THE DECOY HIT
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PROLOGUE
Howard Clark had been an agent for enough years to know
when he was being tailed. On a night when most people
would be huddling in their homes to escape the wet and the
damp ofa misty London fog, why else would the same figure
be behind him, a block away, for the past twenty minutes?
Clutching the courier pouch which was beneath his rain-
coats close to his body, Clark began to take some evasive ac-
tion. If the man was good, he wouldn't be able to lose him,
and that would verify his that the man was a tail. If that
were the case, he would have to take steps to "cut off his
tail. "
It was early evening and, despite the dreary weather,
many shops and stores were still 01Rn, He picked several
stores for their size, which would indicate that they should
have more than one entrance and exit.
He entered each store, trying to blend in with the other
shoppers while working his way toward an alternate exit.
Four times he did this, and four times he discovered that
the man was still there.
So, he was a tail, and he was a professional.
It was time to take stronger action. Lead the man some-
where quiets where he could take care of him with a mini-
mum of attention.
Clark knew London well, and he knew just where he
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wanted to take his tail so that he could perform the "amputa-
tion. "
It was an alley in a part of London which had once been
prosperous, but had fallen on hard times. Where there had
once been many little out-of-the-way shops, and some resi-
dences, there were now only boarded-up buildingsqand emp-
ty streets.
And an alley that suited Clark's purpose. The mouth ofthe
alley was small, but it opened into a nice-sized cul-de-sac.
As he crossed the street toward it, it would have been plain to
anyone watching that he was heading for that particular
alleyway.
"Alleyway" was a generous way to describe it, because
as he walked through, his shoulders almost simultaneously
rubbed both walls.
He came out into the cul-de-sac and moved to the side,
flattening his back against the wall. The man would be fool-
ish to follow, but rather than lose Clark, he would have to.
Clark stood quietly, controlling his breathing, listening
for the footsteps of his tail. In his right hand he held his gun,
a Browning that he had used for years. His left arm was flat-
tened against his side, with the pouch nestled between.
Clark had also been an agent long enough to realize when
he had made a mistake.
Listening intently for any sounds coming from the alley-
way, he heard instead a sound from behind him. Before he
could react, someone grabbed him by his wet hair, pulling
his head back so that the entire length of his neck was
exposed.
As he felt the sharp blade slice across his throat, splitting
the skin and severing the arteries, he knew in a flash that he
had made a mistake, that he had spotted the back tail, and
had totally missed the front tail. He had been "double-
tailed," and failing to notice that fact had been a fatal
mistake.
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ONE
People in the espionage field—men and women—know
that they are involved in a very serious business; still. many
of them often refer to it as "the game."
"That's the way sthe game' is played. "
'*You've got to play by the rules of •the game.' "
SSSomebody has to win, somebody has to lose. It's just
like 'a game.' "
It's a game, and they are "the players. "
David Hawk, the head of the su}rr secret government
agency called AXE, seemed intent on making it more of a
game, however. That's the way it seemed to Nick Carter,
anyway. When Nick arrived at his boss' office in the Amal-
gamated Press and Wire Services Building on Dupont Circle
in D.C., he was invited to have a seat, and then he was asked
an odd question.
"When you were a child, N3, did you ever have a
"Excuse me, sir?" Nick asked, not sure he had heard
Hawk correctly. In all the years Nick had known and worked
with the older man, they had never discussed the subject
before.
"A peg board," Hawk said again. "You know, one with
different-sized holes, all different shapes, and you have to fit
the prorEr-sized into the prcp hole?"
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"Uh, I believe I did, sir, yes, '9 Nick replied, still puzzled.
"Don't frown at me as if you think I've gone senile, N3, ' '
Hawk said sharply.
"I'm sorry, sirs" Nick said hastily, "I didn't realize—"
"Never mind," Hawk said. He opened his top drawer and
took out a metal cylinder that looked like it probably con-
tained a very expensive cigar.
"This is for you," the older man said, extending it across
the desk to Nick.
"I don't much like cigars," Nick said, accepting it from
him. Hawk ignored the remark.
"You have in your hand the object of what we call 'Pro-
ject Round Peg,' s" Hawk explained.
Nick turned it over in his hands and said, "Looks like a
round peg, all right."
"It is, practically speaking," Hawk replied, "and your
job is to find the round hole that it will fit into."
Nick shook the cylinder and asked, "What's in it?"
"Knowing that is notimportant to your assignment. "
"Am I playing in the dark again, sir?" Nick asked. "That
was one thing I didn't like to do as a child.
Nick shook the cylinder again, but for all the reaction he
got from inside, it could just as well have been empty. It felt
light enough to be empty.
"If you've finished with your remarks, I'll get on with my
explanation, " Hawk said dryly.
"Oh, yes, sir, go on, please," Nick said, closing his hand
around the object and resting his hands in his lap.
"You knew Howard Clark, I believe?"
"Yes, sir, I know—uh, sir? Knew Howard, did you
"Yes. His body was discovered in London yesterday.
He'd been missing for several days." Hawk paused, then
added, "His throat had been cut, "
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Howard Clark had been a colleague of Nick's until he
jumped agencies, going to the DIA years ago. He was one of
the Defense Intelligence Agency's best men—and now he
was dead.
"Does his death have anything to do with this?" Nick
asked, holding up the "round peg. "
"Yes," Hawk answered, "it does. Clark was acting as a
courier at the time of his death.
"Carrying this?"
"No. He was carrying something that was vital to the
DIA, but the point is that he was the fourth United States
courier killed this year. It has to stop, Nick."
"I agree, wholeheartedly," Nick Carter said. "Do we
know who has been knocking off these couriers?"
' 'No, we don't."
'Not even whether or not it was one particular country, or
an independent operator looking for something to peddle?"
"We don't know," Hawk said. "I've met with the offi-
cials of other intelligence agencies, and even putting our
heads together, we can't figure that part out. "
"And there's nothing coming down the pipeline?"
"How vital is the information that we've been losing?"
"It is vital, but not critical," Hawk replied. "If another
country has already purchased it, we wouldn't necessarily
hear about it. "
"And what about this?" Nick asked, holding up the
cylinder.
"That," Hawk said, pointing with the index finger of his
right hand, "is vital, which is why you've been chosen to de-
liver it. "
"Deliver it where?"
"Not where, but to whom. "
' 'All right, to whom?"
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'This man," Hawk said. He passed Nick a five-by-seven
photo ofa gray-haired man in his early sixties. ' 'Dr. Anton
I*ctor. "
"And where is he?"
"Well, up until yesterday he was in London."
"Up until yesterday," Nick repeated. ' 'The same day
Clark's bcxiy was found?"
"Yes."
"Connection?"
"Only in that the incident seems to have spooked him into
going underground. "
"I think I'm getting the picture now." Nick said, every-
thing finally adding up. "I'm supposed to deliver this little
doodad to Dr. Lector, but first I've got to find him. "
"Correct. "
"At the same time, I've got to be on the lookout for who-
ever has been knocking off our couriers. "
'*Correct, again."
"So this is the 'round peg,' and Dr. Lector is the 'round
hole,' " Nick summarized,
"Exactly."
"I assume you've got me booked on a flight to London. "
"Tonight," Hawk said, nodding. Again his hand dipped
into his top drawer, and he said, "Here's your ticket,"
handing an envelope to Nick. He took it and tucked it away
in his inside breast pocket.
"In that envelope you will also find the last known ad-
dress of Dr. Lector while he was in London."
"Well, then, that's the place to start," Nick said, standing
up. "You realize that he not only may have gone under-
ground, he may have left London altogether. "
"l realize that, yes," Hawk replied. "Talk to our people
in London, N3. If you decide that the doctor has gone to
some other country, you will just have to go after him. "
"Luckily, my passport is in order. "
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Hawk stood up and said, "I don't have to tell you to be
careful, or to stay in touch."
s 'No, sir, you don't. "
"Very well. You are the man we decided was most able to
carry the round peg, N3. Please don't let anything happen to
it. "
"Don't worry, sir," Nick told him, holding the object in
front of him. "I'll treat it as if it were the best of Cuban
cigars, "
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Two
When Nick Carter left David Hawk's office, there was
someone waiting for him in the outer office.
"She said she was waiting for you, Mr. Carter," Hawk's
secretary informed him.
"Is that so?"
He looked at the young lady in question and found her to
be quite easy on the eyes. She was about twenty-four, with
auburn hair that did not quite reach her shoulders. She had
very clear brown eyes and a very smooth, pale complexion.
Her body appeared to be full and firm, She was very pretty,
indeed. Under normal circumstances, he might have been
trying to think of an approach to use on her, but these were
not normal circumstances.
Nick wanted to know how she knew where to find him,
and what she knew—if anything—about the Amalgamated
Press and Wire Services Building.
' 'Are you waiting for me?" he asked her, approaching the
chair she was seated in.
She stood up immediately, revealing herself to be better
than five feet seven.
"Are you Nick Carter?" she asked.
"I am."
"Then I'm waiting for you. I would like to talk to you
about Howard Clark—if you have some time. "
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Nick frowned and asked, "What do you know about
Howard Clark?"
"All that there is to know," she answered. "I'm his
daughter. "
Daughter, Nick thought. He knew that Howard had a
daughter, but he thought she was .
She smiled and interrupted his thoughts by saying, "You
thought I was a little girl."
"Yes."
she said. "Can we go somewhere and
"So did he,"
"Uh, sure, I've got a little time," he said, wondering if
she knew that her father was dead. "Let's go downstairs and
have lunch somewhere. "
"That's fine."
During the years that Nick had known Howard, he had al-
ways talked about his "little girl, but this wasn't a little girl
anymore. She had grown up, and filled out.
He was trying to remember her name—or remember if
he'd ever even known it—while they picked out a place for
lunch. They finally settled on a small steakhouse cleverly
called SS The First Family. "
When they were seated and had placed their orders, she
leaned her arms on the table and said, "My father talked
about you quite a lot. I thought you would be older."
"I am," he assured her.
She smiled and said, "He liked you."
"I liked him, too," Nick answered before he realized that
they were both speaking in the past tense. In that moment,
her name came to him and he said, "Stephanie, you
know—
"Yes, I know niy father's dead," she said, interrupting
him. Her mother had died, he remembered, during the time
that Howard had worked for AXE.
"I'm sorry.
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"I know you are. You were one of the few men my father
liked in this business. "
"You know about your father's business?"
"0h, yes,"
she said, rummaging about in her handbag
now. "I told you I knew all there was to know." She found
what she was for and added, "This might make you
feel a bit easier about talking to me. "
She withdrew her hand from her handbag and handed him
a laminated photo identification card identifying her as an
employee of the Defense Intelligence Agency. Unlike AXE,
the DIA was not a covert agency. Nick examined the card
and handed it back to her, convinced that it was the real
thing.
"You see?" she said. "We're in the same business."
"What is it you do for the DIAS Stephanie?" Nick asked.
She replaced the card in her handbag—probably in the ex-
act same spot, because it took her just as long to put it back as
it had for her to get it out. After she had it safely tucked
away, she looked at him with a sheepish expression on her
face and said, "I, uh, I'm a file clerk."
"Okay," he said.
The waitress came with a salad for her and a medium steak
for Nick, and they suspended conversation while she set the
plates down.
When the waitress left, Stephanie Clark said, "All right,
so I'm only a file clerk. I still want to know what happened to
my father. "
"Stephanie, you know what kind of business your father
was in," Nick reminded her.
"Sure, I know," the girl answered, "but that doesn't
mean I just have to accept his death. I want to know how,
ar.d why."
- "Why have you come to me? Haven't you taken it up with
the DIA?"
"The DIA also thinks of me as just a file clerk, " she said.
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"My father was the best man they had, Nick, but he always
said that you were the best there was in the business. "
Nick didn't quite know what to say to that, so he remained
silent and cut into his steak.
"Nick, I want you to find out who killed him. "
Nick started to shake his head and she exclaimed, "Why
not? You were his friend. "
"A lot of my friends are dead, Stephanie," he informed
her. "I don't have the time to go out and find out who killed
them all. It's part of the game."
"Damn you!" she hissed, but not so loud that anyone else
in the place could hear her. "That's just what they've been
telling me at the DIA, that it's a game and dying is part of it.
Well, I don't buy it!"
"I'm sorry, Stephanie," Nick said. "l couldn't look into
your father's death if I wanted to. I've been given an
assignment—
"You're the great Nick Carter, aren't you?" she de-
manded, standing up. "You could if you wanted to, but you
just don't want to. I guess my father was wrong about you.
From where I stand, you don't look so great. "
"I'm sorry you feel that way. .
"I'll find out myself," she went on. "That's what I'll do.
I'll find out who killed him by myself. s'
Nick grabbed hold of her wrist before she could walk
away and said, "This isn't a game, Stephanie."
"Well, that's what everyone's been telling me it is.
including you.
' 'Don't act like a child. "
She yanked her wrist from his grasp and said, "What have
you got to do that's so important that you can't find out who
killed your friend?"
She turned without waiting for an answer and stalked out
of the restaurant, which was just as well.
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What would she have thought if he had told her that he had
to go find a round hole for a round peg?
As Nick Carter left his office, David Hawk sat back in his
chair and marveled at how his job often precluded him from
being honest with his men—most notably, Nick Carter.
How many times, he wondered, had he sent agent N3 off
on an assignment without even telling him half of the truth?
As a Killmaster, Nick Carter was a professional who fol-
lowed his orders to the letter, and never veered from his as-
signed course—unless, of course, it suited his purpose, the
successful conclusion of his mission.
Hawk recognized that it was NYS individuality that made
him the finest of AXE's operatives. which was why he had
been entrusted with this particular assignment—armed this
time with input that was far less than half the truth.
There was, however, the one indisputable truth that ex-
isted almost every time Hawk sent N3 out to play his part in
the game—that it could result in the death of Nick Carter.
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THREE
Nick stared out his hotel window and wondered why it
rained almost every time he came to London. He had seen
much of what this great city had to offer from beneath the
eaves of an umbrella.
Nick had arrived in London just an hour earlier. Upon en-
tering his room at the London Hilton, he immediately placed
a telephone call to a prearranged number, the response to
which he was now awaiting with impatience. Problems at
each end of his flight had caused him to arrive much later
than anticipated, and he was anxious to get started on his
assignment.
While waiting for the call, he had called room service and
ordered a pot of coffee and a bottle of bourbon. One was
gone and the other half gone, and the call still had not come.
He filled in the time thinking about Howard Clark and his
"little girl," Stephanie. He hoped the girl wouldn't try any-
thing foolish, hut if she was anything like her father, then she
was not short of courage and determination; yet she was just
young enough to temper those with impetuosity. The three
made a dangerous, volatile combination.
Pe had just decided to have no more and ordered
a second IX)t of coffee, when the phone rang.
"Mr. Carter?" a man's voice asked. It sounded young,
but that was an excuse for stupidity.
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"You must have the wrong room," Nick said coldly.
"0h, yes," the voice said, half to himself, and then, "l
thought this was room N3. Did you, uh, did you want an
estimate?'
"Christ, yes," Nick said, "and it's about time."
"I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner," the man replied, "but
when you were delayed, I became delayed.
"All right, let's forget all the delays," Nick suggested.
"What have you got for me?"
"Nothing. "
"You've heard nothing at all?" Nick asked. "That means
that at least he hasn't turned up in the hands of some foreign
government. '
"Not so you'd notice," the man said. He was obviously
American, as there was no trace whatsoever of a British
accent.
"All right, who checked the house?"
S 'One of our people. "
"I'll check it again. "
"We've checked—"
"So I'll check it again. If I need anything, I'll call you. "
"As you wish,"
the man said, sounding insulted.
"Good night. "
"Yeah, good night. "
Nick hung up and silently began cursing airplanes and air-
ports. If he'd arrived earlier, he could have checked out the
house tonight. Now he'd have to wait until morning.
Or would he?
Dammit„ why should he?
He threw on his coat, checked his personal arsenal—
Wilhelmina, Hugo, and Pierre—and then left the room, It
was only ten which, when you thought about it. wasn't
that late at all. And he certainly wasn't ready to retire for the
evening, so he might as well go to work.
He left the hotel without an umbrella, turned up his collar,
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and asked the doorman to get him a cab. True, an umbrella
would have made sense in the rain—if he were a banker. It
also occupied one or both of his hands, and he needed them
free at all times. He'd much rather be alive and wet than dead
and dry.
He gave the cabbie the last known address for Dr. Lector
and sat back to think about his job. The "round peg" was
tucked away in his inside breast pocket. He could have hid-
den it in his room somewhere, but a pro would have found it
no matter where he put it. It was better to have it on him and
know where it was at all times. To take it away from him,
someone would have to kill him and then it wouldn't much
matter to him anymore where it was.
Nick was not normally assigned courier work, but with the
way United States couriers had been dropping, this was a Iit-
tle more than just routine courier stuff. Nick had three jobs.
One, find Lector and deliver the round peg; two, stay alive;
and three, stop whoever has been killing the American
couriers.
Not necessarily in that order, of course.
When the cab stopped, Nick paid the driver and got out,
hunching his shoulders against the rain. He scanned the rows
of d(Xjrways for the right number and then climbed the stairs.
Stepping into the foyer, he found six mailboxes. Naturally,
the name Lector was not on any of them. There was, howev-
er, an A. Lester, which showed a great deal of imagination
on somebody's part. The flat was on the second floor, so
Nick rang the two third-floor doorbells and was admitted by
an obliging tenant. He hurried to the second floor and moved
into the shadows while someone on the third-floor landing
came out and peered down the steps.
"Cheeky kids, a man's voice said in disgust, then Nick
heard the retreating footsteps and a closing door.
He moved down the hall to A. Lester's room and, using
lock picks, let himself in. Once inside, he drew all of the cur-
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tains and turned on a small lamp. Going into the kitchen, he
searched for and found a dish towel, then took it back into
the living room with him and set it on the floor against the
door so the light wouldn't show in the hall.
That done, he removed his wet coat, draped it over a
chair, and then studied the layout. Living room, bedroom,
and kitchen. Three rooms, and a comfortable enough look-
ing place.
Checking the bedroom first, he found drawers half filled
with clothes and a closet to match.
"The doctor left in a big hurry," he said to himself. Aside
from the clothing, there wasn't much else to be found, so he
checked the kitchen next. He didn't know what he was look-
ing for, so he didn't skip anything. He checked cereal boxes,
sugar bowls, anywhere a man could conceivably hide some-
thing, but came up empty each time. Moving to the living
room, he fared no better. The doctor had left in a hurry and
hadn't left anything behind to indicate where he might have
gone.
Nick shrugged back into his coats which hadn't had time
to dry, and glanced around one last time. If there was any-
thing there to be found, he would have found it. This was a
dead end, and once he left, there'd be no reason for him to
come back.
Now he could either go back to his hotel and get some
sleep, or he could walk out the front door and try and put
himself into Anton Lector's frightened shoes.
Where would I go if I was a frightened scientist afraid of
getting killed if I stayed in one place for too long?
The only problem with putting himself in the man's shoes
was that the man was not a pro. His movements would be
made not from logic, but from emotion.
Nick left the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him,
locking it automatically. He checked the stairwell, found it
empty, and made his way to the ground level. He was in the
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foyer, with his hand on the outside door, when something
tugged at his eyes. It was just a flash of white, but it was
enough to make him turn his head and look at the row of
mailboxes.
There was an envelope, or a sheet ofpaper, in the mailbox
marked A. Lester. Nick removed his hand from the door-
knob and went over to the boxes. Using Hugo, his trusty
knife, he pried the top of the mailbox off and reached inside.
It was an envelope addressed to "Dr. " A. Lester, and the re-
turn address was Paris, France.
He tucked the envelope into his inside breast pocket and
left the building.
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FOUR
When Nick stepped outside, he found that the rain had ta-
pered off to a light drizzle, but it was still chilly enough for
him to turn up his collar.
As he started down the stairway to the street, a chill ran
down his spine, and it had nothing to do with the weather. He
hadn't heard the shot, but the sound of the bullet glancing off
the iron railing was very audible, and he moved instinc-
tively.
He vaulted the railing to his right, and as he fell to the
ground, he found that the drop was much deeper than he had
anticipated. The dark had hidden the fact that there was a
stairwell leading down. It was like stepping off a roof into
space without knowing how high the roof was. His stomach
lurched as he continued to fall, trying to keep his feet under
him, and then halfway down he struck the stairway with both
feet. As he landed, one foot slid out from under him on the
wet stairs, and he lurched forward head first down the re-
mainder of the steps. He struck a concrete wall with his
shoulder and bounced off, falling to his hands and knees in a
puddle a couple of inches deep.
Although he was dizzy from the fall—both falls—and the
rough landing, his unique instinct for survival was still work-
ing. Whoever had fired the shot was probably on his way
across the street to check on his success or failure. Nick had
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moved so quickly that the would-be killer might have
thought that the impact of the shot had knocked him over the
railing.
Nick looked up the steps and realized that if the killer
came upon him now, he had nowhere to run. The man could
just stand at the head of the steps and fire a shot down. Even
if he missed, it would ricochet off the concrete walls enough
times to finally find its mark.
Still on his knees, Nick reached out with his right hand
and encountered wood, not concrete. He staggered to his feet
and fronted the door, finding it locked.
"Shit," he said. He tested it and although it was flimsy,
he felt it might hold against his shoulder. He produced Hugo
again and began to force the blade ofthe sharp knife between
the door and the doorjamb. With a satisfying click, the bolt
clicked back and the door opened inward. As he stumbled
into the darkness, a shot rang out. As he shut the door behind
him, he heard the sound of the slug ricocheting around, and
then striking the door.
There was no time to catch his breath. The would
be on his way down the steps now, and the door wouldn't
stop him any longer than it had stopped Nick. Of course, N3
could have stood and fought, waiting with his gun out for the
man to come busting through the door, but on the off chance
that he came out second best, he didn't want the "round
peg" he was carrying to fall into the wrong hands.
He felt for a light switch, found one, and turned it on. A
weak twenty-five watt bulb bathed him in dim light. but it
was bright enough for him to find a two-by-four on the floor.
He picked it up, jammed one end against the wall opposite
the door and the other end against the door. It was an almost
perfect fit. He stomped on the lower end in order to wedge it
in more, and then started down the hallway toward a flight of
stairs.
As he ascended the stairs, he could hear the would-be as-
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sassin pounding on the door. Even if the man fired through
the door, smashing the lock, the two-by-four would still
hold.
When Nick got to the top of the stairs, he encountered a
closed door and hoped it would not be locked. He was in
luck. As he turned the knob, the door opened and he stepped
into another hallway. He accidentally slammed the door be-
hind him, and a few moments later, a door in the hallway
opened and a woman stepped out, spotlighted by the light
coming from her room.
"Who's there?" she called out.
"Don't be alarmed, miss," Nick called out.
"I ain't alarmed, ducks," she said, "but you lcx.)k to be.
What are you doing out here?"
Nick found himself breathing hard, and his shoulder and
knees were starting to ache. The shoulder was the result of
slamming it into the wall, and the knees no doubt had taken
the brunt of his landing.
"Would you believe," he said, "that I'm trying to avoid
an irate husband?"
The woman appeared to be in her early thirties—although
the dimness of the hallway might have been kind to her—and
well-built. She was wearing a robe that was open, revealing
a scanty nightie that barely covered her heavy breasts.
She peered at him to get a better look, then straightened
and posed with her hands on her hips.
"Seeing how pretty you are, luv," she said, "I'd say that
was very bloody likely. Would you, uh, like to hide in
here?" she asked, flicking her finger in the direction of her
room.
"That sounds like a good idea," he said.
"Step in, then, luv," she said, moving aside to allow him
room. She didn't give him too much room, though, and he
had to brush against her breasts in order to enter. She fol-
lowed him closely and shut the door behind them.
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"How many other rooms on this floor?" he asked.
"A few rooms and some other doors as well, ducky." she
said. "Your irate husband wouldn't want to wake everyone
up by pounding on all the doors, would he?"
He hoped not. The man—or woman, now that he had time
to consider—would have to make a split-second decision. If
he stopped to bang on doors, he might be giving his quarry
time to get further away-—and that was if and when he got by
that two-by-four. He might have given up on the door and
gone back up the steps, waiting for Nick to come out of the
building by some other door.
"Can I get you a drink?" she asked him. "You look like
you could use one.
"Thank you. "
Inside the well-lit apartment, Nick found that she looked
to be in her late thirties, with long black hair, dark eyebrows,
full, ripe lips. and just the hint of a second chin developing.
"Do you mind if I sit?" he asked.
"Not at all, luv,"
she answered. "I'll get you that
drink."
He took his coat off first, draped it inside out on a chair to
avoid getting anything wet. then sat down and took stock of
the damage.
Both knees of his pants were wet, but not ripped, and his
knees were aching something fierce. Likewise, his left
shoulder. which had struck the wall. He was lucky that he
hadn't struck his head. If he had, he'd have been a sitting
duck.
The apartment was very warm, and he found the source of
heat coming from a portable heater that was plugged in and
set against the wall opposite him.
"Whiskey all right?" she asked, coming into the room
carrying two half-filled water tumblers.
"Just right," he said, taking one.
"It's neat," she added, sitting next to him. "You don't
look like the sort of man who would ruin good whiskey."
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"I'm not," he said, and tasting the drink found that it was
indeed good whiskey.
"Your pants are wet,"
she said, putting a hand on his
knee. "Take them off. "
"l said take them off, luv. 1911 hang them on the back of a
chair by the heater. They'll be dry in no time."
"That's all right—
"Come on, luv, " she said, putting her glass aside and go-
ing down on one knee. "Get them off. We'll have to start
with the shoes first. Ooh, they're sopping wet, as well."
She undid the laces on his shoes and took them off, then
felt his socks and them off as well.
"Now the pants," she said, grabbing for his belt.
The tip of her head was just under his nose, and she
smelled clean and fresh, as if she had just stepped from a
shower or bath. The situation was ludicrous. Here he was
with a strange woman who was undressing him, and there
might be a killer in the hall looking for him—although he
doubted that. Chances were good that the man was either
gone or waiting outside somewhere. He didn't want to take a
chance on leaving t(X) soon. Just in case the latter was
true.
But in spite of the ridiculousness of the situation, he found
himself responding physically to the nearness of the woman.
"What's your name?" he asked as she tugged his pants
off. "I think we've come to a point in our relationship where
I should know that. "
"My name's Cordelia Grey," she said, taking his pants
and hanging them on a chair by the heater. "There, they'll
dry quickly there." She turned to face him and said, "I'm a
secretary, living here because it's all I can afford." She
looked around, then said, "It looks terrible,- doesn't it?
About all I can do is keep it clean. "
And it was that, Nick thought, as the warmth from the
heater seeped into his muscles.
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"Look at those knees!" she exclaimed.
"What about them?"
she said, "they're
"Well, aside from being pretty,"
bruised up pretty bad.
He took a closer and found that she was right. He
must have struck them on the ground after he bounced off the
wall.
"Guess they do look sort of messed up," he said,
grimacing as the ache in his shoulder flared.
"What else is wrong?" she asked, looking concerned.
"Banged my shoulder up," he said, "falling down those
outside steps. "
"You fell down the steps?" she said. "That fella must
have been pretty big for you to be in that much ofa hurry to
avoid him. You look like you're in fine shape."
"I was," he said, grimacing again.
"Maybe I can help you, " she said. "Take off your shirt."
"My shirt?"
"A hot compress and a massage might be just what your
shoulder needs, before it gets much worse. s'
"You've already done enough, Cordelia," he protested,
but she wasn't having any of it.
"Just drink your drink and I'll be right back. " She started
out of the room, then turned and said, "You haven't told me
your name. Aren't we at that point in our relationship yet?"
He smiled at her and said, "My name is Nick. 'S
"Sit tight, Nick, luv," she said. "and I'll be right back. "
While she was gone, Nick struggled to his feet and tried to
walk to the door, but found that his knees had stiffened up on
him. Forcing the issue, he shuffled to the door and pressed
his ear against it, but there was nothing to be heard. He had
just lowered himself back on the couch when Cordelia came
back with a hot compress.
"You still have your shirt on. "
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"Cordelia, you've been very kind—
27
' 'Don't argue," she said firmly, and began to unbutton his
shirt, He caught the hint of a new scent and realized that she
must have put on perfume.
'Cordelia, could I have a little more of that bourbon?" he
asked.
"Will you take off your shirt while I get it?"
"Yes."
She nodded and took his glass with her.
Nick hurriedly shrugged out of his jacket and shoulder
holster and wrapped Wilhelmina in the jacket so that she
wouldn't show. He pushed Hugo into the package as well,
along with Pierre. It wouldn't do for Cordelia to see his per-
sonal arsenal. It might frighten her into screaming—
although he doubted she was the screaming type. She
seemed to be a very competent woman, and not as flighty as
she might have first appeared. The apartment was clean, and
so was she, and he felt that she didn't belong in an apartment
this beneath her.
"Here you are," she said, coming back in, "and you've
got your shirt off. Good." He noticed that she had secured
the front of her robe.
She handed him the glass and then walked around behind
the couch. The T-shirt he was wearing was a tank-top style,
making it easy for her to put the compress right on his
shoulder.
she said,
"This looks pretty badly bruised, as well,"
touching the muscle with her fingers.
She alternated between massaging the muscle and holding
the compress to it, until it was no longer warm.
S S That's enough of that," she said, putting it aside. "Just
let me work on it a little more." She touched his shoulder
again. Nick wondered if she could notice the erection that
was straining at the front of his shorts.
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NICK CARTER
He heard a whisper of cloth, and then, as she massaged his
shoulder, he suddenly felt something on the back of his
neck. Hard points rubbed the skin on his nape, and he sud-
denly realized that what he felt were the swollen tips of her
breasts.
"This iS crazy," she breathed suddenly. She pressed her
chin down on the top of his head and rested her heavy breasts
on his shoulders so that the back of his neck was nestled in
the warm valley between them. Her hands traveled down,
and she ran them over his hard chest muscles, rubbing her
palms over his nipples. "Crazy," she said again. "but this
whole situation has me more excited than I've been in years,
Nick, right from the moment I saw you in the hall." She
reached down further with one hand, sliding it beneath the
waistband of his shorts, and she added, "You too, I see."
"Yes," he said, catching her wrist. "Me, too. Come
around here where I can reach you. "
She removed her breasts from the back ot his neck and
joined him on the couch, naked. Her breasts were large, and
the nipples and aureola were a dark brown, with darker
brown freckles on them in places.
He placed the palm of his hand over one of them, and she
closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He bowed his head
and caught a nipple gently between his teeth, first rolling it
about, and then sucking on it.
"Let me," she said, sliding from the couch and crouching
between his legs. "Let me .
He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, feeling
the heat—the heat of the portable heater. the heat of the
bourbon, and the heat of her mouth as she drew on him.
"Is there a back way out of here?" he asked her later.
"Don't—" she started to say, but stopped. They were Iy-
ing in her bed, having moved there from the couch a couple
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Of hours before. She pressed her head against his chest and
said, "There are a couple, but one way leads to an alley that
goes into the next street, Marigold Lane. "
"I have to go," he said.
She kissed his chest, licked a nipple until it was hard, and
then rubbed her cheek against it, saying, "l know, I know. "
As he dressed, she said, "This was wonderful, Nick,
but—
"But what?" he asked.
"We won't ever see each other again, will we?"
He hesitated, then saw no point in lying.
"l doubt it, Cordelia. "
"You weren't running from an irate husband, were you?"
she asked, then held her hands up and said, "No, you don't
have to answer that. Forget I asked. "
She slid from the bed and started to get dressed, saying,
"I'll show you that door."
He nodded, then went to the living room for the rest of his
clothes. By the time she came out, he was dressed, with all
his weapons back in place.
"This way," she said, opening the door.
"Wait," he said, rushing to her and pulling her away
from the doorway. He checked out the hallway first, making
sure it was empty, then said, "All right."
She gave him a strange look, as if she were realizing what
strangers they really were, then walked past him and led him
down the hall. At the end they had to turn either left or right,
and she took him to the right and showed him the door to the
alley.
g 'This is it," she said.
"Cordelia—" he started, but she pressed her fingers to his
lips, then kissed him hard, but fleetingly. "Good luck, who-
. and thank you."
ever and whatever you are
She hurried back down the hall, and he watched until she
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NICK CARTER
was out of sight. Quite a woman, he thought. She deserved
more than a night with a stranger, no matter how wonderful
it had been between them.
He was sorry he couldn't give her more of himself, but he
had already given her more than he should have.
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FIVE
Nick had a few anxious moments when he stepped out into
the alley. He hadn't realized that it would be that narrow. It
was hardly more than a space between two buildings, and he
would have to turn sideways to negotiate it. While he was in
that small space, he'd make an easy target from either end,
but it had been hours since the attempt on his life, and he
chose to believe that a second attempt had been put off until
another time.
When he came out into Marigold Lane, it was still dark,
and the rain had stopped completely. With about an hour be-
fore the sun would start to come up, he headed back to his
hotel where he could soak in a hot tub and catch a few hours
sleep before he renewed his search for Anton Lector.
His clothing had dried well, and as he walked through the
lobby of his hotel, he drew no curious glances. He walked
directly to the elevator, rode to his floor, used his key, and
entered the entrance foyer of his room. There was a closet
and a small couch there, and further on was the actual
bedroom.
As he hung up his coat, he suddenly became aware, by
virtue of instinct only, that he was not alone in the room. He
withdrew Wilhelmina from her holster and reached for the
light switch, which was not in the room itself, but in the foy-
er. He flicked it on, and as bright light bathed the room, he
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NICK CARTER
rushed in and fell to one knee, holding his Luger out in front
of him.
"Jesus Christ!" Stephanie Clark snapped. "You scared
the wits out of me. "
She was lying fully dressed on his bed, which was still
made, and had obviously been asleep.
"Stephanie," he said, breathing a sigh of relief that he
hadn't killed her. S 'What the hell are you doing here?"
"I told you I was going to do some investigating on my
own," she reminded him, straightening her skirt so that it
covered her knees. "I followed you here," she said.
"You followed me?" he asked, incredulously. Surely she
hadn't been able to follow him without his seeing her. Was
he slipping that badly?
"Well, not followed you in the true sense of the word, "
she said. "I found out that you were coming to England, sol
came, too."
"How did you find out?"
"DIA contacts," she said. "Top secret."
"The DIA knew I was coming here?" he asked, rising to
his feet. He didn't like that, and what's more, he didn't un-
derstand it.
' 'l tapped into their main computer from the terminal in
my office," she explained. She noticed the look on his face
and said, "Don't look so grim. The DIA knows a lot of
things about a lot of people.
"Not about me," he said. "How did you get in here?"
"I took a room of my own, then asked for yours—2"
"I'm not registered under my real name," he said, inter-
rupting her. He was liking this less and less.
"I described you to the clerk, gave him a sad story and a
tickle under the chin, and then let myself in. "
"Something else you learned from a DIA computer, I sup-
pose?" he asked, taking off his jacket and shoulder holster.
"Not exactly," she said, smiling coyly. "I went out with
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NICK CARTER
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere near you when you do
what you do, " she sneered, and left, slamming the door be-
hind her.
Just what he needed, he thought as he filled the tub with
hot water, an amateur—and a girl besides—"mucking
about," as they said in this country, getting in the way and
trying to get herself killed.
Finding her father's killer was not his job, but it also was
not his job to stand around and watch her get herself killed.
Damn it.
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SIX
Nick soaked in the tub for a good half hour, giving the hot
water time to sink its warmth into the muscles of his knees
and shoulder. Wilhelmina was within easy reach on the
counter next to the tub, just in case. If Stephanie had been
able to find him, why not his would-be assassin? In the
morning he was going to have to move to another hotel, and
also get in touch with the AXE agent here in England. Then
he would contact Hawk, concerning the DIA knowing his
whereabouts and allowing a file clerk access to their
computers.
While he was drying off, he thought briefly of Cordelia
Grey, then pushed her out of his mind. There was no room
there for a woman he had only known a few hours, no matter
how intimate the circumstances had been.
He put on a robes picked up Wilhelmina, and walked out
of the bathroom. His eyes fell on his jacket, hanging over the
back of a chair, and he remembered the envelope he had
taken out of the mailbox and tucked into his pocket.
He put the gun in his robe pocket, picked up the jacket,
and removed the envelope. Whoever had addressed it to "A.
Lester" had made the mistake of writing "Dr." before it,
probably out of habit.
He took the letter and sat on the bed with it. The return ad-
dress had no name on it, but it did have a Paris address.
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NICK CARTER
Opening the envelope and taking the letter out, his fears
were confirmed when he saw that it had been written in
French.
The only thing that he was able to read clearly was the
name in the salutation. It was "Anton."
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Nick slept with his Luger underneath his pillow, and when
he woke up, he made two phone calls, one to room service
for breakfast, and the other to the coded number. He was al-
most finished with his continental breakfast by the time the
call was returned.
"Room N3?" the voice asked. It was the same voice he
had spoken with the night before.
"You got it right this time," Nick said. "Congratula-
tions. "
"Well," the man said, "did you find anything that our
FEOple missed when you went to—"
"Yes," Nick said, before the address could be men-
tioned, "l did."
did?" the man asked, sounding disappointed
"You .
and puzzled.
"I need someone who can read French," Nick said, and
then as an afterthought added, "and speak English. You got
"I've got it."
"Today.' '
"I'll do my best."
"Just do it right and I'll be happy. Call me back in an
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hour. "
-I can't-—
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anymore. ' '
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NICK CARTER
"In an hour," Nick said again. "After that I won't be here
"I'll do my best," the voice said.
"Shit," Nick said, and hung up.
Fifty minutes later, the phone rang while he was packing.
"All right," the voice said. "Where?"
"In the lobby. "
"The lobby? Why not your room?"
"I don't have a room here anymore," Nick said. Right
after he had hung up earlier, he had called the desk and told
them to make up his bill. "So it's the lobby. I'll be sitting
there with a brown two-suiter. Got it?"
"I've got it. Half an hour. "
Nick hung up, picked up his bag, and left the room, pull-
ing the door shut behind him. He just hoped he wouldn't run
into Stephanie during the next half hour.
Nick sat in the lobby for forty minutes, keeping one eye on
the front door for his interpreter, and the other on the eleva-
tors for Stephanie. He passed the time by trying to guess who
the interpreter was. At one point, a classy-looking brunette
walked in and he found himself hoping it was her, but she
walked to the front desk, spoke to the clerk, and left again.
After forty minutes, a nondescript man of average height
and average weight entered, looked around, spotted Nick's
brown two-suiter, and then started for him. Now this, Nick
thought, looks like an interpreter.
"Ate you the owner of this two-suiter?" the man asked in
perfect English.
"Yes," Nick said, standing up, "Come on."
"Where?" the man asked, looking puzzled.
"You'll see when we get there. Nick picked up his suit-
case and repeated, "Come on. "
They went outside and Nick asked the doorman to get
them a cab. When they were in a cab, Nick told the driver,
"Just drive around for a while."
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"Whatever you say, Guv," the man answered. With the
meter running, he didn't care if he had 10 drive around all day
long.
"What is the meaning of this?" the interpreter asked.
"Shouldn't matter to you where you do your job. as long
as you get it done," Nick said. He reached into his pocket
and took out the letter. want you to tell me what this
says," he instructed the man, handing him the single page.
"This is very irregular," the man complained. "I'm not
used to working under these sort of conditions. "
Nick didn't like the way things had been going right from
the beginning. First his contact sounded like a beginner, then
Stephanie shows up and tells him that the DIA is keeping
tabs on him. Now this prima donna didn 't like having to read
on the run. To top it all off, his knees and shoulder still
ached.
"Look, I'm sorry I couldn't set you up in the best hotel in
town just to read this thing, but I don't have time for that.
Tell me what it says or I'll let you off—without stopping. "
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Sounds to me like he would, friend, " the cabbie said.
"Thanks," Nick said. He looked at the other man and
said, "Well?"
'*Very well, as you wish," the man said. He started to
read the letter aloud: "Dear Anton, Received the time and
date of your arrival. Have told no one, as you instructed.
Hope you will tell me what is wrong when you arrive. I look
forward to seeing you, old friend. "
"Very concise," Nick said,
"What does it mean?" the man asked, handing it back to
Nick.
"That's not part of your job, pal," Nick said. He tucked
the letter away again, leaned forward, and tapped the cabbie
on the shoulder. "Let my friend out anywhere along here. "
CS You can't do that!" the interpreter said.
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NICK CARTER
"I'm sure you can find your way back," Nick said.
The cab pulled over and Nick reached past the man to
open the door.
"Thanks for your help.
The man rushed from the car, as if in a hurry to put as
much distance between himself and Nick as possible.
"Okay, let's go," Nick told the cabbie.
"Where to, Guv-nor?"
"Paris.'
"You're joking."
"Then make it the airport, and I'll take it from there. "
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