Free Assignment Unicorn by Edward S. Aarons Page A

hair.
On anyone else, Durell thought, it would look ridiculous. But Wilderman paid no
attention to it. The second parakeet landed exhausted on the floor and
rested, huffing and putting, its little breast like a tiny bellows.
    “You are not afraid of birds, I trust, young lady,”
Wilderman said, and it was plain that he didn’t give a damn whether she was or
not. “Some people have a phobic dislike of the dear creatures, much as women
are generally terrified of mice. No need to fear them, dear Miss
Donaldson.”
    “I don't,” Maggie said.
    Wilderman swung to Durell and said abruptly, “You should not
have brought her here to this place.”
    “Her father was assassinated.”
    "Granted. And you were Hugh’s friend. Hugh was not a
paragon of virtue, you know, according to our rules and regulations. You could
be considered suspect, too. But the girl does not belong here, much less within
sight of me.” Wilderman preferred his anonymity these days. However, since she
is with you, Durell, she might as well stay. As you say, she may be considered
to have a vested personal and emotional interest in the matter. But you know as
well as I how debilitating such emotions can be. You have met with our esteemed
ISB Director, John Meecham, of course, in Rome. I understand you object to our
man Wolfe, much as you objected to poor Charley Lee. Regrettable. Impulsive.
Not conducive to operational efficiency. Wolfe is outside on a Lambretta. He
may suffer his death of cold in this sea wind. Would you prefer that he be
brought in?”
    “No,” Durell said. “He can stay out there. I wanted to talk
to you, sir!”
    “I know all about it. You have postulated some rather
thought-provoking and intriguing theories about the series of misfortunes that
have lately befallen K Section. You’ve stepped into my bailiwick, Mr. Durell,
and I may or may not happen to agree with your ideas, but I tend to side with
Meecham about sending you back to your regular field assignments.”
Wilderman leaned forward slightly, hunching his shoulders until they stood up bonily , like a vulture’s. “I know that you and most other field
agents in K Section resent me and my work. Perhaps you consider it a scavenging
operation. Perhaps it is. But scavengers are necessary to keep matters
sanitized. You and the other field men are often under great pressure
    and stress, and sometimes temptation. A man is only human,
after all. No amount of indoctrination at K Section’s Farm can knock out a
man’s ordinary drives and motivations completely.”
    “You sound afraid of us.”
    “I am,” Wilderman said. “I sometimes liken myself to being
in a cage full of tigers. If you consider that a compliment, accept it as such.
I know you, Durell. You can kill. You can handle grenades, thermite bombs, and
for all I know, dismantle tactical nuclear weapons. You can kill with a knife,
a rolled newspaper, your thumbs, a hatpin. Poisons are not alien to you. And
you resent surveillance behind your back. Well, my work may not be pleasant,
but it is necessary. For example, you claim friendship with Hugh Donaldson, do
you not?”
    Durell’s blue eyes looked black. “Yes.”
    “And you are screwing this young woman here, his daughter, a
drug addict, to a fare-thee-well. You have already been advised that
Donaldson’s accumulated fortune is a subject of suspicion. Ergo, you could fall
under the same shadow.”
    “To hell with you,” Durell said.
    “One moment. Another example. Your dossier shows certain
activities in the past, for instance, in cooperation with a certain Colonel
Cesar Skoll, of Moscow’s KGB. You have been cited several times as stating that
Skoll is your friend.”
    “Not a friend. An ally of expedience.”
    “How do we know there is nothing more‘? How do we know you
are not paving a safe haven for yourself if you ever decide to go over the
wire? Can you be trusted? Should you not be observed, watched, considered with
a certain suspicion?”
    “You