Read Online Three Days of the Condor by James Grady - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Grady
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again and turned the pages. For a long time she sat puzzled, then with a new look and a questioning voice she said, "Maybe you checked this out before you made the card, just for times like this."
Shit, thought Malcolm. He let all the air out of his lungs, took a deep breath, and started again. "OK, maybe I did, but there's one way to find out. Call that number."
"It's after five," said the girl. "If no one answers am I supposed to believe you until morning?"
Patiently, calmly, Malcolm explained to her. "You're right. If Tentrex is a real company, it's closed for the day. But CIA doesn't close. Call that number and ask for Tentrex." He handed her the phone. "One thing. I'll be listening, so don't do anything wrong. Hang up when I tell you."
The girl nodded and made the call. Three rings.
"WE4-3926."
"May I have Tentrex Industries, please?" The girl's voice was very dry.
"I'm sorry," said a soft voice. A faint click came over the line. "Everyone at Tentrex has gone for the day. They'll be back in the morning. May I ask who is calling and what the nature of your business…"
Malcolm broke the connection before the trace had a chance to even get a general fix. The girl slowly replaced the receiver. For the first time she looked directly at Malcolm. "I don't know if I believe everything you say," she said, "but I think I believe some of it."
"One final piece of proof." Malcolm took the gun out of his pants and laid it carefully in her lap. He walked across the room and sat in the beanbag chair. His palms were damp, but it was better to take the risk now than later. "You've got the gun. You could shoot me at least once before I got to you. There's the phone. I believe in you enough to think you believe me. Call anybody you want. Police, CIA, FBI, I don't care. Tell them you've got me. But I want you to know what might happen if you do. The wrong people might get the call. They might get here first. If they do, we're both dead."
For a long time the girl sat still, looking at the heavy gun in her lap. Then, in a soft voice Malcolm had to strain to hear, she said, "I believe you."
She suddenly burst into activity. She stood up, laid the gun on the table and paced the room. "I… don't know what I can do to help you, but I'll try. You can stay here in the extra bedroom. Umm." She looked toward the small kitchen and meekly said, "I could make something to eat."
Malcolm grinned, a genuine smile he thought he had lost. "That would be wonderful. Could you do one thing for me?"
"Anything, anything, I'll do anything." Wendy's nerves unwound as she realized she might live.
"Could I use your shower? The hair down my back is killing me."
She grinned at him and they both laughed. She showed him the bathroom upstairs and provided him with soap, shampoo, and towels. She didn't say a word when he took the gun with him. As soon as she left him he tiptoed to the top of the stairs. No sound of a door opening, no telephone dialing. When he heard drawers opening and closing, silverware rattling, he went back to the bathroom, undressed, and climbed into the shower.
Malcolm stayed in the shower for thirty minutes, letting the soft pellets of water drive freshness through his body. The steam cleared his sinuses, and by the time he shut off the water he felt almost human. He changed into his new pullover and fresh underwear. He automatically looked in the mirror to straighten his hair. It was so short he did it with two strokes of his hand.
The stereo was playing as he came down the stairs. He recognized the album as Vince Guaraldi's score for Black Orpheus . The song was "Cast Your Fate to the Wind." He had the album too, and told her so as they sat down to eat.
During green salad she told Malcolm about small-town life in Illinois. Between bites of frozen German beans he heard about life at Southern Illinois University. Mashed potatoes were mixed with a story concerning an almost fiancé. Between chunks of the jiffy-cooked Swiss steak he
Shit, thought Malcolm. He let all the air out of his lungs, took a deep breath, and started again. "OK, maybe I did, but there's one way to find out. Call that number."
"It's after five," said the girl. "If no one answers am I supposed to believe you until morning?"
Patiently, calmly, Malcolm explained to her. "You're right. If Tentrex is a real company, it's closed for the day. But CIA doesn't close. Call that number and ask for Tentrex." He handed her the phone. "One thing. I'll be listening, so don't do anything wrong. Hang up when I tell you."
The girl nodded and made the call. Three rings.
"WE4-3926."
"May I have Tentrex Industries, please?" The girl's voice was very dry.
"I'm sorry," said a soft voice. A faint click came over the line. "Everyone at Tentrex has gone for the day. They'll be back in the morning. May I ask who is calling and what the nature of your business…"
Malcolm broke the connection before the trace had a chance to even get a general fix. The girl slowly replaced the receiver. For the first time she looked directly at Malcolm. "I don't know if I believe everything you say," she said, "but I think I believe some of it."
"One final piece of proof." Malcolm took the gun out of his pants and laid it carefully in her lap. He walked across the room and sat in the beanbag chair. His palms were damp, but it was better to take the risk now than later. "You've got the gun. You could shoot me at least once before I got to you. There's the phone. I believe in you enough to think you believe me. Call anybody you want. Police, CIA, FBI, I don't care. Tell them you've got me. But I want you to know what might happen if you do. The wrong people might get the call. They might get here first. If they do, we're both dead."
For a long time the girl sat still, looking at the heavy gun in her lap. Then, in a soft voice Malcolm had to strain to hear, she said, "I believe you."
She suddenly burst into activity. She stood up, laid the gun on the table and paced the room. "I… don't know what I can do to help you, but I'll try. You can stay here in the extra bedroom. Umm." She looked toward the small kitchen and meekly said, "I could make something to eat."
Malcolm grinned, a genuine smile he thought he had lost. "That would be wonderful. Could you do one thing for me?"
"Anything, anything, I'll do anything." Wendy's nerves unwound as she realized she might live.
"Could I use your shower? The hair down my back is killing me."
She grinned at him and they both laughed. She showed him the bathroom upstairs and provided him with soap, shampoo, and towels. She didn't say a word when he took the gun with him. As soon as she left him he tiptoed to the top of the stairs. No sound of a door opening, no telephone dialing. When he heard drawers opening and closing, silverware rattling, he went back to the bathroom, undressed, and climbed into the shower.
Malcolm stayed in the shower for thirty minutes, letting the soft pellets of water drive freshness through his body. The steam cleared his sinuses, and by the time he shut off the water he felt almost human. He changed into his new pullover and fresh underwear. He automatically looked in the mirror to straighten his hair. It was so short he did it with two strokes of his hand.
The stereo was playing as he came down the stairs. He recognized the album as Vince Guaraldi's score for Black Orpheus . The song was "Cast Your Fate to the Wind." He had the album too, and told her so as they sat down to eat.
During green salad she told Malcolm about small-town life in Illinois. Between bites of frozen German beans he heard about life at Southern Illinois University. Mashed potatoes were mixed with a story concerning an almost fiancé. Between chunks of the jiffy-cooked Swiss steak he
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