Read Online The Game of X: A Novel of Upmanship Espionage by Robert Sheckley - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Sheckley
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be convenient if you gave me the information and left. But it would not be a serious hindrance if you didn’t. Your influence in this case has become negligible, Mr. Nye.”
“Five thousand dollars worth of negligible,” I commented.
“Surely you realize that the money is merely a courtesy, a gift to sweeten the taste of defeat. You and I are professionals, we can look at these things honestly. We know that a war consists of many battles; the wise soldier retreats without shame when the odds become too great. We adhere to the logic of the situation rather than the emotion of the moment. Above all, we can face the facts.”
“What do you consider the facts?”
Forster took a sip of wine. “Your position has been untenable from the very beginning. We have known all along who you were, whom you worked with, and what your objective was. We have detained you twice in 24 hours, without the slightest difficulty. We know that you are still determined to get Karinovsky out of Venice, and that you will probably make a major attempt tonight. And we know that you haven’t got the slightest chance of success.”
“Bleak outlook,” I said.
“It gets bleaker.”
“Go on.”
Forster leaned forward earnestly. “Nye, we could have killed you at any time since you came to Venice. The fact that we didn’t was solely due to a conflict between Security and Counterespionage. From the viewpoint of Security, you should have been taken out of the game as soon as you were identified. Counterespionage, on the other hand, wanted to let you run as long as possible, in the expectation of following you to Karinovsky. Previously, the requirements of Counterespionage have prevailed.”
“And now?”
“Now it is time to close the case. Other matters require our attention; we can’t tie up our forces indefinitely while you hurry around Venice. We insist upon knowing where Karinovsky is. We will find him whether you tell us or not. Your refusal to talk now will make matters only slightly more difficult for us, but infinitely more difficult and painful for you. We will get the truth out of you anyhow. But the only reward for stubbornness will be a quick death. What do you say?”
Forster held the envelope out to me, and I felt shaken because he really expected me to take it, and my refusal seemed naive and suicidal. But I stood up and shook my head.
“Very well, Mr. Nye,” Forster said. “Since you refuse the pleasant, civilized way, we are forced to use the unpleasant, uncivilized way. We will ask you about Karinovsky again very soon; but next time we will ask with more firmness.”
And that was that. I left the restaurant. Outside, the sun was going down.”
12
I told myself that I was in a very serious situation. But I found it difficult to believe. There was a warm sunset glow on the old buildings. The canals sparkled a brilliant blue and brown. A thousand people pushed past me along the narrow streets. An unshaven man tried to sell me a toy gondola while real gondolas glided past. There was a smell of roasting coffee in the air. The sunlight, the crowds, the narrow protective streets, the gleaming water, all conspired to lull me into a dangerous sense of security.
I walked for a while, then caught a vaporetto near the Teatro Malibran. It was as crowded as a New York subway at rush hour. I was able to hang on to a pole in the center of the boat.
A squat workman clung to the pole beneath my left arm. Directly facing me, almost embracing me, was an attractive blonde girl in a green sweater, carrying an art portfolio. We bumped and recoiled and stared vacantly over each other’s left shoulder.
Pressed close against me on my right was a red-faced tourist in a stiff tweed sports jacket with complicated flaps and buttons. He had a heavy camera slung around his neck and a battered pigskin briefcase cradled in his arms. Beside him, unable to gain a handhold, was a small unshaven man in a black suit, with a
“Five thousand dollars worth of negligible,” I commented.
“Surely you realize that the money is merely a courtesy, a gift to sweeten the taste of defeat. You and I are professionals, we can look at these things honestly. We know that a war consists of many battles; the wise soldier retreats without shame when the odds become too great. We adhere to the logic of the situation rather than the emotion of the moment. Above all, we can face the facts.”
“What do you consider the facts?”
Forster took a sip of wine. “Your position has been untenable from the very beginning. We have known all along who you were, whom you worked with, and what your objective was. We have detained you twice in 24 hours, without the slightest difficulty. We know that you are still determined to get Karinovsky out of Venice, and that you will probably make a major attempt tonight. And we know that you haven’t got the slightest chance of success.”
“Bleak outlook,” I said.
“It gets bleaker.”
“Go on.”
Forster leaned forward earnestly. “Nye, we could have killed you at any time since you came to Venice. The fact that we didn’t was solely due to a conflict between Security and Counterespionage. From the viewpoint of Security, you should have been taken out of the game as soon as you were identified. Counterespionage, on the other hand, wanted to let you run as long as possible, in the expectation of following you to Karinovsky. Previously, the requirements of Counterespionage have prevailed.”
“And now?”
“Now it is time to close the case. Other matters require our attention; we can’t tie up our forces indefinitely while you hurry around Venice. We insist upon knowing where Karinovsky is. We will find him whether you tell us or not. Your refusal to talk now will make matters only slightly more difficult for us, but infinitely more difficult and painful for you. We will get the truth out of you anyhow. But the only reward for stubbornness will be a quick death. What do you say?”
Forster held the envelope out to me, and I felt shaken because he really expected me to take it, and my refusal seemed naive and suicidal. But I stood up and shook my head.
“Very well, Mr. Nye,” Forster said. “Since you refuse the pleasant, civilized way, we are forced to use the unpleasant, uncivilized way. We will ask you about Karinovsky again very soon; but next time we will ask with more firmness.”
And that was that. I left the restaurant. Outside, the sun was going down.”
12
I told myself that I was in a very serious situation. But I found it difficult to believe. There was a warm sunset glow on the old buildings. The canals sparkled a brilliant blue and brown. A thousand people pushed past me along the narrow streets. An unshaven man tried to sell me a toy gondola while real gondolas glided past. There was a smell of roasting coffee in the air. The sunlight, the crowds, the narrow protective streets, the gleaming water, all conspired to lull me into a dangerous sense of security.
I walked for a while, then caught a vaporetto near the Teatro Malibran. It was as crowded as a New York subway at rush hour. I was able to hang on to a pole in the center of the boat.
A squat workman clung to the pole beneath my left arm. Directly facing me, almost embracing me, was an attractive blonde girl in a green sweater, carrying an art portfolio. We bumped and recoiled and stared vacantly over each other’s left shoulder.
Pressed close against me on my right was a red-faced tourist in a stiff tweed sports jacket with complicated flaps and buttons. He had a heavy camera slung around his neck and a battered pigskin briefcase cradled in his arms. Beside him, unable to gain a handhold, was a small unshaven man in a black suit, with a
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