Borderless Deceit Read Online Free Page B

Abbie MacAuley drifted away through the double doors. Heywood was still rocking back and forth when Claire Desmarais lifted her finger one last time. Her next appointment, she reminded him, was with the American ambassador. “I’ll ask him what he knows,” she threatened.
    Ron Hunt lingered at the door. “Ever seen that circus act, Irv,” he twirped brightly, “you know, the one with the dancing bear? Metal collar. Steel chain.”
    â€œOf course I have, Ron,” Heywood replied softly. “I recall how it amused the children.”
    Alone in the High Council chamber, Heywood replayed in his mind the sound of Hunt cracking his knuckles. Strange how each clack had presaged a blow. He also reflected on Étienne des Étoiles summation.
Do what you have to
. It had the ring of a horoscope. And doesn’t a decent horoscope satisfy a thousand different desires for meaning? You could read that remark as posing no limits, sort of as
carte blanche
. The more the Czar contemplated this, the more he felt guided. A predestined lineof thinking began to form; the line then widened into a plan; and the plan, once fashioned, began shining like a beacon.
    How long did Heywood stay in his charmed state? Three minutes? Thirty? No matter. At the end he jumped up. Not for years had he had such sprightliness.

3 CHAPTER THREE
    â€œI need four, five people in here in a hurry,” the Czar snapped to Claude.
    Stiff hips were forgotten during the elevator descent from the executive floor. Half-walking, half-running, partially stumbling, feet almost skipping, trying to keep up with his surging-forward weight, Heywood had rushed through the foyer of the Service complex, beneath the canopy of flags of all the members of the United Nations suspended from the ceiling and past the diplomatic relics in glass cages watched over by the framed photographs of the Service Great. On and on he scampered, towards his realm, to the tower housing Service Operations. Alphonse, the entrance guard, who passed the days whistling popular classical melodies to himself, had a premonition that a mass of flesh was approaching and ended “Ode to Joy” halfway through a quarter note. The Czar normally neared with a slow, easy, swaying inertia, but this time the momentum of a freight train was bearing down and it nearly threw Alphonse right off. “
Bonjour, monsieur
!” he hailed, frantically yanking the door forward, allowing Heywood with his imperial countenance to sail through.
    In the Czar’s office, Claude had remained immobile, in shock really, the whole time his leader was gone, and the sudden order to assemble his five best men wasn’t registering. “What happened for chrissake?” he asked, still dazed.
    â€œ
Carte blanche
,” Heywood growled. “Free hand. Personal instruction from Étienne.”
    This woke Claude up and he whistled through his teeth. “Geez! How’d you do that? Thought for sure they’d make heads roll.”
    â€œThey didn’t purr, Claude. Got a little rough. Wouldn’t be normal if it hadn’t. But in the end Étienne said: get to the bottom of the mess and get over it.
Do what you have to
. His words. That’s what we’re doing.
Carte blanche
. Starting now. There’s money too. A new network. Gotta get one off the drawing boards. Time’s short. I want a binder for Étienne first thing in the morning. Everything in it. Could be an all-nighter.”
    Heywood immersed himself into the place from which he governed, a custom-built chair shaped like a throne which, with a mere button push, would recline far down. This time he brought it back halfway and from that position lifted his feet into a small free space on his desk in between tall paper stacks.
    The reference to evening work shattered Claude’s numbness. “My curling night tonight,” he protested.
    â€œA few rocks to heave here first, Claude,” Heywood