and frowned. He was as bewildered now as he had
been when he first read the transcript, as convinced
now as he was then that Remington’s con-
clusions conclusion, really was off the mark. But
then the legal officer was too young to have any real
knowledge of the events as they had actually
happened; no one who had not been there could
really understand. Too many others did; it was the
reason for the flag, but it made no sense to apply
that reasoning to this Converse eighteen years later.
It was exhuming a corpse that had died from a fever,
whether the shell of a man lived on or not. It had to
be something else.
Hickman looked at his watch, unfolded his arms
and removed his feet from the edge of the table. It
was three-ten in Norfolk; he reached for the
telephone.
“Hello, Brian,” said Rear Admiral Scanlon of the
Fifth Naval District. “I want you to know how much
we appreciate SAND PAC’s help in this thing.”
“SAND PAC’s?” asked Hickman, bemused that
no credit was given to the State Department.
“All right, Admiral, your help. I owe you one, old
Hicky.”
“Start paying by dropping that name.”
“Hey, come on, don’t you remember the hockey
games?
282 ROBERT LUDEUM
You’d come racing up the ice and the whole cadet
corps would shout: ‘Here comes Hicky! Here comes
Hicky!’ ”
“May I unblock my ears now?”
“I’m just trying to thank you, pal.”
“That s just it, I m not sure for what? Have you
read the transcript?”
“Naturally.”
‘What the hell s there?”
Well,” answered Scanlon tentatively. PI read it
pretty quickly. It’s been an awful day and, frankly,
I just passed it on. What do you think is there?
Between you and me, I’d like to know, because I
barely had time to skim through it.”
What do I think is there? Absolutely nothing.
Oh, sure, we kept Hags on stuff like that back then
because the White House passed the order to put a
lid on officially recorded criticism and we all went
along. Also we were pretty sick and tired of it
ourselves. But there’s nothing in that transcript that
hasn’t been heard before, or that has any value for
anyone but military historians a hundred years from
now as a very small footnote.”
Swell,” said Scanlon, even more tentatively, ‘ this
Converse had some pretty harsh things to say about
Command-Saigon.”
About Mad Marcus? Christ, I said worse during
the Force-Tonkin conferences and my CO did me
ten times better. We ferried in those kids up and
down the coast when all they were ready for was a
day at the beach with hot dogs and Ferris wheels….
I don’t get it. You and my legal zero in on the same
thing, and I think it’s old hat and discredited. Mad
Marcus is a relic.”
Your who?”
My legal exec. I told you about him, Remington.”
Oh, yes. The stickler prick.”
.He picked up on the Saigon thing too. ‘That’s
it,’ he said. It’s in those remarks. It’s Delavane.’ He
wasn’t around to know Delavane was fair game for
every antiwar group in the country. Hell, we gave
him the name Mad Marcus. No, it’s not Delavane,
it’s something else. Perhaps it’s in those escapes,
specifically Converse’s last escape. Maybe there’s
some MIA input we don’t know about.”
`Well,” repeated the admiral in Norfolk for the
third time, but now far less tentatively. You may
have something there, but it doesn’t concern us.
Look, I’ll be honest with you.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 283
I didn’t want to say anything because I didn t want
you to think you went to a lot of trouble for nothing,
but the word I get is that the whole thing is a
bust-negative.”
“Oh?” said Hickman, suddenly listening very
carefully. “How so?”
‘lt’s the wrong man. Apparently an
overenthusiastic JG was doing some digging in the
same time period, the same general circumstances.
He saw the flag and drew six wrong conclusions. I
hope he enjoys taking five A.M. muster.”
“And that’s it?” asked SAND PAC’s admiral,
controlling his astonishment.
“That’s the feedback we get here. Whatever your
CLO had in mind hasn’t anything to do with our
people.”
Hickman could not believe what he was hearing.
Of course Scanlon had not mentioned the State
Department’s efforts. He knew nothing about them!
He was quickly putting as much distance between
himself and the Converse flag as he could, Iying
because he had not been told. State was working
quietly probably through Cons Op and Scanlon
had no reason to think “old Hicky” knew a damn
thing about Bonn or Converse or Connal
Fitzpatrick’s whereabouts. Or about a man named
Preston Halliday who had been murdered in Geneva.
What was happening? He would not find out from
Scanlon. Nor did he care to.
“To hell with it, then. My CLO will be back in
three or four days and maybe I’ll learn something.”
“Whatever it is, it’s back in your sandbox,
Aclmiral. My people had the wrong man.”
“Your people couldn’t navigate a row boat in the
D.C. Reflecting Pool.”
“Can’t blame you for that, Hicky.”
Hickman hung up the phone and resumed his
standard position when in thought, gazing beyond his
propped-up shoes at the ocean. The sun was trying to
break through the overcast without much success.
He had never liked Scanlon for reasons too petty
to examine. Except one; he knew Scanlon was a liar.
What he had not known was that he was such a
stupid liar.
Lieutenant David Remington was flattered by the
call. The well-known four-striper had invited him to
lunch not only invited him but had apologized for
the lateness of the invitation and told him that it was
perfectly understandable
284 ROBERT LUDIUM
if it was inconvenient. Further, the captain wanted
him to know that the call was of a personal nature,
having nothing to do with naval business. The
high-ranking officer, a resident of La Jolla, was in
port for only a few days and needed legal advice.
He had been told that Lieutenant Remington was
just about the best lawyer in the United States
Navy. Would the lieutenant accept?
Of course Remington had made it perfectly
clear that whatever advice he might offer would be
offered on the basis of amicus-amicae; no
remuneration could possibly be considered, as that
would be a violation of Statute . . .
‘May I buy you lunch, Lieutenant, or do we have
to split the check?” the four-striper had
asked somewhat impatiently, thought Remington.
The restaurant was high in the hills above La
Jolla, an out-of-the-way roadside inn that apparently
catered to diners of the area and those from San
Diego and University City who did not care to be
seen together in the usual places. Remington had
not been too pleased; he would have preferred
being seen at the Coronado with the captain than
traveling ten miles north so as no! to be seen in the
hills of La Jolla. Nevertheless, the four-striper had
been politely adamant) it was where he wanted to
meet. David had checked him out. The much
decorated captain not only was in line for
promotion but was considered a potential candidate
for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Remington would have
ridden a bicycle on the exposed Alaskan pipeline to
keep the appointment.
Which was exactly what he thought he was
doing, as he spun the steering wheel right, then left,
then right and right again as he made his way up
the steep narrow roads. It was important to keep in
mind, he thought, as he whipped the car to the left,
that personal advice was nevertheless professional
advice, and without payment of any sort whatsoever,
it constituted a debt that would one day be
acknowledged. And if a man was elevated to the
Joint Chiefs . . . Remington could not help it: in a
glow of self-importance he had let drop to a fellow
legal officer the one who had coined the name
“stickler prick” that he was lunching with a highly
regarded four-striper in La Jolla and might be late
returning to the office. Then to drive his point
home, he had asked his associate for directions.
Oh, my Godl What was it? Oh, my God ~
At the apex of the hairpin curve was an enormous
black
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 285
rig, thirty feet in length, and out of control. It
weaved right and left on the narrow incline, its speed
gathering with every foot, measured in racing yards,
a black behemoth swerving, crashing down on
everything in front of it, a wild beast gone mad!
Remington whipped his head to his right as he
spun the wheel to avoid impact. There were only thin
trunks of young trees and saplings in late-summer
bloom; below was a floral abyss. These were the last
images he saw as the car careened on its side and