Nick Carter - Run, Spy, Run

"We were sent to prevent an assassination and find out who gave the orders. Now we know. It was Judson, of course, who first mentioned your name."

"That's enough Mr. Cane! This is not the first time that one of my plans has been foiled. I have people working in America who — but you're the one who should be talking." Judas controlled his breath with a hiss. "You will tell me all you have heard or guessed about my plane-bomb operations — the names and plans of your superiors. You will tell me if there are other agents here in London working on the same assignment. And if you won't tell me, I'm sure Miss Baron will."

He pivoted on his heels and looked at her, the skull-mouth gaping.

"Oh, sure," said Julie, and she laughed. "Get out your steno pad and we'll just reel them off."

"Easy, Julie," Nick said warningly. He had heard the note of hysteria in her voice. "Don't let him get you with this garbage of his."

"No, let her talk," said Judas, his voice sounding hollow. "Her nerves begin to show erosion. Always a good sign. A very beautiful woman. She could be very useful with a little problem we have on our hands. Braille has not had a — shall we say — satisfying woman since our little bit of business in Argentina. Braille is amazing, Mr. Cane." He turned to Nick. "Incredibly virile and most interesting in his methods. None of your gentle lover's tactics for him. He likes to brutalize his women. Rip them apart, you know, tear them. It gives him great pleasure. He enjoys screaming, too. You see, he is built quite like a bull, and there isn't a woman alive who can — uh — accommodate him without a certain amount of quite unbearable..."

"You're filth, Judas. Nothing but dirt." Nick controlled his voice. Julie's eyes were sick and the skin was tight over her jaw. "Is that how you lost the hand — mouthing obscenities like that?"

The gash of a mouth almost smiled. Judas took a few gliding steps toward Nick. The light of the bulb fell behind him.

"I'm glad you asked me that, Mr. Cane. A bomb did that. Carelessly handled, I regret to say. My own fault. A year ago. The second one was much better; the intended party died. Tragedy does have its compensations. Braille, for instance is blind, but in the dark he is unerring. Of course it's always dark for him. I find him far more effective in many ways than a highly-skilled normal man. As for this hand — kindly watch."

The five fake fingers extended stiffly, shot toward Nick. Suddenly they halted, inches from his chest. There was a click, and a nasty little miracle occurred. The forefinger grew. The covering silver receded and a switchblade knife of gleaming steel paused a hair's breadth from Nick's throat.

"That is only one of my five weapons," said Judas. "Another is a delicate little gouge. For eyes, you know, and things like that. A third is a device that a Borgia would envy. Ah, but I'm taking too much of your time. I should like to show you more, but we must get busy. Now."

Weapons. Nick's mind raced. But Judas had spotted the giveaway flash of his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Cane. We relieved you of your choice collection. Braille and I made a very thorough search of both your clothes and persons. Braille in particular is very good at feeling his way around in — ah — places I may have missed. Yes, we found the clever Luger, the interesting Italian knife and that peculiar round ball. Not to mention not one but two small flashlights. Are you afraid of the dark, Mr. Cane?"

Nick glanced at Julie. The nailfile knife! Her taut expression had relaxed slightly and she gave a slight nod and an almost cheerful wink. Ha! So much for Braille and his feelies. Judas was saying, "I must confess the ball resisted our best efforts. What is it?"

"Souvenir," said Nick. "Good luck piece."

"So? What kind, might I ask?"

"It's a new compound. Manufactured in our labs. You could drop ten tons on it and it wouldn't break. Just a keepsake." His mind began to stir with an idea.

"You're lying," Judas suggested easily.

"Well, Baldy," said Julie helpfully, "why don't you let Peter bounce it off your head and see which one is the phony?"

Judas turned to her. His tapering body with the globular head and the lethal steel hand looked too ugly to be real.

"I see that you have fire, my dear. Braille will like that."

"Tell me about Valdez," Nick interjected. "The late Senor had a steel hand, too. Coincidence?"

Judas' intent look was quietly dangerous.

"How do you know about Valdez?"

Have I made a mistake? Nick wondered swiftly. "Why, I was briefed, of course. I was told that a recent explosion had been caused by a man with a steel hand, and that I should look for something of that sort on our flight. That's really how I spotted that fellow with the broken arm," he said easily, trying to look a little complacent.

Judas stared at him.

The dank cellar was getting steadily more foul. The waterfront location of their prison was unmistakable. It seemed to be some kind of basement storage room, long unused. Judson's chauffeur, had unloaded them somewhere among the docks of London, in that backyard area of abandoned sheds and antiquated warehouses. Nick fought down a rising tide of helplessness. Nick shot another sidelong glance at Julie. An unkempt ringlet of long, dark hair hung past one shoulder. Shorter, loose tendrils dangled over her forehead and down the back of her neck.

Judas had decided to answer. "Valdez," he said without animation, "was a man who betrayed not only his own government but the people who paid him well to betray it. Myself, in other words. He was not the anti-Red Chinese hero that he seemed. He fought against them with words in public places, but he helped their cause with deeds. Unfortunately he made the mistake of thinking he could replace me. Replace Judas! The arrogance of the man. So we arranged an ingenious end for him. Unhappily, the bomb was triggered on the ground, not in the air, as planned. I deplore this kind of accident, but nevertheless it turned out fairly well. I had hoped to get two birds with one stone — there was an interfering girl who was making a nuisance of herself — but I have every reason to believe that she has been taken care of."

What did that mean — that he'd heard from "Brown," or hadn't?

"No doubt you know about that too," finished Judas, with a faint inflection of enquiry.

Nick ignored that. "So you somehow persuaded him to blow himself up. How did you manage that?"

"Simple, really. The good Senor Valdez thought he was bringing a clever bomb to your country, which would be used at a later date and in the appropriate company. It was, of course, a device concealed in his artificial limb. He would simply remove the hand under cover of, say, the banquet tablecloth, and quietly excuse himself several minutes ahead of time. But we deceived him." The globular head lowered, as if in shame. Or gloating pleasure. "We told him everything but the time of the explosion. He did not know he was carrying an activated explosive."

"And you yourself were mistaken about the time of the explosion. So your timing was off, too."

Judas chuckled mirthlessly. "Not my timing, Mr. Cane. My hirelings'. Even the best laid plans are open to human error. Our expert in the — uh — portable demolitions department has been diverted to a less responsible position. He neglected to observe the time difference. Something to do with your idiotic daylight saving, I understand."

Well, that certainly explained a lot. But there was still a coincidence unanswered.

"But what about these artificial hands — are there more of them? What is it, a sort of trademark?"

Judas laughed again. "You do ask an awful lot of questions, Mr. Cane. I don't know what possible good you think it's going to do you. But that's really quite a delightful concept: the League of Silver-Fingered Men... Unfortunately, we only had the fortunes of war, Valdez and I, to blame for our common affliction. We met a year ago in the Swiss hospital to which we both had gone for our very difficult and specialized operations — he had had some kind of sordid little accident. It was there that I won him over to my employ. But eventually he got big ideas, as all really small men do. I even used his hand for him! Now, Mr. Cane, I've answered you. It's your turn to talk. Tell me: What is 'Brown' to you?"