Firechild by Jack Williamson Read Free Book Online Page B

not?”
    “The situation—” She spread her arms as if a gesture could explain. “It has become unexpectedly difficult.”
    “Your earlier reports led us to believe—” His sallow face turned savage. “We have told Colonel Bogdanov that you would have the file with you. Today! He’ll be unhappy.”
    “You promised too much.” The room was hot. Brightness shone on his bloodless face, and his cologne failed to hide the odor of his sweat. Keeping her distance, she sank into the chair before his desk. “Who is Bogdanov?”
    “A señor officer of the First Chief Directorate. Now acting secretary of Group Nord.”
    “Group Nord? ” In spite of her, the words came huskily. “Must Nord be involved?”
    “Naturally.” An impatient shrug. “Nord was formed for just such contingencies. It includes the chiefs of all our foreign operations divisions. Call it a general staff in command of all our outposts along the invisible front. The colonel has just been named acting head. He is deeply concerned about the American genetic experiments. Most eager to receive your reports.” He shook his head, thin lips set. “The colonel does not forgive failure.”
    “We haven’t—haven’t failed!” Angry with herself, she knew she had spoken too hotly. “I hope the colonel can understand we had no way to foresee this—this most unfortunate situation.”
    “Comrade, let me warn you.” His tone grew as cold as his emotionless ferret eyes. “This is no game with nice fat prizes for whatever clever ploys you may have invented. It is war for the survival of Mother Russia, perhaps for the survival of all—”
    “I know.” She caught a weary breath and wiped at the moisture on her own fair face. In spite of her makeup, its lines of sleepless strain betrayed more years than she liked to show. “I hope the gravity of the situation will persuade the Center to arrange the price my informer is demanding.”
    “Why any price? Can’t you use old Roman’s millions?”
    “They aren’t enough.” With effort, she drew herself straighter. “If you’ll let me explain—”
    “The colonel accepts no alibis.”
    “Comrade, here is the situation.” Her voice turned crisper, as if the words had been rehearsed. “Our most useful informer in the EnGene laboratory has been a man called Arny—Arnoldo Carboni. He is employed as a computer programmer. His exceptional abilities have forced most of the research staff to trust him with the details of their discoveries. Working long hours, often at night, he has been able to make the duplicate printouts that I have secured for the Center.”
    “But the Belcraft file?” A brittle accusation. “Which you promised—”
    “Comrade, if I may speak—” She let her own voice rise. “Dr. Victor Belcraft has become a special problem. Our own experts now call him the ablest man on the EnGene staff. They keep demanding his research notes. Those are difficult. He came to mistrust Carboni. He is also at odds with other members of the staff, perhaps because of some idealistic objection to the production of a biological weapon. Recently, he has worked almost alone. He understands computers. For the past few months he has been writing and running his own programs—”
    “You’ve reported most of that.” He waved impatiently to stop her. “But you led us to understand you would bring copies of his private—”
    “I was wrong.” She shrugged. “If I’ve failed anywhere, it was a failure to understand Carboni. I thought all he wanted was money. He presented himself to us as a pathological gambler obsessed with an idea that he could beat the casinos at the Las Vegas resort with systems of play designed on his own computer. We’ve paid him many thousand American dollars, which he seems to have thrown away—all just to trick us.”
    Her fair skin flushing, she caught an indignant breath.
    “We taught him skills to open the office safe where Belcraft kept his laboratory notes and paid him