The Eiger Sanction by Trevanian Read Free Book Online Page A

that door, pal?”
    Jonathan judged the distance between them. “Either the door or the window. And we're four stories up.” His gentle, disarming smile came on automatically.
    “Listen, pal—”
    “And get your ass off my desk.”
    “Look, buddy—”
    “And don't call me 'buddy' or 'pal.' ”
    “Man, if I weren't under orders...” Pope flexed his shoulders and considered the situation for a second, then he rose from the desk. “Mr. Dragon wants to talk to you.” Then, to save face, he added, “And right now!”
    Jonathan walked to the corner of his office and drew himself a cup of coffee from the urn. “Who is this Mr. Dragon?”
    “My superior.”
    “That doesn't narrow the field much, does it.”
    “He wants to talk to you.”
    “So you said.” Jonathan set the cup down. “All right. I'll make an appointment for him.”
    “To come here? That's funny!”
    “Is it?”
    “Yeah.” Pope frowned and made a decision. “Here, read this, pal.” He drew an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to Jonathan.
    Dear Dr. Hemlock:
    If you are reading this, my man has already failed to persuade you by sheer force of personality. And I am not surprised. Naturally, I should have come to see you in person, but I don't get about well, and I am most pressed for time.
    I have a proposition for you that will demand very little of your time and which can net you upwards of thirty thousand dollars per annum, tax free. I believe a stipend like this would allow you to purchase the church on Long Island you have been yearning for, and it might even permit you to add to your illegal collection of paintings.
    Obviously, I am attempting to impress you with my knowledge of your life and secrets, and I do so hope I have succeeded.
    If you are interested, please accompany Mr. Pope to my office where you shall meet...
    Your Obedient Servant, Yurasis Dragon

    Jonathan finished the letter and replaced it thoughtfully in its envelope.
    “Well?” Pope asked. “What do you say, pal?”
    Jonathan smiled at him as he rose and crossed the room. Pope was smiling in return when the backhand slap knocked him off balance.
    “I told you not to call me 'pal.' Dr. Hemlock will do just fine.”
    Tears of anger and smart stood in Pope's eyes, but he controlled himself. “Are you coming with me?”
    Jonathan tossed the letter onto his desk. “Yes, I think I shall.”
    Before they left, Pope took the letter and put it in his pocket. “Mr. Dragon's name appears on paper nowhere in the United States,” he explained. “Matter of fact, I don't remember him writing a letter to anyone before.”
    “So?”
    “That ought to impress you.”
    “Evidently I impress Mr. Dragon.”

    Jonathan groaned and woke up. The sunlight had gone, and the greenhouse garden was filled with a gray, inhospitable light. He rose and stretched the stiffness out of his back. Evening was bringing leaden skies from the ocean. Outside, the chartreuse undersides of leaves glowed dimly in the still air. The fore-voice of thunder predicted a heavy rain.
    He padded into the kitchen. He always looked forward to rain, and he prepared to receive it. When, some minutes later, the storm rolled over the church, he was enthroned in a huge padded chair, a heavy book in his lap and a pot of chocolate on the table beside him. Beyond the pool of light in which he read, dim patterns of yellow, red, and green rippled over the walls as the rain coursed down the stained glass windows. Occasionally, the forms within the room brightened and danced to flashes of lightning. Hard-bodied rain rattled on the lead roof; and wind screamed around corners.

    For the first time, he went through the ritual of the ancient elevator in the Third Avenue office building, of the disguised guards outside Dragon's office, of the ugly and hygienic Miss Cerberus, of the dim red light and superheated interlock chamber.
    His eyes slowly irised open, discovering misty forms. And for the first time Dragon's