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

believe that if you’re going to mount an operation, you go the whole nine yards. Villier should also be wired; it’s an added risk, of course, and you should spell out everything to him. Let him make a clean decision.”
    “I’m glad we’re in sync. Thank you for that.”
    “I came in from the cold, Drew, but I was once where you are now. It’s a lousy chess game, specifically when the pawns can get killed. Their blips never leave you, take my word for it. They’re fodder for nightmares.”
    “Everything everybody says about you is true, isn’t it? Including your predilection for having us in the field call you by your first name.”
    “Most of what they say I did is totally exaggerated,” said the director of Consular Operations, “but when I was out there, if I could have called my boss Bill or George or Stanford or just plain Casey, I think I might have been a hell of a lot more candid. That’s what I want from you people. ‘Mr. Director’ is an impediment.”
    “You’re so right.”
    “I know. So do what you have to do.”
    Latham walked out of the embassy on avenue Gabriel to the waiting armor-plated diplomatic car that would take him to his flat on the rue du Bac. It was a Citroën sedan, the rear seats far too shallow, so he chose to sit in the front next to the marine driver. “You know the address?” he asked.
    “Oh, yes, sir. Surely I do, certainly.”
    An exhausted Drew looked briefly at the man; the accent was unmistakably American, but the juxtaposition of words was odd. Or was it simply that he was so tired that his hearing was playing tricks on him. He closed his eyes, for how long he did not know, grateful for the nothingness, the blank void that filled his inner screen. For at least several minutes his anxiety was put on hold. He neededthe respite, he welcomed it. Then suddenly he was aware of motion, the jostling of his body in the seat. He opened his eyes; the driver was speeding across a bridge as though he were in a Le Mans race. Latham spoke. “Hey, guy, I’m not rushing to a late date. Cool it on the accelerator, pal.”
    “
Tut mir
—sorry, sir.”
    “
What?
” They sped off the bridge and the marine swung the car into a dark, unfamiliar street. Then it was clear; they were nowhere near the rue du Bac. Drew shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”
    “It is a shortened cut, sir.”
    “Bullshit! Stop this fucking car!”
    “
Nein!
” yelled the man in the marine uniform. “You go where I take you, buddy!” The driver yanked an automatic from his tunic and pointed it at Latham’s chest. “You give me no orders, I give
you
orders!”
    “Christ, you’re one of them. You son of a bitch, you’re
one
of them!”
    “You will meet others, and then you will be gone!”
    “It’s all true, isn’t it? You’re all over Paris—”
    “
Und England, und die Vereinigten Staaten, und Europa!… Sieg Heil!”
    “Sieg up your ass,” said Drew quietly, leveling his left hand in the rushing shadows beneath the weapon, his left foot inching across the Citroën’s floorboard. “How about a big surprise, blitzkrieg style?” With those words Latham jammed his left foot against the brake pedal while simultaneously smashing his left hand up into the elbow of his would-be captor’s right arm. The gun spun in the neo-Nazi’s hand; Drew grabbed it and fired into the driver’s right kneecap as they crashed into the corner of a building.
    “You
lose
!” said Latham breathlessly, opening the door and grabbing the man by his tunic. Stepping outside, he yanked him across the seat, throwing him to the pavement. They were in one of the industrial sections of Paris, two- and three-story factories, deserted for the night. Beyond the dim street lamps, the only brightness came from the damaged Citroën’s headlights. It was enough.
    “You’re going to talk to me,
buddy
,” he said to thefalse marine curled up on the sidewalk, moaning and clutching his wounded leg, “or the next