Conspiracy Read Free Page A

off the thought as she reached the gray metal door outside the Russian offices; there was no point in making her own job more difficult. With an inadvertent smile, she remembered Keith Palermo’s parting words from a few minutes earlier “Just don’t let ’em talk you into having dinner up there.” His dark eyes had held her gaze briefly, light hearted and serious at the same moment. She was glad he was here in Madrid, and happier still that she would be seeing him later this evening.
    The door was flung open suddenly, catching her off guard. She looked up. A tall thin man with ruddy cheeks was staring at her.
    “I’m looking for Yuri Zadiev,” she said.
    Cool blue eyes flickered with amusement. “I’m Zadiev,” he said. His accent sounded vaguely British. “Did you knock? I didn’t realize you were here.”

6
     
    The sergeant came over to take a look. The skin on the new man’s face looked red, the way it would look if he’d shaved too close. But that could have been from the rubbing. The sergeant’s own skin felt normal, except for the sweat that had started coming out again.
    “Feels like hives,” the corporal said. “You think I could be allergic to these things?”
    “Not supposed to be. They line the masks with foam. Hypoallergenic.”
    The corporal was inspecting his mask up close, turning it over in his hands. The sergeant watched him for a minute, trying to figure it out.
    Then he noticed the jeep parked at the far end of the access road, outside the guard’s station. And a man down there standing beside the jeep. He couldn’t make out the uniform, or see just what the man was doing. It looked to him as though the guy was watching them through binoculars.
    “You see that guy?” he asked.
    The corporal dropped his mask. “Where?”
    “Down there by the station. You think he has binoculars?”
    The corporal picked up his mask and dusted it off. “Yeah,” he said. “Is that the inspection team?”
    “Maybe. Never saw ’em come in an open jeep before.”
    The corporal rubbed the last of the dust off his mask with his sleeve. “You know, I just remembered,” he said. “I used to get a reaction like this when I was a little kid in school. My face would turn red and itch like hell for a few minutes, and I’d get sent home. By the time I was out the door of the nurse’s office I’d be feeling better. I’d get outside and my face wouldn’t have a thing wrong with it, and I’d be out of school till the next day. My old lady never did believe that nurse.” He patted his cheek and grinned, teeth showing white.
    “You feeling better?”
    “Yep.” He was putting on his mask again.
    While they were inside Unit Seven, checking the grenades and giving the rabbit food and water, the corporal seemed to loosen up. He asked about the Russians, not just making conversation but really interested. Especially in the moves the Soviets had started last winter to bring the Arabs around to their side. For a guy who said he didn’t watch the news anymore, he followed the sergeant’s analysis of the Russian strategy pretty well.
    The sergeant watched him put clean newspaper in the floor of the rabbit’s cage, noticing with approval the care he took not to disturb the rabbit’s electrode wires. The new man was concentrating on his work even while he talked. The sergeant liked that.
    “What you’re saying,” the corporal said through his mask, “is that they’re trying to beat us at our own game. Right the hell in there with us in the world oil marketplace.”
    “Exactly. And what are we doing about it? We’re selling ’em all the wheat they want again, and electronics, and machinery, and whatever the hell else they ask for.”
    “I guess we’re scared to say no.”
    The injustice, the sheer stupidity of the situation made the sergeant want to spit in disgust, but he had his mask on. Instead he picked up one of the Cobor grenades, a smooth black cylinder about the size and weight of a