The Aquaintaine Progession Read online

  “A pleasure, Monsieur Simon,” said Bertholdier,his English precise, his grip firm, a comradeacknowledging another comrade, the man’simperious charm instantly apparent.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard it thousands of Ames, sir,”said Joel, maintaining the steady, professional burnin his eyes, “but this is an occasion I never expected.If I may say so, General, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “It is an honor to meet you,” rejoinedBertholdier. “You gentlemen of the air did all youcould, and I know something about thecircumstances. So many missions’ I think it was eas-ier on the ground!” The general laughed quietly.

  “Gentlemen of the air” the man was unreal,thought Converse. But the connection was firm; itwas real, he felt it, he knew it. The combination ofwords and looks had brought it about. So simple: alawyer’s ruse, taming an adversary in this case anenemy. The enemy.

  “I “onidn’t agree with that, General; it was alot”eaner in the air. But if there’d been more likeyou on the ground in Indochina, there never wouldhave been a Dienbienphu.”

  “A flattering statement, but I’m not sure it couldstand the test of reality.”

  “I’m sure,” said Joel quietly, clearly. “I’m convincedof

  Luboque, who had been engaged inconversation by Mattilon, interrupted. “Mon general,voulez-vous vous joinder a nous?”

  “Pardonnez-moi. ye suds occupy aver mesvisiteurs, ” answered Bertholdier, turning back toConverse. “I must decline Rene’s invitation, I’mexpecting guests. He tells me you are an attorney,a specialist in aircraft litigation.”

  “It’s part of the broader field, yes. Air, ground,oceangoing craft we try to represent the spectrum.Actually, I’m fairly new at it not the expertise, Ihope but the represen

  "I see, ’said the general, obviously bewildered.“Are you in Paris on business?”

  This was it, thought Joel. Above all, he wouldhave to be subtle. The words but especially theeyes must convey the unspoken. “No, I’m just hereto catch my breath. I flew from San Francisco toNew York and on to Paris. Tomorrow I’ll be inBonn for a day or so, then off to Tel Aviv.”

  “How tiring for you.” Bertholdier was nowreturning his stare.

  “Not the worst, I’m afraid,” said Converse, ahalf-smile on his lips. “After Tel Aviv, there’s anight flight to Johannes

  “Bonn, Tel Aviv, Johannesburg . . .” The soldierspoke softly. “A most unusual itinerary.”

  “Productive, we think. At least, we hope so.”

  “We?”

  “My client, General. My new client.”

  “Deraisonnable!” cried Mattilon, laughing atsomething Luboque had said, and, just as obviously,telling Joel he could no longer keep his impatientlitigant in conversation.

  Bertholdier, however, did not take his eyes offConverse. "Where are you staying, my youngfighter-pilot friend?”

  “Young and not so young, General.”

  “Where?”

  “The George Cinq. Suite two-three-five.”

  “A fine establishment.”

  “It’s habit. My previous firm always posted methere.”

  “Posted? As in "garrisoned’?” asked Bertholdier,a half-smile now on his lips.

  “An unconscious slip,” said Joel. “But then again,it says it, doesn’t it, sir?”

  “It does, indeed…. Ah ha, my guests arrive!” Thesoldier extended his hand. “It’s been a pleasure,Monsieur Simon.”

  Swift au revoir’s accompanied nods and rapidhandshakes as Bertholdier returned to his table togreet his luncheon companions. Through Mathlon,Joel thanked Luboque for the introduction; thedisabled pilot gestured with both hands, palms up,and Converse had the distinct feeling that he hadbeen baptised. The insane three-sided dialogue thenresumed at high speed, and it was all Joel could doto maintain even minimum concentration.

  Progress had been made; it was in Bertholdier’seyes, and he could feel those eyes straying over tohim even while the conversation at both tablesbecame animated. The general was diagonally toConverse’s left; with the slightest turning of eitherface, the line of sight between them was direct.Twice it happened. The first time, Joel felt theforceful gaze resting on him as if magnified sunlightwere burning into his flesh. He shifted his headbarely an inch; their eyes locked, the soldier’spenetrating, severe, questioning. The second timewas a half-hour later, when the eye contact wasinitiated by Converse himself. Luboque and Mattilonwere discussing legal strategy, and as if drawn by amagnet, Joel slowly turned to his left and watchedBertholdier, who was quietly, emphatically making apoint with one of his guests. Suddenly, as a voicereplied across the adjacent table, the generalsnapped his head in Converse’s direction, his eyes nolonger questioning, only cold and ice-like. Then justas abruptly, there was warmth in them; thecelebrated soldier nodded, a half-smile on his face.

  Joel sat in the soft leather chair by the window inthe dimly lit sitting room; what light there was camefrom a fringed lamp on the desk. Alternately hestared at the telephone in front of the lamp andlooked out the window at the weaving night traffic ofParis and the lights on the wide boulevard below.Then he focused entirely on the phone as he sofrequently did when waiting for a call from a legaladversary he expected would capitulate, knowing thatman or woman would capitulate. It was simply aquestion of time.

  What he expected now was communication, notcapitula

  tion a connection, the connection. He had no ideawhat form it would take, but it would come. It hadto come.

  It was nearly seven-thirty, four hours since hehad left L’Etalon Blanc after a final, firm handshakeexchanged with Jacques-Louis Bertholdier. The lookin the soldier’s eyes was unmistakable: If nothingelse, Converse reasoned, Bertholdier would have tosatisfy his sheer curiosity.

  Joel had covered himself with the hotel’s frontdesk, distributing several well-placed 100-francnotes. The tactic was not at all unusual in thesedays of national and financial unrest had not beenfor years, actually, even without the unrest. Visitingbusinessmen frequently chose to use pseudonymsfor any number of reasons, ranging fromnegotiations best kept quiet to amorousengagements best left untraceable. In Converse’scase, the use of the name Simon made it appearlogical, if not eminently respectable. If Talbot,Brooks and Simon preferred that allcommunications be made in the surname of one ofthe senior partners, who could question thedecisions Joel, however, carried the ploy one stepfurther. After telephoning New York, he explained,he was told that his own name was not to be usedat all; no one knew he was in Paris and that was theway his firm wanted it. Obviously, the delayedinstructions accounted for the mix-up in the res-ervation, which was void at any rate. There was tobe no billing; he would pay in cash, and since thiswas Paris, no one raised the slightest objection.Cash was infinitely preferable, delayed payment anational anathema.

  Whether anyone believed this nonsense or notwas irrelevant. The logic was sufficiently adequateand the franc notes persuasive; the originalregistration card was torn up and another placed inthe hotel file. H. Simon replaced J. Converse. Thepermanent address of the former was a figment ofJoel’s imagination, a numbered house on anumbered street in Chicago, Illinois, said house andsaid street most likely nonexistent. Anyone askingor calling for Mr. Converse which was highlyunlikely would be told no guest of that name wascurrently at the George V. Even Rene Mattilon wasnot a problem, for Joel had been specific. Since hehad no further business in Paris, he was taking thesix o’clock shuttle to London and staying withfriends for several days before flying back to NewYork. He had thanked Rene profusely, telling theFrenchman that his firm’s fears about Bertholdierhad been groundless. During their quietconversation he had brought

  up three key names with the general, and each hadbeen greeted with a blank look from Bertholdier,who apologized for his faulty memory.

  “He wasn’t Iying,” Joel had said.

  “I can’t imagine why he would,” Mattilon had replied.

  I can, Converse had thought to himself. They callitAquitaine.

  A crack! There was a sudden
sound, a harshmetallic snap, then another, and another thetumblers of a lock falling out of place, a knob beingturned. It came from beyond the open door to thebedroom. Joel bolted forward in his chair; then,looking at his watch, just as rapidly he let out hisbreath and relaxed. It was the hour when the floormaid turned down the bed; the tension of theexpected call and what it represented had frayed hisnerves. Again he leaned back, his gaze resting on thetelephone. When would it ring? Would it ring?

  “Pardon, monsieur, ” said a feminine voice,accompanied by a light tapping on the opendoorframe. Joel could not see the speaker.

  “Yes?” Converse turned away from the silentphone, expecting to see the maid.

  What he saw made him gasp. It was the figure ofBertholdier, his posture erect, his angled head rigid,his eyes a strange admixture of cold appraisal,condescension, and if Joel was not mistaken atrace of fear. He walked through the door and stoodmotionless; when he spoke his voice was a ripplingsheet of ice.

  “I was on my way to a dinner engagement on thefourth floor, Monsieur Simon. By chance, Iremembered you were in this very hotel. You didgive me the number of your suite. Do I intrude?”

  “Of course not, General,” said Converse, on his feet.

  “Did you expect met”

  “Not this way.”

  “But you did expect me?”

  Joel paused. "Yes.”

  “A signal sent and received?”

  Again Joel paused. “Yes.”

  You are either a provocatively subtle attorney ora strangely obsessed man. Which is it, MonsieurSimon?”

  "If I provoked you into coming to see me and Iwas subtle about it, I’ll accept that gladly. As tobeing obsessed, the word implies an exaggerated orunwarranted concern. Whatever

  concerns I have, I know damned well they’reneither exaggerated nor unwarranted. Noobsession, General. I’m too good a lawyer forthat.”

  “A pilot cannot lie to himself. If he does soblindly, he crashes to his death.”

  “I’ve been shot down. I’ve never crashedthrough pilot error.”

  Bertholdier walked slowly to the brocadedcouch against the wall. “Bonn, Tel Aviv, andJohannesburg,” he said quietly as he sat down andcrossed his legs. “The signal?”

  “The signal.”

  “My company has interests in those areas.”

  “So does my client,” said Converse.

  “And what do you have, Monsieur Simon?”

  Joel stared at the soldier. "A commitment,General.”

  Bertholdier was silent, his body immobile, hiseyes searching “May I have a brandy?” he saidfinally. “My escort will remain in the corridoroutside this door.”

  Converse walked to the dry bar against the wall,conscious of the soldier’s gaze, wondering whichtack the conversation would take. He was oddlycalm, as he frequently was before a mergerconference or a pretrial examination, knowing heknew things his adversaries were not awareof buried information that had surfaced throughlong hours of hard work. In the presentcircumstances there had been no work at all on hispart, but the results were the same. He knew agreat deal about the legend across the room namedJacques-Louis Bertholdier. In a word, Joel wasprepared, and over the years he had learned to trusthis on-the-feet instincts as he had once trustedthose that had guided him through the skies yearsago.

  Also, as it was part of his job, he was familiarwith the legal intricacies of import-exportmanipulations. They were a maze of oftendisconnected authorisations, easily made incompre-hensible for the uninitiated, and during the next fewminutes

  he intended to baffle this disciple of George MarcusDelavane warlord of Saigon until the soldier strace of fear became something far morepronounced.

  Clearances for foreign shipments came in a widevariety of shapes and colors, from the basic exportlicense with specific bills of lading to those with theless specific generic limitations. Then there were themore coveted licenses required for a wide variety ofproducts subject to governmental reviews; these wereusually shunted back and forth between vacillatingdepartments until deadlines forced bureaucraticdecisions often based on whose influence was thestrongest or who among the bureaucrats were theweakest.

  Finally, there was the most lethal authorisationof all, a document too frequently conceived incorruption and delivered in blood. It was called theEnd-User’s Certificate, an innocuously named permitthat was a license to ship the most abusivemerchandise in the nation’s arsenals into air and sealanes beyond the controls of those who should havethem.

  In theory, this deadly equipment was intendedsolely for allied governments with shared objectives,thus the "use” at the discretion of the parties at thereceiving “end” calculated death legitimised by a’certificate” that obfuscated everyone’s intentions. Butonce the equipment was en route, diversion was thepractice. Shipments destined for the Bay of Haifa orAlexandria would find their way to the Gulf of Sidraand a madman in Libya, or an assassin namedCarlos training killer teams anywhere from Beirut tothe Sahara. Fictional corporations with nonexistentyet strangely influential officers operated throughobscure brokers and out of hastily constructed orout-of-the-way warehouses in the U.S. and abroad.Millions upon millions were to be made; death wasan unimportant consequence and there was a phrasefor it all. Boardroom terrorism. It fit, and it wouldbe Aquitaine’s method. There was no other.

  These were the thoughts the methods of opera-tion that flashed through Converse’s mind as hepoured the drinks. He was ready; he turned andwalked across the room.

  “What are you seeking, Monsieur Simon?” askedBertholdier, taking the brandy from Converse.

  “Information, General.”

  “About what?”

  “World markets expanding markets that my client

  might service. ” Joel crossed back to the chair by thewindow and sat down.

  “And what sort of service does he render?”

  “He’s a broker.”

  “Of what?”

  “A wide range of products.” Converse broughthis glass to his lips; he drank, then added, “I thinkI mentioned them in general terms at your club thisafternoon. Planes, vehicles oceangoing craft,munitions material. The spectrum.”

  “Yes, you did. I’m afraid I did not understand.”

  “My client has access k production andwarehouse sources beyond anyone I’ve ever knownor ever heard of.”

  “Very impressive. Who is he?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Perhaps I know him.”

  “You might, but not in the way I’ve describedhim. His profile is so low in this area, it’snonexistent.”

  “And you won’t tell me who he is,” said Bertholdier

  “It’s privileged information.”

  “Yet, in your own words, you sought me out,sent a signal to which I responded, and now say youwant information concerning expanding markets forall manner of merchandise, including Bonn, TelAviv, and Johannesburg. But you won’t divulge thename of your client who will benefit if I have thisinformation which I probably do not. Surely, youcan’t be serious.”

  “You have the information and, yes, I’m veryserious. But I’m afraid you’ve jumped to the wrongconclusion.”

  “I have no fear of it at all. My English is fluentand I heard what you said. You came out ofnowhere, I know nothing about you, you speakelusively of this unnamed influential man “

  “You asked me, General,” interrupted Joel firmlywithout raising his voice. “What I was seeking.”

  “And you said information.”

  “Yes, I did, but I didn’t say I was seeking it fromyou.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Under the circumstances for the reasons youjust mentioned you wouldn’t give it to me anyway,and I’m well aware of that.”

  “Then what is the point of this shall I say, in-duced"onversation? I do not like my time trifledwith, monsieur. “

  “That’s the last thing on earth we’d do I’d do.”

  “Please be specific.”

  “My
client wants your trust. I want it. But weknow it can’t be given until you feel it’s justified. Ina few days a week at the outside I hope to provethat it is.”

  “By trips to Bonn, Tel Aviv Johannesburg?’

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You said it a few minutes ago. The signal.”

  Bertholdier was suddenly wary. He shrugged toocasually; he was pulling back. “I said it because mycompany has considerable investments in those areas.I thought it was enhrely plausible you had aproposition, or propositions, to make relative tothose interests.”

  “I intend to have. "

  “Please be specific,” said the soldier, controllinghis irritation.

  “You know I can’t,” replied Joel. “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “When it’s clear to you all of you that my client,and by extension myself, have as strong motives forbeing a part of you as the most dedicated amongyou.”

  “A part of my company? Juneau et Compagrue?”

  “Forgive me, General, I won’t bother to answer that.”

  Bertholdier glanced at the brandy in his hand,then back at Converse. “You say you flew from SanFrancisco.”

  “I’m not based there,” Joel broke in.

  “But you came from San Francisco. To Paris.Why uJere you there?”

  “I’ll answer that if for no other reason than toshow you how thorough we are and how muchmore thorough others are. We traced Itraced overseas shipments back to export licensesoriginating in the northern California area. The li-censees were companies with no histories andwarehouses with no records chains of four wallserected for brief, temporary periods of convenience.It was a mass of confusion leading nowhere andeverywhere. Names on documents where no suchpeople existed, documents themselves that came outof bureaucratic labyrinths virtuallyun-traceable rubber stamps, of iicial seals, andsignatures of authorisation where no authority wasgranted. Unknowing middle-level personnel told toexpedite departmental clearances That’s what I