The Cold War Swap Read Online Free PDF

cleverly concealed legs. She sat next to me on the couch and kissed me on the temple.
    “You’re getting grayer and grayer, Mac. You’re getting old.”
    “Nothing soon but memories. When all of us old geezers gather around the corner bar in a few years to spend our Social Security checks and start wheezing and drooling to each other about all the girls we’velaid, I’ll just let that film of memory descend and mutter, ‘Bonn, lovely, lovely Bonn.’ ”
    “Whom do you know in the States, Mac?”
    I thought a minute. “Nobody, really. Nobody I want to see. A couple of reporters and embassy types perhaps, but I met them over here. I had a doting and dotty great aunt I was fond of, but she died years ago. That’s where I got the money to open the saloon. Or part of it.”
    “Then where’s your home now?”
    I shrugged. “I was born in San Francisco, but, hell, that’s nobody’s home town. I like New York and Chicago. I like Denver. I even like Washington and London and Paris. Padillo thinks Los Angeles is Paradise-west. If he had his way he’d have the Autobahn run right through the heart of Bonn and plant palm trees along the verge.”
    “How is Mike?”
    “Fine. Off on a trip.”
    “And how was Berlin, rat? You knew I had a couple of days off.”
    “A pure and unsuccessful business venture, laced with too many Martinis—and an assassination waiting for me when I got back.”
    Fredl had nestled her head on my shoulder. Her blond hair tickled my ear. It smelled clean and feminine and fresh. I didn’t see why it needed washing. I let the comment sink in and she sat up with a jerk. I almost spilled my drink.
    “You’re kidding me again.”
    “Well, it happened like this. Two men came in and shot another one. Dead.” I sat back and drew on my cigarette. Suddenly Fredl was all reporter. She fired questions and didn’t take any notes either, and I had a hard time deciding whether Fräulein Doktor Arndt or Lieutenant Wentzel knew more about the killing. It was probably a draw.
    “Does Mike know?” she asked.
    “I haven’t seen him today,” I lied. “He’ll probably think it’s good for business. And God knows the correspondents will descend on us tomorrow at lunch. By the time they stagger out there’ll be a dozentheories and inside stories ranging from a political assassination to a grudge killing by a couple of superannuated SS members.”
    “It depends upon the paper they work for,” Fredl said.
    “And the number of drinks they’ve had.”
    “It might be interesting at that. Buy me lunch tomorrow?”
    “Sure.”
    “Now you can kiss me again.”
    “I haven’t kissed you for the first time yet.”
    “I’m too proud to admit it.”
    I kissed her and, like always, it was as if I were kissing her for the first time—as if everything were new and we both were very, very young but had been born into the world with a postgraduate degree in technique.
    “Get the light, darling,” Fredl whispered.
    “Both of them?”
    “Just the one. You know I like to see what I’m doing.”
    I left Fredl reluctantly at four A.M. She was sleeping, a slight smile on her lips, her face slightly flushed but relaxed. The bed looked warm and inviting. For a long moment I was tempted to lie down again. Instead I padded barefooted and buck-naked into the kitchen, groped for the Scotch bottle, took a long drink, and moved back into the living room, where I dressed quietly. I leaned over and kissed Fredl gently on the forehead. She didn’t stir. That irritated me, so I kissed her again, this time on the lips. She wriggled and opened her eyes and smiled.
    “I just wanted you to know what you’re missing,” I said.
    “Are you leaving, darling?”
    “I must.”
    “Come back to bed. Please.”
    “Can’t. I have to see the police again. Don’t forget lunch.”
    She smiled and I kissed her again. “Go back to sleep,” I said. She smiled again, drowsy and content. I let myself out, rode the elevator down, and