Read Online Cold Blood by James Fleming - Free Book Online Page B

produced a flat silver flask of cognac. Liselotte took a good swig, coursing it round her mouth and smacking her lips. She passed me the flask. But I declined, saying it was a night to be sober.
    They finished the flask between themselves. He said, wiping his lips, “I’m disappointed in you, Doig. That was Reserve Royal 1825, from the Tsar’s Summer Palace in the Crimea.”
    He turned on the reading light on his side. It made him no thinner or more handsome. And Liselotte looked a hard nut,even though the light was coming from behind a scalloped shade of the most feminine hue.
    He said, “When you crashed in here waving your pistol, I thought I was certain to be shot. Then you told me your name and I thought, Here’s a man worth saving. Strong, brisk, cruel, those were the adjectives I chose, going by your reputation. But someone who doesn’t have the sense to drink the best cognac ever made—well, it speaks for itself. I’ll take you to the cemetery and then you can walk.”
    I said, “Mama was right. Snobbery can be inherited, just the same as blue eyes. That’s a poor reason, to turn against me because I wouldn’t drink your brandy.”
    â€œYou think I made the decision because I’m a snob?”
    I shrugged.
    â€œI was only testing you, that’s all. To see if you’d speak up for yourself. Tell you what, come with me as far as Stockholm. A week, a month, as long as you wish. We’ll share Liselotte.”
    The car stopped. We were at the cemetery—the Nobles’ Entrance, as I’d told the shuvver.
    He came round and opened the door for me. I stepped into the pool of light from the lantern hanging outside the night porter’s lodge. From the city below came the slap of small-arms fire.
    To speak to me Boltikov had to lean right over Liselotte. He sprawled on her, like a bear—I saw her wince. He called out of the door, “You mean, you’re getting out and leaving, just like that? Well, I’ll tell you what you are—a simpleton. One way or another they’ll get you. I’ve owned factories, I know how the Bolsheviks work. Your height, even the words you use— yes, a decent vocabulary will be an automatic sentence of death. Doig, you’re a
sitting duck—
see, I know a little English, I can look after myself without you. What do you say to that? Eh, Charlie? What do you say to me not wanting you any more? What’s your next move?”
    He was determined to see the effect on me and getting hold of the passenger strap began to haul himself over Liselotte. “Look out, woman,” he said. She tucked in her chin and flattened herself against the back of the seat. He got to the point where he was sitting sideways, feet out of the door.
    â€œThat’s me, Alexander Alexandrovich Boltikov. If I want to do something, I do it the shortest possible way. I’m not one for preening and prancing and saying one thing and doing another. You all right,
liebchen
?”
    He took a cigar from his case. Red spores grew beneath his lighter and burst briefly into flame. He puffed from the corner of his mouth and spat. “Don’t be obstinate, Charlie. Make a journey, come with the boy Boltikov. He knows his way around. Permits, passports, train tickets, he can get them—snap, just like that. Light espionage? Name your need.”
    He beamed on me, this short fat fellow. The yellow lantern light was on his face at an angle. “There must be something you want.”
    I said, “Yes. I want to know what job Lenin gives Glebov.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo I can find him and kill him.”
    He sighed. “You’re a brave man. All right, I’ll do it. For you. Because I like you . . .” He drew on his cigar and fixed me with a puffy blue optic. “Tomorrow I want to get all of Russia with me in this car—the air, the soil, even the stinking breath of our people. Their oaths,