Romanov Succession Read Free

right place for you. I’m not sure you belong in this army at all under the circumstances. It was all right as long as you were down here—it gave you a chance to heal up, it gave me the best training officer I’ve ever had. But Washington, the Intelligence branch—that’s something else again.”
    â€œThey didn’t consult you about this?”
    â€œIt’s the first I’ve heard of it. I tried a phone call to Washington this morning but all I got was a runaround. But I’d have to be an ass if I didn’t figure you for one of their Russian desks in the Intelligence office.”
    â€œAnd you want to know if I can be trusted there.”
    â€œAlex, it’s a hell of a thing to have to—”
    â€œIf I can’t do the job with absolute loyalty I’ll resign.”
    Spaight gave him a long scrutiny and then the smile-tracks creased around his tired eyes. “Good enough.”

    He cleaned out his office desk and had the driver ferry him to the BOQ.
    The wall phone was buzzing when he went by it and he lifted the earpiece off its bracket. “BOQ. Colonel Danilov.”
    â€œOh—Colonel. Base Central. Just tried to get you over to your office. They’s a long-distance call for you. You supposed to call Operator Three in Ann Arbor, Michigan.”
    â€œAll right. Can you make the call for me?”
    â€œYes sir. One moment please.”
    When the connection went through it was poor. He had to shout through a hiss of static.
    â€œPlease hold on, Colonel.”
    Then a man’s voice, a little quavery with age, in hard Kharkov Russian:
    â€œIs that you, Alexsander Ilyavitch?”
    Alex’s face changed. “Yes General.”

4.
    He laid out his second-best uniform for traveling and showered in tepid hard water. Naked at the sink shaving, he caught his dulled scowl in the mirror. There were two puckered scars in his neck, one three inches beyond the other on the right side where a jacketed bullet had gone through—his talisman of luck: an expanding slug of soft lead would have torn his head off. But the scars were ugly and impossible to disguise.
    His hair was walnutty brown peppered with grey at the sides and cropped militarily short against the high square skull; he had sun-broiled skin above the pale vee of shirt collars, a long nose and a very large mouth that formed a rectangular bracket around his teeth if he smiled. His torso was long; the cords lay flat along his bones and he was quite thin, with a runner’s wind.
    For six months he had lived in this hot close room and done very little that he hadn’t been told to do. He had become a pest, ramrodding the battalion twenty-four hours a day, not giving it or himself any respite. Now they were pulling him out of his safe cocoon and that was what frightened him a little. They were throwing him into some War Department crush and he didn’t know if he’d had time to heal yet.
    He thrust himself into his clothes, breaking through the starch; he drank one undersized shot of bourbon and left the bottle on the table for his successor. He had been drinking the stuff for months because it was cheap and available but he still hadn’t learned to like it.
    He went back to the telephone in the hall. A G-1 major came through, waggled a hand at him and went into his room. Alex waited until the major’s door was shut.
    â€œBase Control. He’p you?”
    â€œThis is Colonel Danilov. See if General Spaight’s still in his office, will you?”
    â€œYes sir. One moment please.”
    Fairly quickly Spaight was on the line. “Alex?”
    â€œI’m not sure which one of us owes the other a favor.”
    â€œNo need to keep books on it. What do you need?”
    â€œMy orders give me four days TDY to report in. I need to get to New York a lot faster than that. By tomorrow night if I can.”
    â€œNew York?” Spaight’s voice indicated his