Read Online The Peregrine Spy by Edmund P. Murray - Free Book Online
Authors: Edmund P. Murray
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Today is especially bad. Riots. Marches.” His hands spread outward. “I have no idea what we should do.”
“Between us, we’ll think of something,” said Gus. All three smiled.
“Yes, sir.” A short, very dark young man with a drooping black mustache stood in the doorway. He wore a white waiter’s jacket over chino slacks, white socks, and plastic slippers. “Chay,” said Anwar. Frank guessed chay must be a variation on chi, the standard Middle Eastern word for tea, but the rest of their conversation was lost on him.
“No rolls,” said Anwar, “but there will be our barbari bread with chelakebab for lunch. If the barbari is ready before lunch, he says he will bring. But I doubt.”
“Tea will be fine,” said Frank.
“Good morning.” There was no mistaking the general: two stars on each shoulder. A round, unwrinkled, well-fed man, he wore a uniform that fit and flattered him so well Frank suspected it had been custom made. A widow’s peak was his only apparent concession to age. His olive complexion and Vaseline-slicked black hair would have enabled him to pass as a native in Rome. Frank guessed his office must be in the building, for he showed no signs of having just entered from the cold. Anwar saluted, casually. The general merely nodded.
“I am General Dariush Merid,” he said looking from Gus to Frank. “At your service, gentlemen. Let us be seated. The others are here and will join us just now.”
General Merid marched the length of the table to take the high-backed wooden chair at its head. Gus and Frank followed, taking the metal chairs to the general’s right. Anwar left one chair vacant and sat on the general’s left.
“Well,” said Merid. “Welcome.” Something shy slowed the unfolding of his smile. He shifted his weight and tried a brighter smile. “Was your trip comfortable?”
“Very comfortable,” said Gus.
Frank was grateful that Gus sat closer to the general. The general’s lob of a question had thrown him. He never could have volleyed a reply as quickly as Gus had. Instead, Frank’s mind spun through the whole absurd sequence of his landing in Washington and, totally unprepared, flying back through JFK and Rome to Tehran.
“Comfortable,” Frank managed to say at last. “But troubling.”
The general, who appeared uneasy with small talk, hadn’t been prepared for “troubling.” He studied Frank evenly. Only the whitening tips of his pudgy fingers, gripping the edge of the table, betrayed his tension.
“Ah, what kind of trouble?”
“Just at the end,” said Frank. “As we circled the city. So many fires. So much smoke.”
“Ah,” said the general, with only the hint of a smile. “More smoke than fire. Burning tires. Some minor arson. Student pranks. Leftist troublemakers.”
“Frankly, sir, it looked like more than that…”
General Merid raised a hand. “Do you agree?” he asked, turning to Gus.
“I was asleep,” said Gus.
“Ah, a man after my own heart. I always like to nap when I fly. That way I arrive refreshed. Ready for anything, even after a long flight.”
“Do you travel much?” asked Gus.
“I used to. In the early 1960s, in fact, I was our embassy’s military attaché in Washington. Then, four years in Rome. I loved Rome.”
“That’s where I’ve been based the past two years,” said Gus.
Building, slowly building, thought Frank. He watched Gus play the general.
“Wonderful city,” Gus continued. “Since I retired from the navy, my wife and I feel quite settled there. Some consulting work. Department of Defense. Nothing I can talk much about. You know.”
“Of course,” said General Merid.
Though he was not much of a tennis player himself, it occurred to Frank that he and Gus might make a good doubles team. Gus moved well where Frank stumbled. Frank drove hard where Gus lay back. As Gus learned more about the general by asking more about Rome, Frank glanced at Anwar. The young major smiled and looked away.
The
“Between us, we’ll think of something,” said Gus. All three smiled.
“Yes, sir.” A short, very dark young man with a drooping black mustache stood in the doorway. He wore a white waiter’s jacket over chino slacks, white socks, and plastic slippers. “Chay,” said Anwar. Frank guessed chay must be a variation on chi, the standard Middle Eastern word for tea, but the rest of their conversation was lost on him.
“No rolls,” said Anwar, “but there will be our barbari bread with chelakebab for lunch. If the barbari is ready before lunch, he says he will bring. But I doubt.”
“Tea will be fine,” said Frank.
“Good morning.” There was no mistaking the general: two stars on each shoulder. A round, unwrinkled, well-fed man, he wore a uniform that fit and flattered him so well Frank suspected it had been custom made. A widow’s peak was his only apparent concession to age. His olive complexion and Vaseline-slicked black hair would have enabled him to pass as a native in Rome. Frank guessed his office must be in the building, for he showed no signs of having just entered from the cold. Anwar saluted, casually. The general merely nodded.
“I am General Dariush Merid,” he said looking from Gus to Frank. “At your service, gentlemen. Let us be seated. The others are here and will join us just now.”
General Merid marched the length of the table to take the high-backed wooden chair at its head. Gus and Frank followed, taking the metal chairs to the general’s right. Anwar left one chair vacant and sat on the general’s left.
“Well,” said Merid. “Welcome.” Something shy slowed the unfolding of his smile. He shifted his weight and tried a brighter smile. “Was your trip comfortable?”
“Very comfortable,” said Gus.
Frank was grateful that Gus sat closer to the general. The general’s lob of a question had thrown him. He never could have volleyed a reply as quickly as Gus had. Instead, Frank’s mind spun through the whole absurd sequence of his landing in Washington and, totally unprepared, flying back through JFK and Rome to Tehran.
“Comfortable,” Frank managed to say at last. “But troubling.”
The general, who appeared uneasy with small talk, hadn’t been prepared for “troubling.” He studied Frank evenly. Only the whitening tips of his pudgy fingers, gripping the edge of the table, betrayed his tension.
“Ah, what kind of trouble?”
“Just at the end,” said Frank. “As we circled the city. So many fires. So much smoke.”
“Ah,” said the general, with only the hint of a smile. “More smoke than fire. Burning tires. Some minor arson. Student pranks. Leftist troublemakers.”
“Frankly, sir, it looked like more than that…”
General Merid raised a hand. “Do you agree?” he asked, turning to Gus.
“I was asleep,” said Gus.
“Ah, a man after my own heart. I always like to nap when I fly. That way I arrive refreshed. Ready for anything, even after a long flight.”
“Do you travel much?” asked Gus.
“I used to. In the early 1960s, in fact, I was our embassy’s military attaché in Washington. Then, four years in Rome. I loved Rome.”
“That’s where I’ve been based the past two years,” said Gus.
Building, slowly building, thought Frank. He watched Gus play the general.
“Wonderful city,” Gus continued. “Since I retired from the navy, my wife and I feel quite settled there. Some consulting work. Department of Defense. Nothing I can talk much about. You know.”
“Of course,” said General Merid.
Though he was not much of a tennis player himself, it occurred to Frank that he and Gus might make a good doubles team. Gus moved well where Frank stumbled. Frank drove hard where Gus lay back. As Gus learned more about the general by asking more about Rome, Frank glanced at Anwar. The young major smiled and looked away.
The
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