expression.There were medics available and though the wound was a decisive one,it need not be fatal, not in this day of surgery and antibiotics. No,not fatal, the Sov Officer decided. He glared at Joe again, his teethgrinding in his pain and shock. To move across the ring at theAmerican would be disastrous, stirring the heavy Bowie knife in hisintestines.
Rakoczi knew he had only split seconds, then he must sink to the sandso that aid might come. But perhaps split seconds were sufficient. Hereversed his own knife in hand, preparatory to throwing.
Joe watched him. The other's face was a mask of pure agony, but he wasno quitter. He was going to make his own throw.
It came, blurringly fast, too fast to avoid. The heavy frontier knifeturned over half in the air and struck Joe along the side, glancingoff, ineffectively. Sandor Rakoczi fell to the sand and the medicscame on the run, both toward him and to Joe.
And then the fog began to roll in on Joe Mauser, and he noted, asthough distantly, that the medical assistance that General Armstronghad provided from the West-world Embassy was headed by Dr. NadineHaer, who seemed to be crying, which was uncalled for in a doctor witha patient, after all.
XXI
His wounds were clean, straight slashes not overly deep and whichshould heal readily enough. In his time, Joe Mauser had copped many amore serious one. However, after bandaging, Nadine relegated him tothe small embassy hospital. The West-world diplomats would not eventrust the Sov-world medical care, preferring to import their ownCategory Medicine personnel.
He was, so Max informed him, the lion of the West-world colony inBudapest. And the Neut-world too, for that matter. It was quite ascandal that a diplomatic representative had been challenged to a duelby a known killer of Rakoczi's reputation. Informal protests werelodged. Joe, cynically, could imagine just how effective they wouldbe, particularly at this late date.
A lion he might be, but Nadine was not allowing him visitors thisfirst day of his recuperation. Max, to attend him, but no others. Atleast, so it was throughout the morning and early afternoon. Then, soobvious was it that his hurts were not of paramount importance, sherelented to the extent of allowing General Armstrong to enter.
The general scowled down at him, as though to read just how badly Joewas feeling. He grumbled, finally, "Dash it, you looked nothing somuch as an overgrown hamburger steak there for a while, Mauser."
Joe grinned wryly, "It's how I felt," he said. "I've never seen anyonemove so fast."
Armstrong said curiously, "If you wanted to use throwing knives, whydidn't you challenge him to a duel with throwing knives?"
Joe shifted his shoulders. "I figured my only chance with him was touse a weapon with which he wasn't familiar. The Bowie knife was it. Itdidn't occur to him that a knife build in that shape and as big asthat, was a precisely constructed throwing knife as well as one to usehand to hand." Joe twisted his mouth. "Besides, if the Sovs think allthe Machiavellians are on their side, they're wrong. Poor CaptainRakoczi got sucked in. _I_ had a throwing knife, but he didn't."
Armstrong looked at him blankly.
Joe explained. "The knife designed by Jim Bowie was made by a smithnamed James Black, of Washington, Arkansas. Bowie made himself sonotorious with it that the blade became world famous and Black madequite a few exact copies. Various other outfits tried to duplicate hiswork, but actually none succeeded in producing the perfect balance insuch a large knife that made it practical for throwing. It turns overonce in thirty feet, exactly. All I had to do was to get Rakoczififteen feet away from me, and he'd had it. And his own knife, when hetried to reciprocate, was off balance."
Armstrong said, "Zen!"
"By the way, how is he?" Joe said.
Armstrong said, soberly, "He's dead, Mauser."
"Dead! With all those doctors standing around?"
The general's face assumed its habitually worried expression "I ratherdoubt he died of your knife. The highest echelons of the Party do notapprove of failures. You were correct when you said you would havelost prestige had you fled Rakoczi's challenge or even insisted uponyour diplomatic immunity rights. As it is, the prestige has been loston the other side. By the way, it occurs to me that no further effortwill be made to eliminate you physically. It would be too blatant."
Joe said, "One of the things I wanted to talk to you about, general.While we were in there together, Rakoczi was sounding off in an effortto crack my nerve. Called me a lot of names, that sort of thing. Buthe also said, I'll try to repeat this exactly, _No longer do you worryabout locating the Sov-world underground and helping overthrow theParty, eh?_"
Armstrong slumped down into the bedside chair. "Dash it! That makes itdefinite. They're fully aware of your mission, though they haven't gotit exactly right. Your purpose isn't to aid the local underground butmerely to size it up, get the overall picture." He snorted hisdisgust. "I'll have to get in touch with our organization in GreaterWashington. One thing certain, we're not going to be able to let yougo into the field in your status as military attache and observer."
Joe had been scheduled to observe some of the combat taking place inChinese Turkestan with nomad rebels. He had looked forward to theexperience, in view of his own background, wondering in what mannersthe Sov forces of the Pink Army differed from the mercenary armies ofthe West-world. He said now, "Why not?"
Armstrong snorted. "You'd never come out alive. There's be anaccident, and the nomads would be given the dubious credit for havingkilled you." He came to his feet again. "I've got to think about this.I'll drop in later, Mauser."
Joe thought about it too, after the other had left. Obviously, therestrictions on his movements were a growing handicap on his abilitiesto serve the organization headed by Holland Hodgson. He wondered if hewas becoming useless.
* * * * *
Max stuck his head in the door and said, "Major, sir, one of thesehere Hungarians wants to see you."
"Who?" Joe growled. "And why?"
"It's that Lieutenant Colonel Kossuth one, sir. I told him Doc Haersaid you couldn't be bothered, but he don't seem to take no for ananswer."
Kossuth, Joe Mauser knew, was assigned to the West-world Embassymilitary attache department on a full time basis. It occurred to himthat the Hungarian would be privy to the inner workings of the Partyas they applied to Joseph Mauser and his associates.
"Show him in," he told Max.
"But the Doc--"
"Show him in, Max."
Lieutenant Colonel Bela Kossuth was solicitous. He clicked heels,bowed from the waist, inquired of Joe's well being.
Joe wasn't feeling up to military amenities after his framed-up neardemise of the day before. He growled, "I'd think you'd be wishing Ioccupied Captain Rakoczi's place, rather than offering me sympathy."
The Hungarian's eyebrows went up, and uninvited he took the chair nextto the bed. "But why?"
"You _were_ the man's second."
Kossuth was expansive. "When asked to act, I could hardly refuse abrother officer. Besides, my superiors suggested that I take the part.As you probably have ascertained, major, there is considerable doubtthe desirability of you remaining in Budapest."
Joe was astonished. "You mean to sit there and deliberately admit theduel was a planned attempt to eliminate me?"
The colonel coolly looked about the room. "Why not, major? There is noone here to witness our conversation."
"And you admit that your precious Party, the ruling organ of thisProletarian Paradise of yours, actually orders what amounts ofassassination?"
Kossuth examined his finger nails with studied nonchalance. "Why notadmit it? The party will do literally anything to maintain itself inits position, major. Certainly, the death of a junior officer of theWest-world means nothing to them."
"But aren't you a Party member yourself?"
"Of course. One must be, if one is to operate as freely ascircumstance allows in this best of all possible worlds, this paradiseof ours."
Joe sank back on his pillow. He couldn't get used t
o the idea of thisman, whom he had always thought of as the arch-stereotype Sov-worldofficer, speaking in this manner.
Kossuth crossed his legs comfortably. "See, here, major, you are allbut naive in your understanding of our society. Let me, ah, brief you,on the history of this part of the world, and the organization whichgoverns it. Have you studied Marx and Engels?"
"No," Joe said. "I've read a few short extracts, and a few criticisms,or criticisms of criticisms of short extracts. That sort of thing."
* * * * *
Kossuth nodded seriously. "That's all practically anybody does anymore, even in the