Read Online Trans-Siberian Express by Warren Adler - Free Book Online

born. She had come from Vladivostok, where his father had met her in 1919. Only a schoolgirl then, she and the young officer had become correspondents. Ten years later he had brought her to America to become his wife. Alex had actually entered kindergarten knowing only a few words of English.
    As he reviewed the documents, the President stood up and spoke to someone on the telephone. He then nodded to Alex and left the room. Secretary Carlyle also reached for a phone and began talking in hushed tones. It was obvious to Alex that somehow their meeting with him had been the top priority of the day. When Secretary Carlyle had completed his phone call, he walked to a sideboard and poured himself a drink.
    “Brandy?”
    “Thank you,” Alex said. He could use one. He noted that the Secretary’s hand shook as he poured. Sipping, he continued to read.
    “It is an efficient presentation,” he said, after absorbing the information in the documents.
    The Secretary had dozed. Clearing his throat deliberately, Alex roused him.
    “You should get some rest,” he said. The man looked wan and exhausted.
    “Normally, I sleep on the plane,” Secretary Carlyle said. “But Dimitrov disturbed me. I couldn’t get him out of my mind.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What does that tell you?” he asked, pointing to the documents which Alex had replaced in the envelope.
    “From the information in these reports, I’d say the diagnosis of the Russian doctors was quite correct. Acute myeloblastic leukemia.”
    “Which means?”
    “His condition is tenuous.”
    “How much time does he have?”
    Alex sighed.
    “With chemotherapy, perhaps some. I could hardly give you a complete evaluation from this.” He pointed to the envelope on his knees. “In any event the problem is that the chemotherapy must be carefully monitored. It could set off all sorts of debilitating reactions and, even under optimum circumstances, it is quite chancy. Unfortunately, Russian medicine is not sophisticated in its administration, but I’m sure that I can provide adequate instruction—”
    “Dr. Cousins,” the Secretary interrupted, “I don’t think we’ve made ourselves clear.”
    “I don’t understand,” Alex said, merely to prolong the inevitable.
    “Dr. Cousins, Dimitrov wants you. At his side. In Russia. We’re expecting you to fly to the Soviet Union within the next twelve hours. You’ll have to wind up your affairs at home and keep your destination a secret. It won’t be easy, Dr. Cousins, I know that, but, as you now know, this is a matter of the gravest national security.”
    Alex knew. He had been waiting for this announcement and his mind had been turning over various methods of refusal. It was quite possible for the chemotherapy to be administered by a reasonably competent Russian doctor who was given precise instructions over the phone. Why did he have to be part of their political intriguing? He had, long ago, reached his own conclusions about the basic immorality of politicians and all their games. Besides, despite the careful arguments of the Secretary, he had remained skeptical. The whole scenario was too fantastic to be believed.
    “I would be less than honest,” the Secretary continued, “if I didn’t tell you that this assignment may involve some physical danger.”
    Such a possibility had also occurred to Alex, who had never felt himself to be particularly courageous. He knew the low threshold of his own tolerance for pain.
    “They will watch you constantly, listen to your conversation, follow you everywhere. They will minutely search your possessions. The loyal intelligence under Dimitrov’s direction will watch you and the potentially disloyal intelligence will watch you. Dimitrov’s enemies will want to know his condition. They will try anything to find out. After all, you will have in your possession the most important piece of information in the Soviet Union.”
    Alex wanted to laugh. It was absurd.