Siro by David Ignatius (short books to read txt) 📕

contain much. Travel records for Taylor and Anna; the rental agreement for the office; insurance documents for the white Karpetland van; junk mail received at the office the past six months, which Marjorie had neatly filed away; back issues of a carpet-industry newsletter called “Wall to Wall.” Stone scooped it all up and dumped it in a large cardboard box that had once contained Pakistani Korans.

“Where are the checkbooks?” he asked. Marjorie brought them from her desk. “And the credit-card receipts? And the phone bills?” Marjorie fetched those items as well.

“Where’s the petty cash?”

“In the safe.”

“How much do we have?”

“Eighty thousand dollars.”

“Open the safe, please. Now.” Marjorie turned the combination lock but failed, twice, to get it open. Her hands were shaking.

“Goddammit! Tell me the combination, and I’ll open the bloody lock.”

She called out the numbers to Stone in a quavering voice. Stone ran through the sequence, pulled the handle, and opened the safe door. He removed several thick stacks of bills, a cash ledger, some blank air tickets, a classified CIA telephone directory, a classified report titled “Kurdistan in Perspective” and a jar of instant coffee that Marjorie inexplicably had kept locked up in the safe.

“This must be yours,” said Stone, handing the coffee to Marjorie. He took the money and the classified material and dumped it into the cardboard box. He looked at his watch again.

“Jesus Christ!” he said. It was almost nine-thirty. “They’ll be here any minute.”

“Who?” whimpered Marjorie. “Oh, Mr. Stone, what’s wrong?”

Stone fixed his gaze on her. “A hostile raid will take place here in less than an hour.”

“Who?” she said, still mystified. “The Russians?”

“Not the Russians themselves,” said Stone. “Their friends.”

“Blessed Mother Mary,” said Marjorie. She looked frightened, but also galvanized.

Stone surveyed the room once more. He rummaged hurriedly through the desks of Taylor and Anna, removing whatever bric-a-brac he found. A carry-out menu from a bar called McGillicuddy’s in Rockville; stationery from the Athens Hilton; a Turkish-English dictionary; a dog-eared copy of The Forty Days of Musa Dagh. Stone grabbed them all and threw them into the cardboard box. He searched all the desk drawers one last time, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, and then turned to his faithful secretary.

“My dear Marjorie, how would you like to take a vacation?”

“I’ve already had my vacation,” she answered. “Two weeks in August.”

“How about another vacation, on the company? How about Cancún? Or Rio? Have you ever been to Rio?”

“I haven’t had my shots.”

“What shots?”

“Diphtheria. Malaria. Don’t they have a lot of diseases there?”

Stone rolled his eyes. “Perhaps somewhere in this country would be better. Where would you like to go?”

“I could visit my mother in Florida.”

“Where does she live?”

“Lakeland.”

“Fine. Do you know the address and telephone number?”

“Oh yes. I call my mother every Sunday.” She wrote out the address and phone number. While she did so, Stone reached into the cardboard box and counted out ten thousand dollars.

“Now then, Marjorie,” he said. “I’d like you to take this money and use it to pay for your airline ticket to Florida and your expenses while you’re there. Please don’t use your own checks or credit cards. We’ll take care of the accounting later.”

Marjorie nodded earnestly.

“I want you to stay at your mother’s house until you hear from me,” he continued. “Don’t contact anyone else until then, not even your best girlfriend. It’s very dangerous. I can’t tell you the details, but you must trust me.”

“I will. I promise,” said Marjorie. She took the cash and began stuffing it into her purse. Fortunately, it was a very large purse, and when she removed a fat Danielle Steele novel, the money just fit. Stone looked at his watch one more time.

“We’d best be going,” he said. “I want you to go directly to National Airport and take the first available flight to Florida, no matter where—Miami, Tampa, Orlando—then go to Lakeland. Can you do that?”

“I don’t have any clothes. I’ll have to go home and pack.”

“There isn’t time. Buy yourself some new clothes when you get to Florida.”

“But I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

“Buy yourself a new toothbrush, goddammit!” said Stone. He was almost shouting again, and it looked for a moment as if Marjorie might resume her sniffling. Stone reached into the cardboard box and handed her some more bills, not even bothering to count them.

“I’ll keep the receipts,” she said.

“Yes, you do that. Keep the receipts.” He took her by the arm and escorted her to the door.

“The keys, please,” he said. “That’s a good girl.”

They climbed down the stairs together. Stone scanned the parking lot carefully before opening the door and, seeing no sign of surveillance, led her by the arm to the Rockville Pike. After a few agonizing minutes, he managed to hail a cab.

“Take her to National Airport,” Stone ordered the driver. He opened the door for Marjorie.

“Remember!” he said. “Do exactly what I told you. Don’t leave Lakeland or talk to anyone until you hear from me. I’m counting on you!”

“Yes, sir,” said Marjorie, voicing the unquestioning and automatic loyalty that is the mark of a disciplined soldier in any service.

The cab sped off. Stone jogged back to the Karpetland office as fast as he could manage. He made a last quick tour of the room and then carried the cardboard box down to his car, leaving the parking lot just after ten. He drove west toward the Potomac River, to a park and picnic area on the Maryland side of Great Falls. The park was deserted on this October morning. Stone parked next to an outdoor barbecue grill. He removed the cash from the box and crumpled the remaining files and papers into a small bonfire. He patted his pockets for matches and cursed loudly when he realized he didn’t have any. He decided to use the cigarette lighter from the car instead, which worked admirably. Within a few minutes the records of the sham enterprise known as Karpetland had been reduced to ashes.

Stone’s next stop was back