Parallax View Read Online Free

light conversation, just a couple of old friends catching up. Then I
will get up and leave the club. You will wait a few minutes, then follow.”
    The contact leaned
back and began laughing uproariously, as if Aleksander had just said the
funniest thing he had ever heard. Aleksander stared, surprised by the man’s
sudden outburst, before realizing he was supposed to join in. So he did,
feeling silly. The he took a big pull on his vodka, emptying the glass. The
fuzzy reassurance he had been waiting for began to tingle through him and
Aleksander welcomed it with enthusiasm.
    He waved the
barmaid over to their table—she hadn’t gotten any better looking, even after
two tall vodkas—and ordered another round for himself and his new friend. After
all, it was what the man had just said he was supposed to do, right? The shroud
of fear and uncertainty that had been hanging over Aleksander since his meeting
with the General Secretary began to lift. For the first time Aleksander began
to believe things might actually turn out all right. He was almost finished
with this frightening business, and then he could return to Moscow and get on
with his life, safe and secure in his bureaucratic anonymity.
    His contact made
small talk for a few minutes, and Aleksander returned the conversation with
inanities of his own. They laughed now and then, just two men reconnecting
after time apart. They could be friends, brothers, co-workers. Still no one
appeared to be watching. Aleksander’s concern continued to melt away. He knew
it was probably due to the effects of the alcohol but didn’t care.
    At last,
Aleksander’s contact pushed his chair back on the dirty floor and stood.
Aleksander stood too and the man with the scar reached across the small table,
shaking his hand and drawing him close at the same time. “Remember,” he
whispered in Aleksander’s ear. “Go nowhere for the next few minutes. Have another
drink, relax. Allow time for me to slip away. Then you should disappear. Good
luck.” Then he laughed again, smiling and nodding at Aleksander.
    He turned on his
heel and melted into the crowd.
     
     
    5
    Klaus Hahn slipped the envelope
into his breast pocket and picked his way through the crowd. American disco
music blasted through tinny speakers in the background, and the temperature had
skyrocketed inside the densely-packed tavern. He was sweating profusely, and
not just from nervousness.
    A veteran of more
than a decade of service to the American CIA, Klaus looked forward to a time
when his beloved Germany would be reunited. No more East and West, with the
ugly concrete and barbed-wire barriers splitting the country arbitrarily and
needlessly, in some cases literally tearing families apart, half living on the
side of freedom and opportunity and half on the side of repression and
paranoia. Klaus Hahn’s dream was to one day see the elimination of the fear and
forced servitude on the eastern side of that wall.
    Klaus had not
hesitated on that day years ago when co-opted by his CIA handler, a man known
to him only by his alias, “Mr. Wilson.” He had made no secret of his
willingness to work in the name of freedom, and when approached by Mr. Wilson,
had enthusiastically accepted the opportunity to contribute, even in some small
way, toward a unified and free Germany.
    The majority of
the tasks Klaus had handled over the years were relatively small and risk-free.
Most often his assignments had involved nothing more than funneling the names
and addresses of hard-line Communist sympathizers to Mr. Wilson, or the names
and contact information of other freedom-seeking individuals like himself.
    Tonight was
different, though. Mr. Wilson had approached Klaus with the offer of something
much more substantial. Something big. So big, in fact, that Mr. Wilson had said
this would be the last job Klaus would ever do for the CIA. Klaus would be
toxic after this.
    “Toxic.” That was
the exact phrasing Mr. Wilson had used. If the job was