The Game of X: A Novel of Upmanship Espionage Read Online Free PDF Page A

it reasonably, to preserve your life in order to fight another day. Don’t you think so, Mr. Nye?”
    It was the best sermon I had heard in years. He’d practically brought tears to my eyes.
    “I agree with you fully,” I said.
    “Then you will tell me where to find Karinovsky?”
    “I don’t know where he is.”
    “But you admit that you are Agent X?”
    “Sure. I’ll admit to being Agent X, Y or Z, just to please you. But I still don’t know where Karinovsky is.”
    “I am sorry, you must know,” Forster said. “After all, this is your operation.”
    “No, it’s not,” I said. A bad slip. But he already knew about Guesci.
    “Guesci cannot possibly be in charge,” Forster said. “The man is an obvious incompetent.”
    Now was a nice time to find out.
    “Guesci can be discounted,” Forster continued. “You are in charge, and you possess the relevant information.”
    “I don’t know where he is,” I said, for at least the fifteenth time.
    Forster studied me for a few moments. Then he said, “Mr. Nye, I appeal to your sense of sportsmanship. I beg you not to force me to use—coercion.”
    He was being sincere. My heart went out to him. I really wanted to spare him the pain of causing me pain.
    “I wish I could help you,” I said, “but I can’t. Will you take my word on that?”
    Forster studied me for a few moments. At last he said, “Yes, Mr. Nye. I will take your word. You may leave.”
    I stood up, feeling very confused. “You mean I can just go?”
    Forster nodded. “I have accepted your word. It is possible that, at the moment, you do not know where Karinovsky is. But you will have to find out. And when you do, we will have another talk.”
    “As easy as that?” I asked.
    “Yes. As long as you stay around Venice, I can find you any time I want. I can do what I please with you. Venice is my base, Nye, not yours. Remember that.”
    “I’ll try to bear it in mind.”
    I stood up and walked to the door. Behind me, Forster said, “I wonder, Nye, if you are as good as your dossier indicates. In all frankness, you don’t look particularly dangerous. A casual observer would judge you barely competent. And yet, your record in the Far East speaks for itself. Specialist in guerrilla warfare. Expert in small arms and explosives. Skilled saboteur and arsonist. Licensed to fly fighter aircraft. A former hydroplane operator and master diver. … Have I left anything out?”
    “You forgot my medals in lacrosse and jai alai,” I said. Inwardly I was cursing Colonel Baker’s overreaching imagination. He had poured too much gilt on the lily; in striving to create a paragon, he had only succeeded in producing a paradox.
    “It is a fantastic record,” Forster said, “but inevitably, a bit difficult to believe.”
    “Sometimes I find it hard to believe myself,” I told him. I opened the door.
    “I would really like to find out how formidable you are,” Forster said.
    “Maybe some day you will.”
    “I am looking forward to that day,” Forster said. “Goodbye, Mr. Nye.”
     
    I left the house and walked through the courtyard. The old man was still polishing his taxi. He nodded at me pleasantly as I walked past him. My back felt itchy. I kept on walking. No one shot me, and I suddenly found myself on the street.
    I was safe and sound. It suddenly seemed to me a very good idea to catch the first plane back to Paris. Secret-service work didn’t seem to be my line after all. I was thinking about this so hard that I didn’t even notice the motorcycle until it pulled up to the curb beside me.
    It was a big, high-powered Indian, and the man getting off it was clad in black leather. He was the same man who had ridden beside my taxi.
     
     

 
    6
     
     
    Most of his face was still hidden by immense fur-lined goggles. He had a thin black moustache and a thick lower lip. Sitting on the cycle, he had seemed enormous. Standing on the ground, he was about five feet six, barrel-chested and