Nick Carter - Run, Spy, Run

"You look wonderful, Julie. Did I tell you? Like a princess."

"I like the looks of you, too, Peter."

They locked fingers and lapsed into silence, watching London pass by through the windows. Julie seemed calm and happy. Perhaps she was neither. Nick was uneasy.

The high, stone shadow of the American Consulate loomed up through the windshield and the Rolls glided into a driveway and stopped. Nick relaxed a little. At least they hadn't been taken for the legendary "ride."

Julie grinned and pressed his hand.

"Do you suppose there'll be poison in the soup?"

The soup was excellent.

So was the delicate pate, the crisp bread fingers, the fine filet, and the succulent green salad. So were the varicolored wines that accompanied each course.

Henry Judson was cordiality itself. There was no sign of a wife, and he mentioned none. In spite of his borrowed anglicisms, picked up in the course of his many years in London, he was wholeheartedly American, crisply executive and charmingly attentive. He was sensitive to political trends and nuances; he spoke knowledgeably but. not condescendingly about many things. Nick answered in kind, with assists from a remarkably well-informed Julia. Judson went on to talk of life in London and of world affairs with all the impressive familiarity of the true diplomat. Nick sensed that he enjoyed the talking, that he liked their ready answers. He began to feel that he had been foolish and melodramatic.

Hawk's message arrived with the cherries jubilee and fragrant sherry. An aide came in and whispered briefly. Judson nodded, dismissed him, and they finished their meal without haste.

"If the circumstances had been different," the Consul said, setting down his sherry glass, "I should like to have arranged a more elaborate dinner party. But until this thing is done with, we can't afford to call attention to you. I hope we'll have occasion for a celebration later. Coffee?"

It was the first time since he had greeted them that he had alluded to the reason for their presence in the misty city.

They had their coffee in a high-ceilinged, paneled den room somewhere beyond the formal dining room. There was a roaring fireplace flanked by American and English flags. Julia sank into a deep stuffed chair to listen while Nick and Judson examined Hawk's coded message. It was imprinted on a streamer of teletype and incomprehensible to anyone but the party for whom it was intended:

BROWN CONFIRMS BIBLE IS RIGHT ISCARIOT TAKING SILVER IN STEEL HAND SAME 707 INTENDED ELIMINATION LINE ON LOCATION RED PROCEED UNIVERSITY BUSINESS AWAIT FRIENDS WATCH BIG BEN WEDNESDAY GERONIMO.

Henry Judson smiled ruefully.

"I get a lot of these. I must confess I've never learned to make heads or tails out of most of them. We have a decoding staff, of course, and they interpret for me. But I suppose it's basic English to you, Cane."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "Fairly basic. Sometimes open to conflicting interpretations, of course." He passed the streamer to Julie. She read it swiftly and returned it to Nick. He re-read it, went over to a metal ash tray and took out his cigarette lighter. Too bad, he thought, that he didn't have any of Hawk's Quantity K to play with. He applied the flame to the streamer and watched the coarse paper shrivel.

Judson pulled deeply on his cigarette.

"Am I a security risk, too?"

"No, of course not. But one gets in the habit of not leaving things of that sort lying around." Nick stirred the hot ashes. "Anyway, except for sending and receiving messages, I think it would be best to leave the Consulate out of this as much as possible."

"Oh, quite," said Judson, nodding his acceptance. "I couldn't agree with you more. But we will need to work together to a degree, and I'm always bothered by these cloak-and-dagger melodramatics. I can't be of use if I have to work completely in the dark."

Nick frowned. "I see your point. Naturally you have a right to know what's happening." He knew, as well as anyone, that the American government representative in any country was, as the President's envoy, the American government on that country's soil. He reached into his pocket for a pack of Players and offered one to Julie. She took one and inhaled gratefully. As he lit his own, Julie turned to Judson and reached for her coffee cup.

"This must be American coffee, Mr. Judson. I wonder if I could trouble you for some more."

"Of course, my dear. Oh! How forgetful of me. I meant to offer you some Drambuie, or a Cointreau. Any takers?"

They agreed to make it Drambuie all round, and Judson took Julie's coffee cup over to the bar. He busied himself with coffee tray and tiny glasses.

Nick stared at Julie. Her right eye was twitching in the strangest way. The eyelid batted away with alarming speed. One short, two long, one...

He blinked, himself. He had never before, in all his experience, received a Morse Code message via the eyes.

The message itself was haix-raising.

He's phony! Watch him!

Nick Carter found it hard to keep himself in check as Judson returned with the tray. What the hell had she seen that he hadn't noticed?

He was very careful with his drink. Judson was drinking the same thing, and the bottle was on the tray.

It smelled all right and it tasted all right.

"Now, Mr. Cane, you were going to tell me?.."

"Oh, yes. The message." It flashed through his mind: BROWN CONFIRMS BIBLE IS RIGHT. That meant they had found Brown and extracted from him the information that the operation did indeed involve Judas as Hawk had so strongly suspected. ISCARIOT TAKING SILVER IN STEEL HAND. Judas was selling his services to a foreign bidder. STEEL HAND was a bit puzzling... STEEL HAND SAME 707 INTENDED ELIMINATION. Hmm. Valdez was Steel Hand and had been eliminated on that Boeing 707 flight. "SAME" could only mean that Mr. Judas had a steel hand, too. LINE ON LOCATION RED meant that Hawk had a clue as to Judas' whereabouts. PROCEED UNIVERSITY BUSINESS AWAIT FRIENDS. Continue with investigation but expect further, more detailed orders. WATCH BIG BEN WEDNESDAY GERONIMO. Stay in London until Wednesday when they'd get a "Go, Go" sign.

Judson was eyeing him with politely concealed impatience.

Nick smiled apologetically. "As I said, sometimes these messages are subject to interpretation. Since it's a word code, rather than a letter substitute or number code, there's a limit to what one can say in them and still make sense. Roughly, it means this: We have a suspected traitor in our midst who is taking money from the enemy..." Was it his imagination, or did the lean face tighten? "The incident on today's flight was to have had the same purpose as the one on the 707 — the elimination of a public figure. Evidence points to a Red sabotage plan. Our instructions are to stay out of it from now on because friends will be arriving on Wednesday to take over the operation. Unless I misread that last line," he added, playing his deception to the hilt. "Perhaps it means there's to be another important flight on Wednesday, and therefore another attempt. I'll just have to wait for further instructions on that one."

"Ingenious," murmured Judson, his eyes admiring. "A traitor, eh? To whom, I wonder. To the entire western world?" He sighed and shook his head. "I must say, (though, it's amazing the way you people work. Speak your own language, arrange your own systems. Here at the Consulate I'm afraid we're duller than cold coffee. Oh, we like to think of ourselves as important, and quite capable of solving the problems of the world... but I'm very much afraid it all breaks down to routine, red tape and hypocrisy."

Julia laughed melodiously.

"Come, now, Mr. Judson. Consular work is very important."