The Infant of Prague
- Автор: Granger Bill
- Серия: November Man #8
- Год: 1987
- Язык: французский
- Год: Warner
- ISBN: 0446347809
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Infant of Prague». Краткое содержание книги:
For in a humble Chicago parish church, the sacred statue of the Infant of Prague is found weeping real tears. A visiting Czech child star actress, transfigured by the wondrous event, declares, on live television, her intent to remain in American in the name of Christ and freedom.
Only an operative as cynical and seasoned as the November Man can sense the sinister link between two dramatic, yet apparently unrelated defections. A miracle has plunged him into a vast global adventure. And it will take a miracle to get him through it alive.
The defection of a highly visible Czech sparks an international crisis, and the November Man is caught in the middle.
He was bathed in sweat when he awoke. In the dim morning light, he saw he was not in chains and that his left hand was plastered. He groaned because the dream had been more real than all the other dreams. He still wore his blood-spattered, urine-soaked trousers. He limped to the window and looked out at the flat, wet landscape all around, without sign of life or other houses or cars.
The door opened and the third man stood in the frame. He nodded at Devereaux and made a “come on” motion with his finger.
Devereaux limped across the room on bare feet to the door and through to the next room. He sat down at a table in the kitchen of the house. Miki was not there. Only the first man, the one who had been waiting for him with Miki the night before. Or was it two nights before? The dreams mixed up the days and once, in dreaming, he thought he was making love to Rita in the cold bedroom of the safe apartment in Lausanne.
He picked up the bowl of coffee and drank the milky hot liquid until his mouth was scalded. He put it down and stared at the man.
The man made a motion to the third man to join the second one outside the house. There were three of them and there was Miki. This one was the leader they called Cernan.
Cernan made a face. He opened a package of Marlboro cigarettes and offered one to Devereaux. Devereaux shook his head. Cernan lit the cigarette with a silver Zippo lighter.
“You are a problem, Mr. Devereaux,” Cernan said.
Devereaux waited and said nothing. Silence is always an edge if you can maintain it. The advantage might be nothing but a gram on your side of the scale, but it was just that much more.
“I came here for a defector, not an American spy. We were told nothing about you.”
Devereaux picked up the bowl and sipped the coffee again. The warmth spread through him.
“Are we barbarians? We fix your hand and your leg and let you sleep. But there is not so much time and I need to know some things.”
“Why are you waiting here?” Devereaux said. The question was unexpected and Devereaux watched Cernan to see if it hit the mark.
Cernan was pretty good, Devereaux thought. But the eyes betrayed him. They were flat brown eyes and sometimes they opened like traps and showed the depth on the other side.
“I will ask questions.”
“I have nothing to say. Except you wait here in Belgium. If you have what you came for, why are you waiting?”
“You were not part of the equation, Mr. Devereaux.”
“My name is Peter Nolan. I’m a journalist with Central Press Association, an American agency, and I’m stationed in Brussels. I was kidnapped out of my hotel room a week ago — I think it was a week ago — by men I’ve never seen before. This is a terrible mistake.”
Cernan sighed, put out his cigarette. “You are an American intelligence agent with R Section. You arranged the defection of Emil Mikita from a party at Brussels city hall eight days ago. You are now my prisoner, a gift from the private contractor whom we have paid for the return of Emil Mikita.”
“But you didn’t pay for me.”
“No.”
“Then you should arrange to sell me.”
“Who should I sell you to?”
“Whomever you think will want to pay.”
Cernan almost smiled behind the ferocious mask. “Is that Central Press Association?”
“Yes. I have a number for them in Brussels. They will pay.”
“I believe you,” Cernan said. “Not that I do not know you are a spy. But perhaps you are very important to me. Perhaps I should make an inquiry about you.”
“Why are you waiting here?”
Cernan’s face was without expression and Devereaux probed a second time with the same question.
“You paid X to a man for the return of Emil Mikita. You were not instructed about me and you want to know if you have to bring me back. That would complicate matters. On the one hand, perhaps you would be rewarded, given little brownie points by the Ministry; on the other hand, no one knows about me. So what am I worth? If you paid X, perhaps someone will pay Y to you for me and you make money on the deal.”
Cernan waited, lighting another cigarette.
“Opportunities to make money in the field are not unheard of. Who would know if I am gently returned to my… former calling… and you take your money to a Swiss bank and take Miki back to Prague? A neat arrangement. The problem for you is time, isn’t it? How much time do you have to arrange the deal before your masters become suspicious?”
“What if it was not about money at all? What would you say then, Mr. Devereaux?”
Devereaux hesitated.
There was a fierce certainty about Cernan in that moment.
“Not everything can be explained in terms of money,” he said. “What if I use you to pry… someone else… to return to Prague?”
“Who?” Devereaux said.
Cernan did let the smile fall now. “You see, an American sees everything in terms of what it will cost and what he is willing to pay. But there are matters beyond money, do you know that? But you know that, do you not? Do you know a beautiful woman — I have not seen her, but she is described to me — a beautiful woman right this moment in Brussels? A woman with red hair and green eyes and a very dangerous idea in her head? She is looking for someone and she is probably going to get killed for her troubles. Does she do this for profit? What is her motive but money? But no, she is doing this in the name of love. It is touching. Do you know anything about this woman?”
Devereaux shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You see, I know a lot of things,” Cernan said. “I know about you, about this woman, but I do not know what can be arranged to satisfy myself. Perhaps if I can wait — a day or two days or even, perhaps, three days — I can resolve all of this and that will make me happy.”
Devereaux said nothing. He stared at Cernan and the wide, flat face and flat brown eyes and then he spoke again: “Will they let you wait?”
Cernan blinked. He hardly moved at all.
“Perhaps we will talk again,” he said at last.
“Will there be time?”
The question had no answer because neither man knew.
17
Henkin glared at Gorkeho. It was a look to make underlings tremble. Unfortunately, Gorkeho was a soldier and was only frightened by truly frightening things. He stood at something like attention and waited for Henkin to continue.
“You have lost contact? That is an incredible admission, Gorkeho. I make the arrangement, I give you instructions that when Miki is picked up that I am to be informed and that I will take over the disposition of the matter — these are orders from the highest level — and you tell me with great casualness that you have lost contact with Cernan.”
“Unfortunately, it is true. These things happen. Whatever his reasons, I am sure that Cernan is in a delicate situation, calling for absolute silence—”
“He is on a simple matter of picking up one of our strays and returning him. I am to be informed at all times,” Henkin raged. “And now you admit to me that even you are not informed because Cernan chooses to not report to you.”
“If you understood our business,” Gorkeho began, letting in his small dig without any preliminaries, “you would understand that the agent in the field has wide discretion to meet any situation that may arise—”
Henkin said, “There is nothing that ‘may arise’ in any of this. This is a simple matter of transmitting one person from one place in Europe to another. A simple matter.”