Ride a Pale Horse Read Online Free Page A

for everything. It’s curious, though. My orders were only passed through Prague—didn’t originate here. In Moscow? Curious... He was sent here to inspect our work. So I thought. Does the inspector need inspection, too? That’s Moscow’s style, all right: always looking over each other’s shoulder. What can you expect when they don’t trust themselves? Oh, well—now it’s time to find Engel and give him the kid-glove treatment. Why the devil can’t Vasek find the time himself to deal with those damned journalists? It was his idea to send them away happy; I’d let them go with a handshake. They’ll only insult us when they get home—capitalist lies, that’s all they’ll write.
    Bor looked at his watch, wished he could delay some more, but headed for the likeliest spot to find Engel. These Western journalists avoided the public lounge like the plague. His annoyance evaporated when he reached the bar. The American was sitting with the Frenchman and the German. She looked tired and nervous, had scarcely touched the drink before her. This could be an excellent moment, most opportune. “May I have the pleasure of joining you?” He smiled and bowed, and sat down before anyone invited him. He concentrated on the American. “You had a pleasant talk in the garden?”
    She stared at him, said, “Quite pleasant, thank you.”
    “Talk with whom?” Duvivier asked.
    “With Mr. Vasek.”
    “Really?” Engel was suddenly amused. “You didn’t tell us about that. Holding out on us, Karen?”
    She shook her head. “He was just being polite to me.”
    Duvivier said, “I’ve been trying to corner him for three days. How did you manage it?” He, too, was much amused.
    “We just met. By chance.”
    That’s her first little lie, Bor thought. This might indeed be the moment. “What did you talk about?” he asked most innocently, curious but friendly.
    “Acid rain.” It seemed to Karen that there could be disappointment in his eyes, but he joined in the laughter around the table. “It’s true,” she told Duvivier and Engel.
    “Ah, yes,” Engel remembered, “you didn’t get much of an answer on that subject yesterday. Better luck today?”
    “Well, he did listen to my questions and gave me a long description of acid rain’s effect. He didn’t do too well on its cause, though.” Yes, Bor was definitely disappointed. She glanced at her watch. Still five minutes to wait, heaven help her.
    “Of course,” Duvivier said, “miningis one of Czechoslovakia’s chief money-makers. Their heavy industries burn a lot of coal. Don’t they?” he prodded Bor.
    “No more than French or American factories use,” Bor said.
    He was helped, inadvertently, by Engel’s natural curiosity. “Anything else you picked up that was interesting?” he was asking Karen.
    “Nothing for any headlines. But I did get a promise that he’d make sure I stayed at a central hotel on my next visit here.”
    “Next visit?” Duvivier shook his head. “Yes, there are advantages to being a woman.”
    “Chauvinist,” Karen told him lightly.
    “No ‘male’ attached?”
    “Always unnecessary. Redundant.” She looked at her watch, rose abruptly. “I’ll be late,” she said in consternation. “I’m being collected at the front door in twenty minutes. Goodbye, all.” The men were on their feet, shaking hands. Bor’s bow was brief.
    “My card,” Engel said, producing it. “Look me up in Hamburg if you are ever there.”
    “You still have my telephone number?” Duvivier asked.
    “Most definitely.” A warm smile for him. She liked this middle-aged, saturnine Frenchman. And he had helped her out on acid rain: Bor had been put on the defensive; no more questions. None of his business anyway, she thought as she hurried towards the lobby. Or was it?
    The elevator was slow. It was quarter past four by the time she reached her room. Her envelopes lay on the desk, neatly tied into a bundle with heavy black tape. And a seal to