Shadow of the Condor

by Grady, James

  "I have another request."

  "More farmers you want tracked down?"

  "Yes." Malcolm read Carl all the information he had on the Robinsons and the Kincaids, omitting the story of the, lie.

  "And you want-a general background check run on these people?" Carl asked., "Is there any particular reason?"

  Malcolm knew Carl would suspect something if he received an unsatisfactory reply. Malcolm hadn't counted on dealing with Carl directly, but he used the same story he would have told the communications liaison who normally answered the checkin phone. "Nothing in particular. They're the next closest farms to the missile site besides the brothers. I want to do a routine check on everybody who lives within ten miles of the site to correlate what you get with what I already have."

  "I certainly can't promise you anything. Such matters will obviously received a fairly low priority rating unless the situation warrants a reexamination of their merit."

  Simply translated, Malcolm knew this meant Carl would not push for the information unless directly ordered to by the old man. The old man would not directly order Carl to do that unless Malcolm asked him, and Malcolm knew that if he asked to speak to the old man, he would raise a large number of questions he didn't want asked.

  It took Malcolm a moment to come up with a solution to his dilemma. Finally he 6aid, "Look, Carl, tell you what. Just run checks on those two families, then I'll correlate the data you get me with what I have, figure out what specifics I have to know, and with the next set of people I have you check I'll have specific questions so you don't waste any time. Okay?"

  "And you can't do that this time?" Carl's condescending tone came through loud and clear.

  "No, I can't."

  "Very well. I'll. see what we can do, although I can't promise you anything. I will bring this matter to the proper attention."

  "You do that, Carl," said Malcolm, "you do that."

  Sheila smiled at Malcolm as he hung up. "Carl really is a shit, isn't he?"

  Malcolm frowned. "Who told you that?"

  "You did," she replied, smiling. "Some of your comments and descriptions under interrogation were slightly unorthodox. But appropriate."

  Malcolm paid little attention to what Sheila said. His conscience bothered him. If the old man knew what he knew . . . but then that was impossible. Malcolm frowned. Sheila noticed his mood. She moved away from the phone table to the bed. She reached in the closet and brought out the overnight case.

  "I think I better let Chou know about this too."

  Malcolm made no reply.

  "First," Sheila said, deliberately carrying on a conversation, "I think I'll get out of these wet clothes."

  Sheila hoped her body might distract Malcolm from his deep and therefore dangerous thoughts. She took off the nylon windbreaker and hung it from the bathroom doorknob. She set the overnight case on the luggage rack at the edge of the bed, then she unfastened her shoulder holster. She looked to where Malcolm stood on the other side of the bed as she threw the gun and holster on the bed with one hand and unbuttoned her blouse with the other. She concentrated on her words as she said, "I have no idea what Chou's orders will be, but I'm sure. . .

  That was as far as she got. Cocktail party Freudians claim accidents do not happen, they are caused. Suffice it to say that Sheila consciously did not intend the sequence of actions which followed after she threw the gun on the bed. True, her interpretation of the moment helped define the events, but Malcolm played a major role too.

  The gun didn't stay where Sheila threw it. In her divided attention she exerted more effort-than necessary. The gun landed on the edge of the mattress, right next to the frame at the bottom edge of the bed. The firm mattress bounced the gun back into the air, then the gun slid from sight between the bed's baseboard and mattress.

  Malcolm saw the whole scene as part of a dream. As the gun vanished from view, he knew he had to take the chance. He had a good reason to try to break her control. He hated himself the whole time, but he knew he had to chance it. Sheila was unarmed now, and he was not drugged. When his eyes met hers, he knew she knew his thoughts.

  Sheila moved first. Her reactions were quicker, she was more experienced and her choices were simpler. She had to reestablish control over Malcolm. To do that, she needed the gun. She quickly bent and shot her hand toward the narrow crack between the baseboard and the mattress.

  Malcolm's reactions were slower, he was less experienced and he had more options to choose from. He didn't know precisely what he wanted other than to control the situation. At what price he wasn't sure. When he made his lunge for the bed, Sheila's hand was already going down between the mattress and the baseboard.

  Sheila looked up in time to see Malcolm hurtling toward her. She jerked her hand to meet Malcolm's outstretched arm. She caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him toward her with all her might, her strength adding to his momentum. Malcolm inadvertently "aided her" when his' right foot tripped over the knapsack he had sloppily discarded on the floor. He sped past Sheila to land on his stomach by the door. McGiffert's training wasn't all wasted: Malcolm quickly rolled and came up in fighting stance, slightly off-balance, but at least fairly prepared. Had he tried for the door' Sheila would have been all over his back.

  This is stupid, thought Malcolm, stupid. Sheila stood almost five feet from him. She had moved to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser. She too stood in a fighting position, her left side to him, her left arm bent at the elbow and the edge of her open hand extending toward him. Her right fist guarded her solar plexus and the lower portion of her body. She bent both legs at the knees, with most of her weight on her right trailing leg. She slowly moved her left leg up and down in a bouncing motion, her toes never quite leaving the floor.

  Malcolm wanted to say something, but no words came. He didn't want to hurt her. McGiffert had told him that once he lost the initiative, he should either close quickly for the kill or defend himself until his, opponent made a mistake. Malcolm couldn't even conceive of attacking her. He stood frozen in his position, vaguely planning to counter her attack, to neutralize her without harming her. How, he didn't know. He didn't have to wait long for his chance.

  Sheila moved gracefully, almost effortlessly. Chou made her practice two hours each day. Her muscles were loose and limber, her moves were precise. She stepped forward with her right foot, easily changing her guard with a smooth unhurried motion. She sped into her attack while Malcolm was still reacting to her first move. She jumped high into the air, her left knee jerking up. Malcolm reacted for her left-foot kick just as she anticipated. She twisted in the air while her right foot snapped toward his head in a roundhouse kick.

  Malcolm realized his mistake too late to avoid the full kick. He ducked and raised his blocking left forearm. His block absorbed much of the shock, but Sheila's kick knocked his arm against his head. For some reason, perhaps "accidental," her kick didn't carry the full force she possessed. The ball of her foot grazed the top of Malcolm , s head, but the blow stunned him only briefly.

  In direct opposition to McGiffert's instructions, when Malcolm bounced off the wall, he jumped toward Sheila, his arms groping blindly in front of him. Her reverse punch caught him just below his ribs as his arms encircled her harmlessly. Instead of bringing a knee to the groin or a palm-heel uppercut to his chin, Sheila shifted her body, grabbed Malcolm's almost lifeless arm and used a shoulder throw to hurtle him over her head. Malcolm's feet grazed the ceiling as he passed through the air. He landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed.

  Pain brought Malcolm back to consciousness. Pain and a terror it took him several minutes to place. As the fire burned through his brain, he realized he couldn't breathe,, he was suffocating. He heard his laboring body desperately trying to suck oxygen in great wheezing gasps. His diaphragm heaved convulsively. For several seconds he was sure he would pass out again, but gradually, slowly, his lungs recovered, sucking the air in and out, in and out.

 
The pain built as his instinctual terror of suffocation faded. His forearm throbbed, his back ached as if it had been hit with a baseball bat and his head still burned. He blinked his eyes, mildly surprised to find his contacts still on center. It took him several seconds to realize Sheila knelt above him working his arms up and down in resuscitation efforts.

  "You fool!" he heard her whisper. "You stupid, stupid fool!"

  She continued to pull up and push down on his arms even after she saw his eyes open. He tried to tell her to stop, but the words wouldn't leave his body. After a few more motions his breathing returned to normal. She stopped.

  "Malcolm, are you ... are you all right?"

  "Mmmmmnn." Malcolm licked his lips and tried again. His voice was very weak. "I I think so. My arm hurts, but I don't think it's broken. Head, my head is starting to feel better and I can breathe easier now. I don't think I hurt my back any. Didn't help it any either."

  "Do you think you can sit up? Get to the bed?"

  "With help."

  It took three minutes and several stages before Malcolm lay flat on the bed. First a very slow sit-up. Then standing, leaning heavily on Sheila for support. A few tentative steps to the side of the bed, then sitting again. And a nice, easy lowering. She raised his feet to the bed, then sat beside him.

  Malcolm closed his eyes. His breathing and pulse were almost normal again. Although he had no recollection of it, he knew he must have followed at least some of the correct procedures for a break-fall or he would have been seriously injured. Perhaps the tortuous sessions with McGiffert had paid some dividends after all. They certainly hadn't helped him defeat a smaller female opponent.

  Except for general soreness in his back and arm Malcolm felt fairly good when he opened his eyes. At least he was still alive. The first thing he saw after he blinked to clear his contacts was Sheila staring down at him. The first thing he noticed about her was her eyes: Red lines crossed the whites, and in the comer's he saw drops of liquid barely held in.

  You're crying," he said softly. He slowly raised his right hand to touch her cheek. "You're crying."

  Sheila said nothing. She turned her face into his hand. He felt the tears trickle down his wrist. She sobbed, softly at first, then deeper and louder, like an animal under heavy, painful exertion.

  Malcolm shifted slightly, carefully keeping her face cupped in his hand. He tried to pull her face toward him, to look at her, but she used what strength she had left to resist him. She was too weak to resist when he pulled her down beside him on the bed. He carefully wrapped his an-ns around her, pulling her as tightly to his still-sore body as he could. Her sobs came closer together now, and her body rose and fell in the effort. Tears wet almost her whole face.

  Malcolm had no idea how long they lay like that. Eventually Sheila's sobs ceased, but she still clung silently to him. When she had made no sounds for some time and the tears had ceased to flow on his arm, he carefully tilted her face until they looked at each other.

  "You stupid fool," she whispered, "you silly, stupid fool. I might have killed you! I might have hurt you very badly!"

  "But you didn't," Malcolm replied, conscious that he was whispering too, for no apparent reason. "You didn't. You cried instead."

  Sheila pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit it, al most as if she were about to cry again. Malcolm gently touched her cheek, and her mouth became normal once more. She stared at him fixedly in silence. Then, slowly, he moved closer to her and softly kissed her. When he opened his eyes again, she still stared at him. He kissed her once more, lightly, tenderly, then moved his face alongside her and held her close. She hesitated briefly, then he felt her arms tighten around him. He held her for several minutes before he kissed her again. This time she kissed him back. Her lips parted slowly and he felt her breathing increase its tempo. Her lips tasted of salt from the tears, and a sweet-sour sweat smell filled his nostrils. They kissed again, and again, each time more deeply. Her fingers twined through his hair as he slowly, gently closed his hand on her firm breast.

  She sat up on the bed. Her hands moved rapidly and her blouse and bra fell to the floor. Seconds later her shoes, pants, panties and socks joined them. Malcolm barely had his shirt off and his pants undone before she turned back to' him. Her hands flew over his body, her mouth smothered his face. He gently squeezed the firm, hard flesh of her breasts, felt her nipples stiffen. He ran his hand down her flat stomach until he cupped her groin. She moved furiously, pulling his underwear down, and mounting him almost before he realized it. She crouched above him, moving, moving, moving, then he ceased analyzing what was happening until after they exploded.

  They made love once more that hour, only this time more slowly, more carefully.

  "What do we do now?" she finally asked. Her head lay on his chest.

  "I don't know. I don't know," Malcolm replied truthfully.

  "I know one thing," she said finally. She sat up and smiled down at him almost regretfully. He stroked her hair "I have to check in with Chou. And I'll have to tell him about the Russian going to ground."

  Malcolm watched her for several seconds -before he said, "I suppose so." Sheila kissed his hand gently and shifted to get off the bed. He caught her before she was standing. She turned back to face him, and he said, "But what about this?"

  "I don't know," she said. "Right now ... well, right now it just is. And no matter how much either of us wishes it, things aren't altered."

  Malcolm let her go. He lay perfectly still while she talked in Chinese to Chou. Malcolm had no thoughts. He had no idea what she said. When she came back to the bed, she told him Chou ordered them to continue as before. He said it would be best to follow Carl's orders.

  "He also said he might come down to see us," she told Malcolm. "He wouldn't say for sure because he deliberately wants to keep us guessing. Good tactics. He's interested in what we found out about the Robinsons and Kincaids, but he says the time to move hasn't come yet. We just have to wait.

  Malcolm didn't really care what Chou thought about the mission just then. Malcolm had only one thought. "Did you tell him about us? About this?"

  Sheila looked at him almost as if she were about to cry again. She bit her lip, then violently shook her head from side to side. "I didn't, I didn't tell him, I didn't! Oh, Malcolm, I didn't tell him and"~-she paused to smile sardonically. 'I should have! I was supposed to!"

  Malcolm said nothing as he pulled her close.

  The rain beat against the windows all night long.

  14

  The Red Queen made no resistance whatever, only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green: and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter-,and fatter-and softer-and rounder-and-

  "So far we have no word. The North Dakota and Montana police have an APB out for him on a robbery charge, with orders to locate and observe. One of them may try to be a hero and bring him in, but we stressed that he is only to be found, then we're to take it from there. I've flooded the area around the missiles with agents, and the police are warning local motels and hotels to report any suspicious single men." Kevin paused. The old man still hadn't chewed him out for losing Rose. That worried him.

  "Exactly how did Rose slip away?" The old man's voice A on the other end of the phone line didn't seem to contain malice.’’

  'Simple enough," replied Kevin. "He had been setting us up for it ever since he left Chicago. He got us accustomed to him pulling -in at rest stops. That allowed him to see who drove by and set us up for a switch. After the call to Woodward, Rose pulled into the first rest stop he found with one other car in it. While we were watching his blip on the radar screen, he was over the hill forcing an old man and woman to, give him their car. It took only a second for them to transfer his luggage, and they all drove away together in the old couple's car. We watched the original blip. "By the way, the old man he kidnapped thinks one of Rose's bags contained some type of machine. Rose made him treat it very carefully, and the man sa
id it looked as though the bag was built around something rather than something put in a bag. "After forcing the old man to drive him about fifteen miles, Rose had him pull off on a country road. He bound them with tape from their first-aid kit and left them in a gully. It took the old man an hour to hop to the highway and another thirty minutes before someone found him. The APB carries a description of the stolen car, but I wouldn't be surprised if Rose has switched again.

  "He dumped the couple off just south of Underwood. Four major highways are within a couple miles of there. Rose could have gone in any direction on them. The maze of the country roads out hera doesn't help either.

  "I'm guessing he's headed for the missile site where Parkins died. We have all sorts of patrols checking the most likely routes to that area, but my hopes aren't up. It's an awful lot of country. If he stays in the area, we'll eventually get him, but I'm worried that he’ll complete his mission and then vanish. I'm mad, upset and feel stupid all at the same time. I'm also sorry, sir, very, very, sorry."

  "Kevin," the old man comforted firmly, "don't blame yourself. You had a very difficult task and Rose is obviously a very skillful opponent. Perhaps, with hindsight, we could see other options we might have taken, but crying over our mistakes now will do us no good.

  "Besides, we haven't failed yet. I am sure Rose hasn't completed his mission. I feel it in my bones. And I think at this point we should concentrate on stopping him from completing that mission.

  "Keep your orders to the local authorities the same. But once you've found Rose, I want you and our people to move in and neutralize him. If you could arrange a capture of him that didn't get him into bureau hands for, say, two or three hours, I think we will still come out of this ahead of the game."

  "I understand, sir."

  "I thought you would. Just in case we are successful with that contingency, I'm flying Dr. Lofts out to Malmstrom Air Base. With helicopters kindly provided at the general's orders, Lofts should be able to get to Rose within an hour if the capture is anywhere near the missile site. If not, could you arrange for Rose to be brought to a suitable location for 'preliminary examination!’'