Shadow of the Condor Read Online Free PDF Page B

hell of a mess. One of his men got blown in France in 1965 while trying to destroy the French Communist Party singlehandedly. It took a quarter of a million to buy him out, and his stupid plot wrecked a promising network. Three years later one of the general's men got blown while under arrest for murdering a native over a girl in Iran . That matter still hasn't been completely cleared up. There have been other cases, most of them less spectacular. Now we have a doozy.
    "About two days ago one of his better agents--one whom your agency had thought of pirating, by the way turned up dead in Montana after disappearing in Europe two weeks earlier. The agent, one Donald Parkins, was stationed out of London , where he was last heard from when he filed a rather strange report. We have no idea how or why he ended up where he did. The details, what we know of them, are in that first file folder in the pile on my desk. You can get them later if you decide you want to work on it."
    "I don't need time to think about my decision, sir. I'm very interested. Very interested."
    "I thought you would be," the old man said gleefully. "I thought you would be! There is a good deal to do, and we have to move as quickly as possible before this thing gets cold. You have a lot to study before I set you loose, but first you have a trip to make, a very important trip. To Cincinnati ."
    " Cincinnati ? Why?"
    The old man smiled and leaned back in his chair. It had taken him ten minutes to find an adequate metaphor. The old man liked to play with words. Weaving concepts through words made thinking so much more interesting. He cocked his head as he spoke to Kevin. "You’re going to Cincinnati for something special, something very special: a little fledgling we are going to turn into a fine hunting bird. It's time our Condor left his roost."

2
    Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversation in it, 'and what is the use of a book/ thought Alice , 'without pictures or conversation?'
    Ronald Malcolm sighed as he pushed the broom halfway under the bed. He knew he should move the bed away from the wall to do a thorough cleaning job, but he salved his conscience with a minimal amount of sweeping. The sunlight filtering through, the venetian blinds highlighted tiny flying dust particles disturbed by Malcolm's cleaning efforts. The flecks spun wildly through the air with the first shock waves of motion, then floated aimlessly away, disappearing until the next cleaning session. Malcolm inhaled deeply. The faint smell of pollen mingled with the musky pungent odor of household dirt. He wondered briefly if the allergy shots would work this year.
    Malcolm propped the broom against his bedroom wall and shuffled into the living room. A cup of almost cool coffee sat on the coffee table. Malcolm slouched on the couch next to the table, put his tennis-shoe-clad feet on the artificial wood surface and let his eyes roam around the room for the hundredth plus time that day.
    It was a fairly large living room for a living room in a modern apartment complex." The couch and two end tables didn't take up all the space along the wall. The door and short hallway were to Malcolm's immediate right. On the wall to his left were tables supporting his stereo, his records and the broken television set. The set died three months before, freeing Malcolm from the hated, addicting presence of the uncontrolled world in his living room. Bookshelves covered the wall opposite Malcolm. Most of the shelves were filled. The books included a spattering of philosophy, some elementary psychology textbooks, several historical volumes, a shelf of biography, two shelves of classical literature and an almost unused accounting book he had been unable to return to the bookstore after he dropped out of the business class on the second day. A Picasso