The Angry Hills Read Online Free

didn’t cover. The subjects began to overtake one another, then run into one another. He more than made up for the four days of sulking quiet in Greece. Mike was entirely too talky and heady to realize or care that his companion was barely drinking at all.
    Then, as all such conversations generally do, it swung around to the subject of women and sex.
    “Mosley, feel I know you well enough to pose a ver’ serious question.... Question is, are you one of those fellows completely faithful to your spouse?”
    “Only on occasion,” Mosley answered.
    “Well, this isn’t the occasion. Tell you what we’re gonna do—tell you what. We’re gonna wheel and deal over to Constitution Square to one of those plush joints and pick us up a pair of ladies....”
    “Corking idea.”
    “They don’t hardly make guys like you any more Mosley.... No, sir... You’re O.K. in my book....”
    Mike struggled to his feet and promptly slumped to his chair. He emitted a long, long whistle. “Stuff gangs up on you ...” He whistled again. “Stuff’s loaded.”
    This time, with Mosley’s aid, he managed to get to a vertical position. The man in the New Zealand uniform guided him through the crowd onto the sidewalk. The night air almost flattened him.
    “Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute, read my watch...whatsit say?”
    “Half-past eight.”
    “Hell—I forgot—I got a ’pointment... Look, tell you what we’re gonna do... You go over to the Kifff—the Kiffff—the goddamn Kifffffissssia Hotel and wait in my room... Got this ’pointment... Hotel sits on the side of the mountain—over thataway... Soon’s I get back from my ’pointment you an me are going to get fixed up—know what I mean?”
    Mosley spilled Morrison into a cab and waved as Mike poked his head out of the window. “Kifffffissssia—thataway—they don’t make them like you any more....
    As Mike’s cab turned the corner, an automobile U-turned and stopped at the curb where Mosley waited. He opened the door and hopped in.
    “Shall we follow him?” the driver asked.
    “No—we’ll rejoin Zervos.”
    “What about the American?”
    Mosley smiled and stretched back. “Let the fool go. If he is a British agent, I’m Winston Churchill.”

FOUR
    M IKE STOOD OPPOSITE THE yellow-stone mansion at Petraki, 17. The street was black and empty. He wavered back and forth and made an abortive attempt to light his pipe. He mumbled drunkenly to himself, staggered across the street and managed to negotiate the opposite curb. He swayed up the steps and reached for the big brass knocker. It hit the plate and the door jarred open.
    He leaned against the door frame, bracing himself and waiting for Tassos to come. He pulled the knocker again—waited—waited—nothing.
    “Only got one good ear between them anyhow...”
    Mike shoved the door and plunged into a pitch-black hallway. He fumbled through his pockets, found his matches and lit one and squinted around. The match burned his fingers. He dropped it and yelled out an oath. He lit another and found the hall switch.
    The hallway lit up. It was long and dimly lit and lined with white marble statues.
    “Stergiou! Wake up!” His echo bounced through the place weirdly.
    He staggered farther into the hall and called again. The house was eerie and his head reeled from the wine.
    “Stergiou, come out, come out, wherever you are!”
    He bumped into a statue and it swayed on its pedestal. Mike draped his arms around it to keep it from falling and bowed and apologized. “Stergiou!”
    He stood before the door to the old man’s office.
    “Probably sleep at his desk—probably—probably is...”
    Mike leaned against the door and pitched into the office. The door groaned shut behind him. His hands groped for the light switch. He hit a chair and smashed to the floor with it. He lay there, unable to lift himself, hit with sudden spinning dizziness....
    He struggled to his hands and knees and began to crawl. The journey