The Parsifal Mosaic (87 page)

“An execution,” she replied as he waited for Bethesda to answer. “Less than an hour ago. Two men. They took out the guard with a knife, got in the room and killed the traveler while he was sedated. Four shots in the head. The doctor’s beside himself.”

“Six-seven-one!
Hurry
, please!”

“I couldn’t stand it,” whispered Jenna, staring at him, touching his face. “I thought you were there … outside somewhere … seen, perhaps. They said you weren’t, but I didn’t know whether to believe them or not.”

“Taylor?
How did it
happen
?”

As Havelock listened to the doctor a numbing pain spread through him, stealing his breath. Taylor was still in shock and spoke disjointedly; Jenna’s brief description had been clearer, and there was nothing further to learn. Two killers in the uniforms of naval officers had come to the sixth floor, found Taylor’s patient, and proceeded professionally with the execution, killing a marine guard in the process.

“We’ve lost Ambiguity,” said Michael, hanging up, his hand so heavy the phone fell into the cradle, clapping into place.
“How?
That’s what I can’t understand! We had maximum
security, military transport, every precaution!” He looked helplessly at Jenna.

“Was it all highly visible?” she asked. “Could the precautions and the transport have drawn attention?”

Havelock nodded wearily. “Yes. Yes, of course. We commandeered an airfield, flew in and out of there like a commando unit, diverting the other traffic.”

“And not that far from the Medical Center,” said Jenna. “Someone alerted to the disturbance would be drawn to the scene. He would see what you didn’t want him to see. In this case, a stretcher would be enough.”

Michael slipped off his topcoat and listlessly dropped it on a chair. “But that doesn’t explain what happened at the Medical Center itself. An execution team was sent in to abort a trap, to kill their own people, so there’d be no chance that anyone would be taken alive.”

“Paminyatchiki,”
said Jenna. “It’s happened before.”

“But how did their controls
know
it was a trap? I spoke only to the Apache unit and to Loring.
No one
else! How
could
they? How could they have been so sure that they would risk sending in sanctioned killers? The risk was enormous!” Havelock walked around the desk, looking at the scattered papers, hating them, hating the terror they evoked. “Loring told me that he was probably spotted, that it was his fault, but I don’t believe it. That mocked-up patrol car didn’t just emerge from around the block; it was sent from somewhere by someone in authority who had made the most dangerous decision he could make. He wouldn’t have made it on the strength of one man seen in a parking lot—that man, incidentally, was too damned experienced to show himself so obviously.”

“It doesn’t seem logical,” agreed Jenna. “Unless the others were spotted earlier.”

“Even if the cardiologist cover was blown, at best they’d be considered protection. No, the control
knew
it was a trap, knew that the primary objective—let’s face it, the sole objective—was to take even one of them alive, … Goddamn it,
how
?” Michael leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge, his head pounding. He pushed himself away and walked toward the wide, dark windows with the thick, beveled glass. And then he heard the words, spoken softly by
Jenna: “Mikhail, you did speak to someone else. You spoke to the President.”

“Of
course
, but …” He stopped, staring at the distorted image of bis face in the window, but slowly
not
seeing his face … seeing, instead, the formless outline of another. Then the night mist that had rolled in through the trees and over the lawns outside became another mist, from another time. The crashing of waves suddenly filled his ears, thundering, deafening, unbearable. Lightning shattered across the luminous, unseen screen in his mind, and then the sharp cracks came, one after another until they grew into ear-splitting explosions, blowing him into a frenzied galaxy of flashing lights … and
dread
.

Costa Brava
. He was
back
at the
Costa Brava
!

And the face in the mirror took on form … distant form … unmistakable form. And the shock of white hair sprang up from that face, surrounded by waves of black, framed, isolated … an image unto itself.

“No … 
no
!” He heard himself screaming; he could feel Jenna’s hands on his arms, then his face … but
not
his face! The face in the window! The face with the sharp path of white in the hair … his hair, but
not
his hair, his face but
not
his face! Yet both were the faces of
killers
, his and the one he had seen that night on the Costa Brava!

A fisherman’s cap had suddenly been blown away in the ocean wind; a hat had been whipped off the head of a man by the sudden wash of propellers. On a runway … in a shadowed light … two hours ago!

The same man? Was it
possible
? Even
conceivable
?

“Mikhail!” Jenna held his face in her hands. “Mikhail, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s
not
possible!” he screamed. “It can’t be!”

“What, my darling?
What
can’t be?”

“Jesus
. I’m losing my mind!”

“Darling,
stop it
!” shouted Jenna, shaking him, holding him.

“No … no, I’ll be all right. Let me alone. Let me
alone
!” He spun away from her and raced to the desk. “Where is it?
Where the hell is it
?”

“Where is what?” asked Jenna calmly, now beside him.

“The file.”

“What file?”

“My
file!” He yanked the top right-band drawer open, rummaging furiously among the papers until he found the black-bordered folder. He pulled it out, slammed it on the desk and opened it; breathing with difficulty, he leafed through the pages, eyes and fingers working maniacally.

“What’s troubling you, Mikhail? Tell me. Let me help you. What started this? What’s making you go back?… We agreed not to punish each other!”

“Not me!
Him
!”

“Who?”

“I can’t make a mistake! I
can’t
!” Havelock found the page he was looking for. He scanned the lines, using his index finger, his eyes riveted on the page. He read in a flat voice: “ ‘They’re killing her. Oh, my God, he’s killed her and I can’t bear the screams. Go to her, stop them … stop them. No, not me, never me. Oh, Christ, they’re pulling her away … she’s bleeding so, but not in pain now. She’s gone. Oh, my God, she’s gone, my love is gone.… The wind is strong, it’s blown his cap away.…The face? Do I know the face? A photograph somewhere? A dossier? The dossier of a killer.… No, it’s the hair. The streak of white in the hair.’ ” Michael stood up and looked at Jenna; he was perspiring. “A streak … of … white,” he said slowly, desperately trying to enunciate the words clearly. “It
could be him
!”

Jenna leaned into him and held his shoulders. “You must take hold of yourself, my darling. You’re not being rational; you’re in some kind of shock. Can you understand me?”

“No time,” he said, removing her hands and reaching for the phone. “I’m okay, and you’re right. I am in shock, but only because it’s so incredible.
Incredible!”
He dialed, breathed deeply, and spoke: “I want to be connected to the main switchboard of Andrews Air Force Base, and I want you to give instructions to the duty officer to comply with any requests I make with regard to information.”

Jenna watched him, then backed away to the table with the decanters. She poured him some brandy and handed it to him. “You’re pale,” she said. “I’ve never seen you so pale.”

Havelock waited, listening as the head of the White House Secret Service gave his instructions to Andrews and, conversely, the electronic verification check made by the colonel in charge of field communications. The incredible was always
rooted in the credible, he thought. For the most credible reasons on earth he had been on that beach at the Costa Brava that night, observing the extraordinary, and a mere gust of wind had blown a man’s cap away. Now he had to know if there was substance in the observation.
Both
observations.

“There are calls from New York constantly,” said the colonel in answer to his question.

“I’m talking about those five to ten minutes,” countered Michael. “Transferred to a maintenance hangar on the south perimeter. It was less than two hours ago; someone has to remember. Check every operator on the boards.
Now!”

“Christ, take it easy.”

“You take it fast!”

No operator at Andrews Air Force Base had transferred a call to a maintenance hangar on the south perimeter.

“There was a sergeant driving a jeep, ordered to pick up cargo labeled Sterile Five, marine equipment. Are you with me?”

“I’m aware of the Sterile classification and of the flight. Helicopter, north pad.”

“What’s his name?”

“The driver?”

“Yes.”

The colonel paused, obviously concerned as he answered, “We understand the original driver was replaced. Another relieved him on verbal orders.”

“Whose?”

“We haven’t traced it.”

“What was the second driver’s name?”

“We don’t know.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

Paminyatchik!

“Find me the dossier on Fierce,” said Havelock, looking up a Jenna, his hand on the telephone button.

“Arthur Pierce?”
asked Jenna, astonished.

“As quickly as you can.” Michael dialed again, and said, “I can’t make a mistake, I
can’t make a mistake
. Not here, not
now.”
Then: “Mr. President? It’s Havelock. I’ve been with Pierce and tried to help him.… Yes, sir, he’s bright, very bright and very good. We’d like a point clarified; it’s minor but it would clear something up for both of us. He had a lot on his mind, a lot to absorb. At the meeting this afternoon,
after I called you, did you bring up the Apache operation at the Randolph Medical Center? .. Then everyone’s current. Thank you, Mr. President.” Michael replaced the phone as Jenna handed him a dark-brown file folder.

“Here’s Pierce’s dossier.”

Havelock opened it and immediately turned to the synopsis of personal characteristics.

The subject drinks moderately at social occasions, and has never been known to abuse alcohol
.
He does not use any form of tobacco
.

The match, the open flame unprotected, extinguished by the wind … A second flame, the flare of light prolonged, unmistakable. The sequence as odd and unmistakable as the cigarette smoke emerging solely from the mouth and mingling with the curling vapor of breath, a nonsmoker’s exhalation. A
signal
. Followed moments later by an unknown driver delivering an urgent message, using a name he was not supposed to know, angering the man he was addressing. Every sequence had been detailed, timed, reactions considered. Arthur Pierce had not been called to the phone, he had been
making
a call.

Or had he? There could be
no
mistake, not now. Had an operator transferring rapidly incoming calls throughout the vast expanse of an air force base forgotten one among so many? And how often did soldiers take over innocuous assignments for friends without informing their superiors? How frequently did highly visible men appear to be on the side of the avenging medical angels by never smoking in public but in a crisis pulling out a concealed pack of cigarettes, a habit they were sincerely trying to kick, the act of smoking actually awkward?… How many men had streaks of premature white in their hair?

No mistakes. Once the accusation was made it could not be taken back, and if it could not be sustained, trust at the highest level would be eroded, possibly destroyed; the very people who
had
to communicate with one another would be guarded, wary, commanders in silent conflict. Where was the ultimate proof?

Moscow?

There is first the KGB; all else follows. A man may gravitate to the VKR, but first he must ham sprung from the KGB
. Rostov. Athens.

He says he is not your enemy … but others are who may be his as well
. A Soviet agent. Kennedy Airport.

“
I can see it in your eyes, Mikhail.” Jenna touched his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “Call the President.”

“I have to be absolutely certain. Pierce said it would take at least three hours for the vault to be opened, another two to sort out the documents. I’ve got some time. If he’s Ambiguity, he’s trapped.”

“How can you be absolutely certain about a
paminyatchik
?”

“At the source. Moscow.”

“Rostov?”

“I can try. He may be as desperate as I am, but if he isn’t, I’ll tell him he should be. We’ve got our maniacs, and he’s got his.” Havelock picked up the phone and dialed the three digits for the White House switchboard. “Please get me the Russian consulate in New York. I’m afraid I don’t know the number.… No, I’ll hold on.” Michael covered the mouthpiece, speaking to Jenna. “Go over Pierce’s file. Look for something we can trace. Parents, if they’re alive.”

“A wife,” said Jenna.

“He’s not married.”

“Convenient. Lovers, then.”

“He’s discreet.”

“Naturally.” Jenna picked up the file from the desk.

“Dobrty oyehchyer,”
said Havelock into the phone, his hand removed. “
Ja khochu govorit’s nachal nikom okhrany.”
Every operator at every Soviet embassy and consulate understood when a caller asked to be connected to the director of street security. A deep male voice got on the line, acknowledging merely that he had picked up the phone. Michael continued in Russian: “My name is Havelock and I have to assume I’m speaking to the right person, the one who can put me in touch with the man I’m trying to reach.”

“Who might that be, sir?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get his name, but he knows mine. As I’m quite sure you do.”

“That’s not much help, Mr. Havelock.”