Run, Spy, Run

"When you left the stadium, Cane, Miss Baron approached me with the usual interdepartmental identification. She had been told where to find me and she produced credentials that are unshakeable and unarguable. Until recently she has been at the Asian desk of the OCI, which you will recall is the Office of Confidential Information. She flew into Washington with a useful scrap of information and was sent up here to see me. Word from Washington reached me later in the day. I had heard of her, of course, but we had never met. Washington insists that we make use of her." He mouthed his cigar reflectively. "It occurred to me that your cover might be less easy to penetrate if you were traveling together. Therefore, Miss Baron will be on Flight 601 with you tomorrow."

"Why, Mr. Hawk," said Nick, pained. "You know I'm not married. And what about my girl friend, Myra?"

Hawk permitted himself a faint smile. "Myra is a memory, a lovely thing of the past. Miss Baron has swept you off your feet and you are flying to England, determined to spend several beautiful days together in a London love nest. You will approach your research conscientiously, of course, but your free time is your own. There is no reason why information of that nature should appear on Peter Cane's official records. You would, in fact, have been very careful to see that it did not. When you are not immersed in your work you will be immersed in the girl."

Nick looked at her appraisingly. Yes, perhaps he would. She was very decorative, indeed. There was spirit in those luminous, slanting eyes, and strength in that supple body.

There was a glint of amusement in Hawk's eye as he asked: "Is everything clear so far?"

"So far," Nick said. The girl nodded and studied the tip of the cigarette she had lit.

"Very well. These two pieces of luggage are yours, Cane. Miss Baron has her own. And, as I indicated earlier, I shall expect her to tone down her appearance. Appropriately sober clothes have been provided. A somewhat less apparent aura of sophistication would be in order. In other words, Miss Baron," the old man finished crisply, "I want you to look a little less like Mata Hari."

Julia raised her eyebrows and stretched languidly.

"Dragon Lady, they used to call me in Peking." She laughed with genuine pleasure, and took off her hat. Nick noticed that her front teeth were slightly crooked. The lady of mystery was transformed into a gamin. Dark hair fell over her forehead, released from hat and pins, and she swept it back with a toss of the head and a slender hand. The earrings came off, revealing small, delectably shaped ears. Nick watched with growing approval. Hmmm. Perhaps this wouldn't be bad after all.

"That's better," Hawk grunted. "All right, Miss Baron — enough."

"What about Miss Baron's information, sir?" Nick prodded.

Hawk took a slow puff on his cigar. "As I said, it was a scrap, not a hard-and-fast fact. But it ties together with what we've begun to suspect. We think we know who we're dealing with now. Do you remember the old files on Mr. Judas?"

"Judas!" Nick was caught by surprise.

"Yes," Hawk said grimly, and tasted the name. "Mr. Judas. Our old friend of the European wars. Miss Baron's duties on the other side led her frequently — and quite dangerously, I might add — into high places. On several occasions she caught fragments of conversation, and even of action, that led her to conclude that a man named Judas was working, in some capacity, for the Red Chinese. Now, am I right, Miss Baron: you had never heard of Judas before?"

"That's right," she said seriously. "The name meant nothing to me. Until I checked with Washington and they sent a courier with the background information. Then I thought I'd better fly in at once."

"So it wasn't just an assumption on your part that the man they were talking about was Mr. Judas?"

"No, it wasn't. I wasn't even sure I had the name right, at first."

"It ties in, Cane. While you were away AXE and the CIA were adding to their trouble-pattern files. It looks as though Judas is still trying to play all countries against each other, still selling to the highest bidder. It would appear that he has found a market for his wares with the Chinese Reds. Just as he did with the Italian Fascists, the Nazis and the Communists during the war. The man has a genius for the subversive, for anything aimed at the perpetuation of world strife. We believe he's shown his hand again; this thing has his stamp on it."

Nick frowned. "It does. It's just the bastard's style. But I thought he was dead?"