Ride a Pale Horse Read Online Free

more pessimistic than usual. “Idiot! They searched his room while we were at dinner and found some papers—some material, anyway—that he hadn’t turned in to the censors.”
    “What kind of material?” Karen asked. Oh, Lord, she thought, what have I got myself into?
    “Could have been a case of forgetfulness,” Engel suggested.
    “Could have been something no censor would let him take out of the country.” Duvivier shook his head. “Let us hope not.”
    “When I reach Hamburg, I had better notify the British Consulate,” Engel said.
    “I’ll contact their embassy in Paris,” Duvivier agreed. “Officials here have attacks of forgetfulness, too.”
    “Perhaps,” said Karen uncertainly, “perhaps Tony will walk into the lobby before we leave.”
    The two men looked at her and then exchanged glances. Out of kindness to this sweet innocent, they made no comment. “Have that drink,” Duvivier said, and began to talk about the Convocation for Peace as he signed to a waiter. Engel joined in the conversation. Karen kept silent.
    Suddenly, she interrupted. “What makes me really mad is that none of us needs holier-than-thou talk about peace. We all want it—except the crazies. I want a Convocation for Peace, a real one, with every government that has nuclear weapons making an honest agreement to scrap every rocket and missile they possess.”
    “Every government?” Duvivier smiled at Engel. “White wine for the lady,” he told the waiter.
    “Yes. Yours, too, Yves. And England, India, Israel, Pakistan, South Africa, China—even the ones just at the planning stage, like Argentina—every single one of them, along with Russia and the United States.”
    “And supervision?” Engel asked.
    “Of course. Just stop the power plays, the fears, the stupidity.”
    “A wonderful world,” Duvivier said.
    “Why not? Let the United Nations put some muscle into their fat. It would give them more to do than listen to speeches and debates. What’s the use of all their projects if the world goes up in flames?”
    “True, true,” murmured Duvivier, and wished he still held such a hopeful view of mankind’s reasonable attitudes. Again he changed the subject. “What do you think of friend Bor? I see him hovering at the door.”
    Bor had watched Karen Cornell depart in the direction of the bar. To Vasek, who seemed about to leave the lobby, too, he said, “Thirsty lot, these journalists. But you seemed to have unruffled her feathers. How did you manage it?”
    “Not difficult.” Vasek looked at his watch. “I’m expecting a call—”
    “What did you talk about?”
    “Acid rain. And a room with a view of Wenceslaus Square. Censors, too—she objects to them as a matter of principle.”
    “Acid rain?” Bor stared at Vasek. The other two complaints had been expected.
    “Yesterday she asked questions at the Agriculture Ministry and got few answers.”
    “So you supplied them?” Bor’s grin was wide.
    “I did my best. Now, I do have to get to my office before four o’clock—there’s a call coming in. I think you’d better deal with that Hamburg fellow.”
    “Engel?”
    “He’s leaving around five, I believe. So send him away in a good mood.”
    “What about Rome?”
    “I’ll see Aliotto if I have time.”
    “He could be useful if you are still making that visit to Italy next week,” Bor suggested, watching Vasek. “Are you?”
    “That depends on my schedule here,” Vasek said crisply, and walked away.
    Never relaxes, Bor thought angrily; everyone kept running at his command. Seems to have settled down, though. How did he really feel about being sent to Prague? Was it a demotion from Moscow? Can’t tell from that fellow—but he’s more than a press aide or public-relations man. What’s his real job? KGB? In what department? Never a hint—he’s too important, is he, to talk to me? Well, I’ve done my duty and watched him and there’s nothing out of the ordinary to report. He has a reason