Message From Malaga by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online Page A

three days away from the wine business? Fly to Washington and back?”
    “Why not? It ensures complete security. And you must go direct to the top—or quite near the top. Robert O’Connor is the man you need. He thinks he is an expert on Department Thirteen. He has specialised on Cuba. He will certainly know me—as Carlos Vado. You will tell him that Vado can give him the names of certain agents, now placed and waiting in the United States. In exchange, he will arrange to get me secretly to Switzerland, supply me with money and necessary papers. And that is all. There is to be no surveillance once I reach Switzerland—I know exactly where I shall go, what identity I shall adopt. I need no further help.”
    “Which division was yours in Department Thirteen, by the way?” This time, Reid had managed to be completely casual. “Assassination or terror?”
    “Assassination. I supervised the selection and training of recruits.”
    “And it is being expanded?” Reid went on quietly. “Why?”
    “Both divisions are being expanded. Terror is of course a diversionary activity, but it does create the necessary—”
    “Why?” Reid insisted. “Why expanded? What are they preparing for?”
    “Just what you are preparing for. The year 1976. The two hundredth anniversary of the United States. An interesting target date.” Fuentes almost smiled as he watched the American’s face, tight with shock. “And there is a good chance of success, with the way the United States is going these days,” he added in the same calm business-like voice.
    By God, thought Reid, he’s enjoying this. “Civil war? Is that what you are planning for us?”
    “Let us say: an end to your system of government. And frankly, we do not need to plan too much—not at this stage. Now, we only need to supervise, to guide and counsel and support.”
    Recruit and propagandise and train, thought Reid. And civil war it would be.
    Fuentes was still watching the American’s face. “You don’t believe it can be done?”
    “I don’t know if I can believe you ,” Reid said, his anger breaking loose.
    Fuentes was silent. Then he said, “I’ll give you a demonstration of my credibility. And of my good faith. Come to the balcony.” He rose, moved over to the curtains. “I told you that there were three men down in that courtyard who would be capable of killing me. I ought to know. Two of them attended our school in Cuba, went to Moscow for final instruction. The third is a Lithuanian who has assumed a Swedish identity. He is a painter, with a studio at Fuengirola not far from here. Popular with foreign wanderers, most of them political innocents.”
    Reid said, rising to his feet, his left hand slipping into his trouser pocket and gripping the duplicate lighter, “Just a second! Open the curtains as I put out this lamp.” He switchedoff the lamp on the table, heard the scrape of curtain rings as he exchanged lighters. Too bad he had to do that now, but there might not be another chance. He came quickly over to the window, seeing his way by the hint of light from the courtyard. Fuentes was unfastening the catch on the shutters. “Most of them political innocents? And the others?”
    “They are his special charges. His mission is to superintend the safe arrivals and departures of our agents in transit through Málaga. He also makes a report on them. I had several of these in my files.” Fuentes opened the shutters gently. “You’ll see him at the back-corner table with the two Americans.”
    Reid put out a hand, stopped the opening shutters. “No need,” he said, dropping his voice. “I saw the men. But there were four of them in that corner.” And then, for the first time in ten minutes, he was aware of the music. This was Tavita’s dance. Constanza’s alegria must be over, and he hadn’t even noticed.
    “One of them left—the young man with the beard. A quarrel, I think. I don’t know him. Possibly a pickup, someone to lend an authentic