Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt

by The Rhineman Exchange [lit]

Spaulding's hand was in midair, his wrist turned. 'I didn't realize it was

  so late.'

  316

  'It's not. It's only eleven, but you haven't eaten -probably didn't sleep,

  either - and you said you were going to the airport shortly after one.'

  'I was right; you're a corporate executive. Your sense of organization is

  frightening.'

  'Nowhere near yours. We'll stop at a jewelry store first. Ive already

  called. You have a present.'

  'I like presents. Let's go.' Spaulding got out of his chair as the

  telephone rang. He looked down at it. 'Do you know that's the first time

  that thing has made a soundT

  'It's probably for me. I told my secretary I was here. . . . I don't think

  I really had to tell her.'

  'HelloT said David into the phone.

  'Spaulding?'

  David recognized the polished German of Heinrich Stolz. His tension carried

  over the wire. 'Isn't it a little foolish to call me hereT

  11 have no choice. Our mutual friend is in a state of extreme anxiety.

  Everything is jeopardized.'

  'What are you talking aboutT

  'This is no time for foolishness! The situation is grave.'

  'It's no time for games, either. What the hell are you talking aboutT

  'Last night! This morning. What happenedT

  'What happened whereT

  'Stop it! You were therel

  'WhereT

  Stoltz paused; David could hear his breath. The German was in panic,

  desperately trying to control himself. 'The men were killed. We must know

  what happenedl'

  'Killed? ... You're crazy. HowT

  'I warn you. . . .'

  'Now you cut it out! I'm buying. And don't forget it.... I don't want to be

  mixed up in any organization problems. Those men dropped me off around one

  thirty. Incidentally, they met your other boys, the ones covering my

  apartment. And also incidentally, I don't like this round-the-clock

  surveillancel'

  Stoltz was blanked - as David expected he would be. 'The others? ... What

  othersT

  'Get off it I You know perfectly well.'Spaulding let the inference hang.

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  'This is all most disturbing. Stoltz tried to compose

  himself.

  'I'm sorry,' said David noncomn-dttally.

  Exasperated, Stoltz interrupted. 'I'll call you back.'

  'Not here. I'll be out most of the afternoon.... As a matter of fact,'

  added Spaulding quickly, pleasantly, 'I'll be in one of those sailboats our

  mutual friend looks down upon so majestically. I'm joining some diplomatic

  friends almost as rich as he is. Call me after five at C6rdoba.'

  David hung up instantly, hearing the beginning of Stoltzs protest. Jean was

  watching him, fascinated.

  'You did that very well,' she said.

  'I've had more practice than him.'

  'Stoltz?,

  'Yes. Let's go into your office.'

  'I thought we were going to lunch.'

  'We are. Couple of things first.... There's a rear exit, isn% there?'

  'Several. Back gate.'

  'I want to use an embassy vehicle. Any trouble?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Your secretary. Could you spare her for a long lunchT

  :You're sweet. I had the insane idea you were taking me.'

  I am. Could she put her hair up and wear a floppy hat?'

  'Any woman can.'

  'Good. Get that yellow coat you wore last night. And point out any man

  around here relatively my size. One that your secretary might enjoy that

  long lunch with. Preferably wearing dark trousers. He'll have my jacket.'

  :What areyou doing?'

  Our friends are good at playing jokes on other people. Let's see how they

  take it when one's played on thern.'

  Spaulding watched from the third-floor window, concealed by the full-length

  drapes. He held the binoculars to his eyes. Below, on the front steps,

  Jean's secretary - in a wide-brimmed hat and Jean's yellow coat -walked

  rapidly down to the curb of the driveway. Following her was one of

  Ballard's assistants, a tall man in dark trousers and David's jacket. Both

  wore sunglasses. Ballard's man paused momentarily on the top step, looking

  at an unfolded road map. His face was covered by the awkward mass of

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  paper. He descended the stairs and together he and the girl climbed into the

  embassy limousine - an upper-level vehicle with curtains.

  Spaulding scanned the Avenida Corrientes in front of the gates. As the

  limousine was passed through, a Mercedes coupe parked on the south side of

  the street pulled away from tho curb and followed it. And then a second

  automobile on the north side made a cautious U-turn and took up its

  position several vehicles behind the Mercedes.

  Satisfied, David put down the binoculars and went out of the room. In the

  corridor he turned left and walked swiftly past doors and around staircases

  toward the rear of the building, until be came to a room that corresponded

  to his observation post in front. Bobby Ballard sat in an armchair by the

  window; he turned around at the sound of David's footsteps, binoculars in

  his hands.

  'Anything?' Spaulding asked.

  'Two,' answered the cryp. 'Parked facing opposite directions. They just

  drove away.'

  'Same up front. They're in radio contact!

  'Thorough, aren't they?'

  'Not as much as they think,' Spaulding said.

  Ballard's sports coat was loose around the midsection and short in the

  -sleeves, but it showed off David's new wristwatch. Jean was pleased about

  that. It was a very fine chronometer.

  The restaurant was small, a virtual hole-in-the-wall on a side street near

  San Martfn. The front door was open; a short awning protected the few

  outside tables from the sun. Their table, however, was inside. Spaulding

  sat facing the entrance, able to see clearly the passersby on the sidewalk.

  But he was not watching them now. He was looking at Jean. And what he saw

  in her face caused him to say the words without thinking.

  'It's going to be over soon. I'm getting out.'

  She took his hand, searching his eyes. She did not reply for several

  moments. It was as if she wanted his words suspended, isolated, thought

  about. 'That's a remarkable thing to say. I'm not sure what it means.'

  'It means I want to spend years and years with you. The rest of my life....

  I don't know any other way to put it.'

  Jean closed her eyes briefly, for the duration of a single breath of

  silence. 'I think you've put it ... very beautifully.'

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  How could he fell her? How could he explain? He had to try. It was so

  damned important. 'Less than a month ago,' he began softly, 'something

  happened in a field. At night, in Spain. By a campfire.... To me. The

  circumstances aren't important, but what happened to me was ... the most

  frightening thing I could imagine. And it had nothing to do with the

  calculated risks in my work; nothing to do with being afraid - and I was

  always afraid, you can bet your life on that.... But I suddenly found I had

  no feeling. No feeling at all. I was given a report that should have shaken

  me up - made me weep, or made me angry, goddamned angry. But I didn't feel

/>   anything. I was numb. I accepted the news and criticized the man for

  withholding it. I told him not to make that mistake again.... That I did

  not act rashly under any conditions. . . . You see, he rightfully thought

  that I would.' David stopped and put his hand over Jean's. 'What I'm trying

  to tell you is that you've given me back something I thought I'd lost. I

  don't ever want to take the chance of losing it again.'

  'You'll make me cry,' she said quietly, her eyes moist, her lips trembling

  to a smi-le. 'Don't you know girls cry when things like that are said to

  them? ... I'll have to teach you so much.... Oh, Lord,' she whispered.

  'Please, please ... years.'

  David leaned over the small table; their lips touched and as theyheld

  lightly together, he removed his hand from hers and gently ran his fingers

  over the side of her face.

  The tears were there.

  He felt them, too. They would not come for him, but he felt them.

  'I'm going back with you, of course,' she said.

  Her words brought back the reality ... the other reality, the lesser

  one.'Not with me. But soon. I'm going to need a couple of weeks to settle

  things.... And you'll have to transfer your work down here.'

  She looked at him questioningly but did not ask a question. There are ...

  special arrangements for you to take back the blueprints or designs or

  whatever they are.'

  'Yes.'

  'When?'

  'If everything goes as we expect, in a day or two. At the most, three.'

  'Then why do you need a couple of weeksT

  He hesitated before answering. And then he realized he

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  wanted to tell her the truth. It was part of the beginning for him. The

  truth. 'There's a breach of security in a place called Fairfax.... 9

  'Fairfax,' she interrupted. 'That was in your Me.'

  'It's an intelligence center in Virginia. Very classified. A man was killed

  there. He was a friend of mine. I purposely withheld information that might

  stop the leaks and, more important, find out who killed him.'

  'For heaven's sake, why?'

  'In a way, I was forced to. The men in Fairfax weren't cleared for the

  information I had; the one man who was, is ineffectual . . . especially in

  something like this. He's not Intelligence oriented; he's a requisition

  general. He buys things.'

  'Like gyroscopic designsT

  'Yes. When I get back I'll force him to clear the data.' David paused and

  then spoke as much to himself as to Jean. 'Actually, I don't give a damn

  whether he does or not. I've got a long accumulated leave coming to me.

  I'll use a week or two of it in Fairfax. There's a German agent walking

  around in that compound with a four-zero rating. He killed a very good

  man.'

  'That frightens me.'

  'It shouldn't.' David smiled, answering her with the truth. 'I have no

  intention of risking those years we talked about. If I have to, I'll

  operate from a maximum security cell.... Don't worry.'

  She nodded. 'I won't. I believe you.... I'll join you in, say, three weeks.

  I owe that to Henderson; there will be a lot of adjustments for him. Also,

  I'll have something done about Ellis.'

  'Don't touch him. We don't know anything yet. If we find out he's on an

  outside payroll he can be valuable right where he is. Reverse conduits are

  jewels. When we uncover one we make sure he's the healthiest man - or woman

  - around.'

  'What kind of a world do you live in?' Jean asked the question with

  concern, not humor.

  'One that you'll help me leave.... After Fairfax, I'm finished.'

  Eugene Lyons edged into the back seat of the taxi between Spaulding and the

  male nurse named Hal. The other attendant, Johnny, sat in front with the

  driver. David gave his instructions in Spanish; the driver started out the

  long, smooth roadway of the Aeroparque.

  David looked at Lyons; it wasn't easy to do so. The proximity

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  of the sad, emaciated face emphasized,the realization that what he saw was

  self-inflicted. Lyons's eyes were not responding; he was exhausted from the

  flight, suspicious of the new surroundings, annoyed by David's aggressive

  efficiency at hurrying them all out of the terminal.

  'It's good to see you again,' David told him.

  Lyons blinked; Spaulding wasn't sure whether it was a greeting or not.

  'We didn't expect you,' said Johnny from the front seat. 'We expected to

  get the professor set ourselves.'

  'We've got it all written down,' added Hal, leaning forward on Lyons's

  right, taking a number of index cards out of his pocket. 'Look. The

  address. Your telephone number. And the embassy's. And a wallet full of

  Argentine money.'

  Hal pronounced Argentine, 'Argentyne.' David wondered how he could be given

  a course in hypodermic injection; who would read the labels? On the other

  hand, his partner Johnny -less talkative, more knowing somehow-was

  obviously the leader of the two.

  'Well, these things are usually fouled up. Communications break down all

  the time.... Did you have a good flight down, doctor?'

  'It wasn't bad,' answered Hal. 'But bumpy as a son of a bitch over Cuba.'

  'Those were probably heavy air masses coming up from the island,' said

  David, watching Lyons out of the comer of his eye. The physicist responded

  now; a slight glance at Spaulding. And there was humor in the look.

  'Yeah,' replied Hal knowingly, 'that's what the stewardess said.'

  Lyons smiled a thin smile.

  David was about to capitalize on the small breakthrough when he saw a

  disturbing sight in the driver's rear-view mirror - instinctively he'd been

  glancing at the glass.

  It was the narrow grill of an automobile he'd previously spotted, though

  with no alarm. He had seen it twice: on the long curb in the taxi lineup

  and again on the turnout of the front park. Now it was there again, and

  David slowly shifted his position and looked out the taxi's rear window.

  Lyons seemed to sense that Spaulding was concerned; he moved to accommodate

  him.

  The car was a 1937 La Salle, black, with rusted chrome on the

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  grillwork and around the headlights. It remained fifty to sixty yards

  behind, but the driver - a blond-haired man - refused to let other vehicles

  come between them. He would accelerate each time his position was

  threatened. The blond-haired man, it appeared, was either inexperienced or

  careless. If he was following them.

  David spoke to the taxi driver in urgent but quiet Spanish. He offered the

  man five dollars over the meter if he would reverse his direction and head

  away from San Telmo for the next several minutes. The porteho was less of

  an amateur than the driver of the La Salle; he understood immediately, with

  one look in his mirror. He nodded silently to Spaulding, made a sudden,

  awkwardly dangerous U-turn, and sped west. He kept the taxi on a fast

  zigzag course, weaving in and around the traffic, then turned abruptly to

  his right and accelerated the car south along the ocean drive. The sight of

  the water reminded David of Ocho Calle.

  He wanted very much to depos
it Eugene Lyons in San Telmo and get back to

  Ocho Calle.

  The La Salle was no longer a problem.

  'Christ!' said Hal. 'What the hell was that?' And then he answered his own

  question. 'We were being followed, right?'

  'We weren't sure,' said David.

  Lyons was watching him, his look inexpressive. Johnny spoke from the front

  seat.

  'Does that mean we can expect problems? You had this guy tooling pretty

  hard. Mr. Kendall didn't mention anything about trouble.... Just our job.'

  Johnny did not tum around as he spoke.

  'Would it bother you if there were?'

  Johnny turned to face Spaulding; he was a very serious fellow, thought

  David. 'It depends,' said the male nurse. 'Our job is to watch out for the

  professor. Take care of him. If any trouble interfered with that, I don't

  think I'd like it.'

  'I see. What would you do?'

  'Get him the hell out of here,' answered Johnny simply.

  'Dr. Lyons has a job to do in Buenos Aires. Kendall must have told you

  that.'

  Johnny's eyes leveled with Spaulding's. 'I'll tell you straight, mister.

  That dirty pig can go screw. I never took so much shit from anyone in my

  life.'

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  'Why don't you quiff

  'We don't work for Kendall,' said Johnny, as if the thought was repulsive.

  'We're paid by the Research Center of Meridian Aircraft. That son of a

  bitch isn't even from Meridian. He's a lousy bookkeeper.'

  'You understand, Mr. Spaulding,' said Hal, retreating from his partner's

  aggressiveness. 'We have to do what's best for the professor. That's what

  the Research Center hires us for.'

  .'I understand. I'm in constant touch with Meridian Research. The last

  thing anyone would wish is to harm Dr. Lyons. I can assure you of that.'

  David lied convincingly. He couldn't give assurance because he himself was

  far from sure. His only course with Johnny and Hal was to turn this

  newfound liability into an asset. The key would be Meridian's Research

  Center and his fictional relationship to it; and a common repugnance for

  Kendall.

  The taxi slowed down, turning a comer into a quiet San Telmo street. The

  driver pulled up to a narrow, three-storied, white stucco house with a

  sloping, rust-tiled roof. It was 15 Terraza Verde. The first floor was