Run, Spy, Run Read online

  "Oh, I wouldn't mind seeing Harcourt," said Nick, "but naturally, I'd like to hear him first."

  "You can't," the voice said flatly.

  'Too bad," said Nick, and put down the phone.

  It rang again.

  "Mr. Cane."

  "Yes?"

  "If you hear Lyle Harcourt's voice, will you come to a meeting tonight?"

  "Perhaps."

  "I think you'd better, Mr. Cane. I have a most extraordinary proposition for you. One that will benefit all parties. I'm sure you will be interested. Suppose I send the car..."

  "Suppose you let me talk to Harcourt. And don't tell me I can't. No talk, no meeting. Understand?"

  The line went dead again.

  This time the phone did not ring again immediately.

  When it did the quality of Judas' voice had changed, as if he were speaking from a different room.

  "Cane?"

  "Yes."

  "Mr. Harcourt wants to speak to you."

  The second voice was anguished. It sounded far away. It was Harcourt's and it said: "Don't listen to him, Cane. Whatever he wants of you, don't listen to him."

  There was a creaking chuckle and Judas was back.

  "You see, Cane? Mr. Harcourt is not only alive but full of spirit. Now let's stop this fencing. You will get here as I say or not at ail. Nine o'clock, northeastern corner, Piccadilly. The driver has instructions to deliver you unharmed. I guarantee that. It suits me, this time, to be sure that you're alive. Understood?"

  "Check."

  "One more thing. One false note, one ruse from you, one phone call even — and Harcourt dies before you even enter the car. And if this call is being tapped or traced, you run a very grave risk of ruining everything. You've been warned." The phone clicked off.

  Julie's eyes shone with excitement. "We've hooked him!"

  "Or he's hooked us. I'm glad I decided not to have a wiretap. We'd never have gotten past Piccadilly. What did you think about Harcourt's voice — was that him?" His own expression was noncommittal.

  She nodded decisively. "That was Harcourt, all right. I'm sure of it. Aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am. I just wanted to get your unbiased verdict... Come on, sit down. I don't suppose I'd trigger off a bomb if I called down to Room Service, do you?"

  Ice, Scotch and mixer appeared shortly.

  "You don't look terribly pleased," Julie observed.

  "I'm not terribly pleased. As you yourself said earlier, we're hardly likely to get a bargain. Judas isn't risking anything. He knows we'll do anything to save Harcourt, even walk into his death trap without cover."

  "I'm sure there must be a way to get a message to the Police or to Security," said Julie, "short of using the phone. The waiter, elevator operator, someone like that. Surely the Security people could follow us without being obvious..."

  Nick shook his head firmly. "Too risky. I believe him — one slip, and Harcourt's dead. We play this alone."

  Julie was silent, but she nodded faintly.

  Nick eyed her and took a long, slow swallow.

  "Julie, we had some luck last night. But tonight may be for the money."

  "I know it."

  "We're up against a monster. God knows what he's got lined up for us. Boiling oil, buzz saws or bombs — whatever it is, it'll be rough."

  "Well, I can't very well stay home," she said lightly. 'Think how he'll miss me. At least Braille won't be around to lurk in the shadows." He smiled at her. "You did beautifully last night. I'm proud of you." Nick gently squeezed a lovely knee. "Why did you choose this business, anyway?"

  "Why does anyone? I don't like spies, so I became one. Isn't that funny? I lost my family a long time ago because some maniac wanted to change a government with bombs. Don't ask me the details — I don't even care about them any more. The moral is, of course," she went on lightly, "don't expose your children to bombings at an early age if you want them to follow a respectable career."

  "That's a very funny moral," said Nick. "I think you need another drink."

  They talked of such irrelevant things as autumn weather and the colors of Vermont and Maine, of Chinese junks on shining seas and sailboats off Bermuda, of ski slopes in Switzerland and the beaches of Tahiti.

  At last she put down her glass and sighed. "How much time do we have left?"

  "Enough," he said. He rose to his feet and pulled her to him, folding her in his arms. She yielded to his kiss.

  Without being aware of moving they found themselves on his bed, bare, supple bodies touching.

  This time their lovemaking was as lingering and tender as a farewell kiss.

  * * *

  Piccadilly Circus at nine o'clock was a Times Square of bright lights and bustle: the same streams of cars emitting irritable toots, the same gaudy neon splashes and the same murmuring tide of voices, whistles, wheels and muffled music.

  They waited on the northeastern corner, an attractive American couple seeing the sights. A friendly bobby, strolling by, touched his helmet in a warm salute. Nick nodded and Julie unleashed a devastating smile. Nick tightened his grip on her arm. "Not so goddamn friendly. He'll fall down at your feet, and then we've had it."

  Julie turned it off.

  Piccadilly throbbed with noise and movement.

  Nick was the first to see the car, a long, foreign one that was new to him. The chauffeur was the same man who had driven them to and from the Consulate.

  The car purred to a stop. The man waited quietly, staring straight ahead. Nick strolled over and tapped him on the shoulder.

  "We don't want to miss the sights tonight, Mac. So just behave, won't you? We will, if you do."

  The man nodded.

  Nick handed Julie in and closed the door.

  The car surged forward and clawed its way through Piccadilly and turned sharply down an avenue. Julie leaned back and scrutinized the chauffeur's head and hands. Nick's right hand found Wilhelmina's friendly butt and stayed with it.

  The trip was without incident, a succession of bright streets and dim ones, then the cobblestones of Limehouse once again. A fine light fog hung over the street lamps.

  The car slowed and Nick tensed. They had found a quiet block, lined with low houses bordered with hedges and white picket fences. It was odd to find so very nearly a suburban touch in a neighborhood like Limehouse.

  The motor stopped. The driver turned and motioned toward one of the houses. It lay back from the sidewalk, separated from it by twenty feet or so of pebbled path leading to a door framed by clinging ivy. The air was fragrant with wet flowers and grass.

  "Here you are. Number Thirty-three."

  They got out. Nick stared down into the chauffeur's face, itching to take that scrawny neck between his hands and squeeze. Better leave him alone. "One false note, one ruse from you — and Harcourt dies," the odd voice said inside his head.

  "Don't try to take me, friend," the chauffeur grunted. "You'll blow it if you do. And don't bother about the license plates. We just borrowed this heap. And you won't see me again after tonight."

  He changed gear noisily.

  "Tch," said Nick. "And just when we had learned to love you."

  The car shot away from the curb and roared off down the block.

  Silence hung over the street. Most of the houses showed at least a gleam of light. But not Number Thirty-three.

  Nick guided Julie through a gate that needed oiling. They scrunched up the path. No sound or sign of life came from the shadowed house.

  He found a bell, pushed it, and waited. Nothing. Julie shivered suddenly. Nick tried the door. It opened inward. He pulled Julie to one side and pushed it in.

  The gloom of the interior was as enveloping as a shroud.

  They entered cautiously, moving swiftly away from the direct line of the door. And waited.

  A thin, vertical sliver of light sliced the darkness at the end of what appeared to be a length of hallway. Nick's pencil flashlight revealed a wide, carpeted passage. He flicked off the
beam and replaced the pencil-light with Wilhelmina. They moved slowly toward the slightly open door.

  There were no sudden bursts of gunfire, no pouncing shadows, no animal grunts from lurking figures. Everything was as peaceful as Mr. Judas had promised.

  They paused at the door and looked at each other in the gloom. Nick squeezed Julie's arm with more reassurance than he felt. The ticking of his watch was suddenly very loud.

  The door creaked open, inwards. Light blazed out.

  Judas stood on the threshold. The room behind him was, incongruously, a kitchen, lined with covered shelves and hanging pots and pans.

  Mr. Judas inclined his ugly, bandaged head, and made the grimace he intended for a smile. His right arm ended in his pocket. The left held a vicious-looking, snub-nosed gun.

  "Come in, come in, my friends. No need to stalk. We are quite alone — except of course for poor, sick Harcourt. You know my passion for privacy. Come in, please."

  He backed away. They entered.

  Judas pushed the door shut with a swift movement of his elbow and followed them in.

  "I see you've come armed, Mr. Cane, as usual. So have I. I assure you I can shoot as quickly as any man alive. And at the sound of the shots, Lyle Harcourt will die downstairs in the cellar."

  "I thought you said we were alone," Nick said crisply.

  "We are. But I am a man of many resources. Sit down, please, and let us discuss international politics. I have much to say to you both."

  The kitchen was a cheery enough place. It looked and smelled lived in; cooking aromas and detergent scents hung in the air. The table in the center of the room had four chairs and a checkered cloth covering.

  Mr. Judas sat briskly in the chair facing the door. Nick swiftly looked around. The windows were covered with drawn shades. A door led off to the right, near the stove. There was nothing, apparently, more sinister in the place than a heavy rolling pin that lay innocently on a thick wooden surface near the sink.

  "Mr. Cane, on my right. Miss Baron, across from me if you will."

  They sat.

  Mr. Judas, seated comfortably in the cozy, working-class kitchen was even harder to take than in the more suitable environs of a smelly basement. Seen in close-up, his face was like some remarkable rubber mask drawn tightly over the globular skull that held it in place. But the heavily bandaged left side of the face showed red around the patch of white.

  Julie's eyes were flicking around the room.

  "Quite cozy for our chat, don't you think, Miss Baron?" Judas crooned. "Belongs to friends of mine. Let me use it once in a while." He took the arm out of his pocket and waved it around the room. "Really rather comfortable, I feel."

  A silver paw described a gesture in the air and came to rest upon the table top.

  Julie gasped and stared. Nick just stared.

  Judas chuckled flutingly. "You see, Miss Baron, unlike human hands, mine are replaceable." Then the hideous face turned a look of the purest hatred on Nick Carter. "You did well, Mr. Cane. You would have paid for it when you stepped into this house if I did not intend to use you."

  Between the sleeve and the five-fingered silver thing there was a fringe of bandaging. There was no gleam to the silver.

  "A glove," said Nick easily. "Very cleverly staged for shock effect. Why did you bother? That's no replacement, Judas. I did do well, at that. But not quite well enough. Perhaps I can do better this time. Where's Lyle Harcourt?"

  "Don't you listen, Cane? Downstairs in the cellar of this place. He is merely sleeping off the effects of a drug administered to maintain unconsciousness. And a little bump on the head, of course. We can discuss him later. As to my — replacement — I shall have it soon, never fear."

  "I couldn't care less," said Carter. "We have nothing to talk about but Harcourt. I want to see him, and I want to see him safely out of here."

  Judas laughed. "Perhaps you'd like to stay here in his place?"

  "I'd like to see you dead, Judas. Let Harcourt go, or either you or I will never leave this place."

  "And the lady?" Judas cocked a hairless brow.

  Julie answered for herself. "The lady goes where he goes." Her face and voice were icily calm. "But Harcourt leaves here first."

  "What touching loyalty! But there is no need for us to kill each other if we can come to terms. You see, there is a hitch to your solution. Something has come up. Something so vital to the people who pay me — and pay me lavishly, might I add — that I shall forego my previous plans concerning you and the lady if you comply. There is a tremendous amount of money involved, more than you could make in several lifetimes. Are you interested?"

  'Talk is cheap enough, Judas. Go on."

  Mr. Judas scratched his nose with the barrel of his gun.

  "Mr. Cane, it has come to my attention that you are considered the number one agent in a very secret branch of your government's intelligence services. I am not as familiar with the details as I should like to be. However, first things first. We are both titans in our field, I find. I have had access to reports that make you out a legend — fantastically resourceful, highly trusted..."

  "What reports?" Nick rapped out.

  Judas smiled his terrifying smile. "Not, unfortunately, from your own agency, if that is what you want to know. No, painful documents from those who have tangled with a man who always carries a stripped Luger, a stiletto, and a small round ball. For luck. But let me make my point. I want to buy your years of priceless training, your experience, your knowledge, and — shall we say — your goodwill. I need a man who is trusted in high places. Your first job, alone, will net you a very considerable reward."

  "And what would that entail?" Nick's voice was softly dangerous.

  "An airplane flight, leaving three hours from now. A report to your superior — which we shall work on together — and another very special flight back here. Your specialized knowledge of the dangers of flying should make it a simple matter to place you on that flight."

  "What flight?"

  Judas' eyes showed chips of cold determination.

  "A flight from Washington tomorrow afternoon. I have been authorized by my people to undertake my biggest coup. With yonr cooperation, it will succeed. You will run some risk yourself, of course, but that is nothing new to you. Your entree into the highest echelons of the government would make your association with me priceless. Priceless." He lingered over the word.

  "Get to the point, Judas. What the hell are you suggesting — what is this so-called coup?"

  "The murder," Mr. Judas hissed, "of the President of the United States."

  Red Shadow over White House

  "You're mad!" Julie leaned across the table and spat the words at him. "You're mad!" And then she laughed. The withering scorn of her laughter filled the room.

  "Your answer, Mr. Cane." Judas' eyes bored into Nick's.

  "First one question, Judas," Nick said evenly. "Why?"

  It was Judas's turn to sound amused. His hairless skull bobbed with silent laughter.

  "Why? Does the question really need an answer? You know, or do you not, that I have thrown my resources in with the Red Chinese? And are we not discussing the official Number One enemy of Communism? The man who heads the most powerful of nations? A symbol only, you might say. Other men can take his place. But my employers are keenly interested in the death of that symbol. Another man might well be easier to deal with, and even if he is not, the President's death will stun the Western world. I should think it would be obvious to you. Now, your answer, please."

  Nick stared calculatingly at Judas.

  "And if I say Yes, I'll take your money, and then leave, what makes you think I'll do the job?"

  "Two good reasons. One: I know that each man has his price and wants to see it paid. You'll get a down payment before you leave. The bulk of the payment comes only when the job is successfully completed. Two: Miss Baron will remain with me until you report back."

  "I'll refuse to go without her and Harcourt."
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  "No, you will not. Harcourt is no longer of importance to me, or perhaps, to you. But both will stay with me."

  "Perhaps I would be willing to sacrifice them for my country," Nick said quietly. "Have you thought of that?"

  "I have thought of everything. It is not hard to find a man like Braille. Imagine the delicious scenes that would occur even while the medal is being pinned upon your chest! The delectable Miss Baron will die a little every day, for many, many days. I do not need to detail what can happen to her. Think for yourself. Let your mind dwell upon the picture, savor it, enjoy it..."

  "Let your mind do what it pleases, Peter," Julia interrupted, her face hard and pale.

  "Exactly, dear lady. The choice is his, not yours."

  Nick's eyes pierced the slits beneath the lowered lids.

  "And if the answer is no?"

  "Then the answer is death. For you, the lady, and Lyle Harcourt. And I shall have to find another man to take your place in my new plans. Eventually, I will. In the meantime, tomorrow's action will proceed without your help. If it fails, I shall try other means."

  Nick was silent. Slowly, he turned his eyes away from Judas. His face and body sagged despairingly.

  Julie shot him a look of amazed disgust.

  The silence deepened in the room.

  Judas waited.

  Nick's hold on Wilhelmina loosened. At last he drew his hand away and left the Luger lying unguarded on the table top near his right hand. Then he laid both hands loosely on the edge of the table in a gesture of submission. At last he raised his eyes and looked at Judas.

  "You've left me very little choice, Judas," he said heavily.

  "Hardly any choice at all," Judas agreed. His taut concentration relaxed almost imperceptibly. "Miss Baron, I think that Luger will be better off with..."

  The table went over with a crash. Julie screamed out in surprise and Nick was on Judas, his sinewy hands clamped on the gun-wrist before the table settled upside down on the floor. Judas was halfway up in his chair, his right arm with the silver glove sawing futilely in the air.

  Nick twisted.

  The man had been badly hurt the night before but he was as strong as a bull and struggling with the wild, intense fury of a wounded animal.