Ник Картер - Assault on England

“He knows I’m an agent too,” Heather said. “I’m sure of it. But we got what we wanted and that’s the important thing.”

“I just hope it all adds up to something,” I said.

She regarded me soberly. “I remembered something else, Nick, while I had tea with Jupiter. Remember the day the Foreign Secretary was assassinated, I told you I’d run into Elmo Jupiter when I met you outside?”

I stopped and looked at her. I had forgotten that “Yes,” I said slowly, something stirring in my memory, “you said you’d just seen him, right near the Foreign Office. What was he doing around there, did he say?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Oh, I went through the usual polite bit, ‘Why, Elmo Jupiter, what brings you to this part of town?’ I think he said a friend but I wasn’t really listening. Then he started pressing for a date and I got away as soon as I decently could.”

“ ‘A friend,’ ” I said, shaking my head. “It’s always possible, of course, but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“I certainly could believe he’s our killer,” Heather said, shuddering. “Those eyes! They give me the creeps.”

I stopped dead. “That’s it! The janitor! That’s what’s been working at the back of my mind. He had the same build as Jupiter and the same hard-looking eyes. I was right — the hair and mustache were phony. It was Jupiter, I’m sure of it. And it fits! He recognized me when he bumped into me in the corridor and concluded, rightly, that I was with the security people. He was afraid of just this, afraid I’d see him again and remember, so he sent those thugs to kill me.”

“I think it’s time for another chat with Brutus,” Heather said.

We found her boss in his office. He was in a foul mood, having just returned from London Airport where he had been overseeing the loading of fourteen million pounds sterling aboard a military jet. The money had been packed in steel boxes and guarded by SOE agents.

We briefed him on our trip to Jupiter Motors, then gave Brutus Heather’s cigarette lighter and the film from my watch camera. He rushed them to scientific division and we settled down to wait.

The results were not long in coming, only a half hour. A clerk handed Brutus a folded file. As he read it, his brow furrowed. Finally he said, “It seems, Nick, you and Heather have gotten the fingerprints of a dead man.”

He handed me the file. The first page was the police record of John Elmore.

“There’s no doubt?” I asked.

Brutus shook his head gravely. “The fingerprints match perfectly.”

“Then he must have staged that fight with Scotland Yard, left a body behind and sneaked out somehow while the fire was raging. He could have had plastic surgery performed on his face and gone into the automobile business. All these years he was operating in the clear. But why now, out of the blue, would he...”

“Well find out after we pick him up,” Brutus said, reaching for the telephone.

“You’d better pick good men, sir,” I told him. “If Jupiter is our man, and it certainly looks like it, he’s very clever. And extremely dangerous.”

“No need to remind me,” Brutus huffed.

After he got off the phone I offered to go along with his men. “No need,” he brushed off my offer. “You two’ve done enough today.”

“What about the money now?” Heather asked him.

“I’ve spoken to the Prime Minister — the white flag is flying above Parliament and he is not impressed yet with what we’ve done so far. He remembers Novosty.”

“But this is different!” Heather pleaded.

“You have to remember,” Brutus said, “that absolute panic reigns at the moment. Parliament insists that something be done to stop the killings. And the shipment can still be stopped in Switzerland if Elmo Jupiter does turn out to be the assassin.”

We left him a few moments later and walked through the building, headed for the parking area and the beautiful yellow Porsche 911 Heather had rented.

“I think we’re entitled to a good lunch,” she said as we reached the car.

I agreed. “I’m famished.”

Heather started to get behind the wheel, but I stopped her. “You’re not the only sports car buff in the crowd.”

I took the wheel. She chuckled and climbed in beside me. “Do you like Greek mousaka?” she asked.

“If it’s made with plenty of meat,” I said, starting the engine.

“Then I’ll make you a nice meal while we wait to hear from Brutus,” she said.

We were lying side by side on the long sofa in Heather’s flat. I was digesting the mousaka, which had been delicious. Heather was certainly an amazing girl.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she said. She was lying against my chest, running a hand seductively along my jaw.

I took the hint and turned to her. I buried my face in her hair, drawing in the scent of her perfume. I nibbled on her ear and she uttered a low, deep moan. She lifted her face to mine, and as T kissed her I undid the row of buttons of her housecoat. I slipped around her back, found the clasp of her bra and unsnapped it. She pulled the housecoat off her shoulders and threw the bra away. I played with her nipples, teasing them with my teeth. They grew hard as pebbles.

Slowly I caressed her shoulder, then the outer rim of her breast. She sucked in her breath sharply when I did that, then bit down on my lip.

Lightly I ran my fingers over her thighs and hips, distributed kisses across her breast. That was as much as she could take.

She guided me to her, making the union herself, arching her lovely back into it and thrusting to meet me until I was deep in her. The familiar sound of pleasure purred in her throat. My mind and body centered on the primal urge to penetrate and explore and ravish this lovely female who was, for the moment, part of me. Our passion grew, mounted... and erupted in total fulfillment.

The phone rang just minutes after we’d finished. Heather put the receiver to her ear, listened a few moments, then gasped. “Yes sir, right away,” she said, then hung up.

“Brutus?” I asked.

“Yes,” her head bobbed up and down. “Jupiter has disappeared. He’s nowhere to be found, not at his office or his home.”

“Maybe he is just out.”

“Brutus doesn’t think so,” she said. “He believes Jupiter suspects we know about him.”

I pondered that for a second. Brutus was probably right. A man with Jupiter’s intelligence would suspect something about our sudden visit to his place. After thinking about it he’d probably decided to play it safe, to hide out somewhere.

I got off the sofa and started to dress. Heather headed for the bedroom. “Brutus wants to see us immediately, if not sooner, at his office,” she said over her shoulder.

We were ready in ten minutes and walked down the stairs from Heather’s flat to the street. It was late afternoon and the early autumn sun was already setting. The sleek Porsche 911 was parked around the corner on a cobblestoned side street. Just as we reached the car, two men stepped out of a building entrance and confronted us. Each held a revolver in his right hand.

“Blimey!” Heather said softly.

“Hold it just there,” the man closest to us said. He was a narrow-shouldered, thin-faced character whose pale blue eyes never left my face. His buddy was stockier with a soccer player’s legs. “Search the girl,” the thin man told him, then, to me, “Stand still.”

He patted me down and he did a good job — he found Wilhelmina and Hugo.

“What’s all this?” I asked, though I could make a good guess.

“Never mind,” the soccer player said, shoving Heather’s little purse with the Sterling in his pocket. He nodded toward the curb where a black Rolls-Royce was pulling up in front of the Porsche. “Just hop in.”