The Matarese Circle by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online

KGB operates out of the diamond exchange on the Tolstraat. Its cover is a firm of Hasidim,
Diamant Bruusteen.
Beat it.”
    “I don’t understand,” said the Russian, his voice barely audible. “Is this another trick?”
    “
Godamn it!
” yelled Bray, now trembling. “Get out of here!”
    Momentarily, the old man staggered, then grabbed the railing to steady himself. He backed away awkwardly, then started running through the rain.
    “
Scofield!
” The shout came from Harry. He was at the west entrance of the bridge, directly in the path of the Russian. “Scofield, for God’s
sake!
”
    “Let him go!” screamed Bray.
    He was either too late or his words were lost in the pounding rain; he did not know which. He heard three muted, sharp reports and watched in disgust as the old man held his head and fell against the railing.
    Harry was a professional. He supported the body, fired a last shot into the neck, and with an upward motion, edged the corpse over the railing into the canal below.
    What difference does it make?
    None at all. Not any longer.
    Scofield turned away and walked toward the east side of the bridge. He put the automatic in his pocket; it seemed heavy.
    He could hear racing footsteps drawing nearer through the rain. He was terribly tired and did not want to hear them. Any more than he wanted to hear Harry’s abrasive voice.
    “Bray, what the hell
happened
back there? He nearly got away!”
    “But he didn’t,” said Scofield, walking faster. “You made sure of that.”
    “You’re damn right I did! For Christ’s sake, what’s
wrong
with you?” The younger man was on Bray’s left; his eyes dropped to Scofield’s hand. He could see the edge of the watertight case. “
Jesus!
You never planted it!”
    “What?” Then Bray realized what Harry was talking about. He raised his head, looked at the small round receptacle, then threw it past the younger man over the railing.
    “What are you
doing?
”
    “Go to hell,” said Scofield quietly.
    Harry stopped, Bray did not. In seconds, Harry caught up and grabbed the edge of Scofield’s raincoat. “Christ Almighty! You
let
him get away!”
    “Take your hands off me.”
    “
No,
damn it! You can’t—”
    It was as far as Harry got. Bray shot his right hand up, his fingers clasping the younger man’s exposed thumb, and yanked it counterclockwise.
    Harry screamed; his thumb was broken.
    “Go to hell,” repeated Scofield. He continued walking off the bridge.
    The safe-house was near the Rosengracht, the meeting to take place on the second floor. The sitting room was warmed by a fire, which also served to destroy any notes that might be taken. A State Department official had flown in from Washington; he wanted to question Scofield at the scene, as it were, in the event there were circumstances that only the scene could provide. It was important to understand what had happened, especially with someonelike Brandon Scofield. He was the best there was, the coldest they had; he was an extraordinary asset to the American intelligence community, a veteran of twenty-two years of the most complicated “negotiations” one could imagine. He had to be handled with care … at the source. Not ordered back on the strength of a departmental complaint filed by a subordinate. He was a specialist, and something had happened.
    Bray understood this and the arrangements amused him. Harry was taken out of Amsterdam the next morning in such a way that there was no chance of Scofield seeing him. Among the few at the embassy who had to be aware of the incident, Bray was treated as though nothing had taken place. He was told to take a few days off; a man was flying in from Washington to discuss a problem in Prague. That’s what the cipher said. Wasn’t Prague an old hunting ground of his?
    Cover, of course. And not a very good one. Scofield knew that his every move in Amsterdam was now being watched, probably by teams of Company men. And if he had walked to the