Nick Carter - Hood of Death

Hawk's genial, leathery features focused on Nick as he made his own evaluation. It was a mark of his perception that he withheld their usual banter. "I'm glad you came out all right, Nicholas. Barney and Bill said they heard faint sounds of considerable — ah, target practice. The county coroner has Miss Ahling. The death won't make the wire services."

"She chose death. But you might say I allowed her the choice."

"Then it was not technically a Killmaster termination. I'll report it so. Have you written your report?"

"No. I was dead tired. I'll do it tonight. Here's the way it was. I drove up the road we marked on the map…"

He told Hawk exactly what had happened, using sparse phrases. When he finished he gave Hawk the cards and papers taken from the oil men's wallets.

Hawk looked at them bitterly. 'The name of the game seems always to be money. The information that Judas-Bormann is somewhere in the nasty web is priceless. Can he and Command One be the same?"

"Possibly. I wonder what they will do now? They'll be puzzled and worried about Mr. Williams. Will they go to ground?"

"Perhaps. But I believe they may blame the British and carry on. They're doing something far too big to dismantle their apparatus. They'll wonder if Williams was a thief, or a lover of Jeanyee's. They'll consider stopping whatever they're up to, and then they won't."

Nick nodded. Hawk was logical, as always. He accepted a small brandy which Hawk poured from a decanter. Then the senior man said, "I have a bit of bad news. John Villon had a strange accident. His rifle discharged in his Jeep and he drove over a bank. The slug went right through him of course. He's dead."

"Those devils!" Nick pictured the neat farmhouse. A retreat from society that had turned into a trap. "He thought he could handle them. But those listening devices were a giveaway. They must have grabbed him, searched the place carefully and decided to eliminate him."

"That's the best answer. His sister Martha is entangled with a rightest outfit in California. She's a queen in the Squires of the White Camellia. Ever hear of it?"

"No, but I get the picture."

"We're watching her. Do you have any suggestions for our next move here? Do you want to continue as Deming?"

"I'd protest if you told me not to." It was Hawk's way. He had their next moves planned, but he always asked for suggestions.

Nick produced the packet of letters addressed to the girls and described them. "With your permission, sir, I'll mail them. There must be a weak link among them. I think it will make a strong impression. Let them wonder — who's next?"

Hawk produced two cigars. Nick accepted one. They lit them. The aroma was strong. Hawk studied his thoughtfully. "A worthwhile needle, Nick. I wish I had thought of it. You'd better write four more."

"More girls?"

"No, extra copies for these addresses for Pong-Pong and Anne. We're not completely sure where they get their mail." He checked a notebook and wrote rapidly, tore out a page and gave it to Nick. "It will do no harm if a girl gets more than one. It would weaken the threat if one got none."

"You're right."

"Now another thing. I detect a certain sadness in your usual jolly attitude. Look." He put a five by seven photoprint in front of Nick. "Taken at the South Gate Motor Hotel."

In the picture were Wheel-and-Deal Tyson and Jeanyee Ahling. It was a poor sideshot taken in bad light, but you could see the faces. Nick handed it back. "So she did scrub Tyson. I was almost sure."

"Feel better?"

"Yes. And happy for Tyson. He went out satisfied."

"I'm glad, Nicholas, that your research is so thorough."

"That hood gimmick is fast. The gas must have astonishing expansion and lethal qualities. Then it seems to disperse or break down quickly."

"Well work on it. Of course the lab will find it easier when you bring back a sample."

"Where will I find one?"

"You have me there, and I know you know it." Hawk frowned. Nick kept quiet. "We ought to have everyone under surveillance who has anything to do with Akito or the girls or the men in Pennsylvania. You know how hopeless that would be, with our staff. But I do have a small lead. Many of our friends go often to the Chu Dai Restaurant. On the shore below Baltimore. Know it?"

"No."

"The food is excellent. They've been open four years and do a big gross. It's one of the places with a dozen big banquet rooms that cater to weddings and business parties and such. The owners are two Chinese and they check out clean. Especially so since Congressman Reid has a piece of the action."

"Chinese again. How frequently I catch a whiff of Chicom possibilities."

"Quite so. But why? And where does Judas-Bormann fit in?"

"We know him." Nick listed slowly, "Selfish, greedy, cruel, ruthless, cunning — and in my opinion mad as a hatter."

"But every so often we peer into the looking glass and there he is," Hawk added meditatively. "What a combination it might be. Chicoms using him because they need Caucasian fronts, connections, heaven knows what."

"Do we have a man in the Chu Dai?"

"We had. We let him get out because he found nothing. And that lack of staff again. It was Kole. He posed as a slightly rummy parking lot attendant. He found nothing but he said the place smelled wrong."

"That was the kitchen." Hawk did not give his usual small smile. He was really worried about this one. "Kole is a good man. There must be something there."

Hawk said, "The inside help is almost all Chinese. But we've been in as phone men and we helped sand and wax floors. Our boys found nothing that way either."

"Should I check it?"

"Whenever you wish, Mr. Deming. It's expensive but we want you to live well."

For four days and nights Nick was Jerry Deming, pleasant young man at the right parties. He wrote the extra letters and mailed all of them. Barney Manoon had a look at the former Lord estate, posing as a stale Conservation man. It was guarded and deserted.

He went to a party at the Manger Annapolis given by one of the seven thousand Arabian princes who love to swing in the city where the money originates. Watching the fat smiles and never-still eyes he decided that if he really were a Jerry Deming he would chuck the deal and get as far from Washington as possible. After eight weeks it was boring.

Everyone played a role. You weren't really Jerry or John… you were Oil or State or White House. You never talked about vital or interesting matters, you chattered on the fringes of them. His frown changed to a warm and genial expression as he spotted Suzi Quong.

About time! It was his first sight of one of the girls since Jeanyee's death. They and Akito and the others were staying out of sight or busy with other matters, about which Nick Carter as N3 would have given a lot to know. Suzi was part of a Utile cluster around the prince.

The lad was a bore. His hobby was blue movies and staying off the big, rich peninsula between Africa and India as much as he could. He had his interpreter explain, twice, that the hors d'oeuvres for this little get together were especially flown from Paris. Nick had tasted them. They were excellent.

Nick eased his way to Suzi. Caught her eye by planned chance, and reintroduced himself. They danced. After small talk he isolated the chic Chinese girl, snared a pair of drinks and let fall the key question. "Suzi, I've had dates with Ruth Moto and Jeanyee Ahling. Haven't seen them around for ages. Are they abroad, do you know?"

Of course, I remember, you're the Jerry Ruth is going to try and help make a connection with her father." It was too quick. "She thinks a lot of you." Her expression clouded. "But you didn't hear about Jeanyee?"