Nick Carter - Run, Spy, Run

"You are kind, my dear, and flattering. But my task shrivels in comparison with that of yours and Mr. Cane's. May I toast you both, and your continued success in foiling the plots of the ungodly!"

They raised their nearly empty liqueur glasses. Nick's eyes were swiftly measuring doorways and distances. If Julie was right — and his instinct told him that she was — they'd better be moving along.

He set his empty glass down. "I hope you'll forgive us, sir, if we eat and run. It's been a long, tiring day. I'd think we'd better be on our way."

Julie took his cue and stifled a ladylike yawn.

"It's been marvelous, but I am a little tired."

"Of course you are," said Judson remorsefully. "I'll call the car."

He pressed a buzzer and spoke into a mouthpiece.

"Harper. Have the car ready. My guests are leaving now."

Judson turned back to them. "I'm sorry you have to go so soon."

"Thank you, sir, for your hospitality."

"Delightful. Very kind," murmured Julie sleepily.

Judson escorted them easily to the great oak-and-iron front door.

Nick was mildly surprised that no move was being made to detain them.

The high, circular marble staircase rose like an exquisite monument. The Consulate was ablaze with light. A portrait of a sober-faced President Johnson hung in the great foyer beneath the seal of the United States. There was no suggestion of anything remotely sinister in the lofty hall.

Judson opened the door.

"Thank you both for coming."

"Our pleasure, sir. If you hear anything further, you can reach us at the Rand."

"I'll keep in touch. It's always good to talk to fellow Americans."

The car was waiting. Judson saw them to the great stone steps, shook Nick's hand, and bowed to Julie. The chauffeur was waiting with his hand on the open rear door of the limousine, touching his cap.

"How did you know?" said Nick affectionately and very, very quietly. He adjusted her cape around her shoulders.

"The TELEX," she whispered, smoothing her hair. "Dateline, Washington, 1:45 p.m. Hours ago. What a marvelous night!"

Nick cursed softly. "A bit cool, though. Come on, honey, let's not keep the driver waiting."

They walked arm in arm down the high stone steps. Nick nodded pleasantly to the chauffeur and handed Julie into the car. The connecting window was closed. A cool breeze drifted through the open rear windows. They settled back against the cushions and the limousine purred out through the high iron gates of the great town house.

Nick pulled Julie to him. "Anything else strike you?"

"Look in the mirror," she murmured, putting her head on his shoulder. "I think the bastard is a lip reader."

The driver's expressionless eyes seemed to be staring into his. The thin lips were forming shapes, as if he were talking to himself or trying on words for size. Nick fought the impulse to reach for Wilhelmina.

Nick held Julie close and kissed her hard. Then he placed his mouth in the hollow of her ear. "You may be right, sweetheart. About that TELEX — are you sure? What about the time difference?"

She giggled softly and nuzzled him seductively. "Even with the time difference, he got that message at least two hours before we got there tonight."

"And spent the time trying to figure it out, I suppose. And doing what else, I wonder?"

"Contacting someone, perhaps."

"Perhaps." A little shadow of doubt had formed into a black cloud of almost-certainty. "Wonder why Harcourt wasn't there tonight? And why we were, when he knows we're top secret? My God, any spy with any sense at all would've been watching that Consulate to see who comes and goes. And he was pretty interested in that message, wasn't he?"

"Much too interested, lover. And why does he have a lip-reading chauffeur?"

They straightened, breaking apart, as two lovers will when bright lights and staring eyes burst in upon them. They were entering the city's heart, and crowds thronged the sidewalks and the streets.

He peered out of the window. "We must be nearly there." He reached for her again and pulled her head on to his shoulder. "Chances are Judson doesn't know we're on to him. So let us both be casual and charming to the nice man when we leave his car, or he may tell tales."

She pulled herself away and busied herself with a fresh lipstick.

The limousine shot forward in a sudden burst of speed and darted down a side street. Nick instinctively reached for the door handle. Before he got there he heard two sharp clicks. The door was locked. With astonishing abruptness the two rear windows rolled themselves up and snapped shut. Julie gasped. Nick whipped Wilhelmina from her holster. The great Rolls swerved sharply to the left and down another secondary street. Julie sat up straight, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Peter. We've got to do something."

"Easy, now." He put an arm about her shoulders and lowered his head, as if reassuring her. "We're hooked. But we wanted to be, remember? It looks like time for sitting ducks."

"Can't you shoot the window out?" she whispered urgently.

"I probably can. But Julie — we've got to ride along with this. It's a little sooner than I expected, but he may be taking us where we want to go."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment. Then: "That was pretty good for a last meal, wasn't it?"

"Uhuh. Let's see if this connecting window opens. Perhaps the driver feels like chatting."

Apparently he didn't. The window was locked and the glass was very heavy, fitting snugly into felt-and-rubber grooving in the framework.

The huge, sturdy car rolled implacably away from the bright hub of London and into a misty dim darkness that bulged with the hazy, angular forms of unlighted buildings.

"From what I remember of Merry Olde England," Julia said distastefully, "we seem to be heading for the waterfront district."

"Yeah. Smells like Limehouse. Now look. I don't know what we're getting into, but we have to be ready for anything. You have that fingernail file?"

Julie nodded.

"Good. In your bag?"

She nodded again.

"Take it out. Pretend to fix your upsweep and stick it in your hair."

She took out a comb and did something to her hair, swiftly rearranging the firm, invisible pins. Nick bent over her, shielding her from view. But the stony eyes in the rearview mirror were momentarily averted. The driver's hand was in the glove compartment.

"What's he doing?" Julie put the comb back into her bag.

"Don't know."

The hand came out, empty.

Neither of them saw or heard the odorless, colorless gas that seeped through the tiny air vents in the upholstery surrounding them. Swiftly, irresistibly, it choked the air in the back of the limousine.

"Awfully sleepy," Julie yawned, tugging helplessly at the window.

Nick was mildly conscious of a sense of torpor, a pleasant feeling of drowsy relaxation.

"Hey!" He sat up suddenly shook his head. "Julie! Your shoe against the window!"

He searched desperately for the source of the gas, cutting off his breath although he knew it was too late for that. Julie swung feebly at the glass pane with her shoe. It rebounded and dropped, useless. She fell across Nick's lap, red lips parted, slender fingers clawing the expensive upholstery.

Nick felt resolve slipping from him like a sheet unwinding. He took Wilhelmina by the barrel and slammed the butt against the window glass. The glass crystallized and spider-webbed but did not break. He tried again, strength ebbing from his arm and reason from his mind. Wilhelmina's butt end was back in his hand. He raised her and squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, at the window next to him. Once at the glass partition. The noise thundered, volleyed around the confines of the car with ear-shattering echoes. The stinging smell of cordite hung in the air, filling the nostrils, blinding, choking, rasping, lulling, anesthetizing...