The Stone Leopard Read Online Free PDF

minister. . . . That we can't risk. An agent yes, but not an American,' he repeated.

    'But not an American. . .'
    It was still Saturday morning when Nash gave the instruction to his assistant, Ward Fischer, in the suite of offices on the third floor which housed his staff. Normally everyone except Fischer would have been at home on a Saturday; but before boarding his New York flight to Washington, Nash had phoned ahead and the suite was now occupied by men recalled hastily while Nash was airborne.
    `Kind of narrows the field,' Fischer remarked.
    `Narrow it to zero. Find the man,' Nash snapped. 'Inside two hours,' he added.
    Fischer went into the next office and within five minutes his staff was searching through the files, looking for a name. The specification for the man who would go into France to interview Lasalle's witnesses was stringent. He had to have top security clearance; to be fluent enough in the language to pass as a Frenchman; to be experienced in the security field; and he must be a man of cold and careful temperament who could be relied on in an emergency, operating entirely on his own. As to nationality, he must not be an American, nor must he be a Frenchman.
    It was Nash himself who added this final qualification which caused Fischer to swear colourfully the moment he left his boss's office. 'The God-damned specification screams for a Frenchman,' he complained to one of his staff, 'so now you've got to find a Frenchman who isn't a Frenchman. Get on with it. . .
    Nash, however, had a very good reason for adding this qualification. Because France is a very special place and many of its people are highly political, Nash felt it would be dangerous to choose a Frenchman to spy on the French. He also felt pretty sure Col Lasalle would have the same doubts.
    While Fischer and his staff were searching, Nash went over the file in his mind of people he had known—or known of. One name came to him quickly, but he rejected it: he could never persuade this man to do the job. Sitting at his desk, his chubby hands clasped behind his neck, he checked back in his mind, rejecting candidate after candidate. As Fischer had said, the specification certainly restricted the field. In the end he came back to the man he had first thought of.
    At 1.30 in the afternoon Fischer came into his office carrying two files. 'These are the only two people who fit,' he said wearily. 'We ate at our desks and we've been working since I left you. Cancelling out the French made it that much tougher. . . .' Nash looked at the two files. One of the names was Jules Beaurain, a Belgian. 'Belgium isn't France,' Fischer said hopefully. The other was the name Nash himself had thought of.
    `It will take pressure to get this man,' Nash said reflectively. `I may have just hit on how the pressure could be applied. Get me details of all overseas bids for security contracts inside the States. Get them now. . .
    `It's Saturday. . .
    `So the calendar tells me. Phone people at their homes, get them behind their desks fast. Tell them it's an emergency— and give them my compliments. . .
    `They're going to appreciate that,' Fischer said and went out of the office to phone his wife. She also was going to appreciate it, he felt sure.
    Left alone in his office, Nash took a ballpoint out of his pocket and indulged in his liking for doodling portraits. He drew from memory a head-and-shoulders sketch of a man he had once known well, a man he had liked and respected despite disagreements. When he had finished the sketch he added a caption underneath. Alan Lennox. Security expert. British.
    Three thousand miles across the Atlantic in London it was Saturday evening as Alan Lennox turned the key in the double- lock Chubb, checked the handle of the door to his office, and stood for a moment staring at the plate on the wall. Lennox Security Company Limited. On the stock exchange the shares had climbed to ? 3.50 and it looked as though they were going higher; security