Eden's Gate Read Free Page B

loudly enough for the others to hear.
    â€œFinish up now,” Speyer told his wife. “The parade is just about to start.”
    Lane sipped his drink, and he had to admit that it was a lot better than he expected it would be. “This is just fine,” he said. “Tell the lady for me that she has good taste.”
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    An old man, wearing a tired sport coat at least two sizes too large, his right hand in a pocket, came shuffling up Main Street. He was obviously in a lot of pain. A few people in the crowd gave him sympathetic looks, but most ignored him. He looked like a bum. He stopped in front of the Grand Hotel, hesitated for a few moments as if he was trying to make up his mind about something, then threw the last of his ice cream cone in a trash barrel and went inside.
    The front desk clerk spotted him, but before he could decide what to do, an attractive woman dressed in a short cotton skirt, a brightly
colored blouse, and sandals entered from the street. She took off her large sunglasses and came over.
    â€œGood morning, madam,” the clerk said.
    â€œMs.,” Frannie corrected him, smiling sweetly. “I was rather wondering if you have a king size nonsmoking for the next five days. Everyone else in town seems to be booked.”
    â€œI’m sorry, no,” the clerk said. He was a married man with three children, but he was so captivated by her looks and by her English accent that he didn’t see the old man enter the lounge.
    â€œCould you just check to make absolutely certain, ducky?”
    â€œCertainly.”
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    The old man walked into the barroom. He looked so harmless that Sergeant Baumann took a moment to react. Jew, he thought, but it was already too late because the old man had pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it directly at Speyer’s head from a distance of only a few inches.
    Speyer turned around and grinned, a hard, flat, expressionless look in his dead gray eyes. “Well, it’s the Fourth of July and a patriot is here to celebrate. Care for a drink, old-timer?”
    The old man cocked the hammer on the military Colt .45 which had to be as old as he was, and Baumann, who had started forward, stopped short. “I know who you are, Schweinhund .”
    â€œThen you have me at the disadvantage,” Speyer replied calmly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, but I’ve met so many people.” He turned to his wife, who sat with her mouth half-open in a smile. “Do you recall this gentleman from your Hollywood days, my dear?”
    â€œHe looks like a Jew,” she said, and she turned back to reach for her drink, slopping a little of it on the bar.
    â€œThere you are,” Speyer said. “But you must forgive my wife’s rudeness. Do you have a name?”
    Baumann edged closer, and the old man caught sight of him in the mirror behind the bar. All of a sudden he thrust the muzzle of the .45 forward so that it touched Speyer’s left cheek just below the eye. His hand began to shake. “You son of a bitch, before I kill you, you’re going to remember.” He raised the gun barrel and slashed it across Speyer’s face, opening a small gash which instantly started to bleed.
    The bartender had eased to the end of the bar where he picked up a phone.

    â€œPut the telephone down, young man, or I’ll shoot this man first, and then you,” the old man called out. His accent was German. The bartender did as he was told and spread his hands out.
    â€œWhatever the problem is, mister, we can work it out,” he said.
    â€œTwo or three hundred grams of pressure on this trigger should do the trick nicely, I think,” the old man said. “One month before the Wall came down. Me, my wife, my son, and my daughter could wait no longer, so we decided to escape. With all that was happening, Hoennecker on the way out, Gorbachev turning his back on us, I thought it was time. The guards