136 Down and Dirty by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

Alex Cochran hesitated in the doorway leading into Peregrine Atkinson's office. He turned toward Atkinson, who had come out to the reception room to greet him.

"You didn't say he was here. You know I can't afford to be seen with him," Cochran said.

Atkinson frowned, concerned that Edgar Salmon, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee, had heard. Salmon did not change his expression, did not look up from his cup, so maybe he hadn't heard. Atkinson gave Cochran a gentle push on the elbow and led him into the office and into the presence of Salmon.

"Edgar! This is a pleasant surprise."

Cochran advanced toward Salmon with his hand extended, and when Salmon put down his coffee cup and took that hand, Cochran squeezed and pumped as though a handshake with Edgar Salmon were his greatest pleasure of the morning.

Salmon had heard Cochran's complaint to Atkinson but very smoothly ignored it. He showed Cochran a broad smile.

"Well, Alex. It's been a long time. You've been doing big things since last we met."

Cochran's face darkened for an instant. "I keep trying," he said weakly, thrown off balance.

Salmon picked up his cup of coffee and carried it to his chair.

"Alex is likely to become acknowledged minister of works in the shadow cabinet," Atkinson said nervously.

Salmon shrugged that off. "Not a big thing," he said bluntly. "I was referring to the Socialist Defense Group."

Cochran's face darkened again. "That is not supposed to be known," he said. "Not even its existence, much less my involvement."

"Your secret is safe with me, Alex," said Salmon with unconcealed amusement.

"How did you find out?" Cochran demanded. "Or, I mean, I thought the fact was reasonably well concealed."

"From the world, yes," Salmon said. "From our little part of the world, no."

"'Our little part ...' What do you mean?"

Salmon made no effort to conceal his amusement with Cochran's discomfort. "You don't mean to suggest that you and Perry and I are different? I don't think we are. We have the same motives, the same ambitions ... We only differ in the means we use to achieve our goals, and even those, you will have to concede, are not very different."

Cochran was forty years old, a tall, thin, blond man, wearing oversized, silver-rimmed eyeglasses. He shook his head and did not respond.

"You eliminated a squealer yesterday," Salmon said, using an American term he knew would surprise and maybe even offend the other two. "But you paid a high price. Damned high. Right?"

"We seem to have encountered an American gangster," said Cochran.

"Ah. Have we not?" Salmon said. "Do you want to confess your losses? I'll confess mine."

"Losses?"

"The American made a complete fool of you yesterday, Alex. He left your people lying around bloody on the pavements. One dead. How many in hospital?"

"What makes you think I had anything to do with—"

"Alex! Don't lie to me. It is my business to know things.

It's how I make my living."

Alex Cochran remained silent for a few moments. Finally he nodded and said, "The American is a menace.

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