Robert Ludlum – The Sigma Protocol

he greeted the two with a simple wave of the hand.

“I’ve been waiting for forty minutes,” he said. He grabbed Ben’s hand

in an affectionate, wrestling clasp. “Forty tillable minutes.” He

seemed to be savoring the world as it rolled off his tongue.

“A bit of a holdup at our previous engagement,” Ben said tersely.

“I can imagine.” Oscar nodded at Anna. “Madame,” he said. “Please,

sit.”

Ben and Anna slid onto the banquette on either side of the small

Frenchman.

“Madame,” he said, turning his full attention to her. “You are even

more beautiful than your photograph.”

“Sorry?” Anna replied, puzzled.

“A set of photographs of you was recently wired to my colleagues in la

Surete. Digital image files. I got a set of them myself. Came in

handy.”

“For his work,” Ben explained.

“My artisans,” Oscar said. “So very good and so very expensive.” He

tapped Ben on his forearm.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Of course, Ben, I can’t say your photograph does justice to you either.

Those paparazzi, they never find the flattering angle, do they?”

Ben’s smile faded. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m very proud of myself for doing the Herald Tribune crossword puzzle.

Not every Frenchman could do it, you’ll grant. I’ve almost finished

this one. All I need now is a fifteen-letter word for an

internationally wanted fugitive from justice.”

He turned the newspaper over.

” “Benjamin Hartman’ would that do it?”

Ben looked at the front page of the Tribune and felt as if he had been

plunged headfirst into ice water. serial killer sought was the

headline. Beside it was a low-resolution photograph of him, apparently

taken from a surveillance camera. His face was shadowed, the image

grainy, but it was unmistakably him.

“Who knew my friend was such a celebrity?” Oscar said, and turned the

paper over again. He laughed loudly, and Ben belatedly joined him,

realizing it was the only way one escaped notice in a bar filled with

drink fueled merriment.

From the next banquette over, he overheard a Frenchman trying to sing

“Danny Boy,” with uncertain pitch and an only rough approximation of the

vowels. Oh, Danny Boy, ze peeps ze peeps are caaalling.

“This is a problem,” Ben said, his urgent tone belying the soapy grin on

his face. His eyes darted back to the newspapers. “This is an Eiffel

Tower–sized problem.”

“You kill me,” Oscar said, slapping Ben on the back as if he had uttered

a hilarious joke. “The only people who say there’s no such thing as bad

publicity,” he said, “have never gotten bad publicity.” Then he tugged a

package from beneath the cushion of his seat. “Take this,” he said.

It was a white plastic bag with gaudy lettering, from a tourist gift

shop somewhere. / love Paris in the Springtime, it said, with a heart

standing in for the word “love.” It had the kind of stiff plastic

handles that snapped shut when pressed together.

“For us?” Anna asked doubtfully.

“No tourist should be without,” Oscar said. His eyes were playful; they

were also intensely serious.

“Teez I’ll be here in sunshine or in shaadow.

Oh, Danny boy, I love you sooo.

The drunken Frenchman at the next banquette was now joined, in various

keys, by his three companions.

Ben sank lower in his seat, as the full weight of his predicament bore

upon him.

Oscar punched him in the arm; it looked jocular, but it stung. “Don’t

slink down in your seat,” he whispered. “Don’t look furtive, don’t

avoid eye contact, and don’t try to look inconspicuous. That’s about as

effective as a movie star putting on sunglasses to shop at Fred Segal,

to comprends?”

“Oui,” Ben said weakly.

“Now,” Oscar said, “what’s that charming American expression you have?

“Get the fuck out of here.” ”

After acquiring a few items at some small side-street stalls, they

returned to the metro, where they were just another couple of moony-eyed

tourists to the casual spectator.

“We’ve got to make plans–plans for what the hell to do next,” Ben said.

“Next? I don’t see what choice we have,” Anna said. “Strasser’s the

one surviving link we know about–a member of Sigma’s board of

incorporators who’s still alive. We’ve got to reach him somehow.”

“Who says he’s still alive?”

“We can’t afford to assume otherwise.”

“You realize they’re going to be watching every airport, every terminal,

every gate.”

“It’s occurred to me, yes,” Anna replied. “You’re beginning to think

like a professional. A real fast learner.”

“I believe they call this the immersion method.”

On a long underground journey to one of the banlieues, the downtrodden

areas that ringed Paris proper, the two conversed in low voices, making

plans like lovebirds, or fugitives.

They got out at the stop at La Courneuve, an old-fashioned working class

neighborhood. It was only a few miles away, but a different world– a

place of two-story houses and unpretentious shops that sold things to

use, not to display. In the windows of the bistros and convenience

stores, posters for Red Star, the second-division soccer team, were

prominent. La Courneuve, due north of Paris, wasn’t far from Charles De

Gaulle airport, but that was not where they’d be heading.

Ben pointed to a bright red Audi across the street. “How about that

one?”

Anna shrugged. “I think we can find something less noticeable.” A few

minutes later, they came across a blue Renault. The car had a light

coating of grime, and on the floor inside there were yellow wrappers

from fast-food meals, and a few cardboard coffee cups.

“I’ll put my money on the owner being home for the night,” Ben said.

Anna set to work with her rocker pick, and a minute later had the car

door unlocked. Disassembling the ignition cylinder on the steering

column took a little more time, but soon the motor roared to life and

the two took off down the street, driving at the legal speed limit.

Ten minutes later, they were on the Al highway, enroute to the

LilleLesquin airport in Nord-Pas de Calais. The trip would take hours,

and involve risks, but they were calculated ones: auto theft was

commonplace in La Courneuve, and the predictable police response would

be to make perfunctory inquiries among the locals known to be involved

in the activity The matter would almost certainly not be referred to

the Police Nationale, which patrolled the major thoroughfares.

They drove in silence for half an hour, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Anna spoke. “The whole thing Chardin talked about it’s just

impossible to absorb. Somebody tells you that everything you know about

modern history is wrong, upside down. How can that be?” Her eyes

remained fixed on the road in front of her, and she sounded as utterly

drained as Ben felt.

“I don’t know, Anna. Things stopped making sense for me that day at the

Bahnhofplatz.” Ben tried to stave off a profound sense of enervation.

The rush of their successful escape had long since given way to a larger

sense of dread, of terror.

“A few days ago, I was essentially conducting a homicide investigation,

not examining the foundations of the modern age. Would you believe?”

Ben did not directly reply: what reply could there be? “The homicides,”

he said. He felt a vague unease. “You said it started with Mailhot in

Nova Scotia, the man who worked for Charles Highsmith, one of the Sigma

founders. And then there was Marcel Prosperi, who was himself one of

the principals. Rossignol, likewise.”

“Three points determine a plane,” Anna said. “High-school geometry.”

Something clicked in Ben’s mind. “Rossignol was alive when you flew off

to see him, but dead by the time you arrived, right?”

“Right, but ”

“What’s the name of the man who gave you the assignment?”

She hesitated. “Alan Bartlett.”

“And when you’d located Rossignol, in Zurich, you told him, right?”

“First thing,” Anna said.

Ben’s mouth became dry. “Yes. Of course you did. That’s why he

brought you in, in the first place.”

“What are you talking about?” She craned her neck and looked at him.

“Don’t you see? You were the cat’s-paw, Anna. He was using you.”

“Using me how?”

The sequence of events cascaded in Ben’s mind. “Think, dammit! It’s

just the way you might prepare a bloodhound. Alan Bartlett first gives

you the scent. He knows the way you work. He knew the next thing you’d

demand …”

“He knew I’d ask him for the list,” Anna said, her voice hollow. “Is

this possible? That damned show of reluctance on his part a piece of

theater for my benefit, knowing it would only steel my resolve? The

same with the goddamn car in Halifax: maybe he knew a scare like that

would make me that much keener.”

“And so you get a list of names. Names of people connected with Sigma.

But not just any names: these are people who are in hiding. People whom

Sigma cannot find not without alerting them. Nobody connected with

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