The Assignment by Per Wahlöö Read Free Book Online Page A

question.
    “Yes—well—that must be about everything,” he said absently. “No, of course not. The girl.”
    He went back to the office. Danica Rodríguez was still standing by the window, smoking, and the fat little man was still sitting in his chair.
    “You can live here too,” said Frankenheimer, picking his nose. “We can fix it.”
    “Thank you.”
    “But if you don’t want to, we’ve arranged for you to have an apartment in town. About three blocks from here. Two rooms.”
    “I’d rather do that.”
    “Yes. It’d be better. Then we’ve got you out of the way.”
    “In any case I’d prefer to have the apartment.”
    “We did it—so to speak—out of solicitude.”
    “Thank you.”
    “We haven’t had any instructions about you. But it wasn’t difficult. There are plenty of apartments. So many people have left lately,” said Frankenheimer, staring at her breasts.
    “Then I’ll go there now, thank you.”
    “And change? Yes.”
    “No. I thought I’d blow the place to bits.”
    Frankenheimer’s expression remained quite unchanged.
    “What shall I do about my luggage?”
    “Tell someone,” said Frankenheimer.
    That man will drive me mad, thought Manuel Ortega.
    The telephone buzzed. Frankenheimer put out his hand and picked up the receiver. He seemed to listen for a moment or two and then put it down again.
    “Who was it?” said Manuel Ortega.
    “Well, it was someone who said he thought you ought to be rubbed out.”
    “In the future I’d prefer to take my calls myself.”
    “In this hole you can trace a call in ten seconds.… If you want to,” he added.
    The telephone buzzed again.
    “Yes. Ortega.”
    “Good. Welcome to the town. This is the Citizens’ Guard executive branch speaking. We want to remind you that you will be dead within two weeks, however many bodyguards you have. As we hope to avoid unnecessary executions, however, we are giving you this opportunity to leave immediately. This you must do by eight o’clock tonight at the latest. This is good advice, and we mean it. Good-by.”
    The caller was a woman. Her voice was clear and calm and businesslike, in no way unfriendly. She had stressed the word “unnecessary,” and afterward Manuel Ortega thought that it was this particular detail which had made him tremble and fumble for the back of the chair.
    When he looked up, his eyes met those of his secretary. She looked at him thoughtfully and frowned. Suddenly he thought that she was beautiful.
    “Don’t worry about them,” said Frankenheimer.
    Danica Rodríguez shrugged her shoulders. She picked up her suitcases and went out. They looked heavy, but she carried them without undue difficulty.
    Three quarters of an hour later Manuel Ortega had had a shower and had put on a clean shirt and a light-gray suit. When he went out into the corridor, López was sitting on a swivel chair just to the right of the door, quite still, with his hands on his knees.
    Manuel Ortega went into his office. As he was opening the door he felt his heart thumping, as if he were expecting something to happen. He sat down at the empty desk. Although the fan was whirring, the heat in the room was almost unbearable.
    He sat still and thought: What if that fat pig were sitting in a chair in the corridor. What if he followed me in here.I went in first and he was in no special hurry, and if someone had been standing in here he’d have had plenty of time to kill me ten times over before anyone could have done anything about it.
    Then he thought: I must get the revolver. I must carry it on me.
    He heard someone moving about in the other room and he rose to see who it was. Two steps from the door he stopped and looked at López, who was sitting immobile on his chair. Manuel opened his mouth to say something but at once closed it again.
    This is sheer madness, he thought.
    Anyhow there was someone out there. He took one quick step and whipped open the door.
    Danica Rodríguez was sitting at the desk