Silence.
420 ROBERT LU[)LUM
The chauffeur was alarmed; he walked
backward, now crouching, scanning the hill of
refuse, kicking away any object in his backward
path, his head pivoting. Joel knew what he had to
do; he had done it before. Divert the killer’s
attention, pulling him closer to the encounter, then
move away.
“Auaghh . . . !” Converse let the wail come out
of his throat. Then added in clear English, “Oh, my
God!” Instantly he crawled to the far end of the wall
of railroad ties. He peered around the side, his
head in shadows.
“Werner! Wo sind !” The German stood erect,
his eyes following his line of hearing. Suddenly he
broke into a run his weapon thrust in front of
him a man cornering a hated object, the sound of
English leading him to the loathed enemy.
The chauffeur threw himself prone across the
railroad ties, his expression alert, his gun in front of
him. He fired into the shadowed corpse below, a
roar of vengeance accompanying the explosions.
Joel got to his knees, aimed his automatic, and
pulled the trigger twice. The German spun off the
ties, blood erupting in his chest.
“Some win,” whispered Converse rising to his
feet, remembering the man on the train to
Emmerich.
He was down in the marshlands, the clothes in
his arms. He had scrambled across the railroad
tracks, down through the wild grass into the swampy
dampness of the marsh. It was water, and that was
all he had to know. Water was a benefit whether as
an escape route or as a purifying agent for a
wracked body also lessons he had learned years
ago. He sat naked on a sloping marsh bank, taking
off his inhibiting money belt, wondering if the paper
bills inside were soaked but not caring enough to
examine them.
He did, however, examine every pocket of the
clothes he had stripped from his would-be
executioners. He was not sure what was of value
and what was not. The money was irrelevant, except
for the small bills; and the driver’s licenses had
photographs embedded in plastic neither was
worth the risk of scrutiny. There was an
ominous-looking knife, the long blade released
through the head by the touch of a button on the
handle; he kept it. Also a cheap butane lighter and
a comb and, for the drinking man, two breath
fresheners. The rest were personal effects keys, a
four-leaf-clover good-luck
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 421
charm, photographs in the wallets he did not care
to look at them. Death was death, enemy and friend
fundamentally equalised. only things he was
interested in were the clothes. They were the option,
the option he had used in the jungle a lifetime ago.
He had crammed himself inside a scout’s tattered
uniform, and twice across a narrow riverbank he had
not been shot by the enemy who had spotted him.
Instead, they had waved.
He selected the articles of clothing that fit best
and put them on; the rest he threw into the marsh.
Whatever he looked like, there was little or no
resemblance to the tweedy academic he had tried to
be in Bonn. If anything, he could be mistaken for a
man who worked on the Rhine, a roughhewn mate
or a foreman of a barge crew. He had chosen the
chauffeur’s coat, a dark, coarse-woven jacket cut to
the hips with the man’s blue denim shirt
underneath both bullet holes washed clean of
blood. The trousers were those of the subordinate
executioner; brown creaseless corduroys, flared
slightly at the ankles, which, thankfully, they reached.
Neither man had worn a hat, and his was somewhere
in the landfill; he would find one or buy one or steal
one. He had to; without a hat or a cap covering part
of his face, he felt as naked as exposed and as
frightened as he would have felt without clothes.
He lay back in the dry wild grass as the sun
disappeared over an unseen horizon and stared up at
the sky.
24
“Well, Ahh’l be . . . !” exclaimed the distinguished-
looking man with the flowing mane of white hair, his
full, nearly white eyebrows arched in astonishment.
“You’re Molly Washburn’s boy?”
“I beg your pardon?” said the Army officer at the
adjacent table along the banquette in Bonn’s Am
Tulpenfeld restaurant. “Have we met, sir?”
“Not so’s you’d remember, Major…. Please
forgive my intruding.” The Southerner addressed the
apology to the offi
422 ROBERT LUDLUM
cer’s companion across the table, a balding
middle-aged man who had been speaking English
with a pronounced German accent. “But Molly
would never forgive this pore old Georgia cracker if
he didn’t say hello to her son and insist on buyin’
him a drink. ‘
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss,’ said Washburn
pleasantly but without enthusiasm.
“I would be, too, young fella. I know it sounds
cornpone, but you were just barely in long pants
back then. The last time I saw you, you were in a
blue blazer jacket and madder ‘n hell at losing
a.soccer game. I think you blamed it on your left
wing, which in my opinion then and now is a logical
place to blame anythtug. ”
The major and his companion laughed
appreciatively.
Good Lord, that does go back a long hme to
when I was at Dalton.”
“And captain of the team, as I recall.”
“How did you ever recognize me?”
“I dropped in on your momma the other week at
the house in Southampton. Proud girl that she is,
there were a few real handsome photographs of you
in the living room.”
“Of course, on the piano.”
“That’s where they were, silver frames and all.”
“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Thayer. Thomas Thayer, or just plain old T.T.
as your momma calls me.” The two shook hands.
“Good to see you again, sir,” said Washburn,
gesturing at his companion. “This is Herr Stammler.
He handles a great deal of our press relations with
the West German media.”
“How do you do Mr. Stammler.”
“A pleasure, Herr Thayer.”
“Speakin’ of the embassy and I assume you were,
I promised Molly I’d ring you up over there when I
got here. Mah word on it, I was gain’ to do just that
tomorrow I’m fightin’ .’et lag today. One hell of a
coincidence, isn’t it? You bein’ here and my bein’
here, right next to each other!”
“Major,” interrupted the German courteously.
“Two people who go back so many years must have
a great deal to reminisce about. And since our
business is fundamentally concluded, I think I shall
press on.”
“Now, hold on, Mr. Stammler,” objected Thayer.
“Ah simply couldn’t allow you to do that!”
“No, really, it’s perfectly all right.” The German
smiled.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 423
“Truthfully, Major Washburn felt he should insist on
taking me to dinner this evening after the terrible
things we’ve had to deal with during the past few
days he far more than I but to be quite honest,
I’m exhausted. Also I am far older than my young
friend and nowhere near as resilient. The bed cries
out, Herr Thayer. Believe me when I tell you that.”
“Hey, Mr. Stammler, Ah’ve got an idea. You’re
fanned out and I’m droppin’ from the jet stream, so
why don’t we leave the young skunk here and both
hit the pillows?”
“But I couldn’t allow you to do that.” The
German got up from the table and extended his hand
to Thayer. They shook, and Stammler turned to
Washburn, shaking his hand also. “I’ll call you in the
morning, Norman.”
“All right, Gerhard…. Why didn’t you just say you
were tired?”
“And conceivably offend one of my largest
clients? Be reasonable, Norman. Good night,
gentlemen.” The German smiled again, and walked
away.
“Ah guess we’re stuck with each other, young
man,” said the Southerner. “Why not move over here
and let me save the embassy a couple of dollars?”
“All right,” replied Washburn, getting up with his
drink and sidling between the tables to the chair
opposite Thayer. He sat down. “How is Mother? I
haven’t called her in a couple of weeks.”
“Molly is always Molly, my boy. She came forth
and they broke the mold, but I don’t have to tell you
that. She looks the same as she did twenty years ago.
I swear I don’t know how she does ill”
“And she’s not going to tell you, either.”
Both men laughed as the Southerner raised his
glass and brought it forward for the touch. The
glasses met, a gentle ring was heard. It was the
beginning.
Converse waited, watching from a dark storefront
on the shabby street in Emmerich. Across the way
were the dim lights of a cheap hotel, the entrance
uninviting, sleazy. Yet with any luck he would have
a bed there in the next few minutes. A bed with a
sink in the corner of the room and, with even more