Legacy of a Spy Read Online Free PDF

Slater in Zurich. He had been doing graduate work at the University, simply marking time, wondering what to do with his life. Government service had seemed to be the answer. They would pay him enough to live on, send him all over the world, and he could be of real service in the protection of his country’s security.
    He had done that first job successfully, in spite of the government organization. He had been appalled at the department’s slipshod methods and cavalier approach to international security; and when they had asked him to take on another project, he had refused unless he could work his own way—and alone. He had been told that if he didn’t become integrated into the organization, he couldn’t advance his career. Slater had said he didn’t care, that he had no intention of making this a career. Slater smiled ruefully.
    He had had a great many ideas of his own. He had believed in training, for one thing, and the government had paid for it. Slater had sought out professionals to give him, individually, the skills he believed his job required. He had learned judo the hard way from a professional wrestler in Japan. A German mercenary in the French Foreign Legion had taught him the use of firearms and knives. Slater had gone into the prisons to learn forgery and illegal entry. He had learned how to make an effective bomb with several timing devices from things anyone could purchase at a drugstore.
    His superiors had laughed at him when he had requested permission to study the art of make-up from a well-known Broadway authority. That was cloak and dagger Hollywood style; he would never use it. But Slater had stuck to his guns, and, little by little, the wheels had finally become convinced by his successful performances that, for him at least, this training was worthwhile.
    The idea that had been gnawing at Slater for eight years was the increasing realization that his primary reason for all the special training he had received was his own fear. He had to be good, or he would be killed. This thought kept running through his mind and had, to a large degree, spoiled any feeling of accomplishment. Each new mission, every close call, and there had been many, left him more and more fearful. He had deliberately isolated himself from contact with people in his own organization. This had been done out of fear for his own security, but lately it had boomeranged. He needed desperately to confide in someone, and there wasn’t anyone.
    Slater knew he had built up a legend about himself. He was considered the best counterespionage agent his country had, and now they counted on him for too much. They told him too much. He knew almost every important Allied counterespionage operator in Europe. The Communists would give a great deal to nail the man called Montague, and Slater knew this for a fact. He had seen a copy of one of their dossiers on him. They had given him credit for some things he hadn’t done and had missed a few he had been in on, but they were still too close. That dossier was now two years old.
    Over the years, Slater had used so many identities he had no concrete idea which were compromised. He was pretty certain that the only one he could be sure of was his own, William A. Slater. In any event, it was a pleasure to be himself for a change. He had already made up his mind that this was to be his last mission.
    At the Swiss border, the passport inspector took Slater’s passport and looked him over carefully.
    “You are a tourist, Mr. Slater?” he asked.
    “Yes,” said Slater cheerfully, “that’s right.”
    “What is your business in the United States?”
    “Well, I’m about to open up a ski resort in New Hampshire.” Slater smiled. “I’m sort of on a busman’s holiday. Thought I might get a few good ideas from your country.”
    “This is your first visit to Switzerland?”
    “Oh no,” said Slater. “I was a graduate student at the University of Zurich, but, unfortunately, that was a long time