Free The Eiger Sanction by Trevanian

payments—to say nothing of purchasing that Pissarro you covet. By the way, I hear there is another bidder on the painting. Pity if you lost it.”
    “You intend to hold out on me?”
    “Permit me an academic question, Hemlock. What would you do if I were to withhold payment?”
    “Light these.” Jonathan slipped his fingers into his shut pocket.
    “What have you there?” There was no worry in Dragon's voice. He knew how thoroughly his men searched everyone who entered.
    “A book of matches. Do you have some idea of the pain it's going to cause you when I strike them one by one?”
    Dragon's thin fingers flew automatically to his eyes, but he knew that his colorless skin would afford little protection. With forced bravado he said, “Very good, Hemlock. You confirm my confidence in you. In future, my men will have to search for matches as well.”
    “My payment?”
    “There. On the desk. Actually, I intended to give you the money all the time. I kept it only to assure your coming here to listen to my proposition.” He laughed his three arid ha's. “That was a good one with the matches!” The laugh changed into a weak, wheezing cough, and for a time he could not speak. “Sorry. I'm not really well.”
    “To put you at ease,” Jonathan said, slipping the chubby envelope of bills into his coat pocket, “I should tell you that I don't have any matches. I never smoke in public.”
    “Of course! I had forgotten.” There was real praise in his voice. “Very good indeed. Forgive me if I have seemed overly aggressive. I am ill just now, and that makes me tetchy.”
    Jonathan smiled at the uncommon word. Occasionally Dragon's alien English was betrayed by just such sounds: odd word choices, overpronunciations, mishandlings of idiom. “What's this all about, Dragon?”
    “I have an assignment you must take.”
    “I thought we talked about that. You know I never take jobs unless I need the money. Why don't you use one of your other Sanction people?”
    The pink-and-red eyes emerged. “I would if it were possible. Your reluctance is a nuisance. But this assignment requires an experienced mountain climber and, as you might imagine, men of such talents do not abound within our department.”
    “I haven't climbed for more than three years.”
    “We have considered that. There is time to bring you back into condition.”
    “Why do you need a climber?”
    “I could discuss details only if you were willing to cooperate on the assignment.”
    “In which case, forget it.”
    “I have a further inducement for you, Hemlock.”
    “Oh?”
    “One of our former employees—an erstwhile friend of yours, I believe—is involved in the affair.” Dragon paused for effect. “Miles Mellough.”
    After a moment, Jonathan said, “Miles is none of your business. I'll take care of him in my own way.”
    “You are a rigid man, Hemlock. I hope you don't break when you are forced to bend.”
    “Forced how.”
    “Oh, something will occur to me.” There was a heavy flutter in his voice and he pressed his hand against his chest to relieve the pain. “On your way out, would you ask Mrs. Cerberus to come to me, there's a good fellow?”

    Jonathan pressed back into the shallow entrance to Dragon's office building, trying to avoid the rain which fell in plump drops that exploded into a haze on the sidewalk. The liquid roar eclipsed the city's babble. An empty taxi came slowly up the street, and Jonathan jumped out to take his place in a line of supplicants who waved and shouted as the cab cruised majestically by, the driver whistling contentedly to himself, doubtless contemplating some intriguing problem of Russian grammar. Jonathan returned to the shelter of his meager cave and looked out glumly on the scene. Streetlights came on, their automatized devices duped into believing it was evening by the darkening storm. Another taxi appeared and Jonathan, knowing better, nevertheless stepped forward to the curb on the outside chance