Ник Картер - The Liquidator

“All that? What for?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “David told me he hadn’t had time to give you much of a briefing, but I didn’t realize he hadn’t told you anything. ”

The man beside me was coming up with a surprise every time he opened his mouth. He was the only person I’d ever heard call the chief by his first name.

“He said you’d fill me in on the details.”

“Only of this part of the operation, of course. And that’s to turn you into a reasonable facsimile of a yacht broker, Mr. Daniel McKee. I don’t know why, and I never expect to find out, so whatever you’ve learned about your operation, please don’t tell me.”

I wasn’t about to, but my own curiosity made me determined to find out everything I could about this overgrown cherub. “I gather you’ve worked with Hawk before.”

“Oh certainly,” he admitted. “We go back to World War II, when both of us worked in Naval intelligence. Well, at least I did; David was... unattached, as we used to say.”

“Uh-huh. And now you teach school?”

“No longer. I retired several years ago.”

I eyed him openly, making sure he was aware of it. “You seem a little young for retirement,” I said bluntly, probing for a reaction.

He just nodded agreement. “That’s true. I’m only fifty-nine. But when my wife died, it made my position awkward at St. Dunstan’s.”

“That’s the school?”

“Yes. You see, boys at prep schools tend to grow attached to certain faculty wives. You know, the afternoon teas, the sort of open-house atmosphere that some places maintain. My wife, I can say without boasting, was perhaps the favorite of all the faculty wives, and when she was gone, I found there was too much... well, let’s say sympathy for me. It became very difficult to teach, and I found it disturbing to have boys in for bull sessions with only myself. So... I retired.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, a little smile on his lips, but he swiped once at his eyes, then cleared his throat loudly.

“You... ah... still live on the campus?” I was less concerned with where he lived than how it might affect my cover; the last thing I wanted to do was have to cope with a bunch of curious schoolboys.

“Oh no. I took a house down by the yacht club on the Sakonnet. Not very large, but it suits my needs, and it’s close enough to the campus so I can expect friends to drop in from time to time. And I do keep busy, Mr. Carter, excuse me, Mr. McKee. Retirement, you know, is the time of life when a man finds the opportunity to do all those things he put off earlier.”

Okay, so he knew my real name. That was no surprise, not after learning how close he was to Hawk. But it seemed to me he was talking too freely to me, and I wondered how far he’d go.

“I guess you’ve done this kind of thing for Hawk before,” I remarked.

He glanced at me quickly. “Not exactly. That is, I don’t run a regular seamanship school for AXE agents, though I’ve taught one or two of your colleagues the fundamentals from time to time.”

“But you’ve... kept in touch all these years.”

He grinned. “You’re probing, Mr. McKee.”

It seemed like a good idea to be frank. “I always like to know as much as possible about the man I’m dealing with. Especially when he’s obviously an old pal of my chief.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Well, there’s no reason not to tell you a little bit. I have some small talents in various fields that David has been able to make use of when I’ve been available. Aside from boats and sailing, I’m a pretty good photographer, thanks to the Navy and the training they gave me many years ago. And I do travel; even when I was still teaching, I usually sailed to Europe, the Caribbean, even across the Pacific, during those long summers that schoolteachers live for. On my sabbatical — God, nearly ten years ago! — I took my wife and two daughters — grown and left the nest now — on a cruise around the world. David asked me to look into certain things, make contacts... well, you know what I mean. I’m sure you don’t intend to ask me for details.”

“They must be in the agency files.”

“I hope not. The little chores I’ve done for your chief have been personal favors. For an old friend. And as an old friend, David assured me my name would never appear in any AXE file, not even in code. I trust him. Don’t you?”

I nodded. And realized at the same time that I trusted this man as much as anyone I had ever met in my life. Which, of course, bothered me, because a big part of my profession is to be suspicious of damned near everybody I come into contact with.

“That sounds like quite a cover,” I said. “You, the wife, the kids, sailing around the world. What ports did you hit?”

Nathaniel shook a gently chiding finger at me. “Now, now, Nick, don’t start pushing. That was years ago, and whatever little things I did for David are long finished. Besides, I always stayed clean, was never identified as an agent of any sort. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“In that case,” I said wryly, “you’d better remember to call me Daniel McKee.”

“Oh, I won’t forget.”

“And I’m a... yacht broker?”

“That’s the idea. Why don’t we wait until we get to my place before we discuss it any further? It’s starting to rain, and these pesky windshield wipers only smear the water around.”

My efficiency apartment would have fit into the kitchen of Nathaniel Frederick’s “not very large” house. It was a ramshackle structure, two stories, white clapboard, with a wide covered porch running along the back and overlooking a wide body of water. When we arrived, the rain was driving, and I wasn’t at all sure exactly where we were. But I wasn’t worried, not with Nathaniel.

By the time I’d been shown to my upstairs room and had washed up, my host had a fire going in the big, comfortable living room that evidently also served as a study. Books and papers were piled everywhere; one wall was lined with cork, on which were pinned blowups of some of the best boating photographs I’d ever seen. Scattered around on shelves and occasional tables were framed pictures of children in various stages of growing up, and on another wall was a painting of a woman, proudly white-haired but radiantly beautiful. It was only a head-and-shoulders portrait but I knew she was the sort of woman who would draw all eyes away from a parade of Playboy bunnies. My respect for Nathaniel Frederick went up a few more notches; if I’d lost someone like that I sure as hell wouldn’t go around smiling.

“You’re a bourbon man, I understand,” he said.

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

“Yes.” He was standing at a mellow old cellaret, pouring from a cut glass decanter into a jumbo glass.

“Water?”

“Just rocks, thanks.”

We took our drinks — I think his was sherry, but I couldn’t be sure — into the kitchen, where he opened a few cans and whipped up a quick supper that tasted like nothing that ever came out of cans. When I complimented him on it, he waved away the flattery.

“When you’re at sea for weeks at a time in a small boat, Mr. McKee, you devise all sorts of interesting things with beans and corned beef hash. Otherwise you have a mutiny on your hands.”

Afterward we went out to the back porch. The rain was still pelting down, and though the night was chilly, I felt warm and protected under the deep, sheltering roof. A short stretch of sand led down to the edge of the water, where dark wavelets lapped greedily at the shore.

Nathaniel pointed off to our right. “The yacht club. A small place, and we won’t go there right away. For obvious reasons, I keep my own boat at the marina, which is just beyond there. In a few days, when I feel you can pass as a yacht broker, we’ll give you a test at the club.”