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The Apocalypse Watch
THE APOCALYPSE WATCH [139-011-4.0]
By: ROBERT LUDLUM
Synopsis:
Neo Nazis and intelligence spooks populate this thriller from robert
Ludlum.
BANTAM BOOKS
New York Toronto London Sydney Auckland
This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover
edition. NOT ONE WORD HAS
BEEN OMITTED.
TM APOCALYTSE WATCH
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam hardcover edition published June 199S International edition /
February 1996 Bantam paperback edition / May 1996 All rights
reserved.
"Copyright (c) 1995 by Robert Ludlum.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-1860
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission
in writing from the publisher. For information address:
Bantam Books.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."
ISBN 0-553-56957-0
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
OPM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I've rarely written a dedication longer than two or three lines. This
current one is different, the reason self-evident.
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The Apocalypse Watch
To my lovely and compassionate bride, Mary, of forty-plus years;
and our children, Michael, Jonathan, and Glynis, who displayed
strength, determination, and unfailing good humor (a mainstay of our
family) throughout everything. They could not have been finer, nor
could I ever express my love and gratitude sufficiently.
"Your father's off the operating table and on the recovery floor."
"Who's going to pick him up?"
To the brilliant cardiologist Jeffrey Bender, M.D." and the superb
cardiothoracic surgeon Dr. John Elefteriades, as well as the surgical
crew and all those in the CT I.C.U of Yale-New Haven Hospital, whose
skills and concern passe th all understanding. (Although it could be
argued that I was a glorious patient-unfortunately, not very
convincingly.)
To our nephew, Dr. Kenneth M. Kearns, also an extraordinary surgeon,
who puts up with his less than saintly uncle with a tolerance known
only to martyrs. And, Ken, thanks for the "Listerine." And to brother
Donald Kearns, Ph.D.-Nuclear Medicine.
(How did I ever marry into such an accomplished family?) Thanks, Don,
for your daily calls and visits. And to their medical associates
Doctors William Preskenis and David "the Duke" Grls@ of the pulmonary
team. I hear you terrific guys, and I'm doing my damnedest to
behave.
To our cousins I. C. "Izzy" Ryducha and his wife, Janet, who were
always there when we needed them.
To Doctors Charles Augenbraun and Robert Greene of the Emergency Clinic
at Norwalk Hospital, Connecticut, and all those wonderful people who
made a pretty sick stranger feel as though he might see another
sunrise. No mean feat.
Lastly, despite all efforts to keep the event under wraps, to those
scores of people, friends, and those I've never met but whom I
certainly consider friends, thanks for all the cards and notes
expressing your good wishes. They were gratefully received and avidly
read.
Now, let's lighten up; there's always something funny even in the worst
of times. During a perfectly normal sponge bath a day or so after
surgery, a kindly nurse turned me over and with great dignity, as well
as a glint in her eye, said: "Not to worry, Mr. L." I'll still
respect you in the morning."
Amen. And to all once again, my deep thanks. I'm ready to run in a
marathon.
To any sane person there has always been an unfathomable mystery about
the systematic evil the Nazi regime perpetrated.
Like a moral black hole, it seems to defy the laws of nature while
being part of that nature.
DAVID AN SEN
Newsweek, December 20, 1993
THE APOCALYPSE WATCH
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The Apocalypse Watch
PROLOGUE
The Alpine pass, high in the Austrian Hausruck, was swept by the winter
snow and assaulted by the cold Tnorth winds, while far below, a valley
sprouted crocuses and the jonquils of early spring.
This particular pass was neither a border checkpoint nor a transfer
post from one part of the mountain range to another. In fact, it was
not on any map issued for public scrutiny.
There was a thick, sturdy bridge, barely wide enough for a single
vehicle, that spanned a seventy-foot gorge several hundred feet above a
rushing offshoot of the Salzach River. Once crossed, and passing
through a tree-notched maze, there was a -hidden road cut out of the
mountain forest, a steep, twisting road that descended well over seven
thousand feet to the isolated valley where the crocuses and the
jonquils grew. The much warmer flatland was dotted with green fields
and greener trees .. . and a complex of small buildings, the roofs
camouflaged by slashing diagonals of painted earth colors, undetectable
from the skies, merely a part of the mountainous,terrain. It was the
headquarters of Die Briiderschaft der Wacht, The Brotherhood of the
Watch, the progenitors of Germany's Fourth Reich.
The two figures walking across the bridge were dressed in heavy parkas,
fur hats, and thick alpine boots; each turned his face away from the
blasts of wind and snow that buffeted him.
Unsteadily, they reached the other side and the traveler in front
spoke.
"That's not abridge I'd care to cross too often," said the American,
slapping the snow off his clothing and removing his gloves to massage
his face.
"But you will have to on your return, Herr Lassiter,"
countered the late-middle-aged German, smiling broadly under the
protection of a tree, as he, too, brushed off the snow.
"Not to be annoyed, mein Herr. Before you know it, you will be where
the air is warm and there are actually flowers. At this altitude it is
still winter, below it is springtime.. .. Come, our transportation has
arrived. Follow me!"
There was the sound of a gunning engine in the distance; the two men,
Lassiter behind, walked rapidly, circuitously, through the trees to a
small clearing, where there stood a jeep-like vehicle, only much larger
and heavier, with balloon tires of very thick rubber, deeply treaded.
"That's some car," said the American.
"You should be proud, it is amerikanisch! Built to our specifications
in your state of Michigan."
"What happened to Mercedes?"
"Too close, too dangerous," replied the German.
"If you care to build a hidden fortress among your own, you don't
employ the resources of your own. What you will see shortly is the
combined efforts of numerous nations their more avaricious businessmen,
I grant you, merchants who will conceal clients and deliveries for
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The Apocalypse Watch
excessive profits Of course once the deliveries are made, the profits
become a loaded gun; the deliveries must continue, perhaps with more
esoteric merchandise. It is the way of the world."
'41 bank on it," said Lassiter, smiling while he removed his fur hat to
relieve the hairline sweat. He was a shade under six feet, a man of
middle years, his age attested to by streaks of gray at his temples and
crow's-feet at the edges of his deep-set eyes; the face itself was
narrow, sharp-featured. He started toward the vehicle, several steps
behind his companion. However, what neither his companion nor the
driver of the outsize vehicle saw was that he kept reaching into his
pocket, subtly withdrawing his hand and dropping metal pellets into the
snow-swept grass. He had been doing so for the past hour, since they
had stepped out of a truck on an alpine road between two mountain
villages. Each pellet had been subjected to radiation easily picked up
by handheld scanners.
At the point where the truck had stopped, he had removed an electronic
transponder from his belt, and feigning a fall, had shoved it between
two rocks. The trail was now clear; the honing device of those
following would reach the top of its dial at that spot, accompanied by
sharp, piercing beeps.
For the man called Lassiter was in a high-risk profession. He was a
multilingual deep-cover agent for American intelligence, and his name
was Harry Latham. In the sacrosanct chambers of the Agency, his code
name was Sting.
The journey down into the valley mesmerized Latham. He had climbed a
few mountains with his father and his younger brother, but they were
minor, undramatic New England peaks, nothing like this. Here, as their
steep descent progressed, there was change, obvious change--different
colors, different smells, warmer breezes.
Sitting alone in the backseat of the large open truck, he emptied his
pocket of every hot pellet, preparing himself for the thorough search
he anticipated; he was clean. He was also exhilarated, his excitement
under control from years of experience, but his mind was on fire. It
was there! He had found it! Yet, as they reached ground level, even
Harry Latham was astonished at what he had really found.
The roughly three square miles of valley flatland was in reality a
military base, superbly camouflaged. The roofs of the various one-story
structures were painted to blend in with the surroundings, and whole
sections of the fields were beneath a latticework of ropes fifteen feet
high, the open spaces between the ropes and poles filled with stretched,
translucent green screening--corridors leading from one area to another.
Gray motorcycles with sidecars sped through these concealed "alleyways,"
the drivers and their passengers in uniform, while groups of men and
women could be seen in training exercises, both physical and apparently
academic_ lecturers stood before black-boards in front of serrated ranks
of students. Those performing gymnastics and hand-to-hand combat were
in minimal clothing-briefs and halters; those being lectured were in
forest-green fatigues. What struck Harry Latham was the sense of
constant movement. There was an in tensity about the valley that was
frightening, but then, so was the Briiderschaft, and this was its womb.
"It is spectacular, night wahr, Herr Lassiter?" shouted the middleaged
German beside the driver as they reached the bottom road and entered a
corridor of roofed rope and green screening.
"Unglaublich," agreed the American.
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"Thantastiscb!"
The Apocalypse Watch
"I forget, you speak our language fluently."
"My heart is here. It always has been."
"Natzirlicb, denn wi@ sind im Recht."
"Mehr als das, wir sind die Wabrbeit. Hitler spoke the truths of all
truth."
"Yes, yes, of course," said the German, smiling with neutral eyes at
Alexander Lassiter, born Harry Latham of Stockbridge, Massachusetts.
"We'll go directly to the OberbefeWsbaber. The Kommandant is eager to
meet you:)
Thirty-two months of grueling serpentine work were about to bear fruit,
thought Latham. Nearly three years of building a life, living a life
that was not his, were about to come to an end. The incessant,
maddening, exhausting travels throughout Europe and the Middle East,
synchronized down to hours, even minutes, so he would be at a specific
place at a given time, where others could swear on their lives that
they had seen him. And the scum of the world he had dealt with-arms
merchants without conscience, whose extraordinary profits were measured
by super tankers of blood; drug lords, killing and crippling
generations of children everywhere;
compromised politicians, even statesmen, who bent and subverted laws
for the benefit of the manipulators-it was all finished. There would
be no more frenzied funneling of gargantuan sums of money through
laundered Swiss accounts, secret numbers, and spectrograph signatures,
all part of the deadly games of international terrorism. Harry
Latham's personal nightmare, as vital as it was, was over.
"We are here, Herr Lassiter," said Latham's German companion as the
mountain vehicle pulled up to a barrack door under the roped green
screening high above.
"It is much warmer now, much more pleasant, nicbt wabr?"
"It certainly is," answered the deep-cover intelligence officer,
stepping down from the rear seat.
"I'm actually sweating under these clothes."
"We'll take the outerwear off inside and have yours dried for your
return."
"I'd appreciate it. I must be back in Munich by tonight."
"Yes, we understand. Come, the Kommandant." As the two men approached
the heavy black wooden door with the scarlet swastika emblazoned in the
center, there was a whooshing sound in the air.
Above, through the translucent green screening, the large white wings
of a glider swooped in descending circles into the valley.
"Another wonder, Herr Lassiter? It is released from its mother
aircraft at an altitude of roughly thirteen hundred feet. Natfirlich,
the pilot must be extremely well trained, for the winds are dangerous,
so unpredictable. It is used only in emergencies."
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