Robert Ludlum – Aquatain Progression

“He can elude you, he’s proven it.

“Where can he go, sabre? To his own embassy?

There he’s a dead man. To the Bonn police or the

Staatspolizei? He ll be put in an armored van and

brought back here. He goes nowhere.”

“I heard that when he left Paris, and I heard it

again when he flew into Bonn. Errors were made in

both places both costing a great many hours. I tell

you I’m more concerned now than at any moment in

three wars and a lifetime of skirmishes.”

“Be reasonable, Chaim, and try to be calm. He

has no clothes but what he wears in the river and

the mud, he possesses no identification, no passport,

no money. He doesn’t speak the language ”

“He has money!” yelled Abrahms, suddenly

remembering. “When he was under the needle, he

spoke of a large sum of money promised in Geneva

and delivered on Mykonos.”

“And where is it?” asked Leifhelm. “In this desk,

that’s where it is. Nearly seventy thousand American

dollars. He hasn’t got a deutsche mark in his pocket,

or a watch or a piece of jewelry. A man in filthy,

soaked clothing, with no idenhfication, no money, no

coherent use of the language, and telling

332 ROBERT LUDLUM

an outlandish tale of imprisonment involving der

Ceneral LeifLelm, would undoubtedly be put in jail

as a vagrant or a psychopath or both. In which case,

we shall be informed instantly and our people will

bring him to us. And bear in mind, sabre, by ten

o’clock tomorrow morning it won’t make any

difference. That was your contribution, the Mossad’s

ingenuity. We simply had the resources to make it

come to pass as is said in the Old Testament.”

Abrahms stood in front of the enormous desk,

arms akimbo above the pockets of his safari jacket.

‘ So the Jew and the {elect marshal set it all in

motion. Ironical, isn’t it, Nazi?”

“Not as much as you think,Jude. Impurity, as

with beauty, is in the eye of the frightened beholder.

You are not my enemy; you never were. If more of

us in the old days had your commitment, your

audacity, we never would have lost the war.”

‘1 know that,’ said the sabre. ‘I watched and

listened when you reached the English Ch-annel.

You lost it then. You were weak.”

“It was not us! It was the frightened Debutanten in

Ber

“Then keep them away when we create a truly

new orde,, Cerman. We can’t afford weakness.”

“You do try me, Chaim.”

“I mean to.”

The chauffeur felt the bandages on his face, the

swelling around his eyes and his lips painful to the

touch. He was in his own room, where the doctor

had turned on the television probably as an insult,

as he could barely see it.

He was disgraced. The prisoner had escaped in

spite of his own formidable talents and the

supposedly impassable pack of Dobermans. The

American had used the silver whistle, that much the

other guards had told him, and the fact that it had

been removed from his neck was a further

embarrassment.

He would not add to his disgrace. With blurred

vision he had gone through his pockets which no

one in the panic of the chase had thought to

do and found that his billfold, his expensive Swiss

watch, and all his money had been taken. He would

say nothing about them. He was embarrassed

enough, and any such revelations might be cause for

dismissal or conceivably his death.

* A: *

THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 333

Joel headed for the shoreline as fast as he could,

submerging his head underwater whenever the beam

of the searchlight swept toward him. The boat was a

large motor launch, its bass-toned engines signifying

power, its sudden turns and circles evidence of rapid

maneuverability. It hugged the overgrown banks,

then would sweep out toward the open water at the

slightest sign of an object in the river.

Converse felt the soft mud below; he half swam,

half trudged toward the darkest spot on the shore,

the chauffeur’s gun securely in his belt. The boat

approached, its penetrating beam studying every

foot, every moving branch or limb or cluster of river

weeds. Joel took a deep breath and slowly lows ered

himself under the water, his face angled up toward

the surface, his eyes open, his vision a muddy dark

blur. The searchlight grew brighter and seemed to

hover above him for an eternity; he inched his way

to the left and the beam moved away. He rose to the

surface, his lungs bursting, but suddenly realized he

could make no sound, he could not fill his chest with

gasps of air. For directly above him, less than five

feet away loomed the broad stern of the motor

launch, bobbing in the water as if idling. The dark

figure of a man was peering through very large

binoculars at the riverbank.

Converse was bewildered; it was too dark now to

see anything even with magnification. Then he

remembered, and the memory accounted for the size

of the binoculars. The man was focusing through

infrared lenses; they had been used by patrols in

Southeast Asia and were often the difference, he had

been told, between search-and-destroy and

search-andbe-destroyed. They revealed objects in the

darkness, soldiers in the darkness.

The boat moved forward, but the idle increased

only slightly, entering the slowest of trawling speeds.

Again Joel was confused. What had brought

Leifhelm’s searching party to this particular spot on

the riverfront? There were several other boats

behind and out in the distance, their searchlights

sweeping the water, but they kept moving, circling.

Why did the huge motor launch concentrate on this

stretch of the shore? Could they have spotted him

through infrared binoculars? If they had, they were

proceeding very strangely; the North Vietnamese had

been far swifter more aggressive, more effective.

Silently, Converse lowered himself beneath the

surface and breaststroked out beyond the boat.

Seconds later he

334 ROBERT LUDLUM

raised his head above the water, his vision clear,

and he began to understand the odd maneuverings

of LeifLelm’s patrol. Beyond the darkest part of the

riverbank into which he had lurched for

concealment were the lights he had seen eight or

nine minutes ago, before the launch and its

searchlight monopolized all his attention. He had

thought they were the lights of a small village, but

he was in the wrong part of the world. Instead they

were the inside lights of four or five small houses,

a river colony with a common dock, summer homes

perhaps of those fortunate enough to own

waterfront property.

If there were houses and a dock, there had to be

a drive an open passage up to the road or roads

leading into Bonn and the surrounding towns.

Leifhelm’s men were combing every inch of the

riverbank, cautiously, quietly, the searchlights angled

down so as not to alarm the inhabitants or forewarn

the fugitive if he had reached the cluster of cottages

and was on his way up to the unseen road or roads.

A ship’s radio would be activated, its frequency

aligned to those in cars roaming above, ready to

spring the trap. In some ways it was the Huong Khe

again for Joel, the obstacles far less primitive but no

less lethal. And then as now there was a bme to

wait, to wait in the black silence and let the hunters

make their moves.

They made them quickly. The launch slid into

the dock, the powerful twin screws quietly churning

in reverse, as a man jumped off the bow with a

heavy line and looped it around a piling. Three

others followed, instantly racing off the short pier

up onto the sloping lawn, one heading diagonally to

the right, the other two toward the first house.

What they were doing was obvious: one man would

position himself in the bordering woods of the

downhill entrance drive while his colleagues checked

the houses, looking for signs of entry.

Converse’s arms and legs began to feel like

weights, each an anvil he could barely support,

much less keep moving, but there was no choice.

The beam of the searchlight kept moving up and

down the base of the riverbank, its spill illuminating

everything in its vicinity. A head surfacing at the

wrong moment would be blown out of the water.

Huong Khe. Tread water in the reeds. Do it! Don ‘t

die!

He knew the waiting was no longer than thirty

minutes, but it seemed more like thirty hours or

thirty days suspended in a floabng torture rack. His

arms and legs were now in

THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 335

agony; sharp pains shot through his body

everywhere; muscles formed cramps that he

dispersed by holding his breath and Hoating in a

fetal position, his thumbs pressing relentlessly into

the cores of the knotted muscles. Twice while

gasping for air he swallowed water, coughing it out

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