The Eiger Sanction Read Free Page A

your passion for collecting paintings. Without it, you would need money less often, and we would be deprived of your services.” Very slowly, like a photograph in the bottom of a developing tray, the image of Mr. Dragon began to emerge through the dark as Jonathan's eyes dilated. He anticipated the revulsion he would experience.
    “Don't let me waste too much of your time, Mr. Dragon.”
    “Meaning: let's get to the matter at hand.” There was disappointment in Dragon's voice. He had taken a perverse liking to Jonathan and would have enjoyed chatting with someone from outside the closed world of international assassination. “Very well, then. One of our men—code call: Wormwood—was killed in Montreal. There were two assailants. Search Division has located one of them. You will sanction this man.”
    Jonathan smiled at the cryptic jargon of CII, in which “demote maximally” meant purge by killing, “biographic leverage” meant blackmail, “wet work” meant killing, and “sanction” meant counter-assassination. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and Dragon's face become dimly visible. The hair was white as silk thread, and kinky, like a sheep's. The features, floating in the retreating gloom, were arid alabaster. Dragon was one of nature's rarest genealogical phenomena: a total albino. This accounted for his sensitivity to light; his eyes and eyelids lacked protective pigment. He had also been born without the ability to produce white corpuscles in sufficient quantity. As a result, he had to be insulated from contact with people who might carry disease. It was also necessary that his blood be totally replaced by massive transfusions each six months. For the half century of his life, Dragon had lived in the dark, without people, and on the blood of others. This existence had not failed to affect his personality.
    Jonathan looked at the face, awaiting the emergence of the most disgusting feature. “You say Search has located onlyone of the targets?”
    “They are working on the second one. It is my hope that they will have identified him by the time you arrive in Montreal.”
    “I won't take them both. You know that.” Jonathan had made a moral bargain with himself to work for CII only when it was fiscally necessary. He had to be on his guard against sanction assignments being forced on him at other times.
    “It may be necessary that you take both assignments, Hemlock.”
    “Forget it.” Jonathan felt his hands grip the arms of his chair. Dragon's eyes were becoming visible. Totally without coloration, they were rabbit pink in the iris and blood red in the pupil. Jonathan glanced away in involuntary disgust.
    Dragon was hurt. “Well, well, we shall talk about the second sanction when the time comes.”
    Dragon smiled thinly. “People seldom come to me with good news.”
    “This sanction is going to cost you twenty thousand.”
    “Twice your usual fee? Really, Hemlock!”
    “I need ten thousand for the Pissarro. And ten for my house.”
    “I am not interested in your domestic economy. You need twenty thousand dollars. We normally pay ten thousand for a sanction. There are two sanctions involved here. It seems to work out well.”
    “I told you I don't intend to do both jobs. I want twenty thousand for one.”
    “And I am telling you that twenty thousand is more than the job is worth.”
    “Send someone else then!” For an instant, Jonathan's voice lost its flat calm.
    Dragon was instantly uneasy. Sanction personnel were particularly prone to emotional pressures from their work and dangers, and he was always alert for signs of what he called “tension rot.” In the past year, there had been some indications in Jonathan. “Be reasonable, Hemlock. We have no one else available just now. There has been some... attrition... in the Division.”
    Jonathan smiled. “I see.” After a short silence, “But if you have no one else, you really have no choice. Twenty thousand.”
    “You are completely without