Leon Uris Read Online Free PDF Page A

example, it served as a safe sanctuary.
    And, after all, Nicole was only next door, and no matter how serious the argument, the door was never locked.
    He flung off his sport shirt and threw it into the chair untidily, knowing this would gall Nicole. She threw the door open.
    “My gratitude for the lovely evening, and particularly the hot dogs ... with the works.”
    A deliberate thump of his shoe was followed by a long silent stare from one to the other.
    “What is the matter with us?” she said, puzzled. “After twenty years some sort of terrible chasm has opened. We can’t even talk to each other anymore. We only seem to want to hurt each other.”
    “When one is very young,” André said, “one is able to give and take a fearful beating. But, even with the strongest, time wears them thin. Scar tissues develop over the continued wounds. You see, we don’t have to hit each other very hard anymore. Just a well-directed jab to the scar and the wound breaks open and the blood pours out.”
    André was able to twist and punish her with his words and suffocate her into silence. Nicole knew that the way of things allowed him to wear his “gallantry” on his sleeve, a walking martyr, and as he grew more weary from the pressures of his work his “martyrdom” became more apparent to her, if to no one else. But what of her? She had to take it all in silence and perhaps suffered even more deeply because of the silence.
    “André, can we talk?”
    “Honestly or dishonestly? We’ll only seek justifications. Neither of us really wants to know the truth about ourselves. One of the great human capacities is to avoid introspection at any price.”
    “You know you tie me up with your words. It’s not fair.”
    “Please, Nicole, I’m very tired.”
    She returned to her bedroom without closing the door. André sat on the edge of his bed, looking unseeingly at the patterns on the rug. The telephone rang. He lifted the receiver wearily.
    “Devereaux.”
    “Mike Nordstrom.”
    After twelve years in Washington, André still could not get used to the idea of speaking to a colleague by his first name. Funny bunch, the Americans. “Oh, hello, Mike,” he answered, glancing at his watch. It was past midnight.
    “I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.”
    “I was at the ball game.”
    “How did it go?”
    “Yankees won. Ford was superb, but it was a good game. Maybe we’ll catch one together next week.”
    “Sure. Listen, I know it’s a hell of an hour to call, but we’ve got to visit tomorrow.”
    André understood the intimation. It was obviously something important. “I’ll clear my desk early.”
    “Good. How about lunch? Market Inn at one.”
    “Fine.”
    “And, André. Try to keep the weekend clear. We may have to go out of town.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    André replaced the receiver as though it had suddenly become very weighted. He bent over to unlace the second shoe and his left arm went without feeling. He tried to stand, reeled to his leather chair. His breath quickened and lightheadedness engulfed him. His eyes rolled back and he brinked on darkness.
    What had Dr. Kaplan said about these attacks? There was an exotic name, narcolepsy. Drowsiness, loss of memory, loss of the use of an arm or leg.
    Sometimes it lasted only a minute ... or it could last a day. Thank God, he was out of his attacks in minutes.
    He staggered to the bathroom and gulped down an ephedrine pill, then fell back in the chair waiting for the attack to pass.
    Take it easy, Dr. Kaplan had warned. How? Avoid tension. How? Take a rest. How? Perhaps the doctor thinks intelligence men should form a union and strike for better conditions? No country could afford to pay their intelligence people on an hourly basis. They’d run out of money.
    In addition to running the SDECE establishment in the Western Hemisphere, he was the French ININ Chief. The situation between Washington and Paris continued to deteriorate, and he had placed himself