however, that the orders always come from a man
with respect; that was necessary.
They did last night; the order came from a man
with great respect. Although Joey did not know him
personally, he had heard for years about the
powerful padrone in Washington, D.C. The name
was whispered, never spoken out loud.
Joey touched the brakes of his car, slowing down
so as to swing into his driveway. His wife, Angie,
would be pissed off at him, maybe shout a little
because he didn’t come home last night. One more
irritation on top of all the craziness, but what the
hell was he going to say? Sorry, Angie, but I was
gainfully employed throwing six bullets into an old
guy who definitely discriminated against Italians. So,
you see, Angie, I had to stay across the the bridge in
Jersey where one of the paesans I played cards with
and who’ll swear I was there all night happens to be
the chief of police.
But, of course, he would never go into such
details with his wife. That was his own law. No
matter how aggravated he was he never brought the
job home. More husbands should be like him and
there would be happier households in Syosset.
Shit/ One of the bucking kids had left a bicycle
in front of the attached garage; he wouldn’t be able
to open the automatic door and drive inside. He’d
have to get out. Shill One more aggravation. He
couldn’t even park by the Millers’ curb next door;
some creep’s car was there but it wasn’t the Millers’
Buick. Double shill
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 209
Joey brought the Pontiac to a stop halfway into
the sloping driveway and got out. He went up to the
bike and leaned down. The rotten kid didn’t even
use the kickstand and Joey hated bending over, what
with his heavy gut and all.
‘~Joseph Albanese!”
Joey the Nice spun around, crouching, reaching
under his jacket. That tone of voice was used by only
one type of slimel He pulled out his .38 and dove
toward the grille of his car.
The explosions reverberated throughout the
neighborhood. Birds fluttered out of trees and there
were screams along the block in the bright afternoon
sunlight. Joseph Albanese was sprawled against the
grille of the Pontiac, rivulets of blood slowly rolling
down the shiny chrome. Joey the Nice had been
caught in the fire, and gripped in his hand was the
gun he had used so effectively the night before.
Ballistics would prove out. The killer of Lucas
Anstett was dead. The judge had been the victim of
a gangland assassination, and as far as the world was
concerned, it had nothing to do with events taking
place six thousand miles away in Bonn, Germany.
Converse stood on the small balcony, his hands
on the railing, looking down at the majestic river
beyond the forest of trees that formed the banks of
the Rhine. It was past seven o’clock; the sun was
going below the mountains in the west, its orange
rays shooting up, creating blocks of shadows over the
earth moving shadows that floated across the
waters in the descending distance. The vibrant colors
were hypnotic, the breezes cooling, but nothing
could stop the pounding echo in his chest. Where was
Fitzpatrick? Where was his attache cased The dossiers
He tried to stop thinking, to stop his imagination
from catapulting into frightening possibilities….
There was a sudden harsh echo, not from his
chest but from inside the room. He turned quickly as
the door opened and Connal Fitzpatrick stood there,
removing his key from the lock. He stepped aside,
letting a uniformed porter enter with two suitcases,
instructing the man to leave them on the floor while
he reached into his pocket for a tip. The porter left
and the Navy lawyer stared at Joel. There was no
attache case in his hand.
“Where is it?” said Converse, afraid to breathe,
afraid to move.
“I didn’t pick it up.’
210 ROBERT LUDIUM
“Why note” cried Joel, rushing forward.
“I couldn’t be sure . . . maybe it was just a
feeling, I don’t know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was at the airport for seven hours yesterday,
going from counter to counter asking about you,”
said Connal softly. “This afternoon I passed the
Lufthansa desk and the same clerk was there. When
I said hello, he didn’t seem to want to acknowledge
me; he looked nervous, and I couldn’t understand.
I came back out of the baggage claim with my
suitcase and watched him. I remembered how he
had glanced at me last night, and as I passed him I
swore his eyes kept shooting to the center of the
terminal, but there were so many people so much
confusion, I couldn’t be certain.”
“You think you were picked up? Followed ?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. When I was
shopping in Bonn, I went from store to store and
every now and then I’d turn around, or shift my
head, to see if I could spot anyone. A couple of
times I thought I saw the same people twice, but
then again, it was always crowded, and again I
couldn’t be sure. But I kept thinking about that
Lufthansa clerk; something was wrong.”
“What about when you were in the taxi? Did you ”
“Naturally. I kept looking out the rear window.
Even dun ing the drive out here. Several cars made
the same turns we did, but I told the driver to slow
down and they passed us.”
“Did you watch where they went after they passed
you?”
“What was the point?”
“There is one,” said Joel, recalling a clever driver
who followed a deep-red Mercedes limousine.
“All I knew was that you’re pretty uptight about
that attache case. I don’t know what’s in it and I
figure you don’t want anyone else to know, either.”
“Bingo, counselor.”
There was a knocking at the door, and although
it was soft, it had the effect of a staccato burst of
thunder. Both men stood motionless, their eyes
riveted on the door.
“Ask who it is,” whispered Converse.
“Wer ist da, bitted” said Fitzpatrick, loud enough
to be heard. There was a brief reply in German and
Connal breathed again. “It’s okay. It’s a message for
me from the manager. He probably wants to sell us
a conference room.” The Navy lawyer went to the
door and opened it.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 211
However, it was not the manager, or a bellboy, or
a porter bringing a message from the manager.
Instead, standing there, was a slender, elderly man in
a dark suit with erect posture and very broad
shoulders. He glanced first at Fitzpatrick, then
looked beyond at Converse.
“Excuse me, please, Commander,” he said
courteously walking through the door, and
approached Joel, his hand outstretched. “Herr
Converse, may I introduce myself? The name is
Leifhelm. Erich Leifhelm.”
11
Joel took the Cerman’s hand, too stunned to do
anything else. “field Marshal . . . ?” he uttered,
instantly regretting it he could at least have had the
presence of mind to say “General.” The pages of
Leifhelm’s dossier flashed across Converse’s mind as
he looked at the man his straight hair still more
blond than white, his pale-blue eyes glacial, his pink-
ish skin lined, waxen, as if preserved for decades to
come.
“An old title and one, thankfully, I have not
heard in many years. But you flatter me. You were
sufficiently interested to learn something of my past.”
“Not very much.”
“I suspect enough.” Leifhelm turned to
Fitzpatrick. “I apologize for my little ruse,
Commander. I felt it was best.”
Fitzpatrick shrugged, bewildered. “You know
each other, apparently.”
“Of one another,” corrected the German. “Mr.
Converse came to Bonn to meet with me, but I
imagine he’s told you
“No, I haven’t told him that,” said Joel.
Leifhelm turned back, studying Converse’s eyes.
“I see Perhaps we should talk privately.”
“I think so. ” Joel looked over at Fitzpatrick.
“Commander, I’ve taken up too much of your time.
Why not go downstairs to dinner and I’ll join you in
a while?”
“Whatever you say, sir,” said Connal, an officer
assuming
212 ROBERT LUDLUM
the status of an aide. He nodded and left, closing
the door firmly behind him.
“A lovely room,” said Leifhelm, taking several
steps toward the open French doors. “And with
such a lovely view.”
“How did you find me?” asked Converse.
“Him,” replied the former field marshal, looking
et Joel. “in according to the front desk. Who is he?”
“How?” repeated Converse.
“He spent hours last night at the airport
inquiring about you; many remembered him. He
was obviously a friend.”
“And you knew he’d checked his luggage? That
he’d be back for it?”
“Frankly, no. We thought he might come for
yours. We knew you wouldn’t. Now, please, who is
he?”
Joel understood it was vital that he maintain a