Converse took the cablegram out of the inside
pocket of his newly purchased sport jacket and
placed it beside the blank page of stationery. He
had underlined the correct numbers and began
writing.
“‘You the numerically undersigned, traceable
from the origin of transfer,'” droned the obese
Lachmann, leaning back in his chair and reading
from a single page, ” ‘swear to the fact that
whatever funds withdrawn from the Bank aus der
Bonner Sparkasse from this confidential account
have been subject to all taxes, individual and
corporate, from whatever sources of revenue. That
they are not being processed through differing
currencies to avoid said taxes, or for the purpose of
making unlawful payments to individuals,
companies, or corporations trafficking in illegal
and
“Forget it, Joel broke in. “I know it; I’ll sign it.
“‘ egregious activities outside the laws of the
Federal Republic of Germany or the laws of the
nation of which the undersigned is a legal resident
with full citizenship.’
“Ever tried half-full or resident alien status?
said Converse, starting the last line of numbers. “I
know a law student who could punch holes in that
affidavit.
“There is more, but you say you ll sign?”
“Im sure there s more and of course I’ll sign.” Joel
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 355
pushed the page with the handwritten numbers back
to the banker. “There. Just get me the money. One
hundred thousand American, minus your fee. Split it
two thirds and a third. U.S. and Cenman, no bills
over six hundred deutsche marks and five hundred
American.”
“That is quite a bit of paper, sir.”
“I’ll handle it. Please, as quickly as possible.”
‘Is that amount the entire account? I would not
know of course, until the scanners verify your
‘signature.’ ”
“It’s the entire account.”
“It could take several hours, natu’rlich.”
“What9”
“The regulations, the policy. ” The fat man
extended his arms in supplication.
“I don’t have several hours!”
“What can I do?” What can you do? A thousand
American for you.” One hour, sir.”
“Five thousand?”
“Five minutes, my good friend.”
Converse walked out of the elevator. The
abrasive newly acquired money belt was far less
comfortable than the one he had purchased in
Geneva, but it would have been pointless to refuse it.
It was a courtesy of the bank, Lachmann had said as
the German pocketed nearly twelve thousand
deutsche marks for himself. The ‘five minutes’ had
been a persuasive exaggeration, thought Joel as he
glanced at the clock on the wall; it was nearly
twelve-forty-five. The ritual had taken over half an
hour, from his “indoctrination” to the verification of
his “signature” by electronic scanners capable of
detecting the slightest “fundamental” variation in the
writing charactenstics. Apparently no one dared
make any mistakes in the German banks where
questionable practices were concerned. The
regulations were followed right to the borders of
illegality, with everyone covered by following orders
that placed the burden of innocence solely on the
recipients.
Converse started for the bronze-bordered doors
of the entrance when he saw the student,Johann,
sitting on a marble bench, looking out of place but
not uncomfortable. The young man was reading
some sort of pamphlet put out by the bank. Or more
precisely, he was pretending to read it; his eyes, dart-
ing above the page, were watching the crowds
crisscrossing
356 ROBERT LUDLUM
the marble floor. Converse nodded es Johann saw
him; the student got up from the bench and waited
until Joel reached the entrance before he began to
follow.
Something had happened. Outside on the
pavement people were rushing in both directions,
but mainly to the right; voices were raised, questions
shouted, replies blurred with anger and angry
ignorance.
‘What the hell is it?” asked Converse.
“I don’t know,” replied Johann, next to him.
“Something ugly, I think. People are running to the
kiosk on the corner. The newspapers.”
“Let’s get one,” said Joel, touching the young
man’s arm, as they started toward the growing
crowd on the block.
“Attentat! Mord!Amerikanische Botschafter ermordet!”
The newsstand operators were shouting, handing
out papers as they grabbed coins and bills with little
or no attempt to give change. There was a sense of
swelling panic that came with sudden unexplained
events that presaged greater disasters. All around
them people were snapping papers, their eyes
riveted on the headlines and the stories beneath.
“Mein Gott!” cried Johann, glancing at a folded
newspaper on his left. “The American ambassador
has been assassinated!”
“Christ! Get one of those!” Converse threw a
number of coins into the kiosk as the young
German grabbed a paper from the extended hand of
a newsstand operator. “Let’s get out of here!” yelled
Joel, gripping the student’s arm.
But Johann did not move. He stood there in the
middle of the shouting crowd, staring at the
newspaper, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.
Converse shoved two men away with his shoulders
as he pulled the young man forward, now both of
them surrounded by anxious, protesting Germans
obsessed with getting to the newsstand.
“You!” Johann’s scream was muted by some
intolerable fear.
Joel ripped the newspaper from the student’s
hands. In the upper canter of the front page were
photographs of two men. On the left was the
murdered Walter Peregrine, American ambassador
to the Federal Republic. On the right was the face
of an American Rechtsanwalt one of the few words
in German Converse knew; it meant attomey. The
photograph was of himself.
20
“No!” roared Joel, crushing the paper in his left
fist, his right hand gripping Johann’s shoulder.
“Whatever it says, it’s a lie! I’m not any part of this!
Don’t you see what they’re trying to do? Come on
with me!”
“Rein!” the young German, looking frantically
around, realising his voice was lost in the enveloping
bedlam.
“I said yes!” Converse shoved the newspaper inside
his jacket, and throwing his right arm around
Johann’s neck, pulled him alongside. “You can think
and do what you like, but first you come with me!
You’re going to read me every goddamned word!”
“Da ist er! Der Affentater!” shrieked the young
German, reaching out, clutching the trousers of a
man in the crowd who cursed and swung his arm
down on the offending hand.
Joel wrenched the student’s neck to his left, and
shouted into his ear, his words stunning himself as
much as they did the young man. “You want it this
way, you can have it! I’ve got a gun in my pocket and
if I have to use it I will! Two decent men have been
killed already now three why should you be the
exception? Because you’re young? That’s no reason!
When you come right down to it, who the hell are we
dying for?”
Converse yanked the youth back and forth,
dragging him out of the crowd. Once on the clear
pavement he released his armlock, replacing it with a
strong grip on the back of Johann’s neck. He
propelled the student forward, his eyes roving the
street, trying to find a secluded area where they could
talk where Johann could talk, after reading a string
of lies put out by the men of Aquitaine. The
newspaper slipped down beneath his jacket; he
reached in and grabbed it by the edge, pulling the
paper out intact. He could not just keep walking,
pushing his captive down the pavement; several peo-
ple had glanced at them, fuel for the curious. Oh,
Christ! The
357
358 ROBERT IUDIUM
photograph hisJace! Anyone might recognize him,
and he was calling attention to himself by keeping
the boy in tow.
Up ahead, on the right, there was a bakery or a
coffee shop or a combination of both with tables
under umbrellas on the sidewalk; several were
empty at the far end. He would have preferred a
deserted alley or a cobblestoned side street too
narrow for vehicles, but he could not keep doing
what he was doing walking so rapidly with a
prisoner in his grip.
‘Over there! That table in the rear. You sit
facing out. And remember, I wasn’t joking about the
gun, my hand will be in my pocket. ‘
“Please, let me go! You’ve done enough to me!
My friends know we left together last night; my
landlady knows I got you a room! The police will
question me!”
“Get in there,” said Converse, shoving Johann
between the chairs to the table at the rear of the
pavement. Both sat down; the young German was
no longer trembling, but his eyes were darting in all
directions. “Don’t even think about it,” continued
Joel. “And when a waiter comes over, speak in
English. Only English!”
“There are no waiters. Customers go inside and
bring out their own sweet rolls and coffee.”
“We’ll do without you can get something later.
I owe you money and I pay my debts.”
. . . I always pay my debts. At least during the last
four years I have. Words from a note left by a