The Apocalypse Watch by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page A

hours, more often if necessary. Latham sat down in the desk chair, positioned so his back was to the personnel operating the consoles; maximum security included the fear of lip-reading, which was laughed at until a Soviet mole was discovered in the embassy’s communications during the height of the Cold War. Drew picked up the phone and waited; eighty-two seconds later the beep-and-hum litany was played, then came the voice of Wesley T. Sorenson, director of Consular Operations.
    “Where the devil have you been?” asked Sorenson.
    “After you cleared my contacting Henri Bressard with our promise of disclosure, I went to the theater, then called Bressard. He took me to the Villier house on Parc Monceau. I just got here.”
    “Then your projections were
right
?”
    “As right as simple arithmetic.”
    “Good Lord …! The old man really was Villier’s father?”
    “Confirmed by Villier himself, who learned it from—as he put it—the only parents he’d ever known.”
    “Considering the circumstances, what a hell of a shock!”
    “That’s what we have to talk about, Wes. The shock produced a mountain of guilt in our famous actor. He’s determined to use his skills and go underground to see if he can make contact with Jodelle’s friends, try to learn if the old man told anyone where he was going during the past few days, who it was he wanted to find, and what he intended to do.”
    “
Your
scenario,” interrupted Sorenson. “Your scenario, if your projections proved accurate.”
    “It had to be—if I was right. But that scenario called for using our own assets, not Villier himself.”
    “And you were right. Congratulations.”
    “I had help, Wes, namely the former ambassador’s wife.”
    “But you found her, no one else did.”
    “I don’t think anyone else has a brother in a tight, no-answer situation.”
    “I understand. So what’s your problem?”
    “Villier’s determination. I tried to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t, I can’t, and I don’t think anyone can.”
    “Why should you? Perhaps he can learn something. Why interfere?”
    “Because whoever triggered Jodelle’s suicide must have faced him down. Somehow they convinced him that he’d lost the whole ball of wax, he was finished. There was nothing left for the old man.”
    “Psychologically that makes sense. His obsession had nowhere to go but to destroy him. So?”
    “Whoever they are will certainly follow up on his suicide. As I told Bressard, they can’t afford not to. If someone, no matter who it is, shows up asking questions about Jodelle—well, if his enemies are who I think they are, that someone hasn’t got much of a future.”
    “Did you tell this to Villier?”
    “Not in so many words, but I made it clear that what he wanted to do was extremely dangerous. In essence, he told me to go to hell. He said he owed Jodelle every bit as much, if not more, than I owe Harry. I’m supposed to go to his place tomorrow at noon. He says he’ll be ready.”
    “Spell it out for him then,” ordered Sorenson. “If he still insists, let him go.”
    “Do we want his potentially shortened future on our slate?”
    “Tough decisions are called tough because they’re not easy. You want to find Harry, and I want to find a rotten cancer that’s growing in Germany.”
    “I’d like to find both,” said Latham.
    “Of course. I would too. So if your actor wants to perform, don’t stop him.”
    “I want him covered.”
    “You should, a dead actor can’t tell us what he’s learned. Work it out with the Deuxième, they’re very good at that sort of thing. In an hour or so I’ll call Claude Moreau. He’s head of the Bureau and will be in his office by then. We worked together in Istanbul; he was the bestfield agent French intelligence ever had, world class, to be exact. He’ll give you what you need.”
    “Should I tell Villier?”
    “I’m one of the old boys, Latham, maybe that’s good and maybe that’s bad, but I