Nick Carter - Run, Spy, Run

An even greater diversion than the billowing clouds of smoke would be the open door of the room almost opposite his, with the small metal tank that poured black smoke through the snaky length of rubber hose. That was going to take some explaining when those buzzards came to.

Nick thought of this with satisfaction as he checked his downward course on the second floor and headed for the fire escape. If there was anyone waiting for him outside, they weren't going to pick him off at the front door.

He reached ground and turned on to the crosstown street.

A red Jaguar was slowly turning the corner into Central Park West. Nick stared. The driver was wearing the black picture hat he had seen at Yankee Stadium.

Nick stepped back into the shadows. Shouts came from upstairs, but he knew by their muffled quality that they were directed to something within.

Moments passed.

The Jaguar turned smoothly around the far corner and headed toward him. He stepped from the shadows, his free hand ready to use Wilhelmina.

"That's far enough," he said, and put his hand on the slowly moving car. It stopped.

The woman looked at him calmly, only her raised eyebrows indicating any surprise.

"Get in," she said. "I was waiting for you."

"I thought you might be," Nick said easily. "I was waiting for you. Move over. Come on, move. That's better."

She moved reluctantly. Nick got in behind the wheel.

"I always feel easier when I'm driving," said Nick, beating a stop light. "I find conversation so much more pleasant. Did you enjoy the game?"

"Five to nothing, Yankees," she said matter-of-factly. "A bore. Now tell me where you think you're going."

Nick turned north, then gave his attention to her. The limpid, almost Asian eyes and the wide red mouth were just as he remembered them. But the enigmatic expression had gone and she looked — what? — Not at all afraid Piqued, somehow.

"It doesn't matter where we're going, as long as we can talk. Let's start with this: Why were you waiting for me?"

She flashed an angry look at him. "Because I saw those two hoods go in and I thought..."

His voice lashed at her. "You saw them or you led them?"

"How could I lead them?" The marvelous eyes flashed with anger. "I was there all evening!"

"Oh, you were," he murmured. "Why would that be?"

"Why do you think? I had orders to keep an eye on you."

He hooted. "Hah! And to what purpose, may I ask? To make sure I was neck deep in trouble?"

The rear-view mirror showed nothing out of the way. He made a sharp left turn, just in case, and made for West End Avenue.

"Who gave the orders?" he asked quietly, studying her profile out of the corner of his eye. It was worth studying. He liked it very much. But lady spies were no novelty to him.

"Mr. Cane." The voice was low and dangerous. So she knew his sometime name. "I know a great deal about you. You were sitting with a man in Section 33 this afternoon. A man I know very well. He doesn't really approve of female agents but my record is too good for even him to ignore. You follow me, Mr. Cane?"

He swung south. "Not altogether, and I hope no one else is. Do you know," he added conversationally, "that there's no way in the world anyone could have found me tonight, except to have followed you?"

"That's not true. That can't be true. I know how to be careful."

He laughed. "In a red Jaguar?" She made a small, muffled sound. "By the way," he said, glancing at the dashboard, "we'll be driving a long way tonight and we may need gas. Since this is your party, do you have five dollars?"

From her purse she took a five-dollar bill and thrust it at him. He took it and slowed down as he turned it over. The dashboard light showed the familiar picture of the Lincoln Memorial. The shading of the bushes to the left of the pillars spelled out the ragged letters COMSEC. Combined Security.

He gave it back to her.

"Now about that man. Who was he?"

"He's the one I was trying to take you to see," she snapped savagely.

"And what about me?"

"N-3 of AXE. I brought you an envelope this evening. With an airline ticket in it. Now suppose you let me drive."

"Just tell me where we're going and I'll drive. We've been theatrical enough already, don't you think?"

It was obviously an effort for her to give him the address. But she gave it.

"Tch. Should have told me that before. Look at all the time we've wasted."

He turned uptown.

She spoke bitterly. For someone who's supposed to be a gentleman, you're a smart-aleck, aren't you?"

"Not always smart enough," he answered seriously. "And neither are you. Didn't it occur to you that they just needed someone like you to lead them to me? And didn't you think that they might have left someone waiting outside, watching you?"

She was silent.

"You didn't Well, you should have."

The Jaguar clawed its way through a jam of cars on West 79th and turned easily on Riverside Drive. Up ahead, Nick could see the brilliantly lit outline of the George Washington Bridge.

"You're right," she said at last. "Maybe I'm the smart-aleck."

He smiled, and put his hand briefly on her shoulders.

"I haven't been doing so well lately, myself. What can I call you?"

She made a face. "Dope. Idiot. Incompetent..."

"No, no. I mean your name."

The lovely lips curved into a smile. "At the moment, Julia Baron."

"Nice. Very nice. Julie. I trust you'll call me Pete. Unless, of course, our mutual friend is less mutual than you claim."

Nick brought the car to a smooth halt before a line of brownstones lying on the rise between 79th and 80th.

Nick followed Julia Baron up a short flight of stone steps into a baroque lobby. They hadn't far to go. The girl beckoned quietly to the left to a broad, paneled mahogany door. A metal doorknocker, fashioned like a lion's head, yielded three spaced knocks followed by two short ones as Julia gave some prearranged signal. Nick stood behind her holding his briefcase. Hugo twitched in his sleeve as the door opened. Gloom rushed out at them.

Julia Baron hurried in with Nick on her heels and his right hand ready for defensive action.

The gloom vanished in a sudden blaze of electric light.

Nick blinked.

Mr. Hawk came away from the light switch, a taut smile on his leathery face, and secured the door behind them. He nodded to Julia and offered a half-apologetic look to Nick.

"Sorry I can't offer you chairs, but this won't take long. Sorry, too, about the melodrama, but it can't be helped. There are fleets of the enemy abroad, and I don't intend to bring you to headquarters at a time like this. You may sit on the floor, if you wish."

Nick did not wish. He found a fireplace mantelpiece and leaned on it. Julia sank gracefully to a cross-legged position.

The three of them — Nick, Hawk and the girl — congregated awkwardly in the empty room. There wasn't a stick of furniture in the place. Nick saw a foyer leading into darkness. Bedroom, kitchen or bathroom. It wasn't important right now.

"Very good cover." Hawk sighed heavily, as if he disliked the whole business. "The apartment is for rent and I'm interviewing prospective tenants. A bit late at night, of course, but it's the only time I had available. As you see, it's easy to make sure that we're not wired for sound. Not a bug in the place, except for the roaches. Now, down to business."

"Do you think you could bring yourself to offer an explanation?" Nick asked pointedly, eyeing the lovely in the picture hat.

"Later," Hawk said briskly. With that, he strode energetically into the dark room, reappearing with two pieces of gray luggage. He set them down on the floor, the American Tourister two-suiter and overnight case, and smiled at Nick without much humor.