Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Read online

  10

  THE PAMMAL MOSAIC11

  In his past life, on the other band, whenever be got to where be was going,

  there was the movable Prison- No, not exactly. There were appointments to

  keep, sources to contact, informers to pay. Too often at night, in shadows,

  far away from geeing or being seen.

  Now there was none of that. There ha(Wt been for nearly eight weeks. He

  walked in daylight, as he was walking now down the Damrak in Amsterdam

  toward the American Express office. He wondered if the cable would be

  there. If it was, it would signify the beginning of something. A concrete

  beginning. A job.

  Employment. Strange how the unexpected was so often connected to the

  routine. It bad been three months since that night on the Costa Brava, two

  months and five days since the end of big debriefing and formal separation

  from the government. He had come up to Washington from the clinic in Vir-

  ginia where he had spent twelve days in therapy- (Whatever they had

  expected to find wasn't there; he could have told them that. He didn't care

  anymore; couldn't they understand?) He had emerged from the doors of the

  State Department at four o'clock in the afternoon a free man-also an

  unemployed, unpensioned citizen with certain resources hardly of the

  magnitude to be considered an annuity. It bad occurred to him as he stood

  there on the pavement that afternoon that sometime in the future a job had

  to be found, a job where he could illuminate the lessons of-The lessons.

  But not for a while; for a while he would do the minimum required of a

  functioning human being.

  He would travel, revisit all those places be bad never really visited-in

  the sunlight. He would read-reread, actually~ not codes and schedules and

  dossiers but all those books he had not read since graduate school. If he

  was going to illuminate anything for anybody, he had to relearn so much

  that he had forgotten.

  But if there was one thing on his mind at four o'clock that afternoon, it

  was a fine dinner. After twelve days in therapy, with various chemicals and

  a restricted diet, be had ached at the thought of a good meal. He had been

  about to head back to his hotel for a shower and a change of clothes when

  an accommodating taxi drove clown C Street, the sun bouncing off its

  windows and obscuring any occupants. It stopped at the curb in front of

  him-at the behest of big signal, Michael

  12RoBEIRT LuoLum

  had assumed. higtead, a passenger carrying an attach16 case stepped out

  quickly, a harried man late for an appointment, fumbling for his billfold.

  At first neither Havelock nor the passenger recognized each other; Michaels

  thoughts were on a restaurant, the othees on paying the driver.

  "Havelock?" the passenger inquired suddenly, adjusting his glasses. "It is

  you, iset it, Michael?"

  "Harry? Harry Lewis?"

  'You!ve got it. How are you, MR.?"

  Lewis was one of the few people he ever saw-and he rarely saw Harry-who

  called him by his initials. It was a minor legacy from graduate school,

  where he and Lewis bad been classmates at Princeton. Michael bad gone into

  government, Lewis into academia. Dr. Harry Lewis was chairman of the

  political science department at a small, prestigious university in New

  England, traveling down to D.C. now and then for consultation chores at

  State. They bad run into each other several times when both were in

  Washington.

  "Fine. Still picking up per diems, Harry?"

  "A lot fewer than before. Someone taught you people how to read evaluation

  reports from our more esoteric graduate schools."

  "Good Christ, rm being replaced by a beard in blue jeans with funny

  cigarettes."

  The bespectacled professor was stunned. "Yoifre kidding. You're out? I

  thought you were in for lifel"

  "The opposite, Harry. Life began between five and seven minutes ago when I

  wrote out my final signature. And in a couple of hours rm going to be faced

  with the first dinner check in years I can't take out of contingency

  funds."

  "What are you going to do, Michael?"

  "No thoughts. Don't want any for a while."

  The academician paused, taking his change from the ta3d driver, then spoke

  rapidly. "Listen, rm late for upstairs, but rm hi town overnight. Since rm

  on per diem, let me pay for the dinner. Where are you staying? I may have

  an idea."

  No government per them in the civilized world could have paid for the

  dinner that night two months and five days ago, but Harry Lewis did have an

  idea. They had been friends once; they became friends again, and Havelock

  found it easier to talk with a person who was at least vaguely aware of the

  work he had done for the government rather than

  THE PARsiFAL MosAic13

  with someone who knew nothing about it. It wag always diff1cult to explain

  that something could not be explained; Lewis understood. One thing led to

  another, which in turn led to Harrys idea.

  "Have you ever given any thought to getting back to a campus?"

  Michael smiled. "How would 'constantly' soundp"

  "I know, I know," Lewis pressed, inferring sarcasm. "You fellows-'spooks,'

  I assume, is the term-get all kinds of offers from the multinationals at

  damn good money, I'm aware of that. But, M.H., you were one of the best.

  Your dissertation was picked up by a dozen university presses; you even had

  your own seminars. Your academic record coupled with your years at

  State-most of which I realize you can't go into speciflcally~could make you

  very attractive to a university administration. Wre always saying, 'Lees

  find someone whos been there, not just a theoretician.' Damn it, Michael,

  I think yoere it. Now, I know the moneys not--"

  "Harry, you misunderstood. I meant it. I constantly think about getting

  back."

  It was Harry Lewis's tam to smile. "Then Ive got another idea."

  A week later Havelock bad flown to Boston and driven from there to the

  brick-and-ivy-and-white-birch campus on the outskirts of Concord, New

  Hampshire. He spent four days with Harry Lewis and his wife, wandering

  around, attending various lectures and seminars, and meeting those of the

  faculty and administration whose support Harry thought might be helpful.

  Michael's opinions had been sought "casually' over coffee, drinks and

  dinners; men and women had looked at him as if they considered him a

  promising candidate. Lewis had done his missionary work well At the end of

  the fourth day Harry announced at lunch:

  Mey like youl"

  "Why not?' his wife said. "He's damned likable."

  "They're quite excited, actually. Ifs what I said the other day, M.H.

  You~ve been there. Sixteen years with the State Department kind of makes

  you special."

  "And?'

  "There!s the annual administration-trustees conference coming up in eight

  weeks. Thafs when the supply-and-de-

  14 ROBERT LuDLum

  mand quotients are studied. Horseflesh. I think youll be offered a job.

  Where can I reach you?'

  "IT be traveling. ru call you."

  He had called Harry from London t
wo days ago. The conference was still in

  progress, but Lewis thought there would be an answer momentarily.

  "Cable me AX, Amsterdam," Michael had said. "And thanks, Harry."

  He saw the glass doors of the American Express office swing open just

  ahead. A couple emerged, the man awkwardly balancing the shoulder straps of

  two cameras while counting money. Havelock stopped, wondering for a moment

  if he really wanted to go inside. If the cable was there, it would contain

  either a rejection or an offer. If a rejection, he would simply go on

  wandering-and there was a certain comfort in that; the floating passivity

  of not planning had become something of value to him. If an offer, what

  then? Was he ready for it? Was he prepared to make a decision? Not the kind

  of decision one made in the field, where it had to be instinctive if . one

  was to survive, but, rather, a decision to commit oneself. Was he capable

  of a commitment? Where were yesterday's commitments?

  He took a deep breath, consciously putting one foot in front of the other,

  and approached the glass doors.

  POSITION AVAIL"LE VISITING PROFESSOR OF GOVERNMENT FOR PERIOD OF TWO YEARS.

  ASSOCIATE STATUS PENDING MUTUAL ACCEPTANCE AT THE END OF THIS TIME. INITIAL

  SALARY TWENTY-SEVEN-FIVE. WILL NEED YOUR REPLY WITHIN TEN DAYS. DON'T KEEP

  ME HOLDING MY BREATEL

  EVER, HARRY.

  Michael folded the cable and put It in his jacket pocket; he did not go

  back to the counter to write out his own cable to Harry Lewis, Concord, New

  Hampshire, U.S.A. It would come later. It was enough for the moment to be

  wanted, to know there was a beginning. It would take several days to absorb

  the knowledge of his own legitimacy, perhaps several days thereafter to

  come to grips with it. For in the legitimacy was the possibility of

  commitment; there was no real beginning without it.

  He walked out onto the Damrak, breathing the cold air of

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC15

  Amsterdam, feeling the damp chill floating up from the canal. The sun was

  setting; briefly blocked by a low-flying cloud, it reemerged, an orange

  globe hurling its rays through the intercepting vapors. It reminded Havelock

  of an ocean dawn on the coast of Spain-on the Costa Brava. He had stayed

  there all night that night, until the sun had forced itself up over the

  horizon, firing the mists above the water. He had gone down to the shoulder

  of the road, to the sand and the dirt....

  Stopf Don't think about it. That was another life.

  Two months and five days ago by sheer chance Harry Lewis had stepped out of

  a taid and started to change the world for an old friend. Now, two months

  and five days later, that change was there to be taken. He would take it,

  Michael knew, but something was missing: change should be shared, and there

  was no one to share it with, no one to say, What will you teach?

  The tuxedoed waiter at the Dikker en Thijs ground the lip of the flaming

  brandy glass into the silver receptacle of sugar; the ingredients would

  follow for caf6 jamique. It was a ridiculous indulgence, and probably a

  waste of very good liqueur, but Harry Lewis had insisted they each have one

  that night in Washington. He would tell. Harry that he bad repeated the

  ritual in Amsterdam, although he probably wouldn7t have if he had realized

  bow bright the damn flames were and the degree of attention they would draw

  to his table.

  'Mank you, Harry," he said silently once the waiter had left, raising his

  glass inches off the table to his invisible companion. It was better, after

  all, not to be completely alone.

  He could both feel the approaching presence of a man and see an enlarging

  darkness in the comer of his eye. A figure dressed in a conservative

  pinstriped suit was threading his way through the shadows and the

  candlelight toward the booth. Havelock angled the glass and raised his eyes

  to the face. The man's name was George; he was the CIA station chief in

  Amsterdam. They had worked together before, not always pleasantly but

  professionally.

  'Mat's one way to announce your arrival here," said the intelligence

  officer, glancing at the waiter's tray table, the silver sugar bowl still

  on It. "May I sit downr

  "My pleasure. How are you, Georger

  16ROBERT LUDLUM

  "I've been better," said the CIA man, sliding across the seat opposite

  Michael.

  "Sorry to bear that. Care for a drink?-

  "That depends."

  "On what?"

  "Whether I'll stay long enough."

  "Aren1 we cryptic," said Havelock. "But then you're probably still

  working."

  "I wasn't aware the hours were that clear-cut"

  "No, I guess they're not. Am I the reason, George?"

  "At the moment, maybe," said the CIA man. Trn surprised to see you here. I

  heard you retired."

  You heard correctly.-

  "Then why are you here?"

  "Why not? I'm traveling. I like Amsterdam. You could say rm spending a lot

  of accumulated severancepay visiting all those places I rarely got to see

  in the daytime.

  "I could say it, but that doesn't mean I believe it"

  "Believe, George. It!s the truth."

  "No screen?" asked the intelligence officer, his eyes leveled at Michael.

  "I can find out, you know."

  "None at all. Im out, finished, temporarily unemployed. If you check,

  that's what you'll learn, but I don't think you have to waste channel time

  to Langley. I'm sure the centrex codes have been altered where I was

  concerned, all sources and informers in Amsterdam alerted as to my status.

  I'm offlimits, George. Anyone dealing with me is asking for a short term on

  the payroll and quite possibly an obscure funeraL"

  'rhose are the surface facts," agreed the CIA man.

  'Ileyre the only facts. Don't bother looking for anything else; you won't

  find it."

  "All right, say I believe you. You're traveling, spending your severance

  pay." The agent paused as he leaned forward. "Ies going to run out"

  "What is?"

  "The severance pay.

  "Inevitably. At which time I expect I'll find gainful employment. As a

  matter of fact, this aftemoon-2p

  "Why wait? I might be able to help you there."

  "No, you can't, George. I haven't anything to sell."

  "Sure, you do. Expertise. A consultanes fee paid out of contingency. No

  name, no records, untraceable."

  TnE PARsxFAL MosAic17

  "If you're running a test, you're doing it badly."

  "No test. I'm willing to pay in order to look better than I am. I woulddt

  admit that if I were testing you."

  "You might, but yoed be a damn fool. Ies third-rate entrapment; ies so

  awkward you!ve probably done it for real. None of us want those contingency

  funds scrutinized too carefully, do we?"

  "I may not be in your league, but rm not third-rate. I need help. We need

  help."

  "Thafs better. You're appealing to my ego. Much better."

  "How about it, Michael. The KGVs an over The Hague. We don't know who

  they've bought or how far up they go. NATO's compromised."

  "We're all compromised, George, and I can!t help. Because I d
oet think it

  makes any difference. We get to square five, pushing them back to four, so

  they jump over us to seven. Then we buy our way to eight; they block us at

  nine, and no one reaches square ten. Everyone nods pensively and starts all

  over again. In the meantime we lament our losses and extol the body count,

  never admitting that it doeset make any difference."

  "Thaes a crock of shitl Wre not going to be buried by anyow.

  "Yes, we are, George. All of us. By 'children yet unborn and unbegot.'

  Unless they're smarter than we are, which may very well be the case.

  Christ, I hope so."

  "What the bell are you talking about?"

  " 'The purple atomic testament of bleeding war:

  "Whatt"

  "History, George. Let!s have that drink."

  "No, thanks." The CIA station chief slid back across the seat. "And I think

  yoxeve had enough," he added, standing UP.

  "Not yet."

  "Go to bell, Havelock." The intelligence officer started to tam away.

  "George."

  "What?"

  "You missed. I was about to say something about this afternoon, but you

  diddt let me finish."

  "So what?"

  18RoBEIRT LuiDLum

  "So you knew what it was I was going to tell you. When did you intercept

  the cable? Around noon?"

  "Go to hell."

  Michael watched as the CIA man returned to his table across the room. He

  had been dining alone, but Havelock knew he was not alone. Within three

  minutes the judgment was confirmed. George signed his check-bad form-and

  walked rapidly through the entrance arch into the lobby. Forty-five seconds

  later a youngish man from a table on the right side of the room got up to

  leave, leading a bewildered lady by the elbow. A minute passed, and two men

  who had been in a booth on the left side rose as one and started for the

  arch. Through the candlelight, Michael focused on the plates in the booth.

  Both were piled with food. Bad form.

  They had been following him, watching him, employing intercepts. Why? Why

  couldn7t they leave him alone?

  So much for Amsterdam

  The noonday sun in Paris was a blinding yellow, its quivering rays bouncing

  off the river Seine below the bridge. Havelock reached the midpoint of the

  Pont Royal, his small hotel only blocks away on the Rue du Bac, the route he