The Pigeon Project Read Free Page B

two or three hours drinking, celebrating. He must know what happened to the professor.”
    Major Kedrov nodded. “Yes, I think our Leonid can tell us more.” He addressed one of his agents. “Shvernik, Professor MacDonald is missing. We must know as quickly as possible where he has gone. I suggest you and Yagoda question this man more persistently. Go as far as is necessary. I want an answer, the truth, in the next five minutes.”
    After the agent had gone, Major Kedrov surveyed the bedroom once more, then went to the bureau. He began pulling out the drawers, one after another, looking inside each, examining the clothes inside. Finished, he crossed to the bed, opened the” drawer of the bedside stand, closed it.
    “I wonder where he keeps his passport,” Major Kedrov said. “It is not in this room.”
    Lost in thought, he left the bedroom and returned to the living room. The other three followed him. At the coffee table, Kedrov stopped, dug a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket, extracted a cigarette. Dr. Petrovsky hastened to light it for him.
    From behind a stream of exhaled smoke, Major Kedrov spoke quietly. “Perhaps I am unduly alarmed. Perhaps our guest merely went for a stroll and will return any minute. Possibly, there is some other innocent explanation. I would hate to contemplate any other reason for his disappearance. You see—”
    He was momentarily distracted by a shrill, prolonged scream from beyond the kitchen. He looked in that direction, listened, and heard moaning, indistinct sounds of protestation, and suddenly another scream.
    Major Kedrov gave a short shrug and devoted his attention once more to the two troubled scientists opposite him. “You see, gentlemen, I consider this the most important assignment of my career. There would be no explanation acceptable to the Kremlin if we failed to deliver Professor MacDonald and his C-98. Exclusive possession of the formula by the Soviet Union would change future history. For one thing, the premier himself is seventy-five and not in the best of health. To possess a potion that would give him another seventy-five years—you can see how vital this would be to him personally.” Major Kedrov puffed on his cigarette, then resumed. “But even more, think what this discovery, in our hands alone, could mean to the Soviet Union. It would mean that our leaders—members of the Politburo, our wisest inventors, generals, economists, artists—could live on and on, while their counterparts in America and other nations, limited to normal lifespans, would die off and those countries would have to start afresh with new people in every field. Our advantage would give us dominance of the world in every area imaginable. This would be the instant view of our leaders. I dare not fail them.”
    Another series of screams from beyond the kitchen made him pause. Then, there was silence.
    Major Kedrov nodded knowingly. He examined the expressions of the faces of Dr. Kapitin and Dr. Petrovsky. “Do not be concerned, gentlemen. In my work the result always justifies any action taken. Simple remember one thing. This discovery was made in the Soviet Union, because of the hospitality of the Soviet Union. Therefore, logically, it belongs to the Soviet Union. So you must—”
    “Major Kedrov!” It was the KGB agent Shvernik, who was hurrying toward him. “He has confessed—admitted Professor MacDonald left the country—”
    “Left the country?” Kedrov echoed with disbelief.
    “That’s right,” Shvernik said breathlessly. “According to this Leonid, the professor learned there was a special flight leaving Sukhumi Airport earlier this evening and that there was room for him on it. The professor found Leonid, pulled a gun on him, and forced him to drive to the airport. He was afraid to confess at once, afraid we would not believe he had been forced to do it. But under extreme interrogation—”
    “Never mind,” said Major Kedrov harshly. “Where in the hell did he go?