terrorism; it spreads everywhere. Less so here in
Paris, thank God.”
“You don’t need muggers, the taxi drivers more
than fill the bill. Except nastier, maybe.”
“You are, as always, impossible, my friend! When
can we get together?”
Converse paused. “I was hoping tonight. After
you left the office.”
“It’s very short notice, mon ami. I wish you had
called before.”
“I just got in ten minutes ago.”
“But you left Geneva ”
“I had business in Athens,” interrupted Joel.
“Ah, yes, the money flees from the Greeks these
days. Precipitously, I think. Just as it was here.”
“How about drinks, Rene. It’s important.”
It was blattilon’s turn to pause; it was obvious he
had caught the trace of urgency in Converse’s
brevity, in his voice. “Of course,” said the
F’renchman. “You’re at the George Cinq, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Say, forty-five
minutes.”
“Thanks very much. I’ll get a couple of chairs in the
gal
. ..
ery.
“I’ll find you.”
That area of the immense marble-arched lobby
outside the tinted glass doors of the George V bar is
known informally as the “gallery” by habitues, its
name derived from the fact that there is an art
gallery narrowly enclosed within a corridor of clear
glass on the left. However, just as reasonably, the
name fits the luxurious room itself. The deeply
cushioned cut-velvet chairs, settees, and polished
low, dark tables that line the marble walls are
beneath works of art mammoth tapestries from
long-forgotten chateaux and huge heroic canvases by
artists, both old and new. And the smooth stone of
the floor is covered with giant Oriental rugs, while
affixed to the high ceiling are a series of intricate
chandeliers, throwing soft light through filigrees of
lacelike gold.
Quiet conversations take place between men and
women of wealth and power at these upholstered
enclaves, in calcu
76 ROBERT LUDLUM
lated shadows under spotlit paintings and woven
cloth from centuries ago. Frequently they are
opening dialogues, testing questions that as often as
not are resolved in boardrooms peopled by
chairmen and presidents, treasurers, and prides of
lawyers. The movers and the shakers feel
comfortable with the initial informality the
uncommitted explorations of first meetings in this
very formal room. The ceremonial environs
somehow lend an air of ritualised disbelief; denials
are not hard to come by later. The gallery also lives
up to the implications of its name: within the
fraternity of those who have achieved success on the
international scene, it is said that if any of its
members spend a certain length of time there,
sooner or later he will run into almost everyone he
knows. Therefore, if one does not care to be seen,
he should go somewhere else.
The room was filling up, and waiters moved
away from the raucous bar to take orders at the
tables, knowing where the real money was. Converse
found two chairs at the far end, where the dim light
was even more subdued. He looked at his watch and
was barely able to read it. Forty minutes had passed
since his call to Rene, a shower taking up the time
as it washed away the sweat-stained dirt of his
all-day journey from Mykonos. Placing his cigarettes
and lighter on the table, he ordered a drink from an
alert waiter, his eyes on the marble entrance to the
room.
Twelve minutes later he saw him. Mattilon
walked energetically out of the harsh glare of the
street lobby into the soft light of the gallery. He
stopped for a moment, squinting, then nodded. He
started down the canter of the carpeted floor, his
eyes levered at Joel from a distance, a broad,
genuine smile on his face. Rene Mattilon was in his
mid to late fifties, but his stride, like his outlook,
was that of a younger man. There was about him
that aura peculiar to successful trial lawyers; his
confidence was apparent because it was the essence
of his success, yet it was born of diligence, not
merely ego and performance. He was the secure
actor comfortable in his role his graying hair and
blunt, masculine features all part of a caiculated
effect. Beyond that appearance, however, there was
also something else, thought Joel, as he rose from
his chair. Rene was a thoroughly decent man; it was
a disarming conclusion. God knew they both had
their flaws, but they were both decent men; perhaps
that was why they enjoyed each other’s company.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 77
A firm handshake preceded a brief embrace. The
Frenchman sat down across from Converse as Joel
signaled an attentive waiter. “Order in French, ‘Joel
said. “I’d end up getting you a hot fudge sundae.”
“This man speaks better English than either of us.
Campari and ice, please.”
“Merci, monsieur. ” The waiter left.
“Thanks again for coming over,” said Converse. “I
mean it. ‘
“I’m sure you do…. You look well, Joel, tired but
well. That shocking business in Geneva must give
you nightmares.”
“Not really. I told you, I was simply there.”
“Still, it might have been you. The newspapers
said he died while you held his head.”
“I was the first one to reach him.”
“How horrible.”
“I’ve seen it happen before, Rene,” said Converse
quietly, no comment in his voice.
“Yes, of course. You were better prepared than
most, I imagine.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever prepared…. But it’s
over. How about you? How are things?”
Mattilon shook his head, pinching his rugged,
weather-beaten features into a sudden look of
exasperation. “France is madness, of course, but we
survive. For months and months now, there are more
plans than are stored in an architect’s library, but the
planners keep colliding with each other in
government hallways. The courts are full, business
thrives.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” The waiter returned with
the Campari; both men nodded to him, and then
Mattilon fixed his eyes on Joel. “No, I really am,”
Converse continued as the waiter walked away. “You
hear so many stories.”
“Is that why you’re in Paris?” The Frenchman
studied Joel. “Because of the stories of our so-called
upheavals? They re not so earthshaking, you know,
not so different from before. Not yet. Most private
industry here was publicly financed through the
government. But, naturally, not managed by
government incompetents, and for that we pay. Is
that what’s bothering you, or more to the point, your
clients?”
Converse drank. “No, that’s not why I’m here. It’s
something else.”
“You’re troubled, I can see that. Your customary
glibness
78 ROBERT LUDLUM
doesn’t fool me. I know you too well. So tell me,
what’s so important? That was the word you used
on the telephone.”
“Yes, I guess it was. It may have been too
strong.” Joel drained his glass and reached for his
cigarettes.
“Not from your eyes, my friend. I see them and
I don’t see them. They’re filled with clouds.”
“You’ve got it wrong. As you said, I’m tired. I’ve
been on planes all day, with some ungodly layovers.”
He picked up his lighter, snapping it twice until the
flame appeared.
“We haggle over foolishness. What is it?”
Converse lit a cigarette, consciously trying to
sound casual as he spoke. “Do you know a private
club called L’Etalon Blanc?”
“I know it, but I couldn’t get in the door,”
replied the Frenchman, laughing. “I was a young,
inconsequential lieutenant worse, attached to the
judge advocate essentially with our forces to lend an
appearance of legality, but, mind you, only an
appearance. Murder was a misdemeanor, and rape
to be congratulated. L’Etalon Blanc is a refuge for
les grands militaires and those rich enough or
foolish enough to listen to their trumpets.”
“I want to meet someone who lunches there
three or four times a week.”
“You can’t call him?”
‘He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know I want to
meet him. It’s got to be spontaneous.”
“Really? For Talbot, Brooks and Simon? That
sounds most unusual.”
“It is. We may be dealing with someone we don’t
want to deal with.”
“Ahh, missionary work. Who is he?”
“Will you keep it confidential? I mean that, not
a word to anyone?”
“Do I breathe? If the name is in conflict with
something on our schedule, I will tell you and,
frankly, be of no help to
you. ”
“Fair enough. Jacques-Louis Bertholdier.”
Mattilon arched his brows in mock astonishment,
less in mockery than in astonishment. “The emperor
has all his clothes,” said the Frenchman, laughing
quietly. “Regardless of who claims otherwise. You
start at the top of the line, as they say in New York.
No conflict, mon ami; he’s not in our league as
you also say.”
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 79
“Why not?”
“He moves with saints and warriors. Warriors
who would be saints, and saints who would be
warriors. Who has time for such facades?’
“You mean he’s not taken seriously?”
“Oh, no, he is. Very seriously, by those who have
the time and the inclination to move abstract