area on the side. Spotlights fit the entrance and the lawn in
front.
The driver swung in; the man beside Spaulding tapped him.
'Get out here, please. Go directly inside.'
David opened the door. He was surprised to see a uniformed doorman remain
by the entrance, making no move toward the Packard. Instead, he crossed
rapidly in front of the entrance and started walking on the graveled drive
in the direction of the side parking lot. Spaulding opened the front door
and stepped into the carpeted foyer of the restaurant; the man in the white
suit was at his heels, his gun now in his pocket.
Instead of proceeding toward the entrance of the dining area, the man held
David by the arzn - politely - and knocked on what appeared to be the door
of a small office in the foyer. The door opened and the two of them walked
inside.
It was a tiny office but that fact made no impression on Spaulding. What
fascinated him were the two men inside. One was dressed in a white Palm
Beach suit; the other - and David instantly, involuntarily, had to smile -
was in the identical clothes he himself was wearing. A light blue, striped
cord jacket and dark trousers. The second man was his own height, the same
general build, the same general coloring.
David had no time to observe further. The light in the small office - a
desk lamp - was snapped off by the newly appeared white suit. T"he German
who had accompanied Spaulding walked to the single window that looked out
on the circular drive. He spoke softly.
'Schnell. Beeilen Sie sick ... Danke.'
The two men quickly walked to the door and let themselves out. The German
by the window was silhouetted in the filtered
288
light of the front entrance. He beckoned David.
Wommen Sie her.'
He went to the window and stood beside the man. Outside, their two
counterparts were on the driveway, talking and gesturing as if in an
argument - a mild disagreement, not violent. Both smoked cigarettes, their
faces more often covered by their hands than not. Their backs were to the
highway beyond.
Then an automobile came from the right, from the direction of the parking
lot, and the two men got inside. The car moved slowly to the left, to the
entrance of the highway. It paused for several seconds, waiting for an
opportune moment in the thinned-out night traffic. Suddenly it lurched
forward, crossed to the right of the highway and sped off south, toward the
city.
David. wasn't sure why the elaborate ploy was considered necessary, he was
about to ask the man beside him. Before he spoke, however, he noticed the
smile on the man's face, inches from his in the window. Spaulding looked
out.
About fifty yards away, off the side of the river road, headlights were
snapped on. A vehicle, facing north, made a fast U-turn on the wide highway
and headed south in a sudden burst of speed.
The German grinned. 'Amerikanische ... Kinder.'
David stepped back. The man crossed to the desk and turned on the lamp.
'That was an interesting exercise,' said Spaulding.
The man looked up. 'Simply a - what are your words, eine Forsichtsmassnahme
- a . . .'
'A precaution,' said David.
Ua. That's right, you speak German.... Come. Herr Rhinemann must not be
kept waiting longer than the ... precautions require.'
Even in daylight, Spaulding realized, the dirt road would be difficult to
find. As it was, with no street lamps and only the misty illumination of
the moon, it seemed as though the Packard had swung off the hard pavement
into a black wall of towering overgrowth. Instead, there was the
unmistakable sound of dirt beneath the wheels as the car plunged forward,
the driver secure in his knowledge of the numerous turns and straightaways.
A half mile into the forest the dirt road suddenly widened and the surface
became smooth and hard again.
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There was an enormous parking area. Four stone gateposts -wide, medieval in
appearance - were spaced equidistant from ,one another at the far end of
the blacktopped field. Above each stone post was a massive floodlamp, the
spills intersecting, throwing light over the entire area and into the woods
beyond. Between the huge posts was a thick-grilled iron fence, in the
center of which was a webbed steel gate, obviously operated electrically.
Men dressed in dark shirts and trousers - quasi~military in cut - stood
around, several with dogs on leashes.
Dobermans. Massive, straining at their leather straps, barking viciously.
Commands could be heard from the handlers and the dogs subsided.
The man in the white Palm Beach suit opened the door and got out. He walked
to the main gatepost, where a guard appeared at the fence from inside the
compound. The two men talked briefly; David could see that beyond the guard
stood a dark concrete or stucco enclosure, perhaps twenty feet in length,
in which there were small windows with light showing through.
The guard returned to the miniature house; the man in the white suit came
back to the Packard.
'We will wait a few minutes,'he said, climbing into the rear seat.
'I thought we were in a hurry.'
'To be here; to let Herr Rhinemann know we have arrived. Not necessarily to
be admitted.'
'Accommodating fellow,' said David.
'Herr Rhinemann can be what he likes!
Ten minutes later the steel-webbed gate swung slowly open and the driver
started the engine. The Packard cruised by the gatehouse and the guards;
the Dobermans began their rapacious barking once again, only to be silenced
by their masters. The road wound uphill, ending in another huge parking
area in front of in enormous white mansion with wide marble steps leading
to the largest pair of oak doors David had ever seen, Here, too,
floodlights covered the whole area. Unlike the outside premises, there was
a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, the reflection of the lights
bouncing off the spray of the water.
it was as if some extravagant plantation house from the antebellum South
-had been dismantled stone by stone, board by board, marble block by marble
block, and rebuilt deep within an Argentine forest.
290
An extraordinary sight, and not a little frightening in its massive
architectural concept. The construction engineer in David was provoked and
stunned at the same time. The materialslogistics must have been staggering;
the methods of leveling and transport incredible.
The cost unbelievable.
The German got out of the car and walked around to David's door. He opened
it.
'We'll leave you now. It's been a pleasant trip. Go to the door; you'll be
admitted. Auf Wiedersehen.'
David got out and stood on the hard surface before the marble steps. The
green Packard started off down the winding descent.
Spaulding stood alone for nearly a minute. If he was being watched - and
the thought crossed his mind - the observer might think he was an
astonished caller overwhelmed by the magnificence in front of him. That
judgment would have been partially accurate; his remaining concentration,
however, was on the mansion's more mundane specifics: the windows, the
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 35