Ник Картер - Assassin - Code Name Vulture

I clasped the hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Minourkos—”

“Nikkor.”

“All right, Nikkor. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I took a deep breath and let it out I stared out over the blue harbor to where a glistening white cruise ship in the distance was making its way toward us. “It’s hard to explain,” I said. “I tell myself several times a year that I’m insane to keep on in this work, that it’s a thankless job, that nobody gives a damn. But people do give a damn. And, despite the bad pay and the long hours and the danger, it’s a part of me. It’s what I do best, Nikkor. It’s where I’m needed most.”

There was a long silence. A gull flashed its wings in the sun. Finally Minourkos spoke. “I understand.”

A moment later, Erika was beside the table with a London paper. “I don’t know how they can fly these here every day and charge so few drachmas for a copy,” she said.

“Any mention of Stavros?” I asked.

She held the paper up so that we might read the headline: GREEK COUP THWARTED. There was a picture of Minourkos.

“Maybe this will raise the price of your stocks,” I said, smiling.

I rose and put an arm around Erika. I was going to take a couple of days at the Rhenia with her, no matter how hot David Hawk got under the collar. I figured we were entitled to it.

“We’re heading back to the hotel,” I said to Minourkos. “Like to walk with us?”

He shook his head. “I think I know when two people want to be alone. I will just sit here until plane time, thank you, and watch that cruise ship come in. I always liked to watch a fine ship move gracefully into harbor.”

“Then goodbye, Nikkor,” I said. “Maybe our paths will cross again under better circumstances.”

“Yes,” he said.