Nick Carter: Hood of Death

Six weeks ago Nick Carter had slipped almost literally into the skin of "Gerald Parsons Deming," Washington representative for a West Coast oil company. Another tall, dark and handsome young executive who was invited to all the best official and social gatherings.

He fitted the part. He should; it had been created for him by the master technicians in the Documents and Editing Divisions of AXE. Nick's hair became black instead of brown, the tiny blue hatchet inside his right elbow concealed with skin paint Where his deep tan wasn't enough to mark him as a genuine brunet, his skin was darkened. He stepped into a life which a double had established in advance, complete with papers and identification perfect even to hairline detail. Jerry Deming, man-about-town, with an impressive country place in Maryland and an apartment in the city.

The flicker of headlights in the mirror brought him back to the moment. He became Jerry Deming, fitting himself into the fantasy, forcing himself to forget the Luger and stiletto and tiny gas bomb so perfectly hidden in a compartment welded under the rear of the Bird. Jerry Deming. On his own. Decoy. Target. The man sent out to make the enemy move. The man who sometimes got the casket.

Ruth said softly, "Why are you in such a changeable mood tonight, Jerry?"

"Had a hunch. I thought a car was following us."

"Oh, dear. You didn't tell me you're married."

"Seven times and loved every one." He chuckled. It was the kind of a joke Jerry Deming would make. "No-o-o, sweet. I've been too busy to get deeply involved." That was the truth. He added a fib, "Don't see those lights any more. Guess I was mistaken. You gotta watch it. Plenty of stickups on these back roads."

"Be careful, dear. Perhaps we shouldn't have come away out here. Is your place terribly isolated? I'm not — scared, but my father is strict. He has a horror of publicity. He's always cautioning me to be careful. His old-country prudence, I suppose."

She eased back against his arm. If it's an act, Nick thought, it's great Since he had met her she had behaved precisely like the modern but conservative daughter of a foreign businessman who had discovered how to amass millions in the U.S.A. A man who considered his every move and word in advance. When you found the golden cornucopia you shunned any notoriety that might disturb your shoveling. In the world of war contracts and bankers and brass, publicity is as welcome as a slap on a red raw sunburn.

He found a luscious breast with his right hand, without any protest from her. It was about as far as he had gone with Ruth Moto, slower progress than he liked, but it fitted his methods. Schooling women, he had learned, was akin to training horses. The qualities for success were patience, one small advance at a time, gentleness — and experience.

"My place is isolated, dear, but there's an automatic gate on the drive and the police patrol the area regularly. Nothing to worry about."

She snuggled against him. "That's good. Have you owned it long?"

"Several years. Ever since I began spending a lot of time in Washington." He wondered if her questions were casual or well planned.

"And you were in Seattle before you came here? That's lovely country. Those trees in the mountains. The even climate."

"Yes." She couldn't see his small grin in the darkness. "I'm really a nature boy. I'd like to retire to the Rockies and just hunt and fish and — things like that."

"All alone?"

"No. You can't hunt and fish all winter. And then there are rainy days."

She giggled. "Those are wonderful plans. But will you? I mean — maybe you'll put it off like all the rest and they'll find you at your desk at the age of fifty-nine. Heart attack. No hunting. No fishing. No winter or rainy days."

"Not me. I'm planning ahead."

And so I am, he thought, as he braked when the small red reflector that marked the almost hidden drive came into sight. He turned in, went forty yards and stopped in front of a sturdy wooden gate made of cypress planks stained a rich red-brown. He cut the engine and the lights.

The stillness was astonishing, when the roar of the engine and the ripple of the tires stopped. He gently tilted her chin toward him and the kiss was smoothly begun; their lips undulated together in a warm and stimulating and moist blending. He stroked her lissome body with his free hand, cautiously advancing just a little further than he ever had before. He was pleased to feel her cooperating, her lips parting slowly to the probe of his tongue, her breasts seeming to return his gentle massage with no shiver of retreat. Her breath quickened. He matched his own to its sweet-scented beat — and listened.

Under the insistent pressure of his tongue her lips at last parted fully, flaring like a flexible hymen as he formed a lance of flesh, exploring the pungent depths of her mouth. He teased and tickled, feeling the quivers of reaction flutter through her. He caught her tongue between his lips and sucked gently… and he listened.

She was wearing a simple dress of thin white sharkskin with a button front. His deft fingers unslipped three buttons and he stroked the smooth skin between her breasts with the backs of his fingernails. Lightly, thoughtfully — with the force of a butterfly stamping on a rose petal. She stiffened briefly and he was careful to keep the rhythm of his caress even; accelerating it only when her breath exploded into him with a warm panting rush and she made small humming sounds. He sent his fingers on a soft exploratory cruise around the swelling globe of her right breast. The hum lowered to a sigh as she pressed against his hand.

And he listened. The car came slowly and silently along the narrow road past the driveway, its headlights a floating glow in the night. They were just too decorous. He had heard them pause when he had turned off. Now they were checking. He hoped they had good imaginations and had seen Ruth. Eat your hearts out, boys!

He slid the fastener of the half-bra apart, where it met between her splendid cleavage, and enjoyed the smooth, warm flesh that greeted his palm. Delicious. Inspiring — he was glad he wasn't wearing his especially made jock shorts; the weapons in the form-fitting pockets would have been comforting, but the stricture annoying. Ruth said, "Oh, my dear," and bit his lip lightly.

He thought, I hope it's just a teenager looking for a parking spot. Or perhaps it was a carload of sudden death for Nick Carter. The removal of a dangerous piece in a game that was being played now, or a legacy of revenge earned in the past. Once you earned the classification of Killmaster you bought the risks.

Nick ran his tongue up the silky cheek to her ear. He began a beat in time with his hand which now enveloped a magnificent warm breast inside the bra. He matched her sigh with his own. If you die today — you don't have to die tomorrow.

He drifted his right forefinger upward and inserted it delicately in the other ear, forming a triple titillation as he varied the pressures in time with a little symphony all his own. She shivered with pleasure, and he found with some dismay that he enjoyed shaping joy for her and he hoped she had no connection with the car on the road which had stopped a few hundred yards away. He could hear it easily in the silence of the night. She could hear nothing for the moment.

His hearing was acute — indeed, the instant he wasn't physically perfect AXE wouldn't give him assignments like this and he wouldn't take them. The odds were deadly enough as it was. He heard the tiny creak of a car door-hinge, the sound of a stone struck by a foot in the blackness.

He said. "Darling, how about a drink and a swim?"

"Love it," she answered, with a little hoarse gulp before the words.

He pressed the transmitter button for the gate actuator and the barrier moved aside, closing automatically behind them as they followed the short winding drive. It was just a deterrent for trespassers, not a barrier. The property fencing was simple open post-and-rail.