Part 18 (2/2)
Nadine said, ”Joe, a plane is leaving this afternoon. A West-world plane for London.”
Joe looked at her speculatively. ”I won't be on it.”
”Joe, listen. A year ago you were an individual, trying to fight your way up to Upper caste. You weren't able to make it as an individual, Joe. But now you're a member of an organization, pledged to a high ideal. Joe, the organization doesn't need martyrs at this stage. It does need good, competent, highly trained members such as Joe Mauser.”
He said nothing.
Nadine stepped suddenly closer to him. Her perfume, he noted, vaguely, was new, some sweet scent found here in the Sov world, undoubtedly. It had a heady quality, or was that merely the close presence of Nadine herself?
She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her level. He had never realized that Nadine Haer was this much shorter then he. She pressed the softness of her lips to his.
Then she held back a foot or two, and said into his face, desperately serious, ”Does this make any difference, Joe?”
He licked the edges of his lips, carefully, ”It makes a great deal of difference.” His voice was thick. His arms came up behind her.
”Then you'll be on the plane?”
He shook his head.
She wrenched herself suddenly free and stood back from him, infuriated. He had never seen anyone so infuriated.
He said, ”Look, darling. If I had backed out of this, the way you want, you think you'd be happy. But you wouldn't. You want a man, not a coward.”
”I want a _live_ man! Not a dead hero.”
He shook his head stubbornly. ”You mentioned the organization. All right, they sent us to do a job here. They can't move in the West-world until they know where the Sov-world stands. They can't afford an attack, a sudden heating up of the Frigid Fracas, right in the middle of the confusion of a socio-economic change. They've got to know how the Sov-world stands, what it will do. They've got to know about this so-called underground, and the religious revival stuff out there in Siberia.”
”You've been discovered,” she said hotly. ”They can send somebody else.”
He was still stubborn. ”No. There's a leak. If they send somebody else, the same thing will happen. And the next man might not be as much of a potential opponent to such as Sandor Rakoczi as even I am.
If I run now, the West loses prestige, and the movement sponsored by Holland and Hodgson and the rest of us, loses prestige, too. Somewhere in Budapest, is some kind of a group that is watching us. We don't know who, or where, or what they stand for, but we can't afford to lose prestige with them.”
”We're not exactly going to gain it, when and if this official a.s.sa.s.sin kills you.” She looked down at the wicked knife, and shuddered. ”Oh, Joe, your mercenary career is over. Miraculously, you stayed alive for fifteen years through it all. From the Rank Private all the way up to Rank Major. Now at long last, you're an Upper.
You're not going to throw it all away, now.”
He could say nothing.
She stamped a foot in uncharacteristic fury. ”You silly clod. Suppose you do win? Don't you see? They'll simply send another killer after you. They're out to get you, Joe Mauser. Don't you see you can't win against the whole Sov-world? Next time, possibly they won't be quite so formal. Possibly a few footpads in the streets. Do you think they haven't the resources to kill a single man?”
The side of his mouth twitched. ”I'm sure they have. But it will give me a few days before they come up with something else. It'd be too conspicuous if I fought their top duelist one day, and then was cut down on the streets the next.”
She spun, in a fury, and all but ran from the room and from his apartment.
Joe looked after her ruefully. He growled in sour humor, ”Every time matters pickle for me, my gal goes into a tissy and runs off.”
XX
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