The Pledge by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page B

escort Mr. Bacon to Major Hillton’s office. Then he slammed his door emphatically, and the sergeant said, “Colonel’s angry. Sorry. No business of mine. You want a Coke? There’s a machine right down the hallway here.”
    â€œI’d love a Coke,” Bruce agreed. His mother-purchased shirt was wet with sweat, even though a sort of air conditioning was struggling with the interior heat. “This is lousy,” the sergeant said, commenting on the atmosphere. “Fans are better. I could hear Pinhead calling you out.” He dropped two nickels into the machine. “The Cokes are on me. What paper are you with?”
    â€œ New York Tribune. ”
    â€œGreat. I’m from Baltimore. I was a stringer for the Sun. Well, not exactly. I was a copy boy, and when I was called up, I became their stringer at the training camp. I sent them letters. They printed three of them. Do you know, I knew Mencken. I mean I shook hands with him. He used to call me Brutus. My name’s Harvey, but he always called me Brutus. I don’t know why.”
    They finished the Cokes and went on down the hallway. It opened up into polished railings, people in uniform sitting at typewriters, spinning mimeographs, files, fans, officers in a tight knot, discussing things in low key, all very official. A good-looking young woman in uniform, one who had mastered the art of not sweating, sat guard at Major Hillton’s door. She was expecting Mr. Bacon.
    â€œGood luck,” the sergeant whispered.
    Major Hillton was a small, tight-muscled man, burned brown as a berry, needle features, curling British-colonial mustache, and small, pale blue eyes. He shook hands without energy, and then he motioned for Bruce to be seated.
    â€œYou’re here on a voluntary basis,” the major said, clearing the legal ground first. “I suggested that you come here. You came.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAny notion why?”
    â€œBecause you suggested it,” Bruce said tiredly. “I’m not clever enough to know much about Intelligence, as you call it.”
    â€œYou don’t take things very seriously, do you, Mr. Bacon?”
    â€œSerious things I take seriously.”
    â€œAll right. Let’s not beat around the bush. I know you work for the New York Tribune , and I know you have a damn good reputation. That’s why I want to talk to you off the record.”
    â€œThank you.” Bruce nodded.
    Hillton picked up a clip of three sheets of paper. “This is a verbatim report of your interview with General Felix Shorham, commander of the British Bengal Sector. I won’t read all of it, but just what is to the point.”
    â€œYou don’t have to read it,” Bruce said. “I remember the interview. I have my own notes.”
    â€œI prefer to read it, if you will spare me the time.”
    â€œI’m in no hurry,” Bruce said.
    â€œVery well. I’ll skip the first part of the interview, although General Shorham says some very important things about the Anglo-American alliance being more than an alliance between two nations, but a blood brotherhood —”
    â€œPlease spare me that,” Bruce interjected. “General Shorham’s rhetoric gives me a pain in the ass.”
    Major Hillton regarded Bruce coldly and said he would overlook the remark. Bruce shrugged. Hillton stared at Bruce in silence for a moment or two; then, abruptly, he began to read:
    â€œBacon: ‘I’ve spoken to two of the largest rice dealers, and their response is that this is not Russia, that the market makes the price, and since they pay so much and so much for the rice, they must either sell it at a profit or go bankrupt, and then there will be rice for no one. Not their exact words, but the substance.’
    â€œShorham: ‘Understandable.’
    â€œBacon: ‘Perhaps in ordinary circumstances. These are not ordinary