defecated on the toe of his
180 ROBERT LUDLUM
boot. “I’d like to kick the rest of the shit out of you,
li’l partner, ‘ he said quietly, “but it wouldn’t fit my
well-developed image.”
The actor got up and stretched, aware that the
onlookers beyond the roped-off set were staring at
him, chattering away like tourists in a zoo. In a few
minutes he would walk over no, not walk, amble
over and pull the rope off the carriage of an arc
light so he could mingle with the fans. He never
tired of it, probably because it came so late in his
life and was, after all, symbolic of what he and his
wife currently could afford. Also every now and
then there was a bonus: the appearance of one of
his former students, who usually approached him
cautiously, obviously wondering if the good-natured
rapport he had established in the classroom had
survived the onslaught of national recognition or
been drowned in the hdal wave of so-called
stardom. Cal was good at remembering faces, and
not too bad with at least one of a person’s two
names, so when these occasions arose, he invariably
would eye his former charge and ask him if he had
completed yesterday’s assignment. Or would walk
up to him or her and pedagogically inquire
something like “Of the chronicles Shakespeare drew
from for his histories, which had the greatest impact
on his language, Daniel, Holinshed, or Froissart?”
If the answer came back naming the last, he would
slap his thigh and exclaim words akin to “Hot damn,
li’l wrangler, you busted a tough bronc there!”
Laughter would follow, and frequently drinks and
reminiscences later.
It was a good life these days, almost perfect. If
only some sunlight would reach into the painfully
dark corners of his wife’s mind. If it could, she’d be
here on a hillside in Bonn chatting in her quietly
vivacious way with the people beyond the
rope mostly women, mostly those around her
age telling them that her husband was really quite
like their own. He never picked up his socks and
was a disaster in the kitchen; people liked to hear
that even if they didn’t believe it. But the sunlight
did not reach those far, dark corners. Instead, his
Frieda remained in Copenhagen, walking along the
beaches of Sjaelland Island, having tea in the
botanical gardens, and waiting for a call from her
husband saying that he had a few days off and
would come out of hated Germany. Dowling looked
around at the efficient, enthusiastic crew and the
curious spectators; laughter punctuated their
conversations, a certain respect as well. These were
not hateful people,
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 181
‘ Cal?” the voice belonged to Blynn, the film’s
director who was walking rapidly across the slope of
the hill. “There’s someone here to see you.”
‘`1 hope more than one, Roger. Otherwise the
men who go under the dubious title of our
employers are grossly overpaying me.”
‘Not for this pile of kitsch.” The director’s smile
disappeared, as he approached the actor. Are you
in any trouble, Cal?
~Constantly, but not so it’s noticeable.”
T’m serious. There’s a man here from the
German po.lt,ce the Bonn police He says he has to
talk to yo I i
What about?” Dowling felt a rush of pain in his
stomach it was the fear he lived with.
‘He wouldn’t tell me. Just that it was an
emergency and he had to see you alone.”
~Oh, Chrzst!” whispered the actor. Freddie! .
. . where is he?”
`Over in your trailer.”
“In my ”
Rest easy,” said Blynn. ‘`That stunt jock Moose
Rosenberg’s with him. If he moved an ashtray, I
think that gorilla would throw him through the wall.”
Thanks, Roger.”
`He meant it when he said ‘alone’!”
Dowling did not hear this; he had started running
across the hill toward the small camper he used for
brief periods of relaxation. He prayed to no one in
particular for the best, preparing himself for the
worst.
It was neither, simply another complication in an
enigma. Fneda Dowling was not the subject; instead
it was Joel Converse, an American attorney-at-law.
The stunt man climbed out of the trailer, leaving
Caleb and the police officer alone. The man was in
civilian clothes, his English fluent, his manner
vaguely officious yet courteous.
“I’m sorry to have upset you, Herr Dowling,” said
the German in response to Caleb’s initial, intense
inquiry about his wife. “We know nothing of Frau
Dowling. Is she ill, perhaps?”
She’s had a few spells lately, that’s all. She’s in
Copenhagen.”
182 ROBERT LUDLUM
“Yes, so we understand. You fly there
frequently, don’t you?”
‘Whenever I can.,’
She does not care to join you here in Bonn?”
Tier was Oppenfeld, and the last time she was in
Germany she wasn’t considered much of a human
being. Her memories are, let’s say, memorable in
the extreme. They come back with a lot of acid.”
`Yes,” said the police officer, his eyes as steady
as Caleb’s. “We will live with that for generations.”
“I hope so,” said the actor.
“I wasn’t alive, Herr Dowling. I’m very happy
she survived, I mean that.”
Dowling was not sure why but he lowered his
voice, the words nearly inaudible, if not involuntary.
“Germans helped her.”
“I would hope so,” said the German quietly. “My
business, however, concerns a man who sat next to
you last night on the planes from Copenhagen to
Hamburg and from Hamburg to Bonn. His name is
Joel Converse, an American attorney.”
“What about him? By the way, may I see your
identification?”
“Certainly.” The police officer reached into his
pocket removed his plastic ID case, and handed it
to the actor, who had his glasses firmly in place. “I
trust everything is in order,” added the man.
“What’s this Sonder Dezernat?” asked Dowling,
squinting at the small print on the card.
“It is best translated as ‘special’ ‘branch’ or
department.’ We are a unit of the Bundespolizei,
the federal police. It is our job to look into matters
the government feels are more sensitive than the
normal jurisdictional complaints.”
What doesn’t say a damn thing, and you know
it,” said the actor. We can use lines like that in
movies and get away with it because we write in all
those reactions, but you’re not Helmut Dantine or
Martin Kosleck and I’m not Elissa Landi. Spell it
out.”
every well, I shall spell it out. Interpol. A man
died in a Paris hospital as a result of head injuries
inflicted by the American, Joel Converse. His
condition was diagnosed as improving, but
unfortunately it was only temporary; he was found
dead this morning. The death is attributed to an
unpro
THE PROGRESSION 183
yoked attack by Herr Converse. We know he flew
into Koln-Bonn, and according to the airline
stewardesses, you sat with him for three and a half
hours. We want to know where he is. Perhaps you
can help us.”
Dowling removed his glasses, lowering his chin
and swallowing as he did so. And you think I know?”
We have no idea, but you talked with him. And
we hope you do know that there are severe penalties
for withholding information about a fugitive,
especially one sought for a killing.”
The actor fingered the stems of his glasses, his
instincts in conflict, erupting. He walked over to the
cot against the wall and sat down, looking up at the
police officer.. “Why don’t I trust you?” he asked.
`Because you think of your wife and will trust no
German,” replied the German. 1 am a man of law
and peace Herr Dowling. Order is something the
people decide for themselves, myself among them.
The report we have received states clearly that this
Converse may be a very disturbed man.”
“He didn’t sound disturbed to me. In fact, I
thought he had a damned good head on his
shoulders. He said a lot of very perceptive things.”
“That you wanted to hear?”
“Not all of them.”
“But a good percentage, leading up to all of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“A madman is convincing; he plays on all sides,
eventually weighing everything in his favor. It’s the
essence of his madness, his psychosis, his own
convictions.”
Dowling dropped the glasses on the cot, exhaling
audibly feeling the pain of fear again in his stomach.
PA madman?” he said without conviction. “I don’t
believe that.”
“Then let us have a chance to disprove it. Do you
know where he is?”
The actor squinted at the German. “Give me a
card or a number where I can reach you. He may get
in touch with me.”
“Who was responsible?” The man in the red silk
robe behind the large desk sat in semidarkness, a
brass lamp serving to throw a harsh circle of light on
the surface in front of him. The glow was sufficient
to reveal the outlines of a huge map