Nick Carter - Death of the Falcon

She insisted it wasn’t necessary, then asked me to hold the line. I could hear her talking to someone before she turned back to the phone to tell me: “Mr. Carter, one of the girls who works with me here was watching the lady when she left the shop. She says that she saw her get in a cab and that it took off fast.”

I thanked her again, then hung up and phoned Hawk to report the latest development. He decided to ask District Police to radio an alert for all cars to be on the lookout for Sherima’s limousine. I suggested that, if the car were spotted, it not be halted, but that an attempt be made to keep it under surveillance until it stopped. He issued the orders, then said: “What do you make of it, N3?”

“I think Abdul must have seen Candy phoning from that boutique and realized his plans had to be changed. He must know that she is helping someone to cover up Sherima’s disappearance and probably figures it’s me. That is, if he had anything to do with her abduction.

And his taking off that way makes it pretty certain that he did. My guess is that he’s probably heading to wherever they’re holding Sherima. If she’s still alive. I hope the District Police get a line on him soon. Is there any word on the VW camper?”

“Nothing yet,” Hawk said dejectedly. “I’ll call you back if I get anything. You have to wait there now, anyway, in case Miss Knight calls.”

“I know,” I said grimly, feeling resigned to wait in my room forever. “I just hope that she doesn’t try to play detective and get too close to him. I think it’s safe to assume she must still be on his trail somewhere. If she had lost him, she would have been in touch with me herself.”

Though just a short time before I had begun to feel irritated over the continual ringing of my phone, now I kept hoping it would peal again after Hawk hung up. It didn’t, and I sat there watching the seconds turn into seemingly endless minutes, knowing that once they started becoming hours, the time soon would arrive when I was due to have Sherima at the Secretary of State’s house for her radio conversation with Shah Hassan. And knowing, too, if we didn’t keep that date the whole world could start coming apart in explosions that would expand from the Mideast to the fringes of space.

I had paced about an inch of nap off the Watergate’s lush carpeting by the time Candy phoned just after four o’clock. Hawk had called twice in the interim with disheartening reports that neither the killers’ camper nor Sherima’s limousine and driver had been located. I could understand the limousine being hard to find among the thousands in public and private use in Washington, but the camper should have been easier to pin down, unless it had been stashed somewhere before the bulletin went out on the police network.

Candy’s words tumbled out like water from a dam giving way; she didn’t even wait for me to answer her questions:

“Nick, it’s Candy. Did you get my message? Abdul took off and I grabbed a cab and followed him. We’ve been all over the place. It cost me fifteen dollars, because the cab driver said he shouldn’t be doing it. Anyway, Abdul parked about a block away from the Adabian Embassy and just sat there for a while, then a man I didn’t recognize came out and got in the car and they drove off. I followed them and they rode around in circles for a while and then—”

“Candy!” I finally was able to break into the torrent of explanation when she paused for breath. “Where are you now?”

“At St. John’s College,” she replied casually, then, as I repeated the name incredulously, she continued, “I just came in here to use the phone. They were very nice about it and let me use one without paying, after I said it was an emergency. The lady said—”

When I yelled “Candy” again and demanded that she tell me where Abdul was, she sounded hurt again, saying, “Nick, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He’s at a house just about a block from here on Military Road.” She said Sherima’s bodyguard had driven the limousine right into the garage behind the house. “I saw him because I had the cab driver go past very slowly when I saw Abdul swing into the driveway. I had him let me out at the next corner, at Utah Avenue, then I walked back past the house, but I guess he and the man from the embassy already had gone inside.”

“Nick, do you think Sherima might be there?”

“That’s just what I intend to find out,” I told her, asking for the address on Military Road.

She gave it to me, then said, “Nick, are you coming out yourself or going to send the police?” When I told her I would be on the way there as soon as I could get downstairs and into a cab, she said, “That’s good. Sherima might be embarrassed if the police come and there’s a big fuss.”

I would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious a situation; just a few hours earlier, Candy had been all for calling out the Army and Navy and anyone else to help find Sherima, but once it looked like the former Queen might have been located, she was concerned about protecting the reputation of her friend and employer.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll try to keep Sherima’s name out of the papers. Now, you just wait for me at that school. What’s the name again? St. John’s College…” I ignored her protest that she wanted me to pick her up and take her with me to the house, insisting instead, “Do as I say. I don’t know what Abdul and his friend are up to, but there might be trouble, and I don’t want you hurt.” Better that she didn’t know for the time being how many men already had died that afternoon and that it was almost certain more would follow them. “I’ll come for you as soon as I can. Now, I’ve got to get started.” I hung up before she could argue any further.

There was one more call I had to make before taking off. Hawk listened as I told him what Candy had reported, then said, “The man he picked up at the embassy may be the Sword, N3.” As I concurred, he went on, “And I recognize that address on Military Road. It’s one that the CIA uses on occasion as a ‘safe house’. I thought we were the only ones, other than the CIA, who knew about it, but obviously the enemy has pretty good intelligence sources, too. You realize what the Sword probably intends to do, Nick?”

“That’s where the Silver Falcon will be found dead,” I said. “And there will be plenty of evidence to indicate that she was working for the CIA and was slain when she threatened to expose her former employer’s plotting in Adabi. But doesn’t the CIA keep someone on the premises at all times?”

“I would think so. But the Sword hasn’t hesitated to kill anyone else who stood in the way of his plans. And if, as Miss Knight says, he and that Bedawi fellow went right into the house, they probably had already done their killing.”

“I’m on the way, sir,” I told him. I had been checking my map as we talked and estimated that it would take me about twenty-five minutes to reach the address on Military Road. Hawk said he would send a back-up team after me as quickly as possible. Most of the local agents were in the field attempting to track down the VW camper and its deadly crew, but he said that he would divert a team to my assistance immediately. I knew that it was a task for a Killmaster, however, and asked him to instruct his men to hold back, unless it was absolutely certain that I needed help.

He would relay the proper orders, he said, then wished me luck — something he didn’t usually bother to do — and broke the connection.

As I stepped out of the door of my room, something hard rammed into my back and a cool, even voice said softly, “Let’s take the service elevator down, Mr. Carter… No, don’t turn around.” The order was enforced with another jab in my spine. “This is a .357 Magnum, and if I have to pull the trigger where I have it pointed now, most of your backbone will be coming out through your stomach… That’s better, just keep walking back along the hall to the elevator and be certain to keep your hands straight down at your sides.”