Run, Spy, Run

Hawk thought it over. "I wonder what 'A. Brown' was doing at the time. Seersucker strikes me as more of a gun-and-grenade killer. No, I can't buy that. It has to fit the plane bombings."

Julia Baron gave a small, attention-getting cough. "Can't the airport people determine the source of the explosion?"

The old man stopped pacing and sighed. "Plane wreckage is one thing. Big pieces to go over, surfaces to study — shrapnel parts and the like. But when the human body is ripped apart by a concentrate of nitroglycerin, well…" He shrugged expressively. 'There isn't very much left, I'm afraid."

"Nitro?" Nick echoed.

"Yes. That's one thing CAB experts are sure of."

Nick pondered. Nitroglycerin could be detonated with the slightest jar or shake. It could not have been ready on the plane; they had hit airpockets and bumpy weather several times over the ocean. Now what did the back of his mind mean by "ready?"

"Think of something, Cane?" Hawk's eyes pierced him.

"Ye-es. Maybe. Wouldn't that mean a timer? Because without it, we'd all have been dead and gone — even supposing he'd made the Jamaica airport in one of those crazy taxicabs."

"Which he probably wouldn't have," Hawk said quietly. "Yes, I think you have it."

"If the explosive was on him."

"All right," Hawk said wearily. "We don't have time to go back over that track tonight. We know enough to prepare for the next move."

"Flight 601," Nick suggested.

"That's it. A Mr. Harcourt is flying on that plane. Lyle Harcourt, our Ambassador to the U.N. And we know where he stands with the Red Chinese, don't we? Well, so do they. As far as they're concerned, he talks too much and makes too much sense. With him out of the way, they at least can hope for a replacement who talks less — and then only a nice soft line about Red China. So we can't have Flight 601 blowing up over the Atlantic."

"Would they move so fast after the Valdez incident?"

Hawk shook his head. "We can't guess, and we can't afford to take a chance. We have to move on the assumption that Lyle Harcourt's life is in danger."

Julia stirred. "Why doesn't Harcourt take an Army plane and keep away from crowds?"

Hawk smiled briefly. "The flight is ostensibly a personal one. Vacation. You know how we citizens scream about congressmen and other civil brass using funds for pleasure jaunts. So, in defense of our way of life, and to avoid calling attention to himself by any change of plan, Mr. Harcourt is making a point of flying like any ordinary citizen."

"And scholarly Mr. Cane and the beautiful Julia will be blown to bits while holding hands in the air. America, it's wonderful."

"Yes, it is," Hawk said sternly. "Now tell me your version of what happened at the Elmont."

Nick outlined the evening's events in succinct phrases, leaving nothing out except the exact circumstances of his meeting with Julia and the initial coolness between them. He dwelled on the perfumed envelope.

"Miss Baron's way of preparing you for her appearance, no doubt. That's another thing…"

"Yes, Mr. Hawk," Julia said demurely. "Tomorrow, Yardley's Lavender."

"Anything new on my gentlemen callers?" Nick went back to business, but his eyes were smiling. Julia might get in the way, but he was going to like her.

"Nothing at all on tonight, of course. Not yet. As to the rest, the police have been cooperative, but we haven't made much headway since this morning. The Biltmore corpse revealed nothing more than I told you this afternoon. Apparently just another gun — or knife — hired for dirty work. The hansom carriage pair were East Side hoods, who kill for anyone with enough money to hire them. Just murder for profit, even in the case of Seersucker. The difference with him is that he was closer to the source."

"The source being, in this case, the inscrutable A. Brown."

"Yes. We may have something there. A few more questions at the airport elicited the interesting fact that someone they thought was the same man who'd asked questions about Flight 16 was seen talking to a tall fellow with, they said, 'a mean and calculating eye.' Now, that doesn't tell us much, but it does suggest that Seersucker got his orders at the airport after X had seen something on the field. You, perhaps, and Rita Jameson."

"Oh." Nick fell silent. There was no use cursing himself now. But a picture of Rita leapt to his mind. A lovely vision that shimmered, as in a nightmare, into a sharp image of the mutilated, blood-drenched figure on the carriage seat. Damn Judas, then!

Hawk was still talking. "Brown, whoever he is, is going to be our concern at this end. You know the enemy, Cane. Why waste valuable espionage agents on mere executions when there's plenty of local talent for hire? Very confusing and very clever operational technique. Too bad we don't know how to use it."

Nick pulled his wandering thoughts together. "Doesn't it strike you that someone's been a little careless with his ambushes and killings?"