The Hess Cross by James Thayer Read Free Book Online Page A

action. The battle was frozen, waiting instructions from the players.
    Richard Sackville-West strode around the table and extended his hand to Crown. "Good to see you, John. I hope you found your apartment suitable."
    Crown already wondered at the conversation. Verbal amenities had never been the Priest's forte. He believed in short, economical discussion, touching only on matters at hand. This efficiency was an extension of the man's appearance. He was wearing a dark blue conservative suit and was sporting the habitual tweed tie. His wing-tip shoes enjoyed the typical mirror polish. His face was cultured. A pepper-gray, closely clipped mustache stopped precisely at the line of his thin upper lip. The mustache was a shade darker than his steel-colored hair. Only the eyes were unrefined. They were too hard, too quick. He could have been a successful banker or lawyer from LaSalle Street. But Crown knew he was one of the most dangerous men alive.
    Another man sat on a velour couch near the battlefield table. The pleasant niceties had probably been for his benefit. Sackville-West continued, "John, I'd like you to meet Everette Smithson, head of the Midwest Division. This is his home, and he was kind enough to let us use it today. Everette will be working with you during the next few weeks."
    The plump Smithson gathered his legs under him and with considerable effort lurched up from the couch. Hesmiled ingratiatingly with small even teeth set between fleshy jowls and shoved his hand toward Crown. It was damp and clammy, and it pumped Crown's enthusiastically, making his elbow snap like popcorn.
    "Welcome to my game room," he said, still working on Crown's hand. "Your boss and I are recreating the Battle of Arbela, fought by Alexander the Great in 331 B.C. Of course, we don't have all of Alexander's forty-five thousand men, but we make do. I'm directing Alexander, and he is doing his best with Darius' Persians."
    "Who won the real battle?" Crown asked, not knowing what else to say.
    Smithson staged a hearty laugh that flapped his cheeks and said, "Alexander, of course, but we don't let that influence the game. In fact, Richard has already changed the course of history."
    Crown had never heard anyone call the Priest "Richard" in the six years he had been working for him.
    Smithson pointed to a long line of Greek soldiers and said, "I'd been hoping to use Alexander's Arbela maneuver. I was advancing my men in a long diagonal line against the left center of the Persians, and then I closed them together in an arrow formation."
    Smithson picked up an intricately molded and exquisitely painted soldier on horseback, squinted at the plume on his helmet, and said, "Half the Persian squadrons advanced against the light troops, opening a gap in Darius' line. At that point, the Greek heavy cavalry dashed through the gap and flanked the Persians from the rear. Unfortunately, Richard marched forward with the left line of troops and didn't open the gap. As you can see, I'm in a quandary now. I was counting on Richard to do as Darius had done. Of course, my wedge may merely be a feint while I prepare some other nasty maneuver."
    Smithson stared intently at the Greeks, and then his eyesdarted to each of the Persian squadrons. If a nasty maneuver existed, he wasn't aware of it yet.
    "Well," Sackville-West said, interrupting Smithson's concentration, "to business."
    He sat in a chair behind the study's massive desk. It was a subtle reminder to Smithson of their respective ranks. Neither had Sackville-West heard a subordinate call him by his first name.
    After Crown and Smithson were seated in the uncomfortable metal chairs facing the desk, Sackville-West began, "I was grieved to hear of Miguel Maura's death. He was half of our best field team. And, after a rather . . . uh . . . faltering start, I had grown to like the man. I understand how you feel."
    "Thank you, sir." The condolences were much more than Crown had expected.
    "John, do you remember