Snare of the Hunter by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online

his, and his eyes sparkled at the prospect. Then he was back to his business-like self. “You’ll have one night at the Sacher. Get set to leave by next morning.”
    So soon? “Can you be sure of that?” David asked. If McCulloch had only eight days to make all his plans, the resistance group helping Irina to reach Vienna would certainly need more time than that. Escapes took preparation. There would be delays, postponements.
    “She is already out,” McCulloch said very quietly.
    Irina? Out of Czechoslovakia? David stared at him briefly, recovered. “When?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Good God,” said David under his breath.
    “She is safe. And waiting.”
    “Look, I can’t cancel any of this coming week. I’ve got to be in Salzburg.” David was low-voiced but angry.
    “I didn’t ask you to cancel anything.”
    “I just don’t like the idea of her hanging around Vienna for more than a week.”
    “She won’t be doing that. She’ll be kept out of sight—indoors. Stop worrying about something we can’t change. We’ll stick to our schedule.” McCulloch’s mouth was definitely tight-lipped.
    David said bitterly, “Jumped the gun, didn’t they?”
    “Someone did. Bohn was given the news this morning when he telephoned our okay to them.”
    “I bet it gave him a bit of a shock.”
    “Damaged his ego slightly. But he soon recovered. He’s a resilient man.”
    David was suddenly off on another tack. Irina’s friends must have been pretty sure we’d come through. What had led them on? Bohn’s initial approach, no doubt; optimistic and confident, that was Bohn. “Good God,” he said again, realising the full force of this latest piece of news. “What if I had refused last night?”
    “We’d have been searching wildly for a replacement. And by the end of this week I’d have been on my hands and knees pleading with the pros to lend me one of their bright young men.” McCulloch shook his head over the likely reply to that request.
    “They’d have still refused?” What has turned Washington into a bag of jelly beans? David asked himself and glared at McCulloch, who merely lifted his newspaper, held it out, pointing to a long report with a circle pencilled lightly around one paragraph.
    David took the newspaper and looked at a Reuter’s dispatch from Prague, dated yesterday. The headline was TWO MORE SUBVERSION TRAILS BEGIN IN CZECHOSLOVAKIA . He started to read, got only as far as the first sentence. The dinner trolley was arriving.
    “Keep it for your coffee,” McCulloch suggested. “Read it carefully. It may clarify some things. And anyway, cold steak isn’t worth eating.”
    The hostess was apologetic. “I’m sorry it was a long half-hour.”
    Not long enough, thought David, as he laid aside the newspaper unwillingly.
    “Scarcely noticed it at all,” said McCulloch, the ex-diplomat. “I think this gentleman and I might share a bottle of Bordeaux.” He turned to David with grave politeness. “You will join me?”
    * * *
    David reflected, as the dishes were cleared away, that McCulloch had scored again: their close conversation had been well timed, for now—with food served and eaten—there was a satisfied silence around them, a general drift towards settling in for the rest of the evening, and no more busy interplay of voices and laughter. Even the small boy, after some last protests, had subsided into sleep.
    David adjusted the reading light over him, picked up the newspaper. But from the seat in front, the girl spoke to the hostess as she passed down the aisle after a quick visit to the pilots. “Are we on time? That’s splendid. Then we’ll arrive on schedule.” She was rising now, still talking with the hostess. “How are the weather reports?” The hostess assured her they seemed fine.
    “Wonderful,” said the girl, leaving her seat, turning towards the rear of the plane, letting David have a clear view of her face. “All disturbances are over, I think.” She glanced in