| might have been related to Buenos Aires. I didn’t say it was, I said it might have been.’ ‘That’s not possible!’ ‘How the hell can you be so sureT ‘Because I am.’ Kendall was not only agitated, thought David, he was impatient. ‘This is a business proposition. The deal’s been made. There’s no one trying to stop it. Stop us.’ ‘Hostilities don’t cease because a deal’s been made. if the German command got wind of it they’d blow up Buenos Aires to stop it.’ ‘Yeah… well, that’s not possible.’ ‘You know that?’ ‘We know it… So don’t go confusing that stupid bastard, Swanson. I’ll level with you. This is strictly a money-line negotiation. We could have completed it without any help from Washington, but they insisted - Swanson insisted - that they have a man here. O.K., you’re him. You can be helpful; you can get the papers out and you speak the languages. But that’s all you’ve got to do. Don’t call attention to yourself. We don’t want anyone upset.’ Grudgingly, David began to understand the subtle clarity of Brigadier General Swanson’s manipulation. Swanson had maneuvered him into a clean position. The killing of Erich Rhinemann -whether he did it himself or whether he bought the assassin - would be totally unexpected. Swanson wasn’t by any means the ‘stupid bastard’ Kendall thought he was. Or that David had considered. Swanson was nervous. A neophyte. But he was pretty damned good. ‘All right. My apologies,’said Spaulding, indicating a sincerity he didn’t |
streetlamps cast a soft glow on the quiet, darkened sidewalks; the sculptured trees in front of the picturesque Mediterranean houses were silhouetted against pastel-colored brick and stone. In windows beyond flower boxes, the yellow lamps of living rooms and bedrooms 339 shone invitingly. A man in a business suit, a newspaper under his arm, walked up the steps to a door, taking a key from his pocket; a young couple were laughing quietly, leaning against a low wrought-iron fence. A little girl with a light brown cocker spaniel on a leash was skipping along the sidewalk, the dog jumping happily out of step. Terraza Verde was a lovely place to live. And David thought briefly of another block he’d seen that day. With old men who smelled of rot and urine; with a toothless whore who leaned on a filthy sill. With cat intestines and dirtfilmed windows. And with two huge warehouses that provided no work, and a trawler at anchor, recently destined for Tortugas. The Packard turned the comer into another street. There were a few more lights, less sculptured trees, but the street was very much like Terraza Verde. It reminded David of those offshoot streets in Lisbon that approached the rich caminos; dotted with expensive shops, convenient for wealthy inhabitants a few hundred yards away. There were shops here, too; with windows subtly lit, wares tastefully displayed. Another block; the Packard slowed down at the intersecting street and then started across. More shops, less trees, more dogs |
