questionable transactions that could not bear
intense scrutiny.”
Bertholdier’s eyes were fixed, too controlled. “I
would know nothing about such things, of course,”
he said.
“Of course,” agreed Converse. “But the fact that
my client does through me and the additional fact
that neither he nor I have any desire whatsoever to
call attention to them must tell you something.”
“Frankly, not a thing.”
“Please, General. One of the first principles of
free enterprise is to cripple your competition, step
in, and fill the void.”
The soldier drank, gripping the glass firmly. He
lowered it and spoke. “Why did you come to me?”
“Because you were there.”
“What?”
“Your name was there among the morass, way
down deep, but there.”
Bertholdier shot forward. “Impossible! Preposterous!”
“Then why am I here? Why are you here?” Joel
placed his glass on the table by the chair, the
movement that of a man not finished speaking. “Try
to understand me. Depending upon which
government department a person’s dealing with
certain recommendations are bound to be helpful.
You wouldn’t do a damn thing for someone
appealing to Housing and Urban Development, but
over at the State Department’s Munitions Controls
or at Pentagon procurements, you’re golden.”
“I have never lent my name to any such appeals.”
“Others did. Men whose recommendations
carried a lot of weight, but who perhaps needed
extra clout.”
“What do you mean? This ‘clout.'”
“A final push for an affirmative
decision without any apparent personal
involvement. It’s called support for an action
through viable second and third parties. For
instance, a memo might read: ‘We’ the
department, not a person ‘don’t know much about
this, but if a man like General Bertholdier is
favorably disposed, and we are informed that he is,
why should we argue?'”
“Never. It could not happen.”
“It did,” said Converse softly, knowing it was the
moment to bring in reality to support his
abstractions. He would be able to tell instantly if
Beale was right, if this legend of France was
responsible for the slaughter and chaos in the cities
and
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 97
towns of a violently upended Northern Ireland. “You
were there, not often but enough for me to find you.
Just as you were there in a different way when a
shipment was air-freighted out of Beloit, Wisconsin,
on its way to Tel Aviv. Of course it never got there.
Somehow it was diverted to maniacs on both sides in
Belfast. I wonder where it happened? Montreal?
Paris? Marseilles? The Separatists in Quebec would
certainly follow your orders, as would men in Paris
and Marseilles. It’s a shame a company named
Solidaire had to pay off the insurance claim. Oh, yes,
you’re a director of the firm aren’t you? And it’s so
convenient that insurance carriers have access to the
merchandise they cover.”
Bertholdier was frozen to the chair, the muscles
of his face pulsating, his eyes wide, staring at Joel.
His guilt was suppressed, but no less apparent for
that control. “I cannot be lieve what you are
implying. It’s shocking and incredible!”
“I repeat, why am I here?”
“Only you can answer that, monsieur,” said
Bertholdier, abruptly getting to his feet, the brandy
in his hand. Then slowly, with military precision, he
leaned over and placed the glass on the coffee table;
it was a gesture of finality the conference was over.
“Quite obviously I made a foolish error,” he contin-
ued, shoulders square again and head rigid, but now
with a strained yet oddly convincing smile on his lips.
“I am a soldier, not a businessman; it is a late
direction in my life. A soldier tries to seize an
initiative and I attempted to do just that; only, there
was there is no initiative. Forgive me, I misread
your signal this afternoon.”
“You didn’t misread anything, General.”
“Am I contradicted by a stranger I might even
say a devious stranger who arranges a meeting
under false pretenses and proceeds to make
outrageous statements regarding my honor and my
conduct? I think not.” As Bertholdier strode across
the room toward the hallway door Joel rose from his
chair. “Don’t bother, monsieur, I’ll let myself out.
You’ve gone to enough trouble, for what purpose I
haven’t the faintest idea.”
“I’m on my way to Bonn,” said Converse. “Tell
your friends I’m coming. Tell them to expect me.
And please, General, tell them not to prejudge me.
I mean that.”
“Your elliptical references are most annoying
Lieutenant. It was ‘lieutenant,’ wasn’t it? Unless you
also deceived poor Luboque as well.”
98 ROBERT LUDLUM
“Whatever deception employed to meet you can
only be for his benefit. I’ve offered to write a legal
opinion for his case. He may not like it, but it’ll save
him a lot of pain and money. And I have not
deceived you.”
“A matter of judgment, I think.” Bertholdier
turned and reached for the outsized brass knob.
“Bonn, Germany,” pressed Joel.
“I heard you. I haven’t the vaguest notion what
you ”
“Leifhelm,” said Converse quietly. “Erich Leifhelm.”
The soldier’s head turned slowly; his eyes were
banked fires, the coals glowing, about to erupt at
the merest gust of wind. “A name known to me, but
not the man.”
“Tell him I’m coming.”
“Good night, monsieur,” said Bertholdier,
opening the door, his face ashen.
Joel raced into the bedroom, grabbed his
suitcase and threw it on the luggage rack. He had to
get out of Paris. Within hours, perhaps minutes,
Bertholdier would have him watched, and if he was
followed to an airport, his passport would expose
the name Simon as a lie. He could not let that
happen, not yet.
It was strange, unsettling. He had never had any
reason to leave a hotel surreptitiously, and he was
not sure he knew how to do it only that it had to
be done. The altering of the registration card had
been done instinctively, there were occasions when
legal negotiations had to be kept quiet for every-
one’s benefit. But this was different it was
abnormal. He had said to Beale on Mykonos that he
was going to become someone he was not. It was an
easy thing to say, not at all easy to do.
His suitcase packed, he checked the battery
charge on his electric razor and absently turned it
on, moving it around his chin, as he walked to the
bedside telephone. He shut the switch off as he
dialed, unsure of what he would say to the night
concierge but nevertheless instinctively orienting his
mind to a business approach. After initial remarks,
mutually flattering, the words came.
“There’s an extremely sensitive situation, and my
firm is anxious that I leave for London just as soon
as possible and as discreetly as possible. Frankly,
I would prefer not to be seen checking out.”
“Discretion, monsieur, is honored here, and haste is
a
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 99
normal request. I shall come up and present your bill
myself. Say, ten minutes?”
“I’ve only one piece of luggage. I’ll carry it, but
I’ll need a cab. Not in front.”
“Not in front, of course. The freight elevator,
monsieur. It connects below with our corridor for
deliveries. Arrangements will be made.”
“I ve made arrangementst” said Bertholdier
harshly into the limousine’s mobile phone, the glass
partition between him and the chauffeur tightly shut.
“One man remains in the gallery in sight of the
elevators, another in the cellars where the hotel
supplies are brought in. If he attempts to leave
during the night, it is the only other exit available to
him. I’ve used it myself on several occasions.”
“This . . . is all most difficult to absorb.” The
voice on the line spoke with a clipped British accent,
the speaker obviously astonished, his breathing
audible, a man suddenly afraid. “Are you sure?
Could there be some other linkage?”
“Imbecile! I repeat. He knew about the munitions
shipment from Beloit! He knew the routing, even the
method of theft. He went so far as to identify
Solidaire and my position as a board member! He
made a direct reference to our business associate in
Bonnl Then to Tel Aviv . . .lohannesburgl What
other linkage could there be?”
“Corporate entanglements, perhaps. One can’t
rule them out. Multinational subsidiaries, munitions
investments, our associate in West Germany also sits
on several boards…. And the locations money pours
into them.”
“What in the name of God do you think I’m
talking about? I can say no more now, but what I’ve
told you, my English flower, take it to be the worstl”
There was a brief silence from London. “I
understand,” said the voice of a subordinate rebuked.
“I hope you do. Get in touch with New York. His
name is Simon, Henry Simon. He’s an attorney from
Chicago. I have the address; it’s from the hotel’s
registration file.” Bertholdier squinted under the
glare of the reading lamp, haltingly deciphering the
numbers and the numbered street written down by
an assistant bell captain, well paid by one of the