Robert Ludlum – Aquatain Progression

“Sam Abbott? I mean, Brigadier General Samuel

Abbott?”

“That’s the one, Sergeant Potter.”

“Porter, ma’am.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Well, I can’t see any security breach here,

miss ma’am. Everybody knows where General

Abbott is stationed. He’s a popular officer and in the

newspapers a lot.”

“Where is that, Sergeant? I’ll personally tell him

you’ve been most helpful to both of us.”

“Nellie Air Force Base in Nevada, ma’am, just

outside Las Vegas. He commands the advanced

tactical maneuver squadrons. All the squadron

commanders get their final training at Nellis. He’s

the man…. May I have your name, please?”

“Oh, good Lord! There’s the last boarding call for

my plane! Thank you, Sergeant.” Valerie hung up the

phone, her eyes still scanning the street, trying to

decide what to do whether to call Sam now or wait.

Suddenly she realized she could not call; it would

mean using a credit card, origin of call and

destination listed. She went back to the taxi.

“Lady, I’d just as soon get out of here, if you

don’t mind,” said the driver, a quiet urgency in his

voice.

“What’s the matter?”

“I keep a police scanner in my cab in case there’s

problems in my neighborhood, and I just heard the

word. An Army captain was clobbered on Fifty-fifth

and Madison by a black driver of a taxi heading

north. Lucky for me they didn’t get the license or the

company, but the description’s pretty good. ‘A big

black son of a bitch with a size-twelve fist’ was the

way those mothers put it.”

“Let’s go,” said Val. “I hate to say this, and I

mean that but I can’t get involved.” The cab sped

forward, the driver

534 R03ERT LUDLUM

turning east on Eightieth Street. “Is my husband

pressing charges?” she asked.

“No, I’m off the hook there,” replied the driver.

“He must have punched you real bad. He just fled

and had nuthin’ to say. Bless his white heart. Where

to?”

“Let me think.”

“It’s your meter.”

She had to get to Las Vegas, but the idea of

going back to Kennedy or LaGuardia airports

frightened her. They seemed too logical, too easily

anticipated. remembered. About five or six years

ago she and Joel were weekending with friends in

Short HiDs, New Jersey, when Joel got a call from

Nathan Simon, teeing him he had to fly to Los

Angeles on Sunday for a Monday-morning meeting.

All the legal papers would be sent to the Beverly

Hills Hotel by air express. Joel had taken the plane

from Newark Airport.

“Can you drive me to Newark?”

“I can drive you to Alaska, lady, but Newark?”

“The airport.”

“That’s better. It’s one of the best. I guess

Newark’s okay, too. I got a brother there and, hell,

he’s stiD alive. I’D swing through the park at

Sixty-fifth and head down to the Lincoln Tunnel. Do

you mind if I turn on the scanner again?”

“No, go right ahead.”

The voices went in and out, then the driver

pushed a button and they became steady: “Incident

at Fifty-fifth and Madison is a negative.. Precinct

Ten has called it off as the victim refused assistance

and did not identify himself. So patrols, onward and

upward. We helps them what helps themselves. On,

brothers.”

“Oh, he’s a brother!” shouted the driver in relief

as he turned off the radio. “You catch that ‘incident

is a negative’? They coulda used him in Nam, in

those big body-count press conferences…. Come to

think of it, he was probably there not with the

press, just one of the bodies. They never did get it

right.”

Valerie leaned forward on the seat. “I asked you

about Nam. About General Delavane. Would you

ted me about him?”

It was nearly a minute before the black replied,

and when he did so, his voice was soft, even

mellifluous. And somewhere at the base of it was

abject defeat. “My driver’s identification is lookin’ at

you, lady. I’m drivin’ you to Newark Air

THE AQUITAINE

PROGRESSION 535

port thaws what you’re payin’ for, and that’s what

you’ll

The rest of the ride was made in silence, an

oppressive sense of fear pervading the cab. After all

these years, thought Val. Oh, God

They hit heavy traffic at the tunnel and then on

the turnpike; it was the start of the weekend and

vacationers were heading for the Jersey shore. The

airport was worse; it was jammed, cars backed up for

a quarter of a mile in the departure lanes. Finally

they edged up into a parking space and Valerie got

out. She paid the driver a hundred dollars above the

fare and thanked him. “You’ve been much more than

helpful, you know that…. I’ll never really know why

but I’ll think about it.”

“Like I said, it’s my business. I got my reasons.”

“I wish I could say something, something that

could help.”

“Don’t try, lady. The green is enough.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Sure, it is until something better comes along,

and that ain’t gonna be in my lifetime…. You take

care, missus. I think you got bigger problems than

most of us. You said too much, which I don’t recall,

of course.”

Valerie turned and went into the terminal. The

lines in front of the counters were horrendous, and

before joining one she had to know which one.

Twenty minutes later she was in the proper line and

nearly an hour after that she had a ticket to Las

Vegas on American’s 12:30 flight, another hour

before boarding. It was time to see if it all made

sense. If Sam Abbott made sense, or whether she

was grasping desperately at a man she once

remembered who might not be that man any longer.

She had exchanged $20 in bills for two $10 rolls of

quarters. She hoped it would be enough. She took an

escalator up to the second floor and went to a

telephone at the far end of the wide corridor past

the shops. Nevada information gave her the number

of the main switchboard at Nellis Air Force Base.

She dialed and asked to be put through to Brigadier

General Samuel Abbott.

“I don’t know if he’s on the base yet,” said the

operator.

“Oh?” she had forgotten. There was a three-hour

time difference.

“Just a minute, he’s checked in. Early-morning

flight schedule.”

536 ROBERT LUDLUM

“General Abbott’s office.”

‘May I speak to the general, please. The name

is Parquette, Mrs. Virginia Parquette.”

“May I ask what this is in reference to?” asked

the secretary. “The general’s extremely busy and is

about to head down to the field.”

“I’m a cousin he hasn’t seen in a long time,

actually. There’s been a tragedy in the family.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”

“Please tell him I’m on the line. He may not

recall my name; it’s been so many years. But you

might remind him that in the old days we had some

wonderful dinners in New York. It’s really most

urgent. I wish someone else were making this call,

but I’m afraid I was elected.”

“Yes yes, of course.”

The waiting put Valerie in the last circle of hell.

Finally there was a click, followed by the voice she

remembered.

“Virginia . . . Parquette?”

“Yes.”

“Ginny from New York? Dinner in New York?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the wife, not the sister.”

“Yes!”

“Give me a number. I’ll call you back in ten

minutes.”

“It’s a pay phone.”

“Stay there. The number.”

She gave it to him and hung up, frightened,

wondering what she had done, but knowing that she

could not have done anything else. She sat in the

plastic chair by the phone, watching the escalators,

looking at the people going in and out of the

various shops, the bar, the fast-food restaurant. She

tried not to look at her watch; twelve minutes

passed. The phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Valerie?”

“Yes!”

“I wanted to get out of the office too many

interruptions. Where are you? I know the area

code’s New Jersey.”

“Newark Airport. I’m on the twelve-thirty flight

to Las Vegas. I’ve got to see you!”

“I tried to call you. Talbot’s secretary gave me

your number ”

“When?”

THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 537

‘~Starting two days ago. I was in the Mojave on

maneuvers and too bushed to turn on a radio we

didn’t have newspapers. A man answered, and when

he said you weren’t there I hung up.”

“That was Roger, Joel’s father. He’s dead.”

“I know. They say it was most likely suicide.”

“No!. . . I’ve seen him, Sam. I’ve seen Joel! It’s all

lies!”

“That’s what we have to talk about,” said the

general. “Call me when you get in. Same name. I

don’t want to pick you up at the airport; too many

people know me over there. I’ll figure out a place

where we can meet.”

“Thank you, Sam!” said Valerie. “You’re all we have

left.”

“We?”

“For the time being, yes. I’m all he has left.”

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