Critical Mass Read Online Free Page B

are in jail.”
    â€œNo fool like an old fool.”
    â€œThe CIA can’t afford you,” she said. “Maybe it never could.” She searched his eyes earnestly. “Didn’t Portugal teach you anything?”
    â€œHow did you hear about that?”
    â€œI’m a cop, remember? I see things, I read things. People confide in me.”
    â€œIs that why you came to Paris, Mati? To save my life?”
    â€œAnd your soul.”
    â€œIt’s not for sale. Maybe it never was.” Every spy has his own worst nightmare. Arkady Kurshin had been his. But the Russian was dead. He’d seen the man’s body just before it was lowered into a pauper’s grave outside of Lisbon seven months ago.
    â€œI love you, Kirk, doesn’t that count for something?”
    It had been his fault, of course, allowing her to set up housekeeping in his apartment. But the excuse he’d made to himself was that he was tired, gun-shy, rubbed raw, vulnerable, even, and he needed her warmth and comfort just then.
    â€œIt counts for a lot, Mati. But maybe it would be best if I didn’t come to Lausanne after all. You’re right, I have no
intention of staying there, or anywhere else in Europe, for that matter.”
    â€œYou’re going home?”
    â€œFor awhile.”
    Marta was silent for a moment. “But I thought you might want to come to Switzerland at least to visit your daughter. She’s still in school outside Bern, isn’t she?”
    â€œShe’ll be home for Thanksgiving. I’ll see her then.”
    â€œWhat are you telling me now, Kirk? That you’re going back to your ex-wife? I thought she was going to marry her lawyer, the one who was always suing you.”
    â€œStay out of it.”
    â€œShe dumped you once because of the business. Are your hands any cleaner now?” An hysterical edge was beginning to creep into Marta’s voice. She’d changed over the past few years. She’d lost some of her old control.
    â€œLet it rest, Mati,” he said gently.
    â€œThey why did you let me move in with you? To make a fool of myself?”
    â€œCould I have stopped you?”
    She started to reply, but the words died on her lips. He was right, and she suddenly knew it. Just as she knew that indeed it was over between them. He could see how the light and passion faded from her eyes, and she slumped back.
    â€œWhat will you do with yourself in Washington?” she asked after a couple of minutes.
    â€œMaybe I’ll open another bookstore. Maybe teach at a small university somewhere.”
    â€œYou’ll get bored.”
    â€œAll the bad guys are gone, remember?”
    She looked at him again. “Somehow I think you’ll manage to find some. Or they’ll find you.”
    â€œI’ll leave that to cops like you.”
    Â 
    The cabbie pulled up at Orly’s Departing Passengers entrance for Swissair, and McGarvey helped Marta out with her single carryon bag. The day was warm and humid, and out here the air smelled of car and bus exhaust, and burned jet fuel.

    â€œI’ll leave you here, Mati. I hate long goodbyes.”
    Marta looked at her watch. It was past eight. “My plane leaves in fifteen minutes. You can give me that much time, can’t you? After all, it’ll probably be years before I see you again.”
    McGarvey shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll pay the driver and catch up with you.”
    â€œDon’t stand me up.”
    â€œI’ll be right in,” McGarvey said, and he watched as she crossed the sidewalk and went into the terminal. He turned, and as he was paying the cabbie he noticed a brown Peugeot parked across the way. The diplomatic plates were of the series used by the U.S. Embassy. He’d had lunch with Tom Lynch, the Paris chief of station, last week, and Lynch had been driving a car with the same series.
    â€œMerci, monsieur,” the driver said, but McGarvey just