The Summer Soldier by Nicholas Guild Read Free Book Online Page A

and patted the air between them with
his palms to indicate things were going too fast.
    “You rush me; allow me to introduce myself.”
He pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his heavy slate gray
jacket and produced an official looking card that identified the
bearer as Major Thomas Cruttwell, placing it on the table in front
of Guinness: Cruttwell, as it later turned out, was Down’s brother
in law and the owner of several hop farms in Kent. The picture was
right, though.
    What in God’s gracious name had put this dude
on his tail? It was a question that plagued him vaguely until
finally he asked Down over lunch in one of the series of squalid
little government offices in which their business contacts were
usually made.
    “Oh that,” he said abstractedly, holding his
claret up to the light. “Well, you came very highly
recommended.”
    It seemed that the man at the embassy who had
interviewed Guinness was a member of Down’s London club. He had had
such an amusing story about the young freeloader who had come to
see him that morning; he was quite proud of the firmness he had
shown.
    “Maybe it’ll help to shape him up when he
realizes that the world isn’t his oyster.” And then he had laughed
softly. “But when he left my office, he looked like he wanted to
kill someone.”
    Down had done a little checking to discover
whom the man had been talking about, and then a little more
checking to satisfy himself as to just how hard up Guinness
actually was, and then he had tracked him down.
    “It wasn’t easy.” Down took a tentative sip
on his claret, made a face, and set it down on the desk. “What with
that hike you set out on, you really ran my people ragged.”
    So that was how—a chance remark between two
middle aged clubmen and the whole direction of his life was
changed. No, that wasn’t fair. He had had some hand in changing it
himself.
    Guinness slid the card in toward himself with
the ball of his thumb and looked it over without picking it up from
the table. After a few seconds he slid it back.
    “So big deal,” he said blankly. “You’re in
the army. Are you after me to enlist?”
    “Not precisely.” Down’s smile compressed a
little, becoming kinder and perhaps a trifle sad. He was used to
dealing with frightened and desperate people, and the experience
had given him compassion. “I haven’t actually been on active
service since the end of the war. I have a position with the Home
Office these days; it involves some aspects of military
security—you might say that our interests have points of
contact—but we tend to be emphatically civilian. I simply wish to
identify myself to allay any suspicions you might have been
harboring. There’s no question of smuggling or male prostitution,
nothing like that. Would you care for some more tea?” he asked, his
hand going up before Guinness had a chance to respond.
    “Waitress! “
    The girl was there in a second to take his
order. That was another of Byron’s talents he had always
envied.
    “But it is illegal,” Guinness said after she
had come and gone. “Am I right? For that kind of money it just has
to be illegal.”
    Down sifted about half a spoonful of sugar
into his tea and set the spoon down on his napkin, where it left a
pale tan stain. He looked genuinely surprised that so obvious a
point should even be raised.
    “Naturally it’s illegal, but that isn’t the
aspect of it that presents the difficulty.” He picked up his cup
and set it back down again, untasted. “If it were merely illegal I
could arrange to have it taken care of for a good deal less than a
thousand pounds, I assure you. The world is knee deep in
criminals.” He picked up his tea again, tasting it this time, and
his eyes rested on its surface when he set it down. “I will
concede, however, that it does involve an element of risk.”
    Now we come to it. Now we see where all the
fancy patter has been leading. The man was beautiful m his way; he
made it all