wounded, one on his knees trembling with fear. Two
men of the Scharhorn unit sustained minor
wounds the American pilot and one other.
“Connal!” roared Joel, racing about the scattered
prisoners, relieved that most were moving.
“Fitzpatrick! Where the hell are you? ‘
‘Over here, Lieutenant,” said a weak voice on
Converse’s right. Joel threaded his way through the
fallen bodies and knelt down beside the frail,
bearded Navy lawyer. “You took your sweet time
getting here,’ continued the commander. “But then
junior-grade officers usually have deficiencies.”
“What happened back there?’ asked Converse.
“You could all have been killed!
‘That was the point, wasn t it? It was made clear
to us last night, so we figured what the hell?’
“But why you? Why all of you?
‘We talked and we couldn t figure it out. Except
one thing we were all senior officers on thirty- to
forty-day leaves, most of them summer leaves. What
did it mean? ‘
“It was meant to throw people off if they began
to see a pattern. There are ninety-seven men out in
hit teams all on summer leaves. Numerically you
were nearly fifty percent of that number,
presumably above suspicion. You were a bonus and
it saved your life.”
Suddenly Connal whipped his head to the left.
A man was running out of building 5, racing down
the concrete path “That’s the warden! ‘shouted
Fitzpatrick as loud as he could “Stop him! If he gets
into the second barracks he ll blow the whole place
up!
Joel got to his feet and, gun in hand, started
after the racing figure as fast as his painful legs
would carry him. The man had reached the
midpoint of building 3; he had less than thirty yards
to go to the door of 2. Converse fired, the bullet
was way off its mark, ricocheting off a steel window
frame. The man reached the door, smashed it open
and slammed it shut Joel raced to it and crashed the
full weight of his body into the heavy wood. It gave
way, swinging violently back into the wall. The man
was running to a metal-encased panel, Converse
fired wildly, frantically, again and again. The man
spun wounded in the legs, but he had opened the
panel. He reached up for a bank of switches. Joel
lunged, gripping the man s hand, smashing his head
against the stone floor.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 689
Gasping for breath, Converse crawled away from
the man, his hands covered with warm blood, his
empty pistol on the floor. One of the Scharhorn team
burst through the door. “Are you fine?” he asked in
an accent Joel could not place.
“Splendid,” said Converse, feeling weak and sick.
The hired gun walked past Joel and glanced at
the still figure on the floor on his way to the open
panel. He studied it and reached into his pocket for
some kind of small, multifaceted tool. In seconds he
was taking out screws and pulling off the interior
metal plating. Moments later, with another part of
the instrument he was cutting wires far back into
their receptacles, leaving nothing but stubs of copper.
“You are not to worry,” said the man, finished. “I
am best of Norwegian demolitions. Now we do not
concern ourselves that a stray pig can do damage.
Come, there is much work left to do.” The team
member stopped and stood above Converse. “We
owe you our lives. We will pay.”
“It’s not necessary,” said Joel, getting up.
“It is the custom,” replied the man, heading for the
door.
Out on the parade ground, Aquitaine’s prisoners
were sitting up against the wall all but five, whose
bodies were covered with sheets. Converse went over
to Fitzpatrick.
“We lost them,” said the naval officer, with no
strength in his voice.
“Look to the things you believe in, Connal,” said
Joel. “It may sound banal, but it’s the only thing I
can think of to say.”
“It’s good enough.” Fitzpatrick looked up, a wan
smile on his lips. “Thanks for reminding me. Go on.
They need you over there.”
“Larson!” shouted Johnny Reb, standing above
the trembling unhurt guard. “Get in here!”
The professorial Englishman walked hesitantly
through the steel door at the base of the airstrip into
the floodlights. He came over to the Rebel, his eyes
wandering about the parade ground, his expression
one of consternation and awe. “Good Cod!” he
uttered.
“I guess that says it,” said the Southerner as two
members of the Scharhorn team came running out of
building 5. “What’d you find ?” yelled Johnny Reb.
“Seven others!” shouted one of the men. “They’re
in a toilet, which is suitable to their conditions!”
“I say!” said Ceoffrey Larson, raising his voice.
“Would any by chance be the computer chap?”
690 ROBERT LUDLUM
“We did not ask!”
“Go ask!” ordered the Rebel. “Time’s run out!”
He turned to Converse. ‘I’ve been in touch with
your lady. The word out of Israel and Rome is
downright awful some of the hit teams eluded
Stone’s men. The demonstrations began an hour
ago, and already twelve government people have
been killed. In Jerusalem and Tel Aviv they’re
screaming for Abrahms to take over. In Rome the
police can’t handle the riots and the panic; the
Army’s moved in.”
Joel felt the sharp, hollow pain in his lower
chest and for the first time noticed the early light in
the sky beyond the walls. The day had come, and so
had the killing. Everywhere. “Oh, Jesus, ” he said.
“The computer, boy!” roared Johnny Reb, his
pistol jammed into the temple of the guard beneath
him. “You don’t have any choices left, catfish!”
“Baracke pier!”
“Danke! It’s in building four. Come on, Brit, let’s
go! Move!”
The enormous, glistening machine covering the
length of the fifteen-foot wall stood in an air-filtered
room. With Joel’s note pad in front of him, Larson
spent nine agonising minutes studying it, turning
dials, punching the keyboard and flipping switches
on the console. Finally he announced “There’s a
lock on the inner reels. They can’t be released
without an access code.”
“What in goddamned catfish hell are you talkie’
about!” screamed the Rebel.
“There’s a predesigned set of symbols that when
inserted releases the springs that permit the locked
reels to be activated. It’s why I asked if there was a
computer man about.”
Johnny Reb’s radio hummed, and Converse
ripped it off the Southerner’s Velcroed chest.
“Cal?”
“Darling! You’re all right?”
“Yes. What’s happening?”
“Radio-France. Bombs set off in the Elysee
Palace. Two deputies were shot riding to the dawn
rallies. The government’s calling in the armed
forces.”
“Christ! Out!”
A man was brought into the room by two
members of the Scharhorn team, who were gripping
him by the arms. “He did not care to admit his
function,” said the hired gun on the
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 691
left. “But when all were against the wall, the others
were not so secretive.”
The Rebel went to the man and grabbed him by
the throat, but Joel, with the hunting knife in his
hand, rushed forward, pushing the Southerner aside.
“I’ve been through a lot because of you bastards,”
he said, raising the bloodstained blade to the man s
nose. “And now it’s the end!” He shoved the point
into the man’s nostrils; the computer expert
screamed as blood erupted and streamed down.
Then Converse raised the blade again, the point now
in the corner of the man’s right eye. “The codes, or
it goes inl” he roared.
“Zwei Bins, null, elf!” Again the technician screamed.
“Process it!” yelled Joel.
“They’refree!” said the Englishman.
“Now the symbols!’ cried Converse, shoving the
man back into the hands of the Scharhorn invaders.
They all looked in astonishment at the green
letters on the black television screen. Name after
name, rank after rank, position after position. Larson
had punched the printout button, and the curling,
continuous sheet of paper spewed out with hundreds
of identities.
“it won’t do any good!” shouted Joel. “We can’t
get them vat!”
“Don’t be so antediluvian, chap,” said the
Englishman, pointing to a strange-looking telephone
recessed in the console. “This is splendid equipment.
There are those lovely satellites in the sky, and I can
send this to anyone anywhere with compatible
software. This is the age of technology, no longer
Aquarius.”
“Get it out, ” said Converse, leaning against the
wall and sliding down to the floor in exhaustion.
The world watched, stunned by the eruption of
widespread assassinations and random homicidal
violence. Everywhere people cried out for protection,
for leadership, for an end to the savagery that had
turned whole cities into battlegrounds, as panicked,
polarized groups of citizens hurled rocks and gas at
one another and finally turned to bullets because
bullets were being fired at them. Since few could tell
who their enemies were, anyone who attacked was
assumed to be an enemy, and the attackers were
everywhere, the orders issued from unseen command