Read Online Ultimate Issue by George Markstein - Free Book Online Page A

would have been married by now,” she remarked, almost to herself.
    He was curious. “Why?”
    “Well,” said Alex, “she’s very attractive, isn’t she? I shouldn’t imagine she’d have any difficulty finding somebody. Don’t you agreed”
    “Yes, I suppose so. If she wants to.”
    “She didn’t strike me as being the career-girl type.”
    It was the end of Serena as a topic of conversation. Alex changed the subject with an announcement she had been saving up.
    “By the way, I got the tickets. For the Kirov.” Her voice was triumphant.
    The Kirov season at Covent Garden was the big sensation. There were all-night lines at the box office, and getting seats was a major achievement.
    “How did you manage that?” asked Daventry.
    “Ah.” Alex enjoyed playing it mysteriously. “I’ve got hidden talents.”
    “When are we going?” he inquired.
    “Next Tuesday. Put it in your book now. Kolpakov is dancing Giselle. I think you’ll enjoy it,” she said encouragingly. “They’ve got a dancer called Nureyev, and he’s supposed to be fantastic. If only we had somebody like that over here. I think I’ll try for Sleeping Beauty as well,” Alex’s voice continued, as if from a distance. “We might as well make the most of it while the Kirov’s in London, don’t you think?”
    “Yes, why not?” he muttered, but he hardly heard her.
    47
    His mind was on his lunch date the following day. He wished he knew how to get out of it.
    The trouble was that Gerald Daventry was a coward.

London
    Laurie lived in a furnished apartment in a smart block of flats in Sloane Avenue. It was an oppressively small place, almost cramped, but she had given it some personal touches. Plants by the window, a couple of modernistic prints, a ceramic figure of a jester. They helped, but it was still an anonymous, lonely habitation.
    “I’ll fix you a drink,” she said, and disappeared in the tiny kitchen.
    On top of a bookcase was the framed photograph of a lieutenant in the Marine Corps.
    “That’s my brother,” she said, coming in with a tray, a bottle of scotch, an ice bucket, and two glasses on it. “He won the Bronze Star in Korea.”
    “Where is he now?” he asked.
    “Naples,” she said, pouring the drinks. The ice clinked.
    “Your only brother?”
    She nodded. “I have a sister, but she’s a bitch.”
    He wanted to know more, but her tone was uninviting. Verago tasted the whisky with relish. It was good, well matured, at least twelve years old. He appreciated it. The effects of the drinks earlier had worn off in the cab ride to her place.
    “Where’s your home, Laurie?”
    “Chicago,” she said. “What about you?”
    “New York.” He didn’t amplify. “So tell me, what brought you over here?”
    “You are nosey, Gaptain Verago,” she said. “They sent me here. I’m a GS-eight, right. I work for the Department of the Air Force, I go where I’m sent. Satisfied?”
    She got up, went over to a drawer in the sideboard, and brought out a box of cigars. She held it out to him.
    “You like Upmans?”
    He took one, incised the end with his nail, and lit it. So, she kept cigars in her apartment. All the home comforts for a man. What man? The spook? Her boss?
    She put the box of cigars back in the drawer.
    “You won’t like Laconbury,” she said unexpectedly. She had kicked off her shoes.
    “Oh? What’s wrong with it?”
    “You’ll find out.”
    48
    That annoyed him. “I don’t go for riddles, Laurie. What’s wrong with Laconbury?”
    “You ever heard of Detachment Seven?”
    “No.”
    She leaned across and poured him another slug of whisky. “How do you defend a man charged with adultery, Tony?” she asked.
    “Detachment seven,” he insisted. “What about it? What is it?”
    “Oh, I just wondered what you had heard of it,” she said dismissively. She raised her glass. “Salut.”
    They both drank. Then she repeated the question: “You still haven’t told me. How do you set about