The Parsifal Mosaic (64 page)

“These are.…
insane!”
whispered Havelock, his eyes riveted on the screen. “And we’re a partner to
each?
Each commits us to a nuclear strike—a
first
strike?”

“A second also, and a third, if necessary, from submarines ringing the coasts first of China, then of Russia. Two insane agreements, Mr. Havelock, and we are, indeed, a party to each. There it is in writing.”

“My
God
 …” Michael scanned the lines of both documents, as if studying the deformed appendages of an obscene, horrible thing. “If these are ever exposed, there’s nothing left.”

“Now you understand,” said Berquist, his gaze, too, fixed on the agreements that filled both sides of the screen, his face drawn, his eyes hollow. “That’s the unendurable threat we’re living with. Unless we follow to the letter the instructions delivered to my office, we face global catastrophe in the truest sense. The threat is simple: the nuclear pact with Russia will be shown to the leaders of the People’s Republic of China, and our agreement with the PRC will be given to Moscow. Both will know they’ve been betrayed—by the richest whore in history. That’s what they’ll believe, and the world will go up in a thousand nuclear explosions. The last words heard will be: ‘This is not an exercise, this is
it
!’ And that is the truth, Mr. Havelock.”

Michael felt the trembling in his hands, the throbbing at his temples. Something Berquist had just said triggered a sudden uneasiness, but he could not concentrate to identify its source. He could only stare at the two documents projected on the screen. “There’s nothing here about dates,” he said, almost pointlessly.

“It’s on a separate page—these are memoranda of intent. Conferences are to be held during the months of April and May, at which the precise dates of the strikes will be determined. April is scheduled for the Soviets, May is for China. Next month and the month after. The strikes are to occur within forty-five days of each conference.”

“It’s … beyond belief.” Overwhelmed, Havelock suddenly felt the paralysis again. He stared at Berquist. “You connected
me
with
this? These?”

“You
were
connected. God knows not through your own doing, but dangerously connected. We know how; we don’t know why. But the ‘how’ was enough to place you ‘beyond salvage.’ ”

“For Christ’s sake,
how
?”

“To begin with, Matthias built the case against your friend Jenna Karas.”

“Matthias?”

“It was he who wanted you out. But we couldn’t be sure. Were you out, or were you simply changing jobs? From the government of the United States to the holy empire of Matthias the Great.”

“Which is why I was watched. London, Amsterdam, Paris … God knows where else.”

“Everywhere you went. But you gave us nothing.”

“And that was grounds for ‘beyond salvage’?”

“I told you, I had nothing to do with the original order.”

“All right, it was this Ambiguity. But later it was
you
. You reconfirmed it.”

“Later, much later; when we learned what
he
had learned. Both orders were given, one in sanction, one not, for the same reason. You were penetrating the manipulation—the structure—behind these documents, the link between men in Washington and their unknown counterparts in the KGB. We’re in a race. One miscalculation on your part, one exposure of the flaw in that structure and we have every reason to believe that these agreements, these invitations to Armageddon,
would be shown to the leaders in Moscow and Peking.”

“Wait
a minute!” cried Havelock, bewildered, angry. “That’s what you said before! Goddamn it, these were
negotiated
with Moscow and Peking!”

The President of the United States did not reply. Instead, he walked to the nearest chair at the table and sat down, the back of his large head and his thinning blond hair reflected in the shaft of light. And then he spoke. “No, they were not, Mr. Havelock,” he said, looking at the screen. “These are the detailed fantasies of a brilliant but mad mind, the words of a superb negotiator.”

“Good
God
, then
deny
them! They aren’t real!”

Berquist shook his head. “Read the language!” he said sharply. “It’s literally
beyond
deniability. There are detailed references to the most secret weapons in our arsenals. Locations, activating codes, specifications, logistics—information that men would be labeled traitors for revealing, their lives ended in prison, none sentenced to less than thirty years for their acts. In Moscow or Peking, those even remotely associated with the armaments data in these documents would be shot without a hearing on the mere possibility they had divulged, knowingly or unknowingly, even a part of it.” The President paused, turning his head slightly to the left, his eyes still on the screen. “What you must understand is that should the leaders in either Moscow or Peking be shown the adversary document, they would be convinced beyond doubt of its authenticity. Every strategic position, each missile capability, every area of destructive responsibility, has been hammered out down to the last detail, nothing left to debate—even to the hours of vehicular robot-controlled occupation of territories.”

“Hammered out?” asked Michael, the phrase a glaring intrusion.

Berquist turned around, his eyes once again the hunter’s, but wary, afraid. “Yes, Mr. Havelock, hammered out. Now you’ve readied the core of Parsifal. These agreements were negotiated by two extraordinary—and extraordinarily informed—minds.
Two
men
hammering out
every detail, each step, each point, as though his stature in history depended on the task. A nuclear chess game, the universe to the winner—what’s left of it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Language again. It’s the product of two minds. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist, or a pathologist, to spot the different inputs. More to the point, Matthias couldn’t have created these by himself, he didn’t have the in-depth information that readily available. But with another—a Russian, as knowledgeable about Chinese capabilities as we are—together they could do it.
Did
it. Two men.”

His gaze fixed on the President, Havelock spoke in a monotone. “Parsifal is that other man, isn’t he?” he asked quietly. “The one who could rip open wounds—all over the world.”

“Yes. He has the original set of these agreements, the only other set that exists, he claims. We have to believe him. He’s got a nuclear gun to our heads—my head.”

“Then he’s been in touch with you,” said Michael, his eyes shifting to the screen. “You got these from
him
, not Anton.”

“Yes. His demands at first were financial, growing with each contact, until they were beyond being outrageous; they were astronomical. Millions upon millions—and millions after that. We assumed his motive had to be political. He had the resources to buy lesser governments, to finance revolutions throughout the Third World, to promote terrorism. We kept dozens of unstable countries under the closest intelligence scrutiny, penetrating their more entrenched elements with our best people, telling them only to look for the slightest substantive change. We thought we might trace him, trap him. And then we learned that Parsifal had not gone near the money; it was merely the means that told him we would do as he ordered. He’s not interested in money; he never was. He wants control, power. He wants to dictate to the strongest nation on earth.”

“He
has
dictated. That’s where you made your first mistake.”

“We were buying time. We’re still buying it.”

“At the risk of annihilation?”

“In the all-consuming hope of preventing it. You still don’t understand, Mr. Havelock. We can and probably will parade Anthony Matthias before the world as a madman, destroying the credibility of ten years’ worth of treaties and negotiations, but it will not answer the fundamental question. How in the name of
God
did the information in these agreements get there? Was it given to a man certifiably insane? If it was,
whom else has he divulged it to? And do we willingly deliver to potential enemies the innermost secrets of our offensive and defensive capabilities? Or let them know how deeply we’ve penetrated their own weapons systems?… We have no monopoly on nuclear maniacs. There are men in Moscow and Peking who, at the first perusal of these, would reach for the buttons and launch. Do you know why?”

“I’m not sure.… I’m not sure of anything.”

“Welcome to a very elite club. Let me tell you why. Because it’s taken all of us forty years and uncountable billions to get where we are today. Atomic knives at each other’s throats. There’s no time and not enough money left to begin again. In short, Mr. Havelock, in the desperate attempt to avert a global nuclear holocaust, we might start one.”

Michael swallowed, conscious of doing so, the blood draining from his face. “Simplistic assumptions are out,” he said.

“They’re not even fashionable,” replied Berquist.

“Who is Parsifal?”

“We don’t know. Any more than we know who Ambiguity is.”

“You don’t
know?”

“Except that they’re connected. We can assume that.”

“Wait
a minute!”

“You keep saying that.”

“You’ve got
Matthias
! You’re running him through a computerized charade here. Tear into his head! You’ve got a hundred therapies! Use them. Find out!”

“You think we haven’t tried? There’s nothing in the annals of therapy that hasn’t been used—isn’t
being
used. He’s erased reality from his mind; he’s convinced himself he negotiated with the militarists in Peking and Moscow. He can’t allow it to be otherwise; his fantasies have to be real to him. They protect him.”

“But Parsifal’s
alive
, he’s
not
a fantasy! He has a face, eyes, features! Anton’s got to be able to give you
something
!”

“Nothing. Instead, he describes—accurately, to be sure—known extremists in the Soviet Presidium and China’s Central Committee. Those are the people he
sees
when these agreements are mentioned—with or without chemicals. That mind of his, that incredible instrument, is as creative in protecting him now as it was when instructing the world of lesser mortals before.”

“Abstractions!”
cried Havelock.

“You’ve said that, too.”

“This Parsifal’s
real
! He exists! He’s got you under a gun!”

“My words, I believe.”

Michael ran to the table and pounded it with his clenched fist. “I can’t
believe
this!”

“Believe,” said the President, “but don’t do that again. There’s some kind of sonic thing that registers solid decibels, not conversations. If I don’t speak immediately, the vault is opened and you could lose your life.”

“Oh, my
God
!”

“I don’t need your vote. There’s no third term any long-er-if there is an ‘any longer’—and I wouldn’t seek it, anyway.”

“Are you trying to be funny, Mr. President?”

“Possibly. In times like these, and if circumstances permit you to grow older, you may find a certain comfort in the rare attempt. But I’m not sure … I’m not sure of anything any longer. Millions to build this place, secrecy unparalleled, the finest psychiatrists in the country. Am I being sold a bill of goods? I don’t know. I just know I have nowhere else to go.”

Havelock sank into the chair at the end of the table, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at sitting down in Berquist’s presence without having been instructed to do so. “Oh,” he said meaninglessly, his voice trailing off, looking abjectly at Berquist.

“Forget it,” said the President. “I ordered up your own personal firing squad, remember?”

“I still don’t understand why. You say I penetrated something, a flaw in some structure or other. That if I kept going, these”—Michael looked up at the screen, wincing—“would be given to Moscow or Peking.”

“Not would,
might
. We couldn’t take the slightest chance that Parsifal might panic. If he did, he’d undoubtedly head for Moscow. I think you know why.”

“He has a Soviet connection. The evidence against Jenna, everything that happened in Barcelona; none of it could have taken place without Russian intelligence.”

“The KGB denies it; that is, a man denies it on an official basis. According to the Cons Op records and a Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence Baylor, that man met with you in Athens.”

“Rostov?”

“Yes. He didn’t know what be was denying, of course, but he as much as told us that if there was a connection, it wasn’t sanctioned. We think he’s a worried man; he has no idea how justified he is.”

“He may,” said Havelock. “He’s telling you it could be the VKR.”

“What the hell is that? I’m no expert in your field.”

“Voennaya Kontra Rozvedka. A branch of the KGB, an elite corps that frightens anyone possessing a scrap of sanity. Is that what I penetrated?” Michael stopped and shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be. I broke it in Paris, after Col des Moulinets. A VKR officer from Barcelona who came after me. I was placed ‘beyond salvage’ in Rome, not Paris.”

“That was Ambiguity’s decision,” said Berquist. “Not mine.”

“But for the same reason. Your words—sir.”

“Yes.” The President leaned forward. “It was the Costa Brava. That night on the Costa Brava.”

The frustration and the anger returned; it was all Michael could do to control himself. “The Costa Brava was a sham! A fraud! I was
used
, and for that you pinned the label on me! You knew about it. You said you were a
part
of it!”

“You saw a woman killed on that beach.”

Havelock got up swiftly and gripped the back of the chair. “Is this another attempt to be funny—Mr.
Presidera?”

“I don’t remotely feel like being amusing. No one was to be killed that night on the Costa Brava.”

“No one … 
Christ
! You
did
it! You and Bradford and those bastards in Langley I spoke with from Madrid! Don’t tell me about Costa Brava, I was
there
! And you were responsible, all of you!”