The Aquitaine Progression (99 page)

The former deep-cover intelligence officer sat on the porch and looked out at the peaceful waters of the lake and the rolling, darkening green hills of New Hampshire. Everything
was
peaceful. Even the cries of the loons seemed to proclaim the permanence of tranquility in this special place. But Stone’s insides were not peaceful; his stomach churned and he remembered what Johnny Reb used to say in the field. “Trust the stomach, Brer Rabbit, trust the bile. They never lie.” He wondered what the Rebel was doing, what he was learning.

The phone inside the cottage rang, accompanied by a strident, unnerving clanging of the porch bell. As if jolted by an electric prod, Stone sprang from the chair, swung back the door and walked rapidly across the room to the telephone.

“Come up to the house, please,” said Nathan Simon, adding, “If you were out on the porch, I apologize for not telling you about that damned bell.”

“I accept your apology. I was.”

“It’s for guests who expect calls and may be out in one of the boats.”

“The loons are quiet. I’ll be right there.”

Stone walked up the dirt path and saw the lawyer standing by a screen door that was the lake-side entrance to the house; it was on a patio reached by curving brick steps. He started climbing, prepared for surprise number seven.

Supreme Court Justice Andrew Wellfleet, his thinning unkempt white hair falling in strands over his wide forehead, sat behind the large desk in his library. Converse’s thick affidavit was in front of him, and a floor lamp on his left threw light on the pages. It was several moments before he looked up and removed his steel-rimmed glasses. His eyes were stern and disapproving, matching the nickname given him over two decades ago when he was summoned to the Court. “Irascible
Andy” was the sobriquet the clerks had given him, but no one ever questioned his awesome intelligence, his fairness, or his devotion to the law. All things considered, surprise number seven was as welcome a shock as Stone could imagine.

“Have you read this?” asked Wellfleet, offering neither his hand nor a chair.

“Yes, sir,” replied Stone. “On the plane. It’s essentially what he told me over the phone, in far greater detail, of course. The affidavit from the Frenchman, Prudhomme, was a bonus. It tells us how they operate—how they’re
capable
of operating.”

“And what in hell did you think you were going to do with all of this?” The elderly justice waved his hand over the desk, on which were scattered the other affidavits. “Petition the courts here and in Europe to please, if they’d be so kind, to issue injunctions restricting the activities of all military personnel above a certain rank on the conceivable possibility that they may be part of this?”

“I’m not a lawyer, sir, the courts never entered my mind. But I did think that once we had Converse’s own words—along with what we knew—they’d be sufficient to reach the right people in the highest places who
could
do something. Obviously, Converse thought the same thing insofar as he called in Mr. Simon, and if you’ll forgive me, Mr. Justice, you’re reading it all now.”

“It isn’t enough,” said the Supreme Court justice. “And damn the courts, I shouldn’t have to tell you that, Mr. Former CIA Man. You need names, a lot more names, not just five generals, three of whom are retired and one of them, the so-called instigator, a man who had an operation several months ago that left him without legs.”

“Delavane?” asked Simon, stepping away from the window.

“That’s right,” said Wellfleet. “Kind of pathetic, huh? Not exactly the picture of a very imposing threat, is he?”

“It could drive him into being an extraordinary threat.”

“I’m not denying that, Nate. I’m just looking at the collection you’ve got here.” Abrahms? As anyone worth his kosher salt in Israel will tell you, he’s a strutting, bombastic hothead—a brilliant soldier but with ten screws loose. Besides, his only real concerns are for Israel. Van Headmer? He’s a relic of the nineteenth century, pretty fast with a hangman’s
rope but his voice doesn’t mean doodly-shit outside of South Africa.”

“Mr. Justice,” said Stone, speaking more firmly than he had before, “are you implying that we’re wrong? Because if you are, there are other names—and I don’t just mean a couple of attachés at the embassy in Bonn—names of men who have been killed because they tried to find answers.”

“You weren’t listening!” snapped Wellfleet. “I just told Nate I wasn’t denying anything. How in hell could I? Forty-five
million
in untraceable,
illegal
exports! An apparatus that can shape the news media here and in Europe, that can corrupt government agencies, and as Nate here puts it, ‘create a psychopathic assassin’ so they can find
you
, or make you back
down
. Oh, no, mister, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying you better damn well do what I’m told you’re pretty good at, and you’d better do it quickly. Haul in this Washburn and any others you can find in Bonn; pick a cross section of those people at State and the Pentagon and fill ’em full of dope or whatever the hell you use and get
names
! And if you ever mention that I suggested such wanton measures that violate our most sacred human rights, I’ll say you’re full of shit. Talk to Nate here. You don’t have time for niceties, mister.”

“We don’t have the resources, either,” said Stone. “As I explained to Mr. Simon, there are a few friends I can call upon for information but nothing like what you suggest—like what you didn’t suggest. I simply don’t have the leverage, the men or the equipment. I’m not even employed by the government any longer.”

“I can help you there.” Wellfleet made a note. “You’ll get whatever you need.”

“There’s the other problem,” continued Stone. “No matter how careful we are, we’d send out alarms. These people are
believers
, not just mindless extremists. They’re orchestrated; they have lines of fallbacks and know exactly what they’re doing. It’s a progression, a logical capitalizing on sequences until we’re all forced to accept them—or accept the unacceptable, the continuation of violence, of wholesale rioting, of the killing.”

“Very nice, mister. And what are
you
going to do?
Nothing?
”

“Of course not. Rightly or wrongly, I believed Converse when he told me that with our affidavits—with all the evidence
we provided him—Mr. Simon could reach people we couldn’t reach. Why shouldn’t I have believed him? It was an extension of my own thinking
without
a Nathan Simon but with Converse himself. Only, my way would take longer. The precautions would be far more elaborate, but it
could
be done. We’d reach the right people and start the counterattack.”

“Who’d you have in mind?” asked Wellfleet sharply.

“The President first, obviously. Then, because we’re dealing with half a dozen other countries, the Secretary of State. A maximum-security screening process would be set up immediately—one undoubtedly using those chemicals you didn’t speak of—until we had unblemished personnel, men and women we we’re certain beyond doubt had no connections to this Aquitaine. We create cells, command posts here and abroad. Incidentally, there’s a man who can help us immeasurably in this, a man named Belamy in Britain’s M.I.6. I’ve worked with him and he’s the best—knows the best—and he’s done this sort of thing before. Once our cells are in place and in deep cover, we then pull in Washburn and at least two others we know of by description in Bonn. Prudhomme can furnish us with the names of those in the Sûreté who approve transfers, and who furnished evidence against Converse when it didn’t exist. And as you know from my own affidavit, we’ve got the island of Scharhörn under surveillance now—we think it’s a nerve center or a communications relay. With the proper equipment we could tap in. The whole point is we widen the circles of information. Once you know a strategy, you can mount a counterstrategy without setting off alarms.” Stone paused and looked at both men. “Mr. Justice, Mr. Simon. I was station chief in five vital posts in Great Britain and the Continent. I
know
it can be done.”

“I don’t doubt you,” said Nathan Simon. “How long would it take?”

“If Justice Wellfleet can get me the cooperation and the equipment I need, with the people I select—here and abroad—Derek Belamy and I can mount a crash program. We’d be operational in eight to ten days.”

Simon looked at the Supreme Court justice then back at Stone. “We don’t have eight or ten days,” he said. “We have three—less than three days now.”

Peter Stone stared at the tall, portly attorney with the
sad, penetrating eyes. He could feel the blood draining from his face.

The cry of the cat was muted in fury. General George Marcus Delavane slowly replaced the telephone on the console. His half-body was propped into the wheelchair, his waist strapped to the steel poles, his arms as heavy as his breath was short, the veins in his neck distended. He brought his hands together, entwining his fingers and pressing the knuckles against each other until the surrounding flesh was white. He raised his large head, his cold, angry eyes narrowing as he looked up at the uniformed aide standing in front of the desk.

“They’ve disappeared,” he said, his high-pitched voice icily controlled. “Leifhelm was taken from a restaurant in Bonn. They say there was an ambulance that raced away, no one knows where. Abrahms’ guards were drugged. Others took their places. He was driven off in his own staff car, picked up in front of a synagogue. Bertholdier did not come down from his apartment on the Montaigne, so the driver went up to discreetly remind him of the time. The woman was bound naked on the bed, the word ‘whore’ written in lipstick across her breasts. She said two men took him away at gunpoint. There was talk of a plane, she said.”

“What about Van Headmer?” asked the aide.

“Nothing. Our charming and oblivious Afrikaner dines at the Johannesburg Military Club and says he will put himself under extra guard. He’s not part of the orbit; he’s too far away to matter.”

“What do you mean, General? What happened?”

“What happened? This
Converse
happened! We created our own most accomplished enemy, Colonel—and I can’t say we weren’t warned. Chaim said it, our man in the Mossad made it clear. The North Vietnamese created a hellhound—the Mossad’s words—and we created a monster. He should have been killed in Paris, certainly in Bonn.”

“You couldn’t have ordered it then,” said the aide, shaking his head. “You had to know where he came from, and if you couldn’t find out, you had to isolate him, make him—what was it?—a pariah, so no one would come forth to claim him. It was sound strategy, General. It still remains sound. No one’s come forth—no one’s
coming
forth. You held them back, and now it’s too late.”

Delavane’s eyes widened as he appraised the colonel’s
face. “You’ve always been the best of adjutants, Paul. You tactfully remind a superior that regardless of periodic setbacks, his decisions were based on sound reasons, and that those reasons will prevail.”

“I’ve disagreed when I thought it was necessary, General, because whatever I learned I learned from you, so I merely reminded you of yourself. Right now, at this moment, I’m right.
You
were right.”

“Yes, I was—I am. Nothing matters now. Everything’s set in motion and nothing can stop it. This Converse—this bold, resourceful enemy—was also held in check by having to keep running. And now
he’s
too late. In any event, the men he’s taken are merely symbols, magnets to attract others. That’s the beauty of clean strategy, Colonel. Once it’s set in motion, it rolls like the ocean wave. The power underneath is unseen, but it is relentless. Events will dictate the only acceptable solutions. It’s my legacy, Colonel.”

Nathan Simon had nearly finished his explanation. It had taken less than three minutes, during which time Peter Stone remained motionless, his eyes riveted on the older man, his face ashen, the taste in his mouth unbearable.

“You can see the pattern, can’t you?” concluded the attorney. “The protests begin in the Middle East and follow the sun and the time zones across the Mediterranean, up through Europe, and over the Atlantic, culminating in Canada and the United States. They start with the Peace Now movement in Jerusalem, then Beirut, Rome, Paris, Bonn, London, Toronto, Washington, New York, Chicago,
et cetera
. Gigantic rallies in the major cities and capitals, covering every nation and government Delavane and his people have infiltrated. Confrontations occur—the initial unrest—growing into major disruptions with the infusion of terrorist units. Bombs wired into cars, or under the streets in sewers, or simply rolled into the crowds—the second wave of greater violence—all leading to the mass confusion and disorder they require to put their leading players in position. Or more precisely, once in position to exercise their assignments.”

“The final assaults,” said Stone quietly. “Selected assassinations.”

“Chaos,” agreed Simon. “World leaders suddenly dead, the descending mantles of authority unclear, too many men
protesting, fighting one another, screaming that
they
are in charge. Total chaos.”

“
Scharhörn!
” said the former intelligence officer. “We have no other choice now. We have to go in! May I use your telephone, Mr. Justice?” Without waiting for a reply, Stone walked to Wellfleet’s desk as he removed his billfold and pulled out the small piece of paper with a number in Cuxhaven, West Germany, written on it. He turned the phone around under the harsh gaze of the Supreme Court justice, picked it up and dialed. The sequence of transatlantic relays was intolerable. It rang.

“Rebel?”

The explosive invective over the line from half a world away could be heard even by Simon and Wellfleet. Stone broke it off. “
Stop
it, Johnny! I haven’t been near the hotel in hours and I haven’t time for this!… You
what
?” The CIA man listened, holding his breath, his eyes growing wide. He covered the mouthpiece and turned to Nathan Simon. “My God, there’s a breakthrough!” he whispered. “Photographs. Infrared, taken last night and developed this morning—all clear. Ninety-seven men from Scharhörn getting off a boat, heading for the airport and train station. He thinks they’re the hit teams.”