THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION
ROBERT LUDLUM
PART ONE
Geneva. City of sunlight and bright reflections.
Of billowing white sails on the lake sturdy,
irregular buildings above, their rippling images on
the water below. Of myriad flowers surrounding
blue-green pools of fountains duets of exploding
colors.Of small quaint bridges arching over the
glassy surfaces of man-made ponds to tiny
man-made islands, sanctuaries for lovers and friends
and quiet negotiators. Reflections.
Geneva, the old and the new. City of high
medieval walls and glistening tinted glass, of sacred
cathedrals and less holy institutions. Of sidewalk
cafes and lakeside concerts, of miniature piers and
gaily painted boats that chug around the vast
shoreline, the guides extolling the virtues and the
estimated value of the lakefront estates that surely
belong to another time.
Geneva. City of purpose, dedicated to the
necessity of dedication, frivolity tolerated only when
intrinsic to the agenda or the deal. Laughter is
measured, controlled glances conveying approval
of sufficiency or admonishing excess. The canton by
the lake knows its soul. Its beauty coexists with
industry, the balance not only accepted but jealously
guarded.
Geneva. City also of the unexpected, of
predictability in conflict with sudden unwanted
revelation, the violence of the mind struck by bolts
of personal lightning.
Cracks of thunder follow; the skies grow dark
and the rains come. A deluge, pounding the angry
waters taken by surprise, distorting vision, crashing
down on the giant spray, Geneva’s trademark on the
lake, thejet d ‘ear, that geyser designed by man to
dazzle man. When sudden revelations come, the
gigantic fountain dies. All the fountains die and
without the sunlight the flowers wither. The bright
reflections are gone and the mind is frozen.
Geneva. City of inconstancy.
3
4 ROBERT LUDLUM
* * *
Joel Converse, attorney-at-law, walked out of
the hotel Richemondinto the blinding morning
sunlight on the Jardin Brunswick. Squinting, he
turned left, shifting his attache case to his right
hand, conscious of the value of its contents but
thinking primarily about the man he was to meet
for coffee and croissants at Le Chat Botte, a
sidewalk cafe across from the waterfront. “Re-meet”
was more accurate, thought Converse, if the man
had not confused him with someone else.
A. Preston Halliday was Joel’s American
adversary in the current negotiations, the finalising
of last-minute details for a Swiss-American merger
that had brought both men to Ge neva. Although
the remaining work was minimal formalities,
really, research having established that the
agreements were in accord with the laws of both
countries and acceptable to the International Court
in The Hague Halliday was an odd choice. He had
not been part of the American legal team fielded by
the Swiss to keep tabs on Joel’s firm. That in itself
would not have excluded him fresh observation
was frequently an asset but to elevate him to the
position of point, or chief spokesman, was, to say
the least, unorthodox. It was also unsettling.
Halliday’s reputation what little Converse knew
of it was as a troubleshooter, a legal mechanic
from San Francisco who could spot a loose wire, rip
it out and short an engine. Negotiations covering
months and costing hundreds of thousands had been
aborted by his presence, that much Converse
recalled about A. Preston Halliday. But that was all
he recalled. Yet Halliday said they knew each other.
“It’s Press Halliday,” the voice had announced
over the hotel phone. “I’m pointing for Rosen in the
Comm Tech-gem merger.”
“What happened?”Joel had asked, a muted
electric razor in his left hand, his mind trying to
locate the name; it had come to him by the time
Halliday replied.
“The poor bastard had a stroke, so his partners
called me in.” The lawyer had paused. “You must
have been mean, counselor.”
“We rarely argued, counselor. Christ, I’m sorry,
I like Aaron. How is he?”
“He’ll make it. They’ve got him in bed and on a
dozen versions of chicken soup. He told me to tell
you he’s going to check your finals for invisible ink.”
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION S
“Which means you ‘re going to check because I
don’t have any and neither did Aaron. This marriage
is based on pure greed, and if you’ve studied the
papers you know that as well as I do.”
“The larceny of investment write-offs,” agreed
Halliday, “combined with a large chunk of a
technological market. No invisible ink. But since I’m
the new boy on the block, I’ve got a couple of
questions. Let’s have breakfast.”
“I was about to order room service.”
“It’s a nice morning, why not get some air? I’m at
the President, so let’s split the distance. Do you
know the Chat Botte?”
‘American coffee and croissants. Quai du Mont
Blanc.- “You know it. How about twenty minutes?”
“Make it a half hour, okay?”
“Sure.” Halliday had paused again. “It’ll be good
to see you again, Joel.”
“Oh? Again?”
“You may not remember. A lot’s happened since
those days . . . more to you than to me, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Well, there was Vietnam and you were a
prisoner for a pretty long time.”
“That’s not what I meant, and it was years ago.
How do we know each other? What case?”
“No case, no business. We were classmates.”
“Duke? It’s a large law school.”
“Further back. Maybe you’ll remember when we
see each other. If you don’t, I’ll remind you.”
“You must like games…. Half an hour. Chat Botte.”
As Converse walked toward the Quai du Mont
Blanc, the vibrant boulevard fronting the lake, he
tried to fit Halliday’s name into a time frame, the
years to a school, a forgotten face to match an
unremembered classmate. None came, and Halliday
was not a common name, the short form “Press”
even less so . . . unique, actually. If he had known
someone named Press Halliday, he could not
imagine forgetting it. Yet the tone of voice had
implied familiarity, even closeness.
It’ll be good to see you again, Joel. He had spoken
the words warmly, as he had the gratuitous reference
to Joel’s POW status. But then, those words were
always spoken softly to imply sympathy if not to
express it overtly. Too, Converse understood why
under the circumstances Halliday felt he had
6 ROBERT LUDLUM
to bring up the subject of Vietnam, even fleetingly.
The uninitiated assumed that all men imprisoned in
the North Vietnamese camps for any length of time
had been mentally damaged, per se, that a part of
their minds had been altered by the experience,
their recollections muddled. To a degree, some of
these assumptions were undeniable, but not with re-
spect to memory. Memories were sharpened because
they were searched compulsively, often mercilessly.
The accumulated years, the layers of experience . .
. faces with eyes and voices, bodies of all sizes and
shapes; scenes flashing across the inner screen, the
sights and sounds, images and smells touching and
the desire to touch . . . nothing of the past was too
inconsequential to peel away and explore. Fre-
quently it was all they had, especially at
night always at night, with the cold, penetrating
dampness stiffening the body and the infinitely
colder fear paralysing the mind memories were
everything. They helped mute the sharp reports of
small-arms fire, which were gratuitously explained in
the mornings as necessary executions of the unco-
operative and unrepentant. Or they blocked out the
distant screams in the dark, of even more
unfortunate prisoners forced to play games, too
obscene to describe, demanded by their captors in
search of amusement.
Like most men kept isolated for the greater part
of their imprisonment, Converse had examined and
reexamined every stage of his life, trying to
understand . . . to like . . . the cohesive whole. There
was much that he did not understand or like but
he could live with the product of those intensive
investigations. Die with it, if he had to; that was the
peace he had to reach for himself. Without it the
fear was intolerable.
And because these self-examinations went on
night after night and required the discipline of
accuracy, Converse found it easier than most men to
remember whole segments of his life. Like a
spinning disk attached to a computer that suddenly
stops, his mind, given only basic information, could
isolate a place or a person or a name. Repetition
had simplified and accelerated the process, and that
was what bewildered him now. Unless Halliday was
referring to a time so far back as to have been only
a brief, forgotten childhood acquaintance, no one of
that name belonged to his past.
It’ll tee good to see you again, JoeL Were the
words a ruse, a lawyer’s trick?
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 7
Converse rounded the corner, the brass railing of
Le Chat Botte glistening, hurling back tiny explosions
of sunlight. The boulevard was alive with gleaming
small cars and spotless buses; the pavements were
washed clean, the strollers in various stages of