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Read Ebook: A Cadet's Honor: Mark Mallory's Heroism by Sinclair Upton
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Ebook has 1473 lines and 53570 words, and 30 pages
Nadezhda was a big girl with hefty arms, captain of her local broom brigade. "Monster!" She seized him by the collar. "Is Anastina dangerous?"
"Darling!"
"Bitter sweetness!" she howled, dropping him. "Go, love. Make me miserable."
Pashkov spent an hour at Central Intelligence. Nothing unusual going on in Stockholm: an industrial exhibit, the Swedish Academy in session, a sociology seminar on prison reform, a forty-man trade mission from India.
An addendum to the Stockholm file listed two Cuban agents operating from Fralsningsarmen's Economy Lodgings. They were buying small arms and ammunition. He thought a moment, impressed the Cubans' address on his memory, and went to his flier.
He did not fly to Hotel Reisen at once. Zubov's kidnaping team could wait. Coming slowly over Stockholm he spotted the National Hospital and circled.
A line of ambulance fliers was parked on the ground in the ambulance court. On the hospital roof, he noticed, apart from private fliers, stood a flier that resembled his own.
He veered away, detoured around Riddarholmen, and five minutes later landed on the roof of Fralsningsarmen's Economy Lodgings--the Salvation Army flophouse.
"My Cuban friends," Pashkov inquired in fluent English at the desk on the top floor. "Are they in?"
The old desk clerk looked like a stork. "Yu, room six fifteen," he clacked. "Tree floors down. Aer yu Amerikan?"
"Brazil."
"Ah so? You sprikker goot Inglish laik me."
"Very kind of you."
He rode down three floors, found room 615, and stopped as he heard voices within.
"What do you expect for seven thousand bucks--service? Look, boys, I'm just a honest businessman. I can't get it for you today. Have a seegar, Pablo."
"Tfu!"
"All rightie, your cause is my cause. Maybe I can get it for you tonight. But you'll have to pay in advance. What do you say, Francisco?"
"I counted the money. It is waiting for you. You deliver, we pay."
"But how can I trust you? I like you boys, I know you like me, but business is business. I gotta give something to my jobber, don't I?"
"Gringo!"
At that moment Pashkov knocked on the door.
Pashkov knocked again and a scuffle ensued within, the crack of a chair on a skull, the dragging of a beefy body into a closet, and the slam of the closet door.
The door opened a crack and two dark eyes in a young bearded face peered out. "Eh?"
The door opened enough to admit the roly-poly visitor into the room. The other Cuban, also bearded and wearing a fatigue cap, held a revolver.
"No gun-play, caballeros," Pashkov went on in Spanish. "We are in the Salvation Army charity house, not in a two-peso thriller. Besides, I deliver before I ask payment."
"Deliver what, senor?"
"We favor any disturbance close to the United States. May I sit down?"
Between two beds were stacked some dozen crates of explosives. A small table was littered with papers.
Sitting down at the table, Pashkov's elbow rested on an invoice, and moments later the invoice was tucked in his pocket.
"What kind of ammunition do you need, caballeros?"
The Cubans looked at each other. "Thirty-o-six caliber, two-twenty grain. How much can you deliver?"
"Two thousand rounds."
"Not much."
"Maybe three thousand. I'll toss in a box of hand grenades and a can of lysergic acid diethylamide."
"You have that? You have LSD-25?"
"I have that. When are you leaving Stockholm?"
Again the young beards exchanged looks. "Maybe we stay till tomorrow if you have more business. Three thousand rounds is not much. How much payment, senor?"
"Two thousand kronor," Pashkov said, taking an envelope on the table and addressing it to Nadezhda Brunhildova, Kremlin, Moscow. No return address.
"Do you trust us to send the money?"
"It is bad for you if I do not trust you," Pashkov said, smiling up at them.
"You can trust us. We shall send the money. Please take a cigar."
Pashkov took four Havanas from the box they held out to him, stuck three in his breast pocket, and lit one.
"You come again, senor. We make much business."
"Why not? Help retire Latin-American dictators to Siberia. More gold in Siberia than in Las Vegas."
"Hyi, hyi, that is funny. You come again."
On his way up to the roof, Pashkov studied the invoice he had lifted. It was from a manufacturer of sporting arms to Francisco Jesus Maria Gonzales, Salvation Army Economy Lodgings. He tucked the invoice into his inner pocket with a satisfied grunt, climbed into his flier and hopped over to Hotel Reisen, where Zubov's kidnaping team was waiting for him.
Comrade Zubov, the kidnaping expert, was pacing the roof of Hotel Reisen. As Pashkov eased down in his flier, Zubov's big front tooth flashed with delight. Pashkov felt like tossing him a bone.
"Everything in order, Gospodin Pashkov. Constant vigilance maintained at hospital by my two assistants. With your pardon, Comrade Petchareff urges all haste. Colonel James is due to leave the hospital tomorrow."
"Comrade Petchareff always urges haste. What else?"
Zubov's big tooth settled respectfully over his lower lip. His small eyes were so closely set that he looked cockeyed when he focused them on his superior.
"With your pardon, I shall conduct you to our suite. Plans for kidnaping of Colonel James all ready."
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