Read Online The Manchurian Candidate by Richard Condon - Free Book Online Page B

to his lips in an elaborate gesture. The lineof soldiers watched the demonstration from the stage with tolerance, even amusement. Yen turned to them. The force of the bullet velocity at such close range had knocked little Bobby Lembeck over backward in his chair. His corpse without a forehead, never having known a fat lady or a tall one, sprawled backward with its feet still hooked into the front legs of the overturned chair, as though it were a saddle which had slipped off a running colt.
    Mavole’s body had fallen forward. The color of the face was magenta into purple and the eyes seemed to pop out toward Yen in a diligent effort to pay him the utmost attention.
    The other men of the patrol sat relaxed, with the pleasant look of fathers with hang-overs who are enjoying watching a little girls’ skating party in the moist, cool air of an indoor rink on a Saturday morning.
    “Captain Marco?” Yen said briskly.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “To your feet, Captain, please.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Captain, when you return with your patrol to your command headquarters what will be among the first duties you will undertake?”
    “I will submit my report on the patrol, sir.”
    “What will you report?”
    “I will recommend urgently that Sergeant Shaw be posted for the Medal of Honor, sir. He saved our lives and he took out a full company of enemy infantry.”
    “A full company!” Gomel said indignantly when this sentence was translated to him. “What the hell is this?”
    “We can spare an imaginary company of infantry for this particular plan, Mikhail,” Berezovo said irritably.
    “All right! If we are out to humiliate our brave Chinese ally in the newspapers of the world we might as well go ahead and make it a full battalion,” Gomel retorted, watching the Chinese representatives carefully as he spoke.

    “We don’t object, Comrade,” the older Chinese said. “I can assure you of that.”
    “Not at all,” said the younger Chinese official.
    “However, thank you for thinking of the matter in that light, just the same,” said the first Chinese.
    “Not at all,” Gomel told him.
    “Thank you, Captain Marco,” Yen Lo told the officer. “Thank you, everyone,” he told the audience. “That will be all for this session. If you will assemble your questions, we will review here in one hour, and in the meantime I believe General Kostroma has opened a most pleasant little bar for all of us.” Yen motioned Raymond to his feet. Then, putting an arm around his shoulders, he walked him out of the auditorium saying, “We will have some hot tea and a chat, you and I, and to show my appreciation for the way you have worked today, I am going to dip into your unconscious and remove your sexual timidity once and for all.” He smiled broadly at the young man. “More than that no man can do for you, Raymond,” he said, and they passed from the room, out of the view of the patient, seated patrol.
    There was a final review for the patrol that evening, conducted by Yen Lo’s staff as a last brush-up to recall the details of the imaginary engagement against the enemy that, in fantasy, Raymond had destroyed. In all, Yen Lo’s research staff provided four separate versions of the overall feat of arms, as those versions might have been witnessed from four separate vantage points in the action and then later exchanged between members of the patrol. Each patrol member had been drilled in individual small details of what Raymond had done to save their lives. They had been taught to mourn Mavole and Bobby Lembeck who had been cut off before Raymond could save them. They had absorbed their lessons well and now admired, loved, and respected Raymond more than any other man they had ever known. Their brains had not merely been washed, they had been dry-cleaned.
    The captain was taught more facets of the lie than the others because he would have observed the action with a schooled eye and also would have assembled everyone else’s report.