Read Online Magic Terror by Peter Straub - Free Book Online Page A

reinforce that bond of trust I find crucial to good fieldwork. As of now, the old bond is getting mighty frayed.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Tell me your name first. Please, don’t get tricky. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
    “What on earth is going on down there? All right. I’m putting my career in your hands. Are you ready? My name is Charles Many Horses. My birth certificate says Charles Horace Bunce, but my Indian name was Many Horses, and when you compete for government contracts, as we have been known to do, you have to meet certain standards. Many Horses sounds a lot more Native American than Bunce. Now can you please explain what the hell got you all riled up?”
    “Is someone else down here keeping an eye on me? Besides Martine? Someone I’m not supposed to know about?”
    “Oh, please,” the contact said. “Where’s that coming from? Ah, I get it—sounds like you spotted somebody, or thought you did anyhow. Is that what this is all about? I guess paranoia comes with the territory. If you did see someone, he’s not on our payroll. Describe him.”
    “Today in Mauléon, I noticed a kid I saw hanging around the café last night. Five-ten, hundred and fifty pounds, late twenties. Long blond hair, grubby, rides a Kawasaki bike. He was following me, Charles, there is no doubt at all about that. Where I went, he went, and if I weren’t, you know, sort of reasonably adept at my job, I might never have noticed the guy. As it was, I had to run out of a restaurant by the back door to ditch him. Okay, call me paranoid, but this sort of thing tends to make me uncomfortable.”
    “He’s not ours,” the contact said quickly. “Beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s your call, champ.”
    “Okay, Charles,” said N, hearing a murky ambiguity in the man’s voice. “This is how it goes. If I see the kid again tonight, I have to deal with him.”
    “Sounds good to me,” said the contact.
    “One more thing, Charles. Have we, to your knowledge, taken on any Japanese field people? You mentioned this possibility yesterday. Was that an idle remark, or . . . no. There are no idle remarks. We hired some Japanese.”
    “Now that you mention it, a couple, yeah. It’s impossible to find people like you anymore. At least in the States.”
    “Are these the Japanese gentlemen I’m seeing wherever I go, the past couple of days?”
    “Let me ask you a question. Do you know how strong the yen is against Western currencies? It’s a joke. If you fly first-class on Air France, they give you sushi instead of escargots. Busy little Japanese tourists are running around all over Europe, the Pyrenees included.”
    “Sushi instead of snails.” The knowledge that he had heard an almost identical remark not long before set off a mental alarm which subsided at the recollection of the drunken Basques.
    “It’s about money, what a shock. Walk right in, right? You want it, we got it. Just ask Tonto. What’s our revenge against the palefaces? Casinos. That’ll work.”
    “Like an MBA,” N said. “You’re too embarrassed to admit you went to Harvard, but you did.”
    “Now, just how . . .” The contact gave a wheezy chuckle. “You’re something else, pardner. Heap proud, go-um Harvard, but people assume you’re an asshole. Anyhow, lay off the Japs. You see the same ones over and over because that’s where they are.”
    “Neat and tidy, peaceful and private. Just Hubert, Martine, and me.”
    “See how easy it gets when you dump your anxiety? Try not to mess up his car. Martine’ll drive it back to town. The mule who’s bringing her car down from Paris is going to drive the Mercedes to Moscow. We have a buyer lined up.”
    “Waste not, want not.”
    “Or, as my people say, never shoot your horse until it stops breathing. I’m glad we had this talk.”
     
    Neat and tidy, peaceful and private. Lying on his bed, N called a private line in New York and asked his broker to liquidate his portfolio.