trains kept running until midnight out of Rome. Why not a train? The lazy,
circuitous trip from Brindisi by rail, passing through countrysides that
bad not changed in centuries, had been startlingly beautiful. He could pack
his single suitcase in minutes, walk to the train station in twenty. Surely
the money he was willing to pay would get him accommodations; if not, he
could always return to the Via Due Macelli. He had paid for a week in
advance.
Forty-five minutes later Havelock passed through the huge portals of the
massive Ostia Railroad station, built by Mussolini in the halcyon days of
trumpets and dnuns and marching boots and trains that ran on time.
42 ROBERT LuDLum
Italian was not Michael's best language, but he could read It well enough:
Biglietto per Venezia. Prima classe. The line was short and his luck held.
The famed Freccia della Laguna was leaving in eight minutes, and if the
signore wished to pay the premium scale, he could have the finest
accommodations by way of his own compartment. He so wished, and as the
clerk stamped his ornate ticket, be was told that the Freccia was leaving
from binario trentasei, a dual platform several football fields away from
the counter.
"Fate presto, signorel Non perdete tempol Fate in ftettal"
Michael walked rapidly into the mass of rushing humanity, threading his way
as fast as possible toward dual Track 36. As usual-as be recalled from
memories past-the giant dome was filled with crowds. Screeching arrivals
and wailing departures were joined in counterpoint; screamed epithets
punctuated the deafening roar, because the porters, too, were obviously on
strike. It took nearly five hectic minutes to shoulder his way through the
huge stone arch and emerge on the double-track platform. It was, if
possible, more chaotic than the station itself. A crowded train had arrived
from the north as the Freccia della Laguna was about to depart. Freight
dollies collided with hordes of embarking and disembarking passengers. It
was a scene from a lower circle of Dante, screaming pandemonium.
Suddenly, across the platform, through the milling crowds, he caught sigbt
of the back of a wornan~s head, the brim of a soft hat shadowing her face.
She was stepping out of the incoming train from the north, and had turned
to talk to a conductor. It had happened before: the same color or cut of
the hair, the shape of a neck. A scarf, or a hat or a raincoat like those
she bad wom. It bad happened before. Too often.
Then the woman turned; pain seared Havelock's eyes and temples and surged
downward-hot knives stabbing his cbest. The face across the platform, seen
sporadically through the weaving, colliding crowds, was no illusion. It was
she.
Their eyes locked. Hers widened in raw fear; her face froze. Then she
whipped her head away and plunged into the crowds in front of her.
Michael pressed his eyelids shut, then opened them, trying to rid himself
of the pain and the shock and the sudden trembling that immobilized him. He
dropped his suitcase; he had to move, rtm, race after this living corpse
from the Costa
THE PARsYFAL MosAic43
Braval She was alivel This woman he had loved, this apparition who had
betrayed that love and had died for it, was alivel
Like a crazed animal, he parted the bodies in his path, screaming her name,
ordering ber'to stop, commanding the crowds to stop her. He raced up the
ramp and through the massive stone archway cblivious to the shrieking,
furious passengers he pummeled and left in his wake, unaware of the slaps
and punches and body blocks burled at him, unconscious of the hands that
ripped his clothing.
She was nowhere to be seen in the station crowds.
What in the name of God had happened?
Jenna Karas was alivel
4
With the terrifying impact of a bolt of lightning the sight of jenna Karas
had thrown him back into the shadow world he had left behind. She was alivel
He had to keep moving; he had to find her. He ran blindly through the
crowds, separating arms and gesturing hands and protesting shoulders. First
to one exit, then to another, and a third and a fourth. He stopped to
question what few police he found, picking the words from a blurred Italian
lexicon somewhere in his mind. He shouted her description, ending each
distorted phrase with "Aiutol'~-only to be met with shrugs and looks of
disapproval.
He kept running. A staircase-a door-an elevator. He thrust 2,000 lire on a
woman heading into the ladies' room; 5,000 to a freight hand. He pleaded
with three conductors leaving the station carrying satchels, which meant
they were going home.
Nothing. She was nowbere.
Havelock leaned over a trash can, the sweat rolling down his face and neck,
his hands scraped and bleeding. He thought for a moment that he would vomit
into the garbage; he had passed over the edge of hysteria. He bad to pull
himself back; he had to get hold of himself. And. the only way to do so was
to keep moving, slower and slower, but to keep
44
Tim PARsrFAL MosAic45
moving, let the pounding in his chest decelerate, find a part of his mind so
he could think. He vaguely remembered his suitcase; the possibility that it
was still there was remote, but looking for it was something to do. He
started back through the crowds, body aching, perceptions numbed, buffeted
by the gesticulating bordes around him, as if be were in a dark tunnel
filled with shadows and swirling winds. He had no idea how long it took for
him to pass through the arch and walk down the ramp to the near-deserted
platform. The Freccid had left, and the clean-up crews were invading the
cars of the stationary train from the north-the train that had carried Jenna
Karas.
I There it was, crushed but still intact, straps broken, clothes
protruding, yet oddly whole. His suitcase was wedged in the narrow space
between the edge of the platform and the filthy, flat side of the third
car. He knelt down and pulled it out of its jammed recess, sliding up first
one side and then the other as the leather squeaked abrasively. The
suitcase was suddenly freed; be lost his balance and fell on the concrete,
still holding on to the half-destroyed handle. A man in overalls pushing a
wide broom approached. Michael got to his feet awkwardly, aware that the
maintenance crewman had stopped, his broom motionless, his eyes conveying
both amusement and disgust. The man thought be was drunk.
The handle broke; held by a single clasp, the suitcase abruptly tilted
downward. Havelock yanked it up and clutched it in his arms; he started
down the platform toward the ramp, knowing his walk was trancelike.
How many minutes later, or which particular exit he used, he would never
know, but he was out on the street, the suitcase held against his chest,
walking unsteadily past a row of lighted storefronts. He was conscious of
the fact that people kept glancing at him, at his tom clothes and the
crushed suitcase, its contents spilling out. The swirling mists were
beginning to break up, the cold night air diffusing them. He bad to find
his sanity by concentrating on the little things: he would wash his face,
change his clothes, have a cigarette, replace the suitcase.
F. MARTn-MLLI Valigeria. The neon letters glowed impressively in deep red
above the wide storefront window filled with accessories for the traveler.
It was one of those shops near the Ostia Station that cater to the wealthy
foreigner and
46 RoBERT LuDLum
the self-indulgent Italian. The merchandise was expensive replicas of
ordinary objects turned into luxuries by way of sterling silver and polished
brass.
Havelock stood for a moment, breathing deeply, holding on to the suitcase
as if it were somehow an object that would carry him, a plank in a wild
sea-without it he would drown. He walked inside; mercifully, it was near
closing time, and the shop was devoid of customers.
The manager emerged from behind the middle counter, looking alarmed. He
hesitated, then stepped back as if to retreat quickly. Havelock spoke
rapidly in barely passable Italian. "I was caught in an insane crowd on the
platform. rm afraid I fell. I'll need to buy a few things-a number of
things, actually. I'm expected at the Hassler fairly soon."
At the mention of Romes most exclusive hotel, the manager at once turned
sympathetic, even brotherly.
'Animalir he exclaimed, gesturing to his God. "How perfectly dreadful for
you, signorel Here, let me help you-7
"I'll need a new piece of luggage. Soft, very good leather, if yDu have
it."
"Naturalmente."
"I realize its an imposition, but could I possibly wash up somewhere? I'd
bate to greet the Contessa the way I look now.
"This way, signorel A thousand apologiesl I speak for all Romel This way-"
While Michael washed and changed clothes in the back room, be focused his
thougbts-as they came to him-on the brief visits he and Jenna Karas bad
made to Rome. There had been two. On the first they bad passed through for
a single night; the second was much longer, very official-three or four
days, if he remembered correctly. They had been awaiting orders from
Washington, having traveled as a YugDslav couple through the Balkan
countries in order to gather information on the sudden expansion in border
defenses. There had been a man, an army intelligence officer not easily
forgotten; he had been Havelocles D.C. conduit What made the man memorable
was his cover; be was posing as the only first-level black attach6 at the
embassy.
Their first conference had not been without humor-black humor. Michael and
Jenna were to meet the attach6 at an out-of-the-way restaurant west of the
Palatine. They had
THE PAmsiFAL MosAic47
waited in the crowded stand-up bar, preferring that the conduit select- a
table, and were oblivious to the tall black soldier ordering a vodka martini
on their right. After several minutes the man smiled and said, "I'm jes'
Rastus in the catasta di legna, Massa Havelock. Do you think we niight sit
down?"
His name was Lawrence Brown. Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence B. Brown-the
middle initial was for his real name, Baylor.
"So help me God," the colonel had told them over afterdinner drinks that
night, "the fellows in G-two felt there was more 'concrete
association~-thaes what they called it-by using Brown in the cover. It went
under the heading of 'psy-acceptance,' can you believe it? Hell, I suppose
it's better than Attach6 Coffee-Face."
Baylor was a man he could talk to . . . if Baylor would agree to talk to
him. And where? It would not be anywhere near the embassy; the United
States government had several terrible things to explain to a retired field
agent
It took over twenty minutes on the manager's phonewhile the manager
repacked Michaers clothing in an outrageously priced new suitcase-before
Havelock reached the embassy switchboard. Senior Attach6 Brown was cur-
rently attending a reception on the first floor.
'rell him its urgent," said Michael. "My name is Baylor."
Lawrence Baylor was reluctant to the point of turning Havelock down.
Anything a retired intelligence officer had to say would best be said at
the embassy. For any number of reasons.
'Suppose I told you I just came out of retirement. I may not be on your
payroll-or anyone else's-but I'm very much back in. I'd suggest you don't
blow this, Colonel."
'Mere's a caf6 on the Via Pancra2io, La Ruota del Pavone. Do you know it?"
-ni find it."
"Forty-five minutes."
"III be there. Waiting."
Havelock watched from a table In the darkest corner of the caf6 as the army
officer ordered a carafe of wine from the bar and began walking across the
dimly lit room. Bayloes
48 RoBERT LuDLum
mahogany face was taut, stem; be was not comfortable, and when he reached
the table, be did not offer his hand. He sat down opposite Michael, exhaled
slowly, and attempted a grim smile.
"Nice to see you," he said with little conviction.
'Thank you."
'And unless you've got something to say we want to hear, yo-dre putting me
in a pretty rough spot, buddy. I hope you know that."
"I've got something that'll blow your mind," said Havelock, his voice
involuntarily a whisper. The trembling had returned; he gripped his wrist
to control it. "Ies blown mine."
The colonel studied Michael, his eyes dropping to Havelocles hands. "You're
stretched, I can see that. What is it?"
"She's alive. I saw herl"
marks of recent scrapes and bruises on Havelodes skin. It was obvious that
be had made the connection. "Are you referring to the Costa Brava?" he
asked flnally.
"You know damn well I aml" said Michael angrily. "My abrupt retirement and
the circumstances thereof have been flashed to every goddamned station and
post we've got. les why you just said what you did. 'Beware the screwed-up
talent,' Washington tells you. 'He might do anything, say any.. thing,
think be has scores to settle.'"
"It's happened."
"Nat to me. I don't have any scores to think about because rm not
interested in the ballgame. rm rational. I saw what I saw. And she saw met
She acknowledged met She ranl"
"Emotional stress is first cousin to hysteria," said the colonel quietly.
"A man can see a lot of things that aren't there in that condition. And you
bad a jolt."
"Past tense, not currently applicable. I was out. I accepted the fact and
the reasons-"
"Come on, buddy," insisted the soldier. "You doet throw away sixteen years
of involvement"
01 did."
"You were bere in Rome with her. Memories get activated, twisted. As I
said, it happens."
"Again, negative. Nothing was activated, nothing twisted.
"You even called me,' Interrupted Baylor sharply. "Ile
THE PAPMFAL MOSAjc49
three of us spent a couple of evenings together. A few drhiks, a few la
ughs.
Association; you reached me."
'Ilere was no one else. My cover was D-squared: you were my only contact
here in Romel I can walk into the embassy now, I couldn't then."
'Men lees go," said the colonel quickly.
'No wayl Besides, thaes not the point. You are. You fielded orders to me
from Washington seven months ago, and now yoere going to send an emergency
flag back to those same people. Tell them what rve told you, what I saw.
You haven!t got a choice."
"I've got an opinion. rm relaying what a former talent said while in a
state of extreme anxiety."
"Finel Goodl Then try this. Five days ago in Athens I nearly killed a man
we both know from the Dzerzhinsky files for telling me Costa Brava wasn't
a Soviet exercise. That she wasn't any part of the KGB, much less the VKR.
I didn't kill him because I thought it was a probe, a blind probe-that man
was telling the mah, as he knew the truth. I sent a message back to Moscow.
The bait was too obvious, the smell too rotten."
"I suppose that was charitable of you, considering your recorV
"Oh, no, the charity started with him. You see, be could have taken me. I
could have found myself in Sevastopol on my way to Dzerzhinsky Square
without even knowing rd left Athens."
"He was that good? That well connected?"
"So much so, he was self-effacing. But be didn't take me. I wasn't booked
on the Dardanelles airlift. He didjA want me.0
"Why not?"
'Because he was convinced I was the bait. Pretty fair irony, isn't it?
There was no room at the Lubyanka. I was turned out. Instead, be gave me
his own message for Washington: Dzerzbinsky wouldn't touch me." Havelock
paused. "And now this."
The colonel narrowed his e-yes pensively, and, with both hands, turned his
glass on the table. "I don't have your expertise, but say you actually did
see what you say you saw."
"I did. Accept it."
"No concessions, but say it's possible. It could still be a
50 ROBERT LUDLUM
lure. They've got you under a glass, know your plans, your itinerary. Their
computers pick up a woman reasonably similar in appearance, and with a
little cosmetic surgery they've got a double sufficient for short distances.
'Beware the screwed-up talent.' You never know when he thinks he has I