MFU Whitman - The Affair of the Gentle Saboteur Read Online Free PDF

pipe.
    "And you were to be this saboteur."
    "I am the best in the world, Mr. Waverly."
    "But you have failed!"
    "Failed?" The little man smoked his cigarette calmly. "We cannot always all succeed. Happenstance, chance, circumstance—who knows? Maybe the entire plan was doomed to failure. Perhaps its effect would have been the reverse of that intended." He shrugged. "I am not the commander, the general, the architect of plans. I am but one small soldier."
    "Soldier! A soldier who murders hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent bystanders."
    The little man uncrossed his legs. A crease appeared between his eyes. For the first time he seemed to be offended.
    "I am not a murderer! I am a soldier assigned to destroy certain targets. As in bombing raids, the death of innocent civilians does occur. But that is not the purpose. That is incidental, cannot be helped. The purpose is the destruction of the targets, and I am the soldier assigned."
    "Well, you're one soldier THRUSH will no longer have."
    "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mr. Waverly."
    " What ?"
    The little man crushed his cigarette in an ash tray. He looked toward McNabb. McNabb tossed the package of cigarettes. Stanley caught it skillfully. He drew out a cigarette and lit it with a lighter from Waverly's desk. Solo watched, fascinated.
    "They now know you have me, Mr. Waverly," Stanley said. "I'm certain they shall attempt a means for my rescue."
    "Who do you mean by 'they'?"
    "My people."
    "And how do they know?"
    "Quite simple. I was to call a certain number every four hours precisely on the hour. If my call did not come through, they would know."
    "What number?"
    "What difference? There's no longer anyone there."
    "What number!"
    Stanley gave him the number. Waverly made the call. There was no answer. Waverly hung up, tapped ash from his pipe, relit it.
    "I want to know all about your people, Mr. Stanley."
    "Happy to oblige you, sir. I'm not one for keeping secrets, as they well know; perhaps that's why they don't impart too many of their secrets to me. I'm unique unto myself—and so they must countenance me. I work with dreadful explosives. I am an expert, the best there is. I live with danger. I expose myself, risk my life, every time I do a job. I am paid well, but I make no pretense at being a hero, and they know it. In my life I've been caught a few times. I've talked—to mitigate my punishment. I'm a soldier, not a martyr. It is my pattern for survival. I cooperate. You know my motto, sir." The little man grinned with yellow teeth. "He who cooperates today lives to cooperate another day."
    "Tell me, please, about your people. Who is here in the States with you?"
    "Leslie Tudor, Eric Burrows, Pamela Hunter."
    Solo braced. Now here was a sudden stroke of luck. In the new reorganization of the British Sector of THRUSH, Eric Burrows was second in command and Leslie Tudor was the new chief. UNCLE knew all about Burrows, but UNCLE knew absolutely nothing about Leslie Tudor. Now here was an unexpected break. He wondered how the Old Man would handle it.
    Waverly showed no excitement. His seamed face remained placid. Contentedly he puffed his pipe, and he started with the least important name.
    "Pamela Hunter?" he inquired.
    "A beautiful young woman recruited to THRUSH," Stanley said. "Her first important job. Two bigwigs are breaking her in."
    "Ah, yes, bigwigs. Burrows is an old and respected antagonist. Tell us a bit about your new chief."
    "Nothing to tell."
    "Well, anything." Waverly smiled encouragingly.
    "I wish I could oblige you, Mr. Waverly. I can't. Tudor has a passion for anonymity. He works through Eric Burrows. I know Burrows well. Tudor—nothing. I've never seen him. I've never heard his voice. All I know is the name— Leslie Tudor."
    Waverly sucked on his pipe, hiding his disappointment behind a cloud of smoke. "All right. We know how and when you came here. When did they come?"
    "Last week."
    "How?"
    "By private jet to a private airstrip in Nova