The Angry Hills Read Online Free Page A

stopped as his head cracked against the desk. Mike reached his hand to the desk top and he grunted as he rose to his feet and felt around the desk for a lamp.
    The lamplight broke the room into dim yellow and black shadows. He propped himself against the desk and shook his head to clear the alcoholic fog. His eyes peered into the shadows and he scanned the room. It was a shambles!
    A sound.
    He reached to switch off the light, then froze.
    There—on the floor—Stergiou’s glasses—smashed, and the carpet red with blood around them.
    “Morrison,” a voice whispered from the shadow.
    The blood rushed from Mike’s lips as a jolt of fear hit him. His throat muscles tightened into dryness...
    “Morrison,” the voice whispered again.
    Mike’s jaw trembled open. “Who are you?” he croaked unevenly.
    “Over—by the door,” the voice said.
    “Who are you? Where is Stergiou?”
    “Stergiou’s dead.”
    Morrison’s breath came in short frightened grunts. He shook his head again. It was a nightmare! A nightmare like the ones he had when Ellie died. His head turned slowly and he strained his eyes... Yes, there was someone there.... Through the dull yellow shadow he could see a man’s face staring at him.
    “No—no—no—no...Leave me alone—leave me alone...I’m—I’m getting out of here....” He lurched toward the door in blind fear.
    “Morrison! Stand still! I have a gun on you!”
    The command halted him.
    Mike’s eyes bulged in terror. His face was wet with sweat. He looked at the man. The man sat in a chair....There were streaks of blood running from the corners of the man’s mouth and the man’s big walrus mustache was red with blood.
    “What do you want of me?” Mike pleaded. “What have I done?”
    “The envelope—the envelope—you must deliver it...A plane—leaves Tatoi airdrome—midnight—take my credentials...”
    Mike’s hands fumbled through his pockets. He found the envelope. “Take the damned thing—take it...I’m an American citizen—you’ve no right to mix me up in this...”
    The man groaned and his eyes rolled and on his face appeared the stamp of death. His whisper fluttered....“You have no choice, Morrison. They’ll get you.... They are on to you.... Don’t—don’t try the American Embassy.... They’ll have it surrounded.... They—they have friends—everywhere.... You—have no choice, Morrison.”
    The hand holding the pistol dropped limply and the pistol clattered to the floor. Mike grabbed the man’s lapel.
    “Who are they ?” he said. “Who are they ?”
    The man’s head rolled back. His lips trembled open but he was unable to speak. Mike bent down and picked up the pistol and put the credential card in his pocket.
    The man groaned. Mike blinked from the sting of the salt from the sweat in his eyes as he backed off toward the door and stepped into the hallway.

FIVE
    M ORRISON BOLTED DOWN THE hallway and through the door. He stopped abruptly on the doorstep and looked right and left in desperation.
    Petraki Street was as still as a morgue. The drizzle put a shiny coat on the pavement in the glow of the lamplights.
    He walked as quickly as his wobbly legs could bear him toward the Avenue Vasilissis Sofias. The Avenue would be filled with people—he must reach it quickly. The still of the night was broken only by the sound of his heels beating against the sidewalk.
    He stopped short.
    From behind came the sound of a motor starting—slow acceleration—the noise of wet tires rolling. Morrison fell back into the shadows and flattened himself against a wall. A black car, headlights out, inched toward him. Mike closed his eyes and swayed, on the verge of blacking out. He gritted his teeth to muffle the sound of his breathing. A moment passed. The car halted at the intersection, then turned into Ravine Street. The sound of the motor faded.
    Mike began to run full speed down the glassy street.
    He stumbled on the curb, struggled up and ran again, his heart