Digital Fortress Chapter 22

David Becker strode over and st ard down at the erstwhile(a) populace asleep on the cot. The opuss advanced wrist was wrapped in a cast. He was between sixty and seventy years old. His snow-white pilus was move neatly to the side, and in the center of his forehead was a mystifying purple welt that spread down into his right eye.A minuscular bump? he thought, rec alling the lieutenants spoken wording. Becker checked the existences fingers. at that place was no gold yell anywhere. Becker re woundd down and touched the mans arm. Sir? He move him lightly. Excuse me sir?The man didnt move.Becker tested again, a little louder. Sir?The man stirred. Quest-ce quelle heure est- He slowly opened his eye and focused on Becker. He scowled at having been disturbed. Quest-ce-que vous voulez?Yes, Becker thought, a cut grassadian Becker smiled down at him. Do you have a moment?Although Beckers French was perfect, he spoke in what he hoped would be the mans weaker language, English. Co nvincing a total rumr to hand over a gold coterie aptitude be a little tricky Becker figured he could use any edge he could get.There was a commodious silence as the man got his bea isthmuss. He surveyed his surroundings and lifted a long finger to smooth his limp white mustache. Finally he spoke. What do you want? His English carried a thin, nasal accent.Sir, Becker said, over pronouncing his words as if speechmaking to a deaf person, I need to pray you a few questions.The man glared up at him with a strange look on his face. Do you have some sort of job?Becker frowned the mans English was impeccable. He immediately lost the condescending t peerless(prenominal). Im sorry to taunt you, sir, but were you by any chance at the Plaza de Espana instantly?The old mans eyes narrowed. Are you from the City Council?No, actually Im-Bureau of touristry?No, Im-Look, I know why youre here The old man struggled to put up. Im non going to be intimidated If Ive said it once, Ive said it a thousand times-capital of South Dakota Cloucharde writes the world the way he lives the world. Some of your corporate guidebooks might sweep this under the table for a free night on the town, but the Montreal Times is non for hire I refuseIm sorry, sir. I dont think you under-Merde alors I understand perfectly He wagged a bony finger at Becker, and his voice echoed through the gymnasium. Youre not the first They tested the same issue at the Moulin Rouge, Browns Palace, and the Golfigno in Lagos But what went to press? The lawfulness The worst Wellington Ive invariably eaten The filthiest tub Ive ever seen And the rockiest beach Ive ever walked My readers expect no lessPatients on nearby cots began sitting up to see what was going on. Becker looked around nervously for a nurse. The last thing he needed was to get kicked out.Cloucharde was raging. That miserable excuse for a jurisprudence send officeholder works for your city He made me get on his motorcycle Look at me He essay to lift his wrist. outright whos going to write my tug?Sir, I-Ive never been so uncomfortable in my forty-three years of travel Look at this place You know, my column is syndicated in over-Sir Becker held up both hands urgently signaling truce. Im not interested in your column Im from the Canadian Consulate. Im here to make certain(a) youre okaySuddenly there was a dead quiet in the gymnasium. The old man looked up from his bed and eyed the intruder suspiciously.Becker ventured on in almost a whisper. Im here to see if theres anything I loafer do to help. Like b take a hop you a couple of Valium.After a long pause, the Canadian spoke. The consulate? His t peerless softened considerably.Becker nodded.So, youre not here around(predicate) my column?No, sir.It was as if a giant bubble had burst for Pierre Cloucharde. He settled slowly back down onto his mound of pillows. He looked heartbroken. I thought you were from the city trying to get me to He worn-out(a) off and then looked up. If its not some my column, then why are you here?It was a good question, Becker thought, pictu recoil the Smoky Mountains. Just an everyday diplomatic courtesy, he lied.The man looked surprised. A diplomatic courtesy?Yes, sir. As Im trusted a man of your stature is well aware, the Canadian regime works hard to protect its countrymen from the indignities suffered in these, er-shall we say-less refined countries.Clouchardes thin lips parted in a knowing smile. But of course how pleasant.You are a Canadian citizen, arent you?Yes, of course. How silly of me. Please forgive me. Some wholeness in my set up is often approached with well you understand.Yes, Mr. Cloucharde, I certainly do. The price one pays for celebrity.Indeed. Cloucharde allow out a tragic sigh. He was an unwilling martyr tolerating the masses. Can you rely this hideous place? He rolled his eyes at the bizarre surroundings. Its a mockery. And theyve decided to keep me overnight.Becker looked around. I kn ow. Its terrible. Im sorry it took me so long to get here.Cloucharde looked confused. I wasnt even aware you were coming.Becker changed the subject. Looks like a nasty bump on your head. Does it hurt?No, not really. I took a spill this morning-the price one pays for being a good Samaritan. The wrist is the thing thats hurting me. Stupid Guardia. I mean, really Putting a man of my age on a motorcycle. Its reprehensible.Is there anything I arse get for you?Cloucharde thought a moment, enjoying the attention. Well, actually He stretched his neck and slant his head left and right. I could use another(prenominal) pillow if its not too much trouble.Not at all. Becker grabbed a pillow off a nearby cot and helped Cloucharde get comfortable.The old man sighed contentedly. a good deal better thank you.Pas du tout, Becker replied.Ah The man smiled warmly. So you do speak the language of the civilized world.Thats about the extent of it, Becker said sheepishly.Not a problem, Cloucharde decla red proudly. My column is syndicated in the U.S. my English is first rate.So Ive comprehend. Becker smiled. He sit down on the edge of Clouchardes cot. Now, if you dont mind my asking, Mr. Cloucharde, why would a man such as yourself come to a place like this? There are far better hospitals in Seville.Cloucharde looked angry. That police policeman he bucked me off his motorcycle and then left me bleeding in the thoroughfare like a stuck pig. I had to walk over here.He didnt laissez passer to take you to a better facility?On that godawful bike of his? No thanksWhat exactly happened this morning?I told it all to the lieutenant.Ive spoken to the officer and-I hope you reprimanded him Cloucharde interrupted.Becker nodded. In the severest terms. My office will be adjacent up.I should hope so.Monsieur Cloucharde. Becker smiled, pulling a pen out of his jacket crown pocket. Id like to make a formal complaint to the city. Would you help? A man of your reputation would be a valuable wit ness.Cloucharde looked buoyed by the aspect of being quoted. He sat up. Why, yes of course. It would be my pleasure.Becker took out a piffling note pad and looked up. Okay, lets start with this morning. Tell me about the accident.The old man sighed. It was sad really. The poor Asian fellow only if collapsed. I tried to help him-but it was no use.You gave him CPR?Cloucharde looked ashamed. Im afraid I dont know how. I called an ambulance.Becker remembered the bluish transgresss on Tankados chest. Did the paramedics administer CPR? Heavens, no Cloucharde laughed. No reason out to whip a dead horse-the fellow was long gone by the time the ambulance got there. They checked his pulse and carted him off, leaving me with that horrific policeman.Thats strange, Becker thought, wondering where the bruise had come from. He pushed it from his mind and got to the matter at hand. What about the ring? he said as nonchalantly as possible.Cloucharde looked surprised. The lieutenant told you abo ut the ring?Yes, he did.Cloucharde seemed amazed. Really? I didnt think he believed my chronicle. He was so rude-as if he thought I were lying. But my story was accurate, of course. I pride myself on accuracy.Where is the ring? Becker pressed.Cloucharde didnt seem to hear. He was glassy-eyed, staring into space. foreign piece really, all those letters-looked like no language Id ever seen.Japanese, possibly? Becker offered.Definitely not.So you got a good look at it?Heavens, yes When I knelt down to help, the man kept pushing his fingers in my face. He cherished to give me the ring. It was most bizarre, horrible really-his hands were quite dreadful.And thats when you took the ring?Cloucharde went wide-eyed. Thats what the officer told you That I took the ring?Becker shifted uneasily.Cloucharde exploded. I knew he wasnt listening Thats how rumors get started I told him the Jap fellow gave absent the ring-but not to me Theres no way I would take anything from a dying man My heavens The thought of itBecker perceived trouble. So you dont have the ring?Heavens, noA dull ache crept through the pit of his stomach. Then who has it?Cloucharde glared at Becker indignantly. The German The German has itBecker mat up like the floor had been pulled out from under him. German? What German?The German in the park I told the officer about him I refused the ring but the fascist swine accepted itBecker set down his pen and paper. The sendup was over. This was trouble. So a German has the ring?Indeed.Where did he go?No idea. I ran to call the police. When I got back, he was gone.Do you know who he was?Some tourist.Are you sure?My life is tourists, Cloucharde snapped. I know one when I see one. He and his lady friend were out strolling the park.Becker was more and more confused every moment. Lady friend? There was person with the German?Cloucharde nodded. An escort. Gorgeous redhead. Mon Dieu Beautiful.An escort? Becker was stunned. As in a cyprian?Cloucharde grimaced. Yes, if you must use the vulgar term.But the officer said zip fastener about-Of course not I never mentioned the escort. Cloucharde dismissed Becker with a prankish wave of his good hand. They arent criminals-its absurd that theyre harassed like common thieves.Becker was as yet in a mild state of shock. Was there anyone else there?No, just the three of us. It was hot.And youre positive the muliebrityhood was a prostitute?Absolutely. No woman that beautiful would be with a manlike that unless she were well paid Mon Dieu He was fat, fat, fat A loudmouthed, overweight, obnoxious German Cloucharde winced momentarily as he shifted his weight, but he ignored the pain and plowed on. This man was a beast-three hundred pounds at least. He locked onto that poor dear like she was about to run away-not that Id blame her. I mean really Hands all over her. Bragged that he had her all weekend for three hundred dollars Hes the one who should have dropped dead, not that poor Asian fellow. Clouchard e came up for air, and Becker jumped in.Did you get his earn?Cloucharde thought for a moment and then shook his head. No idea. He winced in pain again and settled slowly back into his pillows.Becker sighed. The ring had just evaporated before his eyes. Commander Strathmore was not going to be happy.Cloucharde dabbed at his forehead. His burst of enthusiasm had taken its toll. He suddenly looked ill.Becker tried another approach. Mr. Cloucharde, Id like to get a statement from the German and his escort as well. Do you have any idea where theyre staying?Cloucharde closed his eyes, his strength fading. His ventilation grew shallow.Anything at all? Becker pressed. The escorts found?There was a long silence.Cloucharde rubbed his right temple. He was suddenly looking pale. Well ah no. I dont believe His voice was shaky.Becker leaned toward him. Are you all right?Cloucharde nodded lightly. Yes, fine just a little the excitement maybe He trailed off.Think, Mr. Cloucharde. Becker urged qui etly. Its important.Cloucharde winced. I dont know the woman the man kept calling her He closed his eyes and groaned.What was her name?I really dont recall Cloucharde was fading fast.Think. Becker prodded. Its important that the consular show be as complete as possible. Ill need to support your story with statements from the other witnesses. Any information you can give me to help invest themBut Cloucharde was not listening. He was dabbing his forehead with the sheet. Im sorry perhaps tomorrow He looked nauseated.Mr. Cloucharde, its important you remember this now. Becker suddenly realized he was speaking too loudly. People on nearby cots were still sitting up watching what was going on. On the far side of the room a nurse appeared through the double doors and strode briskly toward them.Anything at all, Becker pressed urgently.The German called the woman-Becker lightly shook Cloucharde, trying to bring him back.Clouchardes eyes flickered momentarily. Her name tolerate with me, old fellaDew Clouchardes eyes closed again. The nurse was closing in. She looked furious.Dew? Becker shook Clouchardes arm.The old man groaned. He called her Cloucharde was mumbling now, barely audible.The nurse was less than ten feet away yelling at Becker in angry Spanish. Becker heard nothing. His eyes were fixed on the old mans lips. He shook Cloucharde one last time as the nurse bore down on him.The nurse grabbed David Beckers shoulder. She pulled him to his feet just as Clouchardes lips parted. The single word leaving the old mans mouth was not actually spoken. It was softly sighed-like a distant unintellectual remembrance. DewdropThe scolding grasp yanked Becker away.Dewdrop? Becker wondered. What the hell kind of name is Dewdrop? He spun away from the nurse and turned one last time to Cloucharde. Dewdrop? Are you sure?But Pierre Cloucharde was fast asleep.