Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt Read online

  "But do you not see?" continued the

  police officer. "They sound

  like explosives. Look like detonating am-

  munition, but they are neither. They are

  only show. Semblances of something else.

  Real in themselves but only an illusion

  of another reality. Not dangerous at

  all."

  "So?"

  "That is precisely what you are being

  asked to give. The semblance, not the

  reality. You have only to pretend. In a

  short, simple ceremony with but a few

  words that you know are only an illusion.

  Not dangerous at all. And very polite."

  "Wrong-o!" roared Hawkins. "Everybody

  knows what a firecracker is; nobody'll

  know I'm pretending."

  al

  "Between the two of us, I must

  differ. It is nothing more than a

  diplomatic ritual. Everyone will

  understand, take my word for it."

  "Yeah? How the hell do you know

  that? You re a Peking cop, not a

  Kissing-ass."

  The Communist fingered the box of

  firecrackers and sighed audibly. 'I

  apologize for the minor deception,

  General. I am not with the People's

  Police. I am second vice-prefect for

  the Ministry of Education. I am here

  to make an appeal to you. An appeal to

  your reason. However, the rest is

  quite true. You are under house

  arrest, and the patrols outside are

  policemen."

  "I'll be goddamned! They sent me a

  lace-pants." Hawkins grinned again.

  "You boys are worried, real worried,

  aren't you?"

  The Communist sighed once more.

  "Yes. The idiots who started this

  thing have been shipped to mining

  collectives in.Outer Mongolia. It was

  lunacy; although I'll grant them you

  were a temptation, General Hawkins.

  Have you any idea the volumes of

  scurrilous attacks you've made on

  every Marxist, Socialist, and, forgive

  me, even vaguely democratically

  oriented nation on the face of this

  earth? The worst examples I should say

  best examples of demagoguery!"

  "A lot of that crap was written by

  the people who paid me to speak',"

  said Hawkins, a bit reflectively. And

  then he quickly added, "Not that I

  didn't believe it! Goddamn, I

  believe!"

  "You're impossible!" Lin Shoo

  stamped his foot as a child might.

  "You're as insane as Lu Sin and his

  band of growling paper lions! May they

  all crack many rocks and fornicate

  with Mongolian sheep! You are simply

  impossi

  Hawkins stared at the Communist both

  at the furious expression on his face

  and the brightly colored box of

  firecrackers in his hand. He had made

  a decision and both of them knew it.

  "I'm also something else, slant

  eyes," said the lieutenant general,

  approaching Lin Shoo.

  "No! No! No violence, you idiot " It

  was too late for the Communist to

  scream. Hawkins had grabbed the cloth

  ~9

  of his tunic, pulled him swiftly off

  his feet and chopped Lin Shoo beneath

  the mandible.

  The vice-prefect of the Ministry of

  Education slumped instantly into

  unconsciousness.

  Hawkins grabbed the box of

  firecrackers out of Lin Shoo's hand

  and raced around the lacquered table

  into the sleeping quarters. He grabbed

  the blanket nailed across the window,

  folded back a tiny section on the edge

  and looked outside at the rear of the

  house. There were the two policemen

  chatting-calmly, their rifles at their

  sides. Beyond them was the sloping

  hill that led down to the village.

  Hawkins released the blanket and ran

  back into the main room, dropping

  immediately to his hands and knees and

  scrambling obstacle-style toward the

  front door. He stood up and silently

  opened it a crack. The two flanking

  policemen were about forty feet away

  and were as relaxed as the troops in

  the rear. What's more, they were

  looking down the descending road,

  their attention not on the house.

  MacKenzie took the brightly colored

  box of firecrackers from under his

  arm, ripped off the lightweight paper

  and shook out the connecting strings

  of cylinders. He wound two separate

  strands together, twisted both fuses

  into one, and removed his World War II

  Zippo from his pocket.

  He stopped; he sucked his breath,

  angry with himself. Then, holding the

  strands of firecrackers at his side,

  he walked casually past the windows

  into the bedroom and removed his

  holster and cartridge belt from

  another nail in the thin wall. He

  strapped the apparatus around his

  waist, removed the Colt .45 and

  checked the magazine. Satisfied, he

  shoved the weapon into its leather

  casing as he walked out of the

  bedroom. He circled the armchair in

  front of the Han Shu mantel, stepped

  over the immobile Lin Shoo and

  returned to the front door.

  He ignited the Zippo, and held the

  flame beneath the twisted fuse, then

  opened the door and threw the entwined

  strands onto the grass beyond the

  porch.

  Closing and bolting the door softly

  and swiftly, Hawkins dragged a small

  red lacquered chest from the foyer and

  forced it against the thick, carved

  panel. Then he raced 23

  into the sleeping quarters and pulled

  back a small section of the window

  blanket and waited.

  The explosions were even louder than

  he remembered made so, he guessed,

  from the combined strands bursting

  against one another.

  The guards at the rear of the house

  were jolted out of their lethargy;

  their weapons collided in midair as

  each whipped his off the ground.

  Rifles in waist-firing position, the

  two men raced toward the front of the

  house.

  - The moment they were out of sight,

  Hawkins yanked down the blanket,

  crashed his foot into the thin strips

  of wood and thinner panes of glass,

  shattering the entire window. He

  leaped through onto the grass and

  started running toward the fields and

  the sloping hill.

  Al

  CHAPTER THREE

  At the base of the hill was the main

  dirt road that circled the village.

  Like spokes from a wheel, numerous

  offshoots headed directly into the

  small marketplace, in the center of

  the town. A semipaved thoroughfare

  branched outward tangentially from the

  circling road and connected with a

  pac
ed highway about four miles ffi the

  east. The American diplomatic mission

  was twelve miles down that highway

  within Peking proper.

  What he needed was a vehicle,

  preferably an automm bile, but

  automobiles were practically

  nonexistent outside the highest

  official circles. The People's Police

  had automobiles, of course; it had

  crossed his mind to double back around

  the hill to find Lin Shoo's, but that

  was too risky. Even if he Lund it and

  stole it, it would be a marked

  vehicle.

  Hawkins circled the village keeping

  to the high ground above the road.

  They would be coming after him. He

  could stay in the hills indefinitely,

  that didn't bother him. He had

  bivouacked underground in the

  mountains of Cong-Sol and Lai Tai in

  Cambodia for months at a time; he

  could live in the forests better than

  most animals. Goddamn, he was a prol

  But it was also pointless. He had to

  get to the mission and let the Free

  World know what kind of enemy it was

  sucking up to. Enough was enough,

  goddamn itl They could send out radio

  messages, barricade the whole complex,

  and fight it out until the offshore

  carriers sent in air strikes to

  pinpoint pulverize, even if it meant

  blowing up half of Peking. Then the

  copters could come in and get them

  out.

  as

  Of course, the civilians would shit

  in their pants, but he would control

  them. Teach the fancy pants how to

  fight. Fight! Not talk!

  MacKenzie stopped his fantasizing.

  Below to the right, coming around the

  bend in the road about a quarter of a

  mile away was a lone motorcycle. On it

  was a shee-san police official, a kind

  of Chinese state trooper. The answer

  to a prayer!

  Hawkins rose from the tall grass and

  started scrambling down the hill. In

  less than a minute he was at the edge

  of the dirt border. The bike was still

  around the curve out of sight, but he

  heard it coming closer. He threw

  himself down on the dirt in the middle

  of the road, drawing his legs up to

  appear smaller than he was, and lay

  perfectly still.

  The motorcycle's engine roared as the

  driver came around the curve, then

  sputtered as it skidded to a stop.The

  shee-san got off the bike and whipped

  out the kickstand. Hawkins could hear

  and feel the quick footsteps as the

  trooper approached.

  The shee-san bent over him and

  touched his shoulder, recoiling at the

  recognition of the American uniform.

  Mac moved. The shee-san shrieked.

  Five minutes later Hawkins had

  stretched the shee-san's tunic and

  pants over his rolled-up trousers and

  shirt. He slipped the trooper's

  goggles over his eyes and put on the.

  ludicrously tiny visor hat, using the

  chin strap to hold it in place, a

  cloth pimple sitting on the crew-cut,

  grayish black hair. Fortunately for

  his sense of well-being, he had a

  cigar. He chewed the end to its

  desired juiciness and lighted up.

  He was ready to ride.

  The diplomatic attache ran into the

  director's office without saying a

  word to the secretary or even knocking

  at the door. The director was

  threading his teeth with dental floss.

  "Excuse me, sir. I've just received

  the instructions from Washingtonl I

  knew you'd have~to read them!"

  The director of the diplomatic

  mission, Peking, reached for the cable

  and read it. His eyes widened and his

  mouth 26

  opened in astonishment. A long strand

  of dental floss, caught in his teeth,

  extended down to the desk.

  He saw the roadblock cutting off his

  entry onto the Peking highway. It WAS

  about three quarters of a mile down

  the semipaved thoroughfare; a single

  shee-san patrol car and a line of

  troopers stretching across the road

  was all he could distinguish through

  the fogged-up goggles.

  As he drew nearer, he could see that

  the guards were shouting to each

  other. One trooper stepped in front of

  the line and began waving his ride in

  the air hysterically back and forth,

  a signal for the approaching rider to

  stop.

  There was only one thing for it,

  thought Hawkins. If you're going to

  buy a goddamned grave, buy it bigl Go

  out with all weapons on repeat-fire,

  blazing barrels of thunder arrd

  lightning; go out with the screams of

  the Commie bastards ringing in your

  earsl

  Goddamnl He couldn't see for the

  Bucking dust, and his goddamn foot

  kept slipping off the tiny fucking gas

  pedal.

  He slapped his hand to his holster

  and pulled out the .45.

  He couldn't focus worth shit, but by

  Christ, he could squeeze the trigger!

  He did so repeatedly.

  To his astonishment the shee-san did

  not fire back; instead they dove into

  the mounds of dirt and sand, screaming

  like hysterical piglets, scampering

  into and over the mounds of dirt,

  burying their asses from the firepower

  of his single .45 weapon.

  Goddamn! Disgracefull

  Unless his goggles were playing

  tricks with the dirt and cigar smoke

  and the onrushing blurs, even the

  trooper in front an officer, by

  Christ; he had to he even he didn't

  have the balls to fight back.

  An officer!

  MacKenzie kept the bike at

  top-throttle and exhausted the clip of

  the .45. He careened up and over a

  mound of dirt and sand and cascaded

  onto a sloping hill of grass. As the

  bike was in midair he glimpsed the

  blurs of screaming heads beneath him

  and wished to hell he had more ummo.

  He twisted the handlebars violently so

  he could angle down and zoom

  diagonally back toward the road.

  27

  Goddamn! He hit the surface againl

  He'd broken through the barricade! He

  was barrel-assing onto the Peking

  highwayl

  The eat concrete was a joy. The

  spinning wheels of the motorcycle

  hummed; the wind rushed against his

  faces clear, intoxicating blasts of

  clean, dustless air which forced the

  smoke of his cigar into whirling

  pockets around his ears. Even the

  goggles were clear now.

  He took the next nine miles like a

  star-spangled meteor through an

  unknowing Chincom sky. Another mile

  and he would turn into the northern

  sid
e streets of Peking. Goddamn! He

  was going to make it! And then, by

  Christ, the Commie bastards would find

  out what an American counterstrike

  wasl

  He raced the bike through the

  crowded streets and careened off the

  curb at the entrance to Glorious

  Flower Square, the final stretch to

  the mission which stood at the end of

  the small plaza, fronting the street

  in alabaster, Oriental splendor. There

  were, as usual, crowds of PeWngers and

  out-of-/owners milling about, waiting

  to catch glimpses of the strange, huge

  pink people that came and went through

  the white steel doors inside the

  medium^sized compound.

  It wasn't much of a compound at

  that; there was no brick wall or high

  metal fence surrounding the mission.

  Only a thin latticework of decorative

  wood, lacquered against the elements,

  enclosing the clipped grass lawn that

  fronted the steps.

  The protection was in the windows

  and- doors: iron grillwork and steel.

  MacKenzie rewed the bike's engine to

  maximum, figuring the noise would part

  the throngs of onlookers.

  It did.

  The Chinese scattered as he raced down

  the street.

  And Hawkins damn near fell off the

  bike's saddle at what he saw in front

  of him; what in a sense was rushing

  toward him at goddamn near fifty miles

  an hour on that short stretch of

  pavement in Glorious Flower Square.

  There were three sets of wooden

  barricades elongated horses in front

  of the closed latticework gate1 Each

  horizontal plank was a foot or so

  above the other, forming a 28

  receding escalator wall of thick

  boards backed up by the delicate,

  filigreed fence.

  Standing in a line at port-arms were