Ник Картер - The Code

I felt guilty because I had brought her back and had failed to protect her. I was still alive and she was dead. But the strongest emotion that coursed through me, the one that filled me with determination, was fury. I would come out of this and I would get Moose and his friends, I thought I would do it not only for Dave Kirby but for Sheila.

Somewhere I discovered more strength than I’d thought I had. I reached up and grabbed hold of the edge of the kitchen table and pulled myself to my feet. Swaying, I looked around me, then staggered to the window. I tore down the curtains and covered the girl’s nude body with them. I collapsed into a chair, until I regained enough strength to stagger into the living room and make the incredibly slow journey to the telephone. I pawed the receiver off the hook and dialed the operator.

My croaked words didn’t make much sense, but I succeeded in communicating my need for help. When one of Bonham’s two policemen arrived at the house, I was unconscious on the floor, the receiver clamped in my hand so tightly he had trouble prying it loose.

I was a novelty for the staff at the hospital in the county seat near Bonham. They treated few gunshot wounds except during hunting season when overeager sportsmen usually managed to wing one or two other hunters, and I had the additional attraction of being the luckiest man they’d ever met.

“The one bullet only tore the flesh on your neck. You could get hurt worse playing touch football,” the doctor said. “But you were remarkably lucky on the one that got you in the chest.” He held up the shoulder holster I’d been wearing. “This slowed the slug down and angled it away from your vital organs. The bullet went through the leather rigging and was slanted from its path. You bled enough to lead the gunman to believe he’d made the right connection. You’re very lucky, Mr. Harper.”

“Yeah,” I said. I was lucky, but Sheila was dead.

“Your Good Samaritan helped, too. He did a splendid job of bandaging you up. I wonder if he’s had some medical training.”

I grinned when I heard the Mafia’s Marco Valante being termed a Good Samaritan.

The day and a half I had spent in the hospital had put me back in stride. I was still weak, but I felt close to par. I could move around my room, the doctor said, and if all went well, I could check out of the hospital within a week. He didn’t know it, but I planned to check out unofficially inside thirty minutes.

I walked to the window and looked down at the hospital parking lot. The battered Ford with the souped-up engine was sitting there waiting. I’d had it brought over from Bonham that morning. Moose and his companions had almost two days’ start on me. I had no intention of letting their trail get any colder.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man in your physical condition,” the doctor said. “The beating you took would have laid me up for days. But don’t press yourself too soon. You might find out that you’re not as strong as you think.”

“I’ll be careful, Doc.” I wasn’t even thinking about what I was saying. I was thinking about getting Moose.

After the doctor left the room, I removed my hospital robe and donned street clothing. I strapped on the bullet-scarred shoulder rig, my good luck charm, and checked the Luger.

My plans had not been cleared with Hawk. So far we’d had no opportunity to confer at length on the happenings in Bonham. We had talked once on the telephone since the police rushed me to the hospital, a necessity because my presence in the house with a slain girl had required a bit of explaining.

In fact, the Bonham police had threatened to arrest me. They were very upset about the rash of fatalities that had broken out in their town on the day of my arrival. But Hawk had pulled some strings, and suddenly there had been no more questioning, no more pressure. There had been no stories in the newspapers, either.

I left the hospital by the back stairs. I was walking briskly across the parking lot when a long car turned off the highway and came to a halt alongside me. A door swung open and Hawk said, “Nick, I’m glad you’re up and about.”

Hoping I didn’t look like a school-kid caught playing hooky, I obeyed his signal to climb into the limousine.

“You were planning to call me, I suppose. Certainly you wouldn’t leave the hospital and take up the chase again without letting me know.”

“Certainly not,” I said.

“You weren’t afraid that I’d veto the idea and say you were in no condition to pursue a wolfpack of killers?”

“No, sir,” I replied, respect in my voice. “You know I’d take myself off a job if I didn’t feel I was able to handle it.”

“When you get too old for this line of work, Nick, I’m going to recommend you for the diplomatic service,” Hawk sighed. “I was in Denver anyway and since I suspected you’d pull something like this, I came on over. Would you like someone assigned to you as a reinforcement?”

“No sir. I’d rather follow up on it alone.”

Hawk slid the soundproof glass panel between us and the two men in the front seat.

“It’s no longer simply a question of avenging Kirby, is it, Nick?”

I shook my head. “There’s the girl, too. But there’s more to it than personal vengeance. The man who leads the killers is a sadist who’ll go on slaughtering people if he isn’t stopped.”

Hawk flipped down a panel in front of him and tugged out a tape recorder. He pressed a button. In an official-sounding voice, he said, “Give me your report, N3.”

I related the events that had occurred since my arrival in Bonham and then Hawk cut off the recorder. “That takes care of the official part of it. The rest that is said is strictly between the two of us. I’m going to permit you to continue with this on your terms. Get the bastards, Nick.”

“You realize our security was breached at the base on the Carolina coast, don’t you?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Hawk said in a hard voice.

“I think the base was infiltrated by an agent of the Mafia. They were after the information we’d gathered on the girl, and they were seeking Frank Abruze’s killers. They can’t have a pack of mavericks knocking off a man to whom they’d promised security and retirement. It’s a direct challenge and an affront.”

“Agreed,” Hawk said. “I’ve drawn the same conclusions.”

“There are some missing pieces to the puzzle. Like why an assassin apparently working for the Mafia tried to kill me, but Marco Valante lent me a hand. Quiz your Mafia experts about that. Maybe they can come up with a theory.”

“Consider it done.”

“The men who killed Abruze and Kirby are looking for their blood money now. I’m convinced Sheila told them the truth and that she didn’t know what happened to the cash. They killed her for no good reason except that killing is Moose’s bag. There are three of them, by the way, not four.”

“What lead do you have to follow from here?” Hawk asked.

“This address book Moose dropped while we were wrestling the other night. There are seven names in it I’m going to pay a visit to each of these people. Maybe One of them will lead me to Moose.”

“If Moose and his confederates or the Mafia don’t get you first.” Hawk flipped through the address book. “These are women’s names, all of them.”

“And each in a different city. Moose has lady friends all over the map.”

“I’ll have a check made of the FBI’s files. Maybe they’ll tell us something about Moose and his friends. From your description, he’s the size of the Jolly Green Giant. That’s a start.”

I reached for the address book, but Hawk was in no hurry to return it “Nick, this is more than a list of names. If s a sexual catalog. Did you read these comments Moose wrote about the seven girls?”