steady hand.
“Ready, chap? ‘asked the dark-skinned
Palestinian, yanking down the elastic top of the
unconscious man’s shorts
“You got it, Pookie,” answered Johnny Reb,
holding a small recorder over the edge of the jump
seat. “Right where he won’t find it for a week, if he
ever does. Take him up, Arab. I want him tony.”
The doctor inserted the long hypodermic needle,
slowly pressing his thumb on the plunger. “It will be
quick,” said the Palestinian. “It is a heavy dose and
I’ve seen it happen when the patient began babbling
before the interrogator was ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“Put him on track instantly. Ask direct questions,
canter his concentration immediately.”
“Oh, Ah will, indeed. This is a bad man, Pookie.
A nasty little boy who tells tall tales that ain’t got
nothin’ to do with a big catfish that broke off a
hook.” The Southerner gripped the unconscious
Washburn’s left shoulder and yanked him forward,
face up on the seat. “All right, Molly’s boy, let’s you
and me talk. How come you got the audacity to mess
around with an officer of the United States Navy
named Fitzpatrick? Con
432 ROBERT LUDLUM
nal Fitzpatrick, boy! Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick,
Fitzpatrick! C’mon, baby, talk to Daddy, ’cause
you’ve got nobody else but Daddy! Everyone you
think you got is gone! They set you up Molly’s boy!
They made you lie in print so the whole world
knows you lied! But Daddy can make it right. Daddy
can straighten it all out and put you on top right
on the very top! The Joint Chiefs the bid chief!
Daddy’s your tit, boy! Grab it or suck air! Where’d
you put Fitzpatrick? Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick! ”
The whisper came as Washburn’s body writhed
on the seat, his head whipping back and forth, saliva
oozing out of the edges of his mouth. ‘Scharhorn,
the isle of Scharhorn. . . . The Heligoland Right.’
Caleb Dowling was not only angry but
bewildered. Despite a thousand doubts he could not
let it go; too many things did not make sense, not
the least of which was the fact that for three days
he had been unable to get an appointment with the
acting ambassador The scheduling attache claimed
there was too much confusion resulting from Walter
Peregrine’s assassination to permit an audience at
this time. Perhaps in a week…. In short words,
actor, get lost, we have important things to do and
you’re not one of them. He was being checked,
shoved into a corner and given the lip service one
gives to a well-known but insignificant person. His
motives as well as his intelligence were undoubtedly
being questioned out loud by arrogant, harried
diplomats. Or someone else.
Which was why he was sitting now at a back
table in the dimly lit bar of the Konigshof Hotel.
He had learned the name of Peregrine’s secretary,
one Enid Heathley, and had sent the stunt man,
Moose Rosenberg, to the embassy with a sealed
letter purportedly from a close friend of Miss
Heathley’s in the States. Moose’s instructions had
been to deliver the envelope personally, and as
Rosenberg’s size was formidable, no one in the
reception room had argued. Heathley had come
down in person. The message was short and to the
point.
Dear Miss Heathley:
I believe it to be of the utmost importance
that
we talk as soon as possible. I will be in the bar of
the
Konigshof at 7:30 this evening. If it is convenient
please have a drink with me, but I urge you not to
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 433
speak to anyone about our meeting. Please, no one.
Sincerely,
C. Dowling
It was seven-thirty-eight and Caleb was growing
anxious. For the past several years he was used to
people being on time for appointments and
interviews; it was one of the minor perks of being Pa
Ratchet. But there could be several reasons why the
secretary might not wish to meet with him. She knew
that Peregrine and he had become friends of sorts
and also that there were actors who were known to
seek publicity from events they had nothing to do
with, posturing with statesmen and politicians when
they couldn’t spell out a position on slavery. He
hoped to hell . . .
There she Divas. The middle-aged woman had
come through the door, squinting in the dim light.
The maltre d’ approached her, and moments later
she was escorted to Dowling’s table.
‘Thank you for coming,” said Caleb, rising as
Enid Heathley took her chair. “I wouldn’t have asked
you if I didn’t think it was important,” he added,
sitting down again.
‘I gathered that from your note,” said the
pleasant-faced woman with signs of grey in her hair
and very intelligent eyes. Her drink ordered, casual
talk covered its arrival.
‘I imagine it’s been very difficult for you,” said
Dowling.
“It hasn’t been easy,” agreed Miss Heathley. “I
was Mr. Peregrine’s secretary for nearly twenty years.
He used to call us a team, and Jane and I Mrs.
Peregrine are quite close. I should be with her now,
but I told her I had some last-minute things to do at
the office.”
“How is she?”
“Still in shock, of course. But she’ll make it.
She’s strong. Walter wanted the women around him
strong. He thought they were worthwhile and they
shouldn’t hide their worth.”
“I like that kind of thinking, Miss Heathley.”
Her drink came, the waiter left, and the secretary
looked quizzically at Caleb. ‘Forgive me, Mr.
Dowling, I can’t say I’m a devoted follower of your
television show, but, of course, I’ve seen it a number
of times. It seems that whenever I’m asked to dinner
and the magic hour arrives, meals are suspended.”
“I’d suggest those people upgrade their kitchens.”
The woman smiled. “You’re too modest, but that’s
not
434 ROBERT LUDLUM
what I mean. You don’t sound at all like the man
on the television screen.”
“Because I’m not he, Miss Heathley,” said the
former university professor, his expression serious,
his intelligent eyes level with hers. “I assume we
share certain traits because I’ve the physical
instrument through which his fictions are filtered,
but that s the extent of any similarity.”
“I see. That’s very well put.”
“I ve had practice saying it. But I didn’t ask you
here to expound on theories of acting. It s a subject
with limited appeal.”
“Why did you ask me?”
“Because I don’t know whom else to go to. Well,
I do, but I can t get near him.”
“Who’s that?”
“The acting ambassador, the one who flew over
from Washington.”
“He’s up to his ears ”
“He should be told,” interrupted Caleb. “Warned.”
“Warned?” The woman’s eyes grew wide. “An
attempt on his life? Another killing that maniac,
Converse?”
“Miss Heathley,” began the actor, his posture
rigid, his voice quiet. “What I’m about to say may
shock you, even offend you, but as I said, I don’t
know another person I can go to at the embassy.
However, I do know there are people over there I
can’t go to.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not convinced that Converse is either a
maniac or that he killed Walter Peregrine.”
“What? You can’t be serious! You’ve heard what
they say about him, how unbalanced he is. He was
the last person with Mr. Peregrine. Major Washburn
established that!”
“Major Washburn is one of those people I’d
rather not see.”
“He’s considered one of the finest officers in the
United States Army,” objected the secretary.
“Then, for an officer he has a strange concept of
taking orders from a superior. Last week I brought
Peregrine to meet someone. The man ran and
Walter told the major to stop him. Instead,
Washburn tried to kill him.”
“Oh, now I understand,” said Enid Heathley, her
tone unpleasant. “That was the night you arranged
a meeting with Converse it was you, I remember
now! Mr. Peregrine told
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 435
me. What is this, Mr. Dowling? A Hollywood actor
protecting his image? Afraid he’ll be held responsible
and his ratings, or whatever they are, will
plummet that is the word, isn’t it? This
conversation is despicable. ‘The woman moved her
chair back, prepared to leave.
“Walter Peregrine was a man of his word, Miss
Heathley,” said Caleb, still immobile, staring at the
secretary. I think you’ll agree with that.”
‘And?”
He made a promise to me. He told me that if
Converse reached him and asked to meet with him,
I’d come along. Me, Miss Heathley. Specifically not
Major Washburn, whose achons that night at the
university were as bewildering to him as they were to
me.”
The middle-aged woman held her place, her eyes
narrowed, concerned. `He ureas upset the next
morning,” she said softly.
Damned angry better describes him, I think. The
man who ran away wasn t Converse and he also
wasn’t crazy. He was dead serious, with the speech of
someone used to authority. There was or is some