enough, an equitable solution was usually
forthcoming. The ethics was questionable, but
contrary to accepted belief, ethics was in three
dimensions, if not four. The end did not justify the
means, but justifiable means that brought about a
fair and necessary conclusion were not to be
dismissed.
And nothing could be fairer or more necessary
than the dismantling of Aquitaine. Old Beale was
right that night on the moonlit beach on Mykonos.
His client was not an unknown man in San Francisco
but instead a large part of this so-called civilised
world. Aquitaine had to be stopped, aborted.
An intermediary? It was another question he
would put off until the morning. He picked up the
dossier, his eyes heavy.
Leifhelm has few intimate friends that appear
to be constant, probably because of his awareness
that he is under watch by the government. He sits
on the boards of several prominent corporations,
168 ROBERT LUDLUM
which have stated frankly that his name justifies his
stipend….
Joel’s head fell forward. He snapped it back,
widened his eyes, and scanned the final pages
rapidly, absorbing only the general impressions; his
concentration was waning. There was mention of
several restaurants, the names meaningless; a mar-
riage during the war that ended when Leifhelm s
wife disappeared in November of’43, presumed
killed in a Berlin bombing raid; no subsequent wife
or wives. His private life was extraordinarily private,
if not austere; the exception here was his proclivity
for small dinner parties, the guest lists always
varied, again names, again meaningless. The address
of his residence on the outskirts of Bad
Godesberg…. Suddenly Converse’s neck stiffened,
his eyes fully alert.
The house is in the remote countryside, on the
Rhine River and far from any shopping areas or
suburban concentration. The grounds are fenced
and guarded by attack dogs who bark viciously at
all approaching vehicles except Leithelm’s
dark-red Mercedes limousine.
A dark-red Mercedes! It was Leifhelm himself
who had been at the airport! Leifhelm who had
driven directly to the embassy! How could it
happens How?
It was too much to absorb, too far beyond his
understanding. The darkness was closing in, Joel’s
brain telling him it could no longer accept further
input; it simply could not function. The dossier fell
to his side; he closed his eyes and slept.
He was plunging headlong down through a
cavernous hole in the earth, jagged black rocks on
all sides, infinite darkness below. The walls of
irregular stone kept screaming in frenzy, screeching
at him like descending layers of misshapen gargoyles
with sharp beaks and raised claws lunging at his
flesh. The hysterical clamor was unbearable. Where
had the silence gone? Why was he falling into black
nothingness?
He flashed his eyes open; his forehead was
drenched with sweat, his breath coming in gasps.
The telephone by his head was ringing, the erratic
bell jarringly dissonant. He tried to shake the sleep
and the fear from his semiconsciousness; he reached
for the blaring instrument, glancing at his watch as
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 169
he did so. It was twelve-fifteen, a quarter past noon,
the sun streaking through the hotel window. Blinding.
“Yes? Hello . . . ?”
“Joe? Joel 2″
‘Yes.” it’s Cal Dowling. Our boy called.”
What? Who?”
‘This Fowler. Avery Fowler.”
“Oh, Jesus!” It was coming back, it was all coming
back. He was seated at a table in the Chat Botte on
the Quai du Mont Blanc, flashes of sunlight bouncing
off the grillwork on the lakeside boulevard. No . . .
he was not in Geneva. He was in a hotel room in
Bonn, and only hours ago he had been plunged into
madness by that name. “Yes,” he choked, catching his
breath. ‘Did you get a telephone number?”
“He said there wasn’t time for games, and
besides, he doesn’t have one. You’re to meet him at
the east wall of the Alter Zoll as fast as you can get
there. Just walk around; he’ll find you.”
‘That’s not good enoughI” cried Converse. “Not
after Paris! Not after the airport last night! I’m not
stupidI”
“I didn’t get the impression he thought you were,”
replied the actor. ‘ He told me to tell you something,
he thought it might convince you.”
What is it?”
“I hope I get this right, I don’t even like saying it.
. . He said to tell you a judge named Anstett was
killed last nught in New York. He thinks you’re being
cut loose.”
8
The Alter Zoll, the ancient tower that had once
been part of Bonn’s southern fortress on the
Rhine razed to the ground three centuries
ago was now a tollhouse standing on a green lawn
dotted with antique cannons, relics of a might that
had slipped away through the squabblings of
emperors and kings priests and princes. A winding
mosaic wall of red and grey stone overlooked the
massive river below where boats of vari
170 ROBERT IUDLUM
ous descriptions plowed furrows in the open water,
caressing the shorelines on both sides, diligent and
somber in their appointed rounds; no Lake Geneva
here, far less the blue-green waters of the
mischievous Como. Yet in the distance was a sight
envied by people the world over: the Siebengebirge,
the seven mountains of Westerwald, magnificent in
their intrusions on the skyline.
Joel stood by the low wall, trying to focus on the
view hoping it would calm him, but the exercise was
futile. The beauty before him was lost, it would not
distract him from his thoughts; nothing could….
Lucas Anstett, Second Circuit Court of Appeals,
judge extraordinary and intermediary between one
Joel Converse and his employers and an unknown
man in San Francisco. Outside of that unknown
man and a retired scholar on the island of
Mykonos, the only other person who knew what he
was doing and why. How in the space of eighteen
hours or less could he have been found ? Found
and killed!
“Converse?”
Joel turned, whipping his head over his shoulder,
his body rigid. Standing twenty feet away on the far
edge of a graveled path was a sandy-haired man
several years younger than Converse, in his early to
mid thirties; his was a boyish face that would grow
old slowly and remain young long after its time. He
was also shorter than Joel, but not by
much perhaps five ten or eleven and dressed in
light-grey trousers and a cord jacket, his white shirt
open at the neck.
“Who are you?” asked Converse hoarsely.
A couple strolled between them on the path as
the younger man jerked his head to his left,
gesturing for Joel to follow him onto the lawn
beyond. Converse did so, joining him by the huge
iron wheel of a bronze cannon.
“All right, who are you?” repeated Joel.
“My sister’s name is Meagen,” said the
sandy-haired man. “And so neither one of us makes
a mistake, you tell me who I am.”
“How the hey . . . ?” Converse stopped, the
words coming back to him, words whispered by a
dying man in Geneva. Oh, Christ! Meg, the kids . . .
” ‘Meg, the kids,’ ” he said out loud. “Fowler called
his wife Meg.”
“Short for Meagen, and she was Halliday’s
wife only, you knew him as Fowler.”
“You’re Avery’s brother-in-law.”
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 171
“Press’s brother-in-law,” corrected the man,
extending his hand. “Connal Fitzpatrick,” he added.
“Then we’re on the same side.”
“I hope so.”
“I’ve got a lot of questions to ask you, Connal.”
“No more than I’ve got for you, Converse.”
“Are we going to start off belligerently?” asked
Joel, noting the harsh use of his own last name and
releasing fitzpatrick s hand.
The younger man blinked, then reddened,
embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m one angry
brother on both sides and I haven’t had much
sleep. I’m still on San Diego time.”
“San Diego? Not San Francisco?”
“Navy. I’m a lawyer stationed at the naval base
there.”
“Whew,” whistled Converse softly. “It’s a small
world.”
“I know all about the geography,” agreed
Fitzpatrick. ‘And also you, Lieutenant. How do you
think Press got his information? Of course, I wasn’t
in San Diego then, but I had friends. ”
“Nothing’s sacred, then.”
“You’re wrong; everything is. I had to pull some
very thick strings to get that stuff. It was about five
months ago when Press came to me and we made
our . . . I guess you’d call it the contract between
us.”
“Clarification, please.”
The naval officer placed a hand on the barrel of
the cannon. “Press Halliday wasn’t just my
brother-in-law, he came to be my best friend, closer
than any blood brother, I think.”
“And you with the militaristic hordes?” asked
Joel, only half joking, a point of information on the
line
Fitzpatrick smiled awkwardly, boyishly. ‘;That’s
part of it, actually. He stood by me when I wanted to
go for it. The services need lawyers too, but the law
schools don’t tell you much about that. It’s not