The Tristan Betrayal by Robert Ludlum

Author:Robert Ludlum
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Tags: Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Ballerinas, Moscow (Russia), Intelligence officers, Fiction - Espionage, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, 1939-1945, France, Fiction, Paris (France), Americans, Thriller, War & Military, Thrillers, Suspense, Russia (Federation), World War, Intrigue, Espionage
ISBN: 9780312372200
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2009-12-15T18:00:57.318000+00:00

The Tristan Betrayal

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Ah, my poppy,” cooed von Schiissler, “you don’t seem to be listening to me.”

He had been prattling on and on, as he liked to do, about the petty annoyances at his office, the colleagues who did not appreciate his brilliant ideas, the secretary who habitually came to work late, blaming the difficulty of public transportation in Moscow even though she lived not two blocks away. It was all the most tedious litany of complaints, all of which had just one common theme: none of these little people appreciated his greatness. Von Schiissler never divulged secrets. Either he was more canny than Lana gave him credit for or, as seemed more likely, he simply didn’t really think about anything that didn’t have to do with his own greatness.

“I suppose I’m a bit preoccupied,” Lana said. They both lay on von Schiissler’s enormous four-poster bed, which he had had sent over from Berlin. Von Schussler was sipping brandy and gobbling marzipan as he blathered. He was wearing a silk smoking robe and (as she’d had the misfortune to glimpse a few times) nothing beneath it. His body odor the German was not fastidious about his personal hygiene was revolting. She felt the usual tightness in her stomach that she felt whenever she was around him, but tonight it was worse. She was dreading the moment when he slipped out of his robe, as she could tell he was about to do, and the sex act began. “Act” it was indeed, she reflected. But her anxiety was worse than usual tonight because of what she was about to do.

“You must be rehearsing your choreography in your head,” von Schussler said, stroking her hair as one would pet a dog.

“But you must leave your work at work, poppy. Our bed is a sacred place. We must not defile it with our worries about work.”

She was tempted to ask him why he didn’t observe the same rule, but she restrained herself. “It’s my father,” she said. “I worry about him so much.”

“Schatzi,” von Schiissler replied tenderly. “Please, my little poppy. Not one word of the dossier will ever get to the authorities here! Haven’t I assured you of that?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s the new job he’s been assigned.”

“Ah,” von Schiissler said, settling back against a raft of pillows, no longer interested. “Well, then.” He seemed to be waiting for her to change the subject so he could either return to complaining about the little people at the embassy or else, even worse, loosen the belt of his robe.

“They’ve moved him to a new position,” Lana persisted. “A much more important position in the Commissariat of Defense Ministry.”

Von Schtissler took another sip of brandy and reached for another marzipan. “Would you like one, my dear?”

She shook her head. “Father has now been put in charge of overseeing all Red Army expenditures. They have him reviewing all the expenses within the Commissariat, which means he must look over all the troop allocations, weapons expenditures everything!”

Von Schussler emitted only a bored grunt.

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