Ride a Pale Horse Read Free Page A

enough to be discarded into her wastepaper basket last night. She had rescued the two pages of her notes and added them to the envelope filled with official handouts from the Ministry of Agriculture. The basket had been emptied of its trash while she had breakfast on the terrace this morning. In spite of herself, her eyes widened, her mouth fell open. Quickly, she recovered. “Really?” she asked. “How—how extraordinary!”
    The envelope disappeared back into Vasek’s pocket; his arms were folded as he went on talking in a low, strained voice. “You will find that envelope among the others on your desk when you return to your room. Do not open it. Just take it out—to America—among the rest of your notes. And deliver it to Peter Bristow. You know him. He will see it is given immediate attention.”
    “But I hardly know—” she broke out, and stopped in time. She shrugged. “I really am ignorant. You were saying that acid rain is spreading? Into Austria? Even Switzerland?” And it’s true; I hardly know Peter Bristow—I’ve met him only once, and then briefly. Naturally enough. He’s CIA or something hush-hush, and I’m the press. As soon as he heard my name, he made a diplomatic retreat.
    “You can always reach Bristow through Schleeman. They are friends.”
    He is too well informed, knows everything he shouldn’t know. Warily, she looked at the white face. “An immediate problem, you say? Even Sweden and Norway are concerned. Yes, it would be a good subject to write about. If only I could learn more,” she said slowly, “make sure of the facts. Reporters should be accurate, check all references. I really do need to know more than I do.” Can you catch my meaning? she asked him silently. She needed to be told what was in that envelope. Would he get it?
    He did. One hand briefly touched his jacket, just where its inside pocket was hidden. “No drugs, no currency, no diamonds. The envelope holds three letters. They are my insurance that I will be accepted by your government. I wrote these letters, taking the names of your Secretaries of State and of Defense. Also, of your President. You have heard of disinformation? These three brief documents are excellent examples—if I may say so. Of course, much praise must go to the expert forgers who could supply the signatures. It was a difficult undertaking, but it was successful. So far, the letters haven’t been given out to the press. Then I discovered that the delay is official policy: two events, only hinted at in the letters, are actually to take place. The letters will be made public, but skilfully, once the events have been attempted. They could start a major upheaval—riots, wild protests, an end to the Western alliance. Then, as I see it, war would ensue. A hideous war.”
    There was silence. At last, Karen said, “What would be the cause of—of so much damage?”
    “Two political assassinations, almost simultaneous.”
    She felt her face go rigid and dropped her head as if she were studying the grass at her feet. “When?” she risked, lips scarcely moving.
    “That is still being decided. They must be arranged carefully. All blame must fall on the Americans.”
    “That shouldn’t be difficult,” she said bitterly. Not the way things were going. Can I believe him? Is this really possible—is it true?
    “How long will you stay in Vienna? A few hours, I hope. That envelope is urgent.”
    “I can see that.” If true, if true... “I’m a very curious person, you know. I think I must study the material on acid rain before I—before I can write about it.” I am out of my depth and sinking fast, she thought. “But I’ll start some research when I reach home—that’s on Friday. I’ll be only a day in Vienna, but I think Schleeman will expect me to get back to Washington and start explaining to him why that interview did not take place. The trouble is, I don’t know why it didn’t. Couldn’t you persuade someone at the top to let me