Free Spy Who Read Latin: And Other Stories by Edward D. Hoch Page A

There were lovely little parks running along both sides of the river at the point of exit, with jetties leaping out from either shore and beacons to guide the traveler.
    The Hotel de Ville was in another of the city’s parks, a half mile from the water. It faces the University and the Monument of the Reformation, both flanking the Promenade des Bastions which ran through the center of the park. Rand had checked in just after three, and was considering whether the park or the shore would make the more pleasing stroll while he waited for contact.
    As it turned out, the decision was made for him.
    “Message for you, sir,” the clerk called as he was crossing the lobby toward the street.
    “For me?”
    “You are Mr. Rand?”
    “That’s right.” He opened the folded piece of paper and read: Your old friend awaits you by the Jetty of the Spring Tides .
    Rand smiled slightly and slipped the note into his pocket.
    The Jetty of the Spring Tides was the one closest to the hotel, on the south bank of the river. He reached it after a twenty-minute walk that reminded him again of the city’s charms.
    At first he didn’t recognize the iron-haired man with the beard who occupied a bench near the jetty. He’d almost gone by when a half-remembered voice said, “The lake is enchanting here, with the mountains in the background.”
    “Taz!”
    “Are you surprised?”
    Rand sat down beside him. “Not really, I suppose. You are the only one who would have used that old cipher.”
    “I’m glad you came. I didn’t know if—”
    “What is it? I’d heard you retired to a farm outside Moscow.”
    Taz smiled, and Rand caught the glint of a gold tooth he hadn’t noticed on their previous meetings. Perhaps Taz had never smiled then. “A collective—a special one for loyal government employees like myself. It would bear little resemblance to your farms in England.”
    “What brings you to Geneva?”
    “I have come out of retirement. The indispensable man.” He said it with a slight smile.
    “That’s bad news for Concealed Communications.”
    “Not so bad, really. Our cipher section is fully automated now—rotor-type cipher machines, one-time pads produced by machine, even electronic voice scramblers. They hardly need a man at all.”
    “And yet you’ve come back.”
    Taz shrugged. “A simple courier mission.” He took out one of the familiar long Russian cigarettes and lit it. “But tell me about yourself, Rand. Any thought of retirement?”
    “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m getting married soon.”
    “Married?”
    Rand smiled at Taz’s surprise. Hastings had been surprised too. “You may have heard of her—Leila Gaad, from Egypt. She’s been living and teaching in England since last summer.”
    “Oh, yes. You shared some adventures with her, I believe, back in the days when we were active in her country.”
    “Right.”
    “Does she want you to retire?”
    Rand nodded. “And I’m thinking seriously about it. All this détente is bad for the budget. Besides, with you retired, the fun’s gone out of it.”
    Taz nodded, stroking his beard. “We can leave it for the younger men.”
    “Even your writer, Kolia Komarov, has retired—at least from Russia.”
    Taz seemed to tense a bit at his words. “Why do you mention Komarov?”
    “Oh, come now! We’ve sparred at long distance for too many years not to know each other fairly well. At the moment the only thing of interest to the Russians in Geneva is Kolia Komarov.”
    “You are correct, of course,” Taz admitted readily. “I make no secret of it. In fact, since you have guessed the purpose of my mission, perhaps you can even assist me with it.”
    The whole thing was coming too easily. Rand felt as if he was being drawn into something that had been carefully orchestrated by Moscow. “How can I do that?” he asked.
    “As you know, Komarov and his wife fled while in Sweden to accept his Nobel Prize. They fled without his precious manuscripts and notes.