Spy Who Read Latin: And Other Stories by Edward D. Hoch Read Free Book Online Page A

right,” Rand decided. “I’ll go with you to Moscow. Since the British government sent me all this distance to help, I hardly think they’d want me to quit now. When is the next plane?”
    “There is only one flight each week from Tokyo to Moscow,” Shoju informed them. “Every Thursday on Japan Air Lines.”
    “Tomorrow.” Rand considered for a moment. “All right, tomorrow it is.”
    On the way back to his hotel, alone with Lanning in the back of the limousine, Rand asked the question again. “Is he one of your men, Lanning?”
    “No. That’s the truth, Rand.”
    “All right. Next question. Who tried to kill Shoju at his office?”
    “We believe it was a Turkish assassin named Sivas. He arrived in Tokyo three days ago and promptly dropped out of sight.”
    “Who’s he working for?”
    Lanning spread his hands. “That we don’t know. He generally takes assignments from governments rather than from individuals. In recent years he’s been quite active in the Middle East and the Balkans.”
    “Albania?”
    “Perhaps.”
    “Would he work for Moscow?”
    “Certainly, if they paid him.”
    “What does he look like?”
    “Medium, dark. His appearance has a way of changing.”
    “I see,” Rand said. He saw, but he didn’t like it.
    They gathered at the airport the following day—Rand, Lanning, Mrs. Belgrave, and Shoju Etan. An oddly mixed group, by any standard. Rand looked over his fellow passengers and wondered for the first time what he was doing there. Would he really have any influence with Taz on the Russian’s home ground?
    The flight was only about half full, with the rest of the passenger list consisting of an assortment of Oriental businessmen and traveling diplomats. There were only two women on board—Mrs. Belgrave and the lady with the coffin.
    Rand noticed her at once, but he could hardly credit that to acute powers of observation. She was a striking brunette of perhaps 35—about Mrs. Belgrave’s age—and her vaguely Oriental features seemed a perfect blending of the East and West that the flight itself symbolized. Her dress was Oriental, but when she spoke to her traveling companion it was in an English that could only have been learned in India or Hong Kong or some other outpost of the faded Empire.
    Her companion was a grumbling man with a sinister face that seemed perpetually twisted into a frown. Lanning took one look at him and whispered to Rand, “Now that fellow could pass for a Turkish assassin any day of the week!”
    But it was the coffin more than anything else which attracted attention to the odd pair. A series of adjoining seats had been removed from the rear of the plane’s passenger compartment, and six stocky baggage handlers helped carry a full-sized coffin on board. There was a noticeable stir among the passengers, and one man was even about to leave the plane. The pert young stewardess moved up and down the aisle, assuring everyone that the coffin did not really contain a body.
    Rand glanced out the window at the morning mists that drifted across the field. Then, as he watched, the big jet engines came to life and the plane began to move. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:20 a.m., Japan time. They were right on schedule.
    When they had reached their cruising altitude, Rand unbuckled his seatbelt and moved across the aisle to speak to the handsome brunette with the coffin.
    “Excuse me,” he said, “but I must admit that my curiosity has the better of me. If there’s no body inside, what is in it?”
    She smiled up at him. “Sit down. Join us. It’s been so long since I’ve heard a real British accent.”
    “Thank you.”
    She introduced the sinister, grumbly man by the window. “This is Dr. Hardan, my associate. I am Yota Twain.”
    “My name is Rand. This is my first trip in the Far East, and I’m not accustomed to coffins sharing the passenger quarters on an airline.”
    She laughed, a musical blending of two cultures. “It is rare, and we had to