Run, Spy, Run

Burns of Great Britain, Ahmed Tal Barin of India, La Dilda of Peru and now Valdez of Minirio. Something was in the wind when four diplomats all died in similar ways. How in hell could the insurance companies go for such a weak cover-up as murder for insurance? Or was that just the official lie to keep the enemy hoodwinked while the FBI poked around for further information? Oh, yes. One exception. Pilot error. Perhaps it was a genuine exception.

It was turning out to be a real international soup, all right. And Mr. Hawk was just the chef to stir the pot.

Valdez's steel hand… The possibility of a bomb device was fascinating and horrible. It would be interesting to see what CAB and all the other authorities would make out of the one explosion which hadn't occurred on the plane. It was a break, in a way — it narrowed the field of inquiry.

Carter wondered why Rita had chosen to meet at the Fountain. The ever-present doubt swelled in the back of his mind. It would be a dandy place for anyone who wanted to pick him off.

Don't jump the gun, he told himself. It may just turn out to be a very pleasant night on the town with an extremely lovely girl who has turned to you, trustingly, for help.

Huh. Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence. There were too many of them — a series of explosions, a plea from a beautiful girl who sets up meetings in the oddest places, an unidentifiable knifer with an unknown motive. And all he'd done was mind his own business. And talk to Rita.

He whistled tunelessly as he rearranged the contents of his pockets and adjusted Wilhelmina, Hugo and Pierre to fit more snugly into their accustomed places.

Appointment at the Plaza Fountain

The Plaza Fountain looked like an oasis in the chaotic whirl of Fifth Avenue. Silvery spray played in the semidarkness, a pleasant sight for passersby. The large, aging hotel behind it looked like some rococo remnant of another era. The broad sweep of Central Park filled the eye to the north.

Directly across the Plaza, a line of hansom carriages waited for customers. One turn through the park and lovers might enjoy a breath of fresh air and romance even in so jaded a cosmopolitan universe as Manhattan.

Nick's eyes took in the tableau as he crossed Fifth and saw Rita Jameson. It wasn't just the pretty picture that caught his interest, although Rita looked even lovelier than his mental image of her. The hostess outfit had been replaced by a short blue gown of almost sculptured clinging lines. A lightweight evening coat was draped casually over her shoulders, and the blonde hair had been allowed to fall free over the velvet collar. But Carter read worry in her agitated movements. Why so nervous? He wasn't late. Reaction, maybe.

A young couple walked slowly beneath the wispy trees and murmured to each other. Half-hidden by a shadow in the northeast corner was a short, squat man in a crumpled seersucker suit with limp fedora to match. He was pretending to study his watch, but his eyes were on Rita.

Nick felt a cold flush of anger. So he was going to be fingered. No, come on! Who wouldn't look at a lovely girl pacing the square? Well, the bastard shouldn't stare like that.

He quickened his pace and walked alongside her as she strolled toward 59th.

"Hello, Rita."

Rita whirled, her eyes startled. Then she smiled.

"You gave me quite a start. Guess I'm jumpy. How are you, Mr. Carter?"

"Nick." He took her hand in his. Let seersucker have something to look at. "Don't worry. It's that old magnetism. I affect people that way. Dinner at some quiet place where we can talk?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not, just yet. Maybe we could walk awhile. Or — how about a hansom carriage ride? I've always wanted to try it."

"If that's what you want, fine."

What could be more pleasant than an evening in the park?

Nick whistled shrilly and motioned with his free hand as they walked to the corner. The first carriage in line rumbled forward.

Nick helped Rita up and followed her. The driver made a clicking sound between his teeth and lethargically raised the reins. Rita sank back into the darkness of the cab, her thighs disturbingly close to Nick's.

The man in the seersucker suit stopped looking at his watch and stood up, yawning and stretching. The coolness of Nick's mind settled into a chill.

The man strolled toward the line of waiting hansom cabs.

A tail. No mistake. Rita had been followed — or accompanied — to the Plaza Fountain. The question was — why?

Their carriage turned off the brightly-lit street and into the dark environs of Central Park. If anything was going to happen, it might as well happen here. He was ready.

He turned to Rita.

"All right, let's talk business first. Then we can start enjoying ourselves. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

Rita sighed heavily. She was silent for a moment. Nick stole a look out of the small rear window. Another carriage had rolled into view. Seersucker, no doubt.

Rita began slowly.