Flight of the Raven Read Online Free PDF

Soviet spies moved in the same circles that she did was even more disconcerting. Naturally, being cautious about what one said and did in front of foreign nationals had been drummed into her head so thoroughly that it was almost as automatic as brushing her teeth before going to bed. Still, she was surprised by photos of people with whom she’d interacted. Feliks Gorlov, the Russian agricultural under secretary, for example, had seemed quite personable at the French Bastille Day fete last year. Yelena Danchev, who held a position similar to her own, had started a pleasant conversation with her at last month’s diplomatic speaker’s forum.
    Then there was Aleksei Rozonov, the cultural attaché. Her hand had paused on the photo. This morning in Cal’s office she had been trying to get through the material quickly, but there was something about the picture of the man that had warranted a second look. The candid shot of Rozonov had obviously been taken at a garden party. Though he was standing with a tall glass in hand, she saw that his shoulders were squared and his darkly handsome features alert. But his good looks were pushed to the background by a tangible aura of danger about his person. Julie had shivered and quickly turned the page.
    In an effort to put Rozonov and his cohorts out of her mind, Julie strode purposefully into the bedroom and began sorting through the clothes she intended to drop off at the cleaners tomorrow. It was a relief to focus on a simple domestic chore rather than the morass of confusing details Cal had tossed in her lap.
    One of the items that needed attention was the navy suit she’d worn for eighteen hours the day before. As she checked the pockets, her fingers closed around the ticket from Dan’s desk she’d stuffed there the night before. She’d forgotten all about it. When she drew out the blue rectangle, she felt an odd, disorienting sensation, as though she were looking through a kaleidoscope and some unseen hand had twisted the tube, giving the little pieces of glass a completely different pattern. She’d thought she knew Dan, but all her previous assumptions were being called into question.
    Julie wanted to believe the ticket was the most innocent thing in the world, yet she couldn’t help remembering Cal’s veiled accusations. He suspected that Dan was involved in some sort of debatable activity—maybe even espionage. Did he know something more about her friend, something he wasn’t sharing with her?
    The ticket, she knew, should be turned over to him. But then, if it were really something innocent, why get Cal involved? Why not just go to the play herself? When nothing out of the ordinary happened, she could toss away the ticket stub with a clear conscience.
    She looked at the date. The performance was for seven o’clock tomorrow. As a Spanish major in college, she’d been interested in Alejandro Casona, and she had promised herself to see some of his work performed while she was in Spain. Somehow, with the pressures of her job, she hadn’t gotten around to it. This might be her last opportunity to see his dramas before her tour was up.
    * * *
    W ITH A THEATRICAL flourish, Amherst Gordon tossed the report from Madrid into the office burn bag. “This doesn’t have any more details than The Washington Post, ”he complained.
    His assistant fished out the computer printouts, and smoothed the crumpled sheets. “I’ll bet those poor staffers were up all night putting it together. And I think if we read it carefully we’ll get some insights.”
    The Falcon changed the subject. “There are just too many variables, and I don’t like it one damn bit.”
    “Well, it could be worse. At least we know the Raven wasn’t killed in the blast,” Connie pointed out.
    “But I’ll bet that Soviet ‘wine merchant,’ Ivanov, wasn’t there to sample the sangria.”
    “I’d like to know who he was taking orders from,” Connie mused.
    “The Raven might know. I’d give away the