attracted Tzerny's attention. And when Don edged himself silently into the adjoining room he could see why.
The Russian security head was hunched over a miniature tape recorder, earphones clamped to his head, listening to Don's report.
'Sorry there's no time for a proper farewell!' he called loudly. Tzerny started to get up from his chair, jaw dropping in amazement. Then Don fired twice, the bullets slamming into the scrawny body and sending the man careening backwards across the table.
The Western agent snatched up the tape from the spool and thrust it into his pocket. Outside, the car waited unguarded. He scrambled into the driver's seat and reached out for the ignition. The key was missing! Cursing, he started to climb out of the car, then heard voices coming from the house.
Attracted by the shots, other members of the security force were probably at this very moment discovering Tzerny's body. He debated whether to risk a gun fight, judging his chances of picking them off as they came out of the house. Then he decided against it. It was too risky. Better to make a break for it and go into hiding for the time being.
In any case, the frontiers would be well-guarded: the airports and sea-ports would be on the look-out for him and he couldn't hope to make it across the border tonight.
When Western Intelligence heard of Tzerny's death they would want to give him further instructions, possibly requiring him to stay in the East and tie up any loose ends that remained. With the assassination of the important Communist security chief, the scheme to find out about Eva Harnecz's research had taken on a new significance.
So far as he was aware, no one else knew that he had discovered quite so much about her work. Tzerny would only have trusted the two men sent to intercept him. It was doubtful whether any other Communist agents were let in on the reason for Don's apprehension.
So it seemed to him entirely possible that he hadn't failed after all. That 'Alfa' might want him to remain in Budapest and assist the girl agent who would doubtless be brought in to seduce the lesbian Eva Harnecz.
Don got out arid walked briskly for almost an hour, turning his coat collar up against the driving snow and sleet. No one appeared to be following him, and he was able to get his bearings and make for a Western Embassy. That was the safest place for him at the moment, he thought.
And he realized with a start of surprise that he did want to prolong his life as much as possible after all! Silently, he breathed a prayer of thanks to Erica for her gift of confidence. By the time he reached the Embassy gates he was feeling more cheerful and alive than he had been for years.
So much for gamblers' superstition, he thought wryly. All you need to break that particular fallacy was a beautiful girl!
Don showed his I.D. card to the guard on duty and rang the bell. The first thing he must do was telephone 'Alfa'. They had a scrambled telephone line to the West at the Embassy and it was important that his boss was put in the picture as soon as possible.
Within half an hour he was telling the old man that he would be on call at the Allied Embassy, awaiting further instructions. His report should reach Headquarters by midday.
Don received quite a shock when 'Alfa' told him, that he would be getting the report by messenger! 'You ought to have realized that Erica Sondgaard was one of our people,' 'Alfa' told him. 'What's happened to your intuition, Don?'
'Well, I'll be damned!' he exclaimed, replacing the phone. “So she was in on the whole thing!' He chuckled quietly, then sobered; reflecting that if “Alfa' had seen fit to provide him with a “guardian angel,' it meant that he, too, feared that Don was slipping. Never mind. That was all in the past now. He had got himself out of a scrape with as much aplomb as any of his past encounters with foreign agents.
'Don Cabot!' the voice of the friendly Western ambassador suddenly greeted him as the door opened. «It's great to see you again. You saved the lives of six of our men last November in Istanbul. The Embassy is yours, my boy. You may have the V.I.P. guest suite until we can figure a way to get you out of Budapest. And… what else can I get you? Liquor? Food? Eh…?'
“You are most kind, Mr. Ambassador,' Don said, I standing up as he bowed to the West European diplomat. “I… I seem to remember hearing that our former Western agent, Doreen Fisque is now assistant security officer here at your embassy. I'd love to see her again. We worked assignments together in Brussels and Vienna.'
“Oh-ho!' the Ambassador said with a chuckle, «Of I course! She speaks of you often. She lives here in the compound. You go up to the V.I.P. suite, my good friend. Clean up and take a nap. I'll have a hearty breakfast brought up to you about noon. And… for security reasons, of course, I'll have Miss Fisque bring it to you. She will then have the rest of the day off.'
Don had an immediate mental picture of Doreen Fisque standing in front of him naked, her 38-24-36 I body beckoning to him. And then there was that special way he liked to…
'Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,' Don said with a pleased smile.
“Get a good night's sleep, my boy,' the Ambassador said with a knowing, friendly, smile. “I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk over… '
Chapter 4
Located near the village of Agay, between Cannes and St. Tropez on the French Riviera, is one of the most exclusive, private and undisturbed beaches of the entire Mediterranean. It is located on a forested island of several acres, and about three miles from the mainland. The most beautiful part of the natural, sandy beach is located on the ocean side of the island, thus offering privacy from all those save a few curious yachtsmen and the rubbernecking crew of an occasional passing ship.
The island was posted as 'private property' and, since it lay within French territorial waters, trespassing had never been a problem. Police and Coast Guard vessels checked it regularly. There was rumor that the island was owned by a top secret NATO tactical intelligence organization, that it belonged to an eccentric American millionaire, the French government, the gendarmerie.
There was no permanent structure visible on the island, and when small groups or individuals were allowed to pitch camp there for a rugged, outdoors vacation, rumors flew that they were members of European royalty, high government officials, millionaires or friends of such illustrious people.
When the two, beautiful and young American girls came to Agay from the Nice-Cannes airport in a taxi and sought transportation to the island, they were immediately questioned by the police.
The local chief himself came down to the boat house to question the girls, and was promptly set back on his ears by the taller and very slightly older of the two girls, who produced a set of documents that had the man begging a thousand pardons. In turn, the police chief railed at the 'stupid' boat owner for daring to question the girls' authority to go to the island with their suitcases and heavy load of camping gear.
And while a new set of rumors spread throughout the gossipy village over the next few days, the “V.I.P.' American girls had not been seen, preferring to use the beautiful Oceanside of the small island as their vacation retreat.
Maria Marshall and her companion had come purely and simply for relaxation and sensual pleasure, away from everyone they knew or might bump into.
Maria was a tall, voluptuous girl of twenty-seven. She possessed a truly gorgeous figure. Her 39 inch breasts were firm and finely molded, well able to jut forward without the support of a brassiere. Her beautifully curved thighs had a soft sheen which lent them the satin texture of skin-colored stockings; and her waist was very minute for such a full-figured girl.
Furthermore, Maria Marshall was the leading judo expert among female exponents of the sport in the U.S. She was the proud owner of a black belt and had participated in an extended unarmed combat course in Japan.
She was also the top female agent for Western Intelligence.
Maria emerged from the dazzling blue sea like a love goddess from the foam, her wispy red bikini clinging to her wet skin. She shook her long, golden hair, letting it cascade freely around her lovely shoulders, then stepped up the slight sandy incline to the beach umbrella.
