Run, Spy, Run

"It was something to do with the explosions. All the planes blowing up."

Nick shot a surprised look at her.

"All the planes blowing up?"

"I didn't connect it until today. And maybe it doesn't have anything to do with what happened today. But I know there was something wrong with the way Steve went. That's why I wanted to see you. He didn't wreck that plane. I know it wasn't his fault. And now somebody's trying to get at me."

"What do you mean, 'get at you'?" Nick frowned down at her and took her hand. "Listen, honey, you'd better tell me the story from the start"

"I'll try. But give me a cigarette first, please."

A flick of his lighter showed the violent worry in her blue eyes.

"He was a pilot and we were engaged. We were going to get married after this trip. My trip, I mean. We'd planned it months ago. But his plane blew up. There was a hearing, and they said it was his fault, he was up late and he was tired and careless, and he crashed. But he didn't Oh, Christ, when I saw that mess this morning, that horrible sound and all those innocent people, I know what it was like for him, and I can't stand it…!"

"Stop that!" Nick took her hand and squeezed it brutally. "You don't know what it was like for him. God knows I can't figure out what happened from what you've told me, but if the plane exploded he didn't feel a thing. Now who's trying to get at you, and why?"

"I don't know who, I don't know why. Maybe because I was making a nuisance of myself. Just because I knew it wasn't his fault."

"What makes you think somebody's trying to get at you?" Nick's voice was as coldly demanding as a prosecuting attorney's.

"Because I got a phony letter and because somebody tried to get into my room this afternoon, that's why!" Her voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch.

"Somebody did get into mine," Nick said gently. "Okay. We'll get back to that. What about Valdez?"

Street lights from Fifth Avenue disappeared as the horse-drawn carriage clopped noisily further west into the heart of the park.

"What about him?" Rita's eyes were moist. "What's he got to do with it?"

"Thought you said you'd found some kind of connection between the explosions," Nick said carefully. "I just wondered what you knew about him. You seemed to know him pretty well."

"Oh, Yes. He's often flown with us. His government kept him pretty busy."

"Wasn't that rough on a one-handed man?"

She tilted her chin. "You saw him. Handled himself beautifully. He lost the hand in a revolution. Valdez told me all about it. He was a fine man, in his way. I suppose what happened today was some kind of frightful political conspiracy."

"Funny, how the idea of bombs keeps coming up," Nick mused. Forty yards behind them, the second carriage loomed like a hearse beyond the small window. "One more question, then back to your story. Why did you want to meet outside and take a ride in the park? Instead of letting me take you to some cozy restaurant where we could talk in peace?"

Rita's eyes met his. "Because I didn't want to get trapped into a corner. I don't want to be surrounded by people when I can't trust any damn one of them."

"I appreciate your feelings," Nick murmured, "but I think you operated on the wrong principle. Driver… stoke the engines, would you? I think we could stand to go a little faster."

Rita tensed. "Is there something wrong?"

"Maybe not much. Just keep well back and be ready to duck. You wouldn't have any vested interest in having me followed, would you?"

"Having you followed! For God's sake, no!" The blue eyes widened, showing both fear and surprise.

"And somebody's been trying to get at you. Have you ever noticed anyone showing any interest in Valdez? Or — try it this way — would anyone have any reason to think that you were particularly friendly with Valdez?"

"No," she answered. "No to both." She shivered suddenly.

"All right, let's go back to Steve. Steve who?"

"His name was Steven Anderson." Her voice was a low monotone. "He used to fly for World Airways. Four months ago he crashed. At least, they said he did. First the papers said the plane exploded in the air. Then there was a hearing, and they said he'd crashed. Because he was up late and drinking. Well, he wasn't. I should know. But they wouldn't believe me. And then a couple of weeks ago I heard they'd found a baggage tag with his name on it, and I knew that couldn't be true."

A long line of lights and sudden brilliance appeared in front of them. The 79th street throughway lay ahead. The carriage slowed. Nick checked the rear again. Carriage number two was drawing closer. He frowned. The driver mounted on the front seat was neither old nor characteristic of his kind. There was no top hat, no shambling posture. Alarm shot through him, but he sat back easily and his right hand found Wilhelmina.

"Why couldn't it be true?" he asked. "Nothing so strange about a baggage tag."

"This time there was."

Traffic thickened and the horse whinnied impatiently. The carriage behind grew close enough to touch.