The Peregrine Spy Read Online Free PDF Page B

you guys are outcasts.”
    Though he and Gus had worked together in Vietnam, Troy seemed brusque and distracted as he introduced them to the office they would share with others on his staff. He turned them over to Stan Rushmore, a gruff, heavy-set New Yorker. Evening had set in as Rushmore turned over the keys to the Fiat Millecento that would be theirs for the duration of their stay. “Which may not be long,” muttered Rushmore. Driving a Chevy Nova that looked huge compared to their Fiat, Rushmore led them to the house they would occupy. Frank followed, making mental notes on their short route to reinforce the hand-drawn map Tom Troy had given them. Rushmore pulled up at the curb in front of one of a series of identical houses. He climbed out of his Nova long enough to point to one of them and drove off.
    “I get the feeling,” said Gus, “no one’s real anxious to have us here.”
    “Somehow,” said Frank, “I get the same feeling.”
    They noticed the broken lock on the wrought-iron fence at the foot of the stone steps of the house they would occupy. “Wouldn’t make much difference, would it?” said Gus. “Locked or not, that gate wouldn’t keep out much.”
    Brick and poured concrete gave the house a solid appearance. Dark metal shades covered the ground-floor windows. In the damp, thickening twilight, the house stood like a blind sentinel, second from the corner in a row of five buildings, identical except for the varying colors of their front doors. The numeral 39, painted in black in stylized pseudo-Arabic script, stood slightly off center on the concrete arch over their dark green door. Lidless, empty plastic garbage cans were on their sides to the left of the steps, gaping at the street, rocking in the breeze that picked up as darkness gathered around them.
    “Oh, well.” Frank struggled up the steps with his bags. He fished in his coat pocket for a set of the keys Rushmore had given them, turned the dead bolt, then noticed what appeared to be three bullet holes in the center of the door. He caught Gus’s eye and nodded toward the door. Gus leaned forward and grunted.
    “Probably a traditional Persian symbol of welcome,” said Frank.
    “Nice tight cluster,” said Gus.
    What am I doing here? thought Frank.
    He found the key for the lower lock and undid it. The heavy cedar door swung open on a shadowed hallway. He groped for a light switch, found it, flicked it, then flicked it two more times. The hallway stayed dark.
    “Not to worry. Like a good Boy Scout, Father Gus came prepared.” Gus dropped his bags in the hallway, unzipped an outside pocket on one, and came up with a flashlight.
    “Better close the door first,” said Frank.
    “Good paranoid thinking.”
    Gus pushed the door shut, then flicked on his flashlight. They found the kitchen, tried the light switch without success, then discovered three candleholders on the chrome-topped table. Gus lit the candies, then, hat and coat still on, picked up the sheet of paper under one of the candles.
    “‘Welcome to your new home,’” read Gus, slumping into a chair. Frank watched from the kitchen door. “‘Rent on this unit paid by base command and cleared with appropriate USG agencies for official personnel occupying premises. Owner lives in the corner house, number 35. You need have no contact with him. Report all problems to base command.’ That’s Troy, I guess,” said Gus without looking up, “‘Expect occasional power outages. Do not overstock the refrigerator as power outages are frequent. And redundant. Servants service premises, including dishes and laundry Saturday and Wednesday. Leave individual laundry in individual rooms. Do your own shopping at official U.S. Military Post Exchange. The attached map shows PX location and local restaurants, none of which are recommended. You will find some basics in the cupboard over the sink. Sincerely, Base Command.’”
    “Welcome to your new home,” said Frank. “I better put the