Lucky Bastard by Charles McCarry Read Free Book Online Page A

if we recruit him he will do to us what he did to your call girl.”
    Peter was amused—determined to be amused. “Steal our underwear?”
    â€œNo. Fuck us cross-eyed.”
    Peter did not like my answer. I had stepped out of character without permission: Flippancy was not one of the privileges he had granted to me.
    I said, “May I ask what you see in this subject, Peter?”
    â€œYes,” he replied. “I see talent in the raw. A cold heart. Boldness, contempt for the rights and feelings of others. Ruthlessness. He took the girl like a bandit because he wanted her, even though she wore a wedding ring and was accompanied by another man.”
    â€œShe was a prostitute.”
    â€œHe didn’t know that. For all practical purposes he raped her. He created a diversion, made his friend act drunk for him, then paid him off with a pair of panties. And that smile, so American, so like the man he thinks is his father.”
    â€œ Thinks is his father. An important point.”
    Peter shrugged. “Is it so impossible?”
    Clearly Peter did not think so. That was all that mattered. Many times in the past I had seen him proven right when nearly everyone else thought that he was wrong. He was like Einstein: He saw the universe as a whole, he proposed the existence of things that other men could not see. The measurements, the mathematics, the proofs of his theory he left to others, who suffered the consequences of any small mistakes he might have made.
    â€œI wish to proceed with this operation,” he said.
    â€œIt will be a gamble.”
    â€œYes. That’s the beauty of it.”
    â€œIf we win.”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t we win?” Peter said. “We will deal the cards. For the rest of his life.”
    My heart sank. Peter had long-term plans for this boy who lived in a dreamworld, to whom no one else was real, who did not even want to touch the women he fucked with any part of his body but his penis. He wanted to bind Jack to us, turn him into an agent of influence. He wanted to keep him as he was, but at the same time transform him into an operative who would live by subterfuge his whole life long.
    â€œAre we sure we can do what we want in this case?” I asked.
    Peter lifted a hand. My role as devil’s advocate was over. What he expected now was acceptance, obedience.
    â€œWe are never sure,” he said. “But it has been done before, with less promising material.”
    This was certainly true. We had taken many, many gambles on imperfect men, all over the world. Some had achieved success, even very great success, through the combination of our help and advice and what seemed, especially to the man himself, the exercise of inborn talent. The others were dead or in prison, and no further concern of ours.
    As if reading my mind, Peter said, “I want you to put your heart into this case.”
    â€œVery well. What is the first step?”
    â€œGet him to Germany.”
    â€œYou mean, give him a ticket?”
    â€œNo. He would ask questions. He mustn’t know we are helping him. And he must stay in Germany for several months.”
    â€œPerhaps a fellowship.”
    Peter considered this. “Good,” he said. “By all means get him a fellowship.”
    â€œMay I consider other countries?”
    â€œNo,” Peter said. “It must be Germany, the American zone. But not Berlin.”
    â€œI’ll do my best.”
    â€œYou will succeed.”
    Peter looked at his watch, flicked a glance at a single set of headlights approaching along Fifth Avenue, and changed languages. “I leave tomorrow,” he said in English. “For Cuba. Shall I say hello to anyone for you?”
    I shook my head. Peter smiled, looking into my eyes, expecting great things of me.
    He said, “We’ll discuss this again soon. After Cuba.”
    A limousine pulled up at the curb. Without another word, he strode across the