The Secret Agent Read Online Free Page B

not only would Erickson be protected, he would vault to the top of the Swedish oil business. Erickson found the stares of these highly intelligent men–which said, I almost wish I could do what you’re doing, old man –harder to take than the stricken looks of those who considered him a monster.
    He grew depressed. His mission felt spectral; he seemed to be an actor in a one-man play with no audience. More than once he thought of quitting.
    Tikander and the American handlers were carefully monitoring his progress, but they had other pressing business, sources that were actually producing information. Erickson followed his own instincts, receiving little guidance from the OSS as he built his cover identity. He wondered why he’d received no specific instructions. At one point, months into his mission, a letter did arrive by messenger at his Stockholm apartment, with no return address. Erickson opened the envelope:
“Erickson:
    The deal you discussed with Laurence seems to be going nicely. The commission arrangement you suggested is acceptable: five per cent to yourself and two percent to each of your two associates. This is to assure you that we have been moving ahead at our end and are keeping track of all developments with keen interest. We expect it to prove profitable for all concerned. Keep up the good work and count on our full cooperation …
    Best wishes,
    Richard”
    The American smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude. The message appeared to be an ordinary note from a business contact, one of the dozens he received monthly as the owner of his company. But he’d never met “Richard,” and doubted he even existed. The letter was a cleverly-worked message from the OSS, telling him they approved of his work. If it had been intercepted, no one except Erickson and the man who sent it would be able to glean its true meaning. Erickson read the note again, then took it to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames. For a brief moment he felt like a genuine spy.
    Every few months, he received another note from Richard, telling him that “the deal” was progressing nicely. Twice his phone rang and a man with an American accent identified himself with the same code-name. He told Erickson to proceed, and to remain patient.

Chapter Five
The Prince
    To catch Berlin’s eye, Erickson needed a partner, someone who could provide entree to the powerful cliques that controlled German business. Soon he and the OSS settled on a possible candidate: Prince Carl Gustaf Oscar Frederick Christian Bernadotte, nephew of King Gustav V and brother-in-law of Belgium’s King Leopold, the bloody-minded imperialist of the Congo. The prince was a striking young man in his late 20s, already making a name for himself as a bit of an oddball, a thrill-seeker, and a libertine (many of Erickson’s friends were playboys in the old-world, “I-own-a-chateau-in-the-Côte-d’Azur” sense).
    Prince Carl—his family called him Mulle— was the youngest child and only son born to Prince Carl of Sweden and Princess Ingeborg of Denmark, scion of a family that had ruled Sweden since 1818. He stood fifth in line to the throne. Carl was almost but not quite movie-star handsome, with a long aquiline nose and slicked-back hair in the style of Errol Flynn. In school, he studied business, became fluent in Esperanto, and served as an officer in a cavalry company. In his teens and early 20s, Carl developed a reputation for wildness. “There were traditional princely incidents of motor accidents following erratic driving,” said the UK Telegraph diplomatically , implying either that Carl liked to drink or was just plain reckless. He was impulsive, perhaps a little spoiled, and not afraid of stirring up controversy. Later in life, he and a friend marched into the headquarters of the Stockholm Criminal Investigation Department to report they’d just seen a “flying saucer.” Carl and