Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean

anything,until by and by the butler came in and said thegeneral wanted to see us. We all trooped out again.Valentino was still there, but I made it safely tothe library. Maybe he’d hurt his toe, but I knewit wasn’t that: Royale had told him once to lay off,and just once would be all that Royale would haveto tell anybody anything.
    A far from subtle change had taken place in theatmosphere since we’d left. The girl was sitting ona stool by the fire, head bent and the flickeringlight gleaming off her wheat-coloured braids, butVyland and the general seemed easy and relaxedand confident and the latter was even smiling. Acouple of newspapers were lying on the librarytable and I wondered sourly if those, with their bigblack banner headlines ‘Wanted Killer Slays Constable,Wounds Sheriff’ and the far from flatteringpictures of myself had anything to do with theirconfidence. To emphasize the change in atmosphere,a footman came in with a tray of glasses,decanter and soda siphon. He was a young man,but moved with a peculiarly stiff leaden-footedgait and he laid the tray down on the table withso laborious a difficulty that you could almost hearhis joints creak. His colour didn’t look too goodeither. I looked away, glanced at him again andthen indifferently away once more, hoping thatthe knowledge of what I suddenly knew didn’tshow in my face.
    They’d read all the right books on etiquette,the footman and the butler knew exactly whatto do. The footman brought in the drinks, thebutler carried them around. He gave a sherryto the girl, whisky to each of the four men –Hophead was pointedly bypassed – and plantedhimself in front of me. My gaze travelled from hishairy wrists to his broken nose to the general inthe background. The general nodded, so I lookedback at the silver tray again. Pride said no, themagnificent aroma of the amber liquid that hadbeen poured from the triangular dimpled bottlesaid yes, but pride carried the heavy handicap ofmy hunger, soaked clothes and the beating I’d justhad and the aroma won looking round. I took theglass and eyed the general over the rim. ‘A lastdrink for the condemned man, eh, General?’
    â€˜Not condemned yet.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Yourhealth, Talbot.’
    â€˜Very witty,’ I sneered. ‘What do they do in thestate of Florida, General? Strap you over a cyanidebucket or just fry you in the hot seat?’
    â€˜Your health,’ he repeated. ‘You’re not condemned,maybe you’ll never be condemned. Ihave a proposition to put before you, Talbot.’
    I lowered myself carefully into a chair. Valentino’sboot must have mangled up one of the nerves inmy leg, a thigh muscle was jumping uncontrollably.I waved at the papers lying on the librarytable.
    â€˜I take it you’ve read those, General. I take it youknow all about what happened today, all about myrecord. What kind of proposition can a man likeyou possibly have to put to a man like me?’
    â€˜A very attractive one.’ I imagined I saw a touchof red touch the high cheekbones but he spokesteadily enough. ‘In exchange for a little serviceI wish you to perform for me I offer you yourlife.’
    â€˜A fair offer. And the nature of this little service,General?’
    â€˜I am not at liberty to tell you at present. Inabout, perhaps – thirty-six hours, would you say,Vyland?’
    â€˜We should hear by then,’ Vyland agreed. He wasless and less like an engineer every time I looked athim. He took a puff at his Corona and looked at me.‘You agree to the general’s proposition, then?’
    â€˜Don’t be silly. What else can I do? And after thejob, whatever it is?’
    â€˜You will be provided with papers and passportand sent to a certain South American countrywhere you will have nothing to fear,’ the generalanswered. ‘I have the connections.’ Like hell Iwould be given papers and a trip to South