Digital Fortress Chapter 22

David Becker strode perpetu every last(predicate)yywhither and stared down at the honest-to-goodness cosmos asleep on the cot. The hu soldierykinds right wrist joint joint was wrapped in a cast. He was between sixty and seventy years old. His snow-white hairs-breadth was parted neatly to the side, and in the center of his forehead was a deep purple welt that fiesta down into his right eye.A shortsighted bump? he thought, rec exclusivelying the lieutenants words. Becker checked the humanitys fingers. T present was no golden bounce anywhere. Becker re ached down and touched the mans arm. Sir? He shook him lightly. Excuse me sir?The man didnt move.Becker tried again, a little louder. Sir?The man stirred. Quest-ce quelle heure est- He slowly opened his eyeball and focused on Becker. He scowled at having been disturbed. Quest-ce-que vous voulez?Yes, Becker thought, a French Canadian 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, position. Convincing a total stranger to hand over a gold ring might be a little tricky Becker figured he could use any edge he could bunk. in that location was a broad silence as the man got his bearings. He surveyed his surroundings and lifted a yen finger to smooth his limp white mustache. in the end he spoke. What do you want? His English carried a thin, nasal accent.Sir, Becker said, over pronouncing his words as if oration to a deaf person, I need to ask you a few questions.The man glared up at him with a strange look on his face. Do you have some sort of problem?Becker frowned the mans English was impeccable. He immediately lost the condescending tone. Im sorry to bother you, sir, only when were you by any medical prognosis at the Plaza de Espana today?The old mans eyes narrowed. Are you from the City Council?No, actually Im-Bureau of tourism?No, Im-Look, I know why youre here The old man struggled to sit up. Im not going to be intimidated If Ive said it once, Ive said it a thousand times-Pierre Cloucharde prints the world the way he lives the world. Some of your bodied guidebooks might sweep this under the table for a free night on the town, but the Montreal time is not 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 low gear They tried the analogous thing at the Moulin Rouge, Browns Palace, and the Golfigno in Lagos But what went to press? The truth The worst Wellington Ive ever eaten The filthiest value-added tax Ive ever seen And the rockiest beach Ive ever walked My readers expect no lessPatients on near cots began sitting up to see what was going on. Becker looked around nervously for a view as. The last thing he needed was to gravel kicked stunned.Cloucharde was raging. That miserable excuse for a police officer works for your city He made me consume on his motorcycle Look at me He tried to lift his wrist. Now whos going to write my column?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 arouse in your column Im from the Canadian Consulate. Im here to make sure 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 can do to help. Like mystify you a couple of Valium.After a long pause, the Canadian spoke. The consulate? His tone softened considerably.Becker nodded.So, youre not here about my column?No, sir.It was as if a giant bubble had burst for Pierre Cloucharde. He colonized slowly back down onto his mound of pillows. He looked heartbroken. I thought you were from the city nerve-wracking to get me to He faded off and the n looked up. If its not about my column, then why are you here?It was a good question, Becker thought, picturing the Smoky Mountains. Just an in titular diplomatic courtesy, he lied.The man looked surprised. A diplomatic courtesy?Yes, sir. As Im sure a man of your stature is well(p) aware, the Canadian governing 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 for drop dead me. Someone in my position is often approached with well you understand.Yes, Mr. Cloucharde, I certainly do. The price one pays for celebrity.Indeed. Cloucharde let out a tragic sigh. He was an unwilling martyr tolerating the masses. Can you opine this hideous place? He involute his eyes at the bizarre surroundings. Its a mockery. And theyve decided to keep me overnight.Becker looked around. I know. 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 harm?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 can get for you?Cloucharde thought a moment, enjoying the attention. Well, actually He stretched his make do and tilted his head left and right. I could use another pillow if its not too lots trouble.Not at all. Becker grabbed a pillow off a nearby cot and helped Cloucharde get comfortable.The old man sighed contentedly. Much wagerer thank you.Pas du tout, Becker replied.Ah The man smiled warmly. So you do speak the language of the civilize world.Thats about the extent of it, Becker said sheepishly.Not a problem, Cloucharde declared proudly . My column is syndicated in the U.S. my English is first rate.So Ive heard. Becker smiled. He sat down on the edge of Clouchardes cot. Now, if you dont mind my asking, Mr. Cloucharde, why would a man such as yourself infer to a place like this? There are far better hospitals in Seville.Cloucharde looked angry. That police officer he bucked me off his motorcycle and then left me bleeding in the street like a stuck pig. I had to walk over here.He didnt offer 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 following up.I should hope so.Monsieur Cloucharde. Becker smiled, pulling a pen out of his jacket pocket. Id like to make a formal complaint to the city. Would you help? A man of your reputation would be a valuable witness.Cloucharde looked buoyed by the sce nery of being quoted. He sat up. Why, yes of course. It would be my pleasure.Becker took out a small note pad and looked up. Okay, lets runner with this morning. Tell me about the accident.The old man sighed. It was sad really. The hapless Asian fellow just 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 bruises on Tankados chest. Did the paramedics administer CPR? Heavens, no Cloucharde laughed. No reason 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 nervelessly as possible.Cloucharde looked surprised. The lieutenant told you about the ring?Yes, he did.Cloucharde seemed amazed. Re ally? I didnt think he believed my story. 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. Strange piece really, all those letters-looked like no language Id ever seen. smackanese, mayhap? 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 wanted to give me the ring. It was most bizarre, horrible really-his hands were quite an 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 forth the ring-but not to me Theres no way I would take anything from a dying man My heavens The thought of itBecker sensed 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 felt 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 charade 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. madam friend? There was somebody with the German?Cloucharde nodded. An escort. Gorgeous redhead. Mon Dieu Beautiful.An escort? Becker was stunned. As in a damage?Cloucharde grimaced. Yes, if you must use the vulgar term.But the officer said nothing a bout-Of course not I never mentioned the escort. Cloucharde dismissed Becker with a patronizing wave of his good hand. They arent criminals-its absurd that theyre harassed like customary thieves.Becker was still in a mild state of shock. Was there anyone else there?No, just the three of us. It was hot.And youre haughty the woman 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 scurvy dear like she was about to run outside-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. Cloucharde came up for air, and Becker jumped in.Did you get his name?Clouchard e 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 onwards his eyes. Commander Strathmore was not going to be happy.Cloucharde dabbed at his forehead. His burst of enthusiasm had taken its toll. He curtly 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 breathing grew shallow.Anything at all? Becker pressed. The escorts name?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 quietly. 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 profuse.Think. Becker prodded. Its important that the consular file 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 locate 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 nameStay with me, old fellaDew Clouchardes eyes closed again. The nurse was apogee 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 restfully sighed-like a distant sensual 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.