The Aquitaine Progression by Robert Ludlum

Author:Robert Ludlum
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Fiction - Espionage, Political, Fiction, Spy stories, Suspense, Thriller, Thrillers, Suspense fiction, Intrigue, Espionage
ISBN: 9780553262568
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 1985-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

him to that Carlos, the one they call "the jackal,’what do you think of that? They say if he does go toParis, the two of them might link up and therecould be a few more executions. This Converse,though, he’s got his own regular trademark. He putsbullets in their heads. Some kind of Boy Scout,huh?”

Joel stiffened, feeling the tension throughout hisslumped body, a sharp hollow pain in the centerofhis chest. It was the first time he had heard hisname spoken casually by a stranger identifying himas the psychopathic killer, an assassin hunted bygovernments whose border patrols were scrutinisingeveryone at every checkpoint private airfieldswatched, a dragnet in progress. The generals ofAquitaine had done their job with precision, rightdown to his fingerprints on a gun and a flesh woundin his arm. But the timing how could they dare?How did they know he was not in an embassy some-where asking for temporary asylum until he couldmake a case for himself? How could they take thechance?

Then the realisation came to him, and he had todig his fingers into his wrist to control himself, tocontain his panic. The call to Mattilon! How easilyRene’s phone could have been tapped, by either theSurete or Interpol, and how quickly Aquitaine’sinformers would have spread the word! Oh, Christ!Neither one of them had thought of it! They didknow where he was, and no matter where he wenthe was trapped! As the offensive salesman hadaccurately phrased it, “Every place over here’s ashort hop.” A man could fly from Munich to Venicefor lunch and be back in his office for a three-thirtyappointment. Another man could kill in Brusselsand be on a train in Dusseldorf forty-five minuteslater. Distances were measured in half-hours. Fromground-zero in Brussels, “a couple of hours ago”covered a wide circle of cities and a great manyborders. Were his hunters on the train? They mightbe, but there was no way they could know whichtrain he had taken. It would be easier and far lesstime-consuming to wait for him in Emmerich. Hehad to think, he had to mow.

“Excuse me,” said Converse, getting up. “I haveto use the men’s room.”

“You’re lucky.” The salesman moved his heavylegs, holding his trousers as he let Joel pass. “I canhardly squeeze into those boxes. I always take a leakbefore . . .”

Joel made his way up the aisle. He stoppedabruptly, swallowing, trying to decide whether tocontinue or turn back. He

had left the newspaper on his seat, the photographeasily revealed by unfolding the top page. He had tocontinue; any change of movement, however minor,might attract attention. His objective was not themen’s room but the passageway between the cars; hehad to see it. A number of people had opened thedoor and gone through, several apparently lookingfor someone they expected to find on the train. Hewould look down at the lock on the bathroom doorand proceed.

He stood in the swerving, vibrating passagewaystudying the metal door. It was a standard two-tieredexit, the top had to be opened first before the lowerpart could be unlocked and pulled back, revealingthe steps. It was all he had to know.

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