penetrate all of Amsterdam, canvass it, tear it apart
until they found hirn. Was there conceivably a way
to reach Thorbecke or had he been fooling himself,
reaching into the past where too often accidents and
misplaced arrogance led to success? No, he could
not think for a while. He had to lie down in the
cave and rest, and if sleep came, he hoped the
nightmares did not come with it. He looked out the
window and saw a sign. It read DAMBAK.
He remained on the electric conveyance for well
over an hour. The lively streets, the lovely
architecture of the centuries-old buildings and the
endless canals calmed him. His arm still ached from
the old woman’s teeth but not severely, and
thoughts of cleansing the wound faded. He could
not weep for the old woman, but as with certain,
strange witnesses at a trial, he wished he knew her
story.
Hotels were out. The foot soldiers of Aquitaine
would scour them, offering large sums for any
information about any American of his general
description which they now specifically had.
Thorbecke would be watched, his telephone tapped,
his every move and conversation scrutinised. Even
the embassy, or consulate whichever it was in
Amster dam would have another military charge
d’affaires or his equivalent on the prowl for a signal
that a non-assassin wanted to come in and start the
process of rectification. If his perceptions were
right, that left him with only one escape hatch. Na-
than Simon.
Nathan the Wise, Joel had dubbed him once,
only to be told that a Gentile with his intelligence
should certainly come up with something more
original. Then after a particularly long session at the
office in which Nate detailed in excruciating detail
why they should not take on a client named Lie-
bowitz, who in his opinion would put too great a
burden on the obligation to respect a client’s
confidence, and during which Lawrence Talbot had
dozed off, Converse suggested that he alter his
sobriquet to Nathan the Talmudic-pain-in-the-ass.
Nate had roared, shocking Talbot awake, and
proclaiming, “I love it! And Sylvia will love it
betterI”
Joel had learned more about the law from
Nathan Simon than from anyone else, but there was
always a distance between them. It was as though
Nate never really wanted them to be too close in
spite of the obvious affection the older man had for
the younger. Converse thought he understood; it
was
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 459
a question of loyalty. Simon had two sons, who, m
the properly guarded phrase, “were in business for
themselves in California and Florida.” One sold
insurance in Santa Barbara, and the other ran a bar
in Key West. Nate Simon was a tough act to follow,
and Joel was given a hint of just how hard it was one
late afternoon when Simon offered to buy him a
drink at ’21” after a harrowing conference on Fifth
Avenue.
“I like your father, Converse. I like Roger. He
has minimal legal requirements, of course, but he’s
a good man.”
“He has no legal requirements, and I tried to stop
him from coming to us.”
“You couldn’t. It was the gesture he had to make.
Put some business where the son is. Very touching.”
“With an unnecessary will that you much too
generously charged him only two hundred dollars for,
and some crazy disposition of his war medals to
three differentnshtutions for which you refused to
bill him on patriotic grounds?”
“We were in the same theater of operations.”
“Where?”
“Europe.”
“Come on, Nate. He’s my father and I love him
but I also know he’s off the wall. Take him out of a
vintage prop and he’s not sure where he is. Pan Am
got their money’s worth, not in any administrative
sense, but because he was a pistol at conventions.”
Nathan Simon had gripped his glass that late
afternoon at “21,” and when he spoke, the quiet
thunder of a deeply troubled man poured forth.
“You have respect for your father do you hear me,
Joel? My friend Roger offered a gesture to his son,
for it was all he had, all he could imagine. I had a
great deal more and I didn’t know how to make such
gestures. I only gave commands…. He said I could
still do it. I’m going to take up flying.”
Simon would help him only if he was convinced
there was substance to his case. But he would legally
lean over backwards in the negative if he thought a
relationship or personal sentimentality was being
used to manipulate him. Of course, if an indictment
followed, he would rush in for the defense after the
fact. That was professional; those were his ethics.
And by now Valerie would have sent him the
envelope with the dossiers and their awesome
implications. They were the substance Simon
required. Knowing Val, she would have sent them
down by car, the great American postal service
having
460 ROBERT LUDLUM
given rise to a score of competitors who eschewed
the taxpayer’s dollar. Joel’s d’ cisionwas made. Since
there was a five-hour time difference, he would wait
until early evening and then call Nathan Simon. He
was functioning again.
The tram came to the last stop before its return
run. At least he was the only one left on board; he
walked up the aisle, got off and saw another. He got
on. Sanctuary.
A hundred streets and a dozen crisscrossed
canals later, he looked out the window, encouraged
by the seedy neighborhood he saw, washed clean on
the surface but with the promise of far more
interesting bacteria below. There was a row of
pornography shops, their wares in magnified displays
in the storefronts. Above, in open windows, garishly
painted girls stood provocatively, brassieres slipped
on and off lethargically, faces bored but pelvises
churning. The crowds in the streets were animated,
some curious, some feigning shock, others interested
in buying. There was a carnival atmosphere, one
into which he could melt, thought Converse, as he
got out of his seat and went to the door.
He wandered aro~md the streets, astonished,
even embarrassed, as he always was when sex was
paraded so publicly. He enjoyed sexual encounters
and never lacked for them, but for him the privacy
of the acts was intrinsic to their fulfillment. He
could no more walk through one of those neon-lit
doors up-to-heaven than he could have performed
a bowel movement on the curb.
There was a cafe across the street; it was above
a canal, tables on the sidewalk, dark within. What
struck him was the crowd that hovered around the
doorway, many people simply glancing in and going
on, drawn briefly to some curious oddity inside.
Regardless, it was the crowd that attracted him;
there was anonymity in numbers. He crossed the
thoroughfare, weaved his way through the crowd
and went inside. Sleep might be out of the question,
but he needed food. He had not eaten a real meal
in nearly three days. He found a small empty table
in the back of the room, and was stunned that a
television set, clamped above on the wall, was
blaring inanities. He could not understand. There
was no television in the Netherlands during the
afternoons” How many times had he heard
colleagues and friends remark that one of the most
civilised aspects of traveling in Holland was the
absence of the idiot box until seven o’clock in the
evening? Conversely, there were those sports
enthusiasts who bemoaned the fact that cer
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 461
tain events were not shown, but on the whole the
verdict came down in favor of Dutch civility and
restraint. Yet here was a television set in full
operation. It undoubtedly accounted for those
curious passersby on the street who glanced inside,
shaking their heads in bewilderment as they went on
their way.
Then Joel saw the folded card on the table, the
announcement in four languages, English first.
In accord with the advances in teknology we are
pleased to bring our patrons and visitors from
outside
the Netherlands recordings of our national pro
grams.
Video tapes! It was a come-on, an innovative ploy to
lure customers; this was the district for it. And he
understood why the English language was first: e
pluribus unum. Let’s not lose touch with the tube.
At least the tapes were in Dutch; it helped, but not
much.
Straight whisky helped, too, but again not much.
The anxiety of the hunted came back and he kept
turning his head toward the entrance, at any moment
expecting to see one of the foot soldiers of Aquitaine
walk through the door, out of the sunlight and into
the cave to find him. He went to the men’s room at
the rear of the cafe, removed his jacket, placed the
gun with the silencer in the inside pocket, and tore
his left sleeve. He filled one of the two basins with