Read Online Three Days of the Condor by James Grady - Free Book Online
Authors: James Grady
Ads: Link
I might get hurt, but you'll be dead. It's not worth it. OK?" The girl nodded. "Let's go."
The drive to Virginia was tense. Malcolm never took his eyes off the girl. She never took her eyes off the road. Just after the Alexandria exit she pulled into a small courtyard surrounded by apartment units.
"Which one is yours?"
"The first one. I have the top two floors. A man lives in the basement."
"You're doing just fine. Now, when we go up the walk, just pretend you're taking a friend to your place. Remember, I'm right behind you."
They got out and walked the few steps to the building. The girl shook and had trouble unlocking the door, but she finally made it. Malcolm followed her in, gently closing the door behind him.
I have treated this game in great detail because I think it is important for the student to see what he's up against, and how he ought to go about solving the problems of practical play. You may not be able to play the defense and counterattack this well, but the game sets a worthwhile goal for you to achieve: how to fight back in a position where your opponent has greater mobility and better prospects.
—Fred Reinfeld, The Complete Chess Course
----
Chapter 4
Thursday Evening-Friday Morning
----
"I don't believe you." The girl sat on the couch, her eyes glued to Malcolm. She was not as frightened as she had been, but her heart felt as if it was breaking ribs.
Malcolm sighed. He had been sitting across from the girl for an hour. From what he found in her purse, he knew she was Wendy Ross, twenty-seven years old, had lived and driven in Carbondale, Illinois, distributed 135 pounds on her five-foot-ten frame (he was sure that was an overestimated lie), regularly gave Type O Positive blood to the Red Cross, was a card-carrying user of the Alexandria Public Library and a member of the University of Southern Illinois Alumni Association, and was certified to receive and deliver summonses for her employers, Bechtel, Barber, Sievers, Holloron, and Muckleston. From what he read on her face, he knew she was frightened and telling the truth when she said she didn't believe him. Malcolm didn't blame her, as he really didn't believe his story either, and he knew it was true.
"Look," he said, "if what I said wasn't true, why would I try to convince you it was?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, Jesus!" Malcolm paced the room. He could tie her up and still use her place, but that was risky. Besides, she could be invaluable. He had an inspiration in the middle of a sneeze.
"Look," he said, wiping his upper lip, "suppose I could at least prove to you I was with the CIA. Then would you believe me?"
"I might." A new look crossed the girl's face.
"OK, look at this." Malcolm sat down beside her. He felt her body tense, but she took the mutilated piece of paper.
"What's this?"
"It's my CIA identification card. See, that's me with long hair."
Her voice was cold. "It says Tentrex Industries, not CIA. I can read, you know." He could see she regretted her inflection after she said it, but she didn't apologize.
"I know what it says!" Malcolm grew more impatient and nervous. His plan might not work. "Do you have a D.C. phone book?"
The girl nodded toward an end table. Malcolm crossed the room, picked up the huge book, and flung it at the girl. Her reactions were so keyed she caught it without any trouble. Malcolm shouted at her, "Look in there for Tentrex Industries. Anywhere! White pages, yellow pages, anywhere. The card gives a phone number and an address on Wisconsin Avenue, so it should be in the book. Look!"
The girl looked, then she looked again. She closed the book and stared at Malcolm. "So you've got an ID card for a place that doesn't exist. What does that prove?"
"Right!" Malcolm crossed the room excitedly, bringing the phone with him. The cord barely reached. "Now," he said, very secretively, "look up the Washington number for the Central Intelligence Agency. The numbers are the same."
The girl opened the book
The drive to Virginia was tense. Malcolm never took his eyes off the girl. She never took her eyes off the road. Just after the Alexandria exit she pulled into a small courtyard surrounded by apartment units.
"Which one is yours?"
"The first one. I have the top two floors. A man lives in the basement."
"You're doing just fine. Now, when we go up the walk, just pretend you're taking a friend to your place. Remember, I'm right behind you."
They got out and walked the few steps to the building. The girl shook and had trouble unlocking the door, but she finally made it. Malcolm followed her in, gently closing the door behind him.
I have treated this game in great detail because I think it is important for the student to see what he's up against, and how he ought to go about solving the problems of practical play. You may not be able to play the defense and counterattack this well, but the game sets a worthwhile goal for you to achieve: how to fight back in a position where your opponent has greater mobility and better prospects.
—Fred Reinfeld, The Complete Chess Course
----
Chapter 4
Thursday Evening-Friday Morning
----
"I don't believe you." The girl sat on the couch, her eyes glued to Malcolm. She was not as frightened as she had been, but her heart felt as if it was breaking ribs.
Malcolm sighed. He had been sitting across from the girl for an hour. From what he found in her purse, he knew she was Wendy Ross, twenty-seven years old, had lived and driven in Carbondale, Illinois, distributed 135 pounds on her five-foot-ten frame (he was sure that was an overestimated lie), regularly gave Type O Positive blood to the Red Cross, was a card-carrying user of the Alexandria Public Library and a member of the University of Southern Illinois Alumni Association, and was certified to receive and deliver summonses for her employers, Bechtel, Barber, Sievers, Holloron, and Muckleston. From what he read on her face, he knew she was frightened and telling the truth when she said she didn't believe him. Malcolm didn't blame her, as he really didn't believe his story either, and he knew it was true.
"Look," he said, "if what I said wasn't true, why would I try to convince you it was?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, Jesus!" Malcolm paced the room. He could tie her up and still use her place, but that was risky. Besides, she could be invaluable. He had an inspiration in the middle of a sneeze.
"Look," he said, wiping his upper lip, "suppose I could at least prove to you I was with the CIA. Then would you believe me?"
"I might." A new look crossed the girl's face.
"OK, look at this." Malcolm sat down beside her. He felt her body tense, but she took the mutilated piece of paper.
"What's this?"
"It's my CIA identification card. See, that's me with long hair."
Her voice was cold. "It says Tentrex Industries, not CIA. I can read, you know." He could see she regretted her inflection after she said it, but she didn't apologize.
"I know what it says!" Malcolm grew more impatient and nervous. His plan might not work. "Do you have a D.C. phone book?"
The girl nodded toward an end table. Malcolm crossed the room, picked up the huge book, and flung it at the girl. Her reactions were so keyed she caught it without any trouble. Malcolm shouted at her, "Look in there for Tentrex Industries. Anywhere! White pages, yellow pages, anywhere. The card gives a phone number and an address on Wisconsin Avenue, so it should be in the book. Look!"
The girl looked, then she looked again. She closed the book and stared at Malcolm. "So you've got an ID card for a place that doesn't exist. What does that prove?"
"Right!" Malcolm crossed the room excitedly, bringing the phone with him. The cord barely reached. "Now," he said, very secretively, "look up the Washington number for the Central Intelligence Agency. The numbers are the same."
The girl opened the book
Similar Books
