Run, Spy, Run

The smile went out of his eyes. He had drafted a code message to Hawk and Judson had undertaken to see that it went off immediately. The reply should not be long in coming. "Hawk will get in touch and the Consul will get some kind of code message which he'll refer to us. Don't worry about it now. Time enough when official orders come."

"How will we find Judas? God, he must be a monster. And that — that fanatic on the plane, with the Betty Crocker."

"Aunt Jemima."

"Peter, why did he take off the cast? He knew he couldn't get away if the explosive did go off. Couldn't he have just — sat there — and…"

Nick took her hand. "Someone might have seen him. And then, I suppose, even the most diehard fanatic must find it difficult to sit calmly and wait to explode. An L-pill is easier. Now don't think about it. There's a time to worry and a time to spy and a time to — to be almost ourselves."

The towel slid gently from her pale-copper shoulders. She leaned back and pulled him to her. He could feel her heart thudding as his head came down on the twin pillows of her bosom. Cool fingers traced the scar on his shoulder. He moved his head. The marvelous breasts responded to his touch. He covered her mouth with his, and her body with his body.

Shadows lengthened across the floor. Big Ben rumbled metallically. Julie stretched like a cat.

"Isn't Yoga wonderful?" Deep contentment filled her eyes.

Nick stroked her hair and rose as smoothly as a panther.

"No more wonderful than you. Please stay there — I want to look at you."

He had known many women in his life, but very few so truly beautiful; and none before with Julie's exciting tiger-like quality of controlled and sinuous strength, none who could melt so slowly and softly and then burst into a vital, blazing flame of passion that stimulated, thrilled, licked hungrily, hung for long moments on the high precipice of desire, then burst into a blinding flame-shower of fulfillment.

She could laugh, too. They had loved and laughed and brought to each other the soul-filling satisfaction and body release of a perfect sexual union. She was almost dangerously desirable. With her, it was easy to love and forget the murderous hand of the man who had reached around the world to blow up planes, smash lives and damage the tenuous links of national policy. The red shadow in the background made the lovemaking all the more urgent, all the more compelling.

He began to dress, paying special attention to the harnesses and holsters that held his lethal friends.

"I should think he would have called by now."

"Judson? Perhaps we didn't hear the telephone." She propped herself on one elbow and watched him dress.

"Oh, we'd have heard all right. But it's getting late. Hawk's had plenty of time to reply."

"Perhaps the Consul downs tools at five. Maybe he won't call until tomorrow. After all, he's a fairly big wheel."

"Not so big that he doesn't have to turn when Hawk is pushing. He's a hired hand like us when it comes to Security. And Hawk won't waste any time after hearing about Vertmann and his kamikaze bomb. We've blocked Judas, and he'll know it too."

"You think he'll know how he was blocked?"

"He'll find out. The word'll get around. Once he puts the facts together, he'll realize that someone has caught on to his plane-bomb routine. Which means he'll either have to change his technique or give up the whole business. There's another possibility. He may very well try to remove the immediate threat to his operation."

"Meaning us?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Meaning us."

Her eyes met his and saw that they were troubled. "I won't get in the way. Don't worry, Peter."

"What — me worry?" He managed an enviably accurate expression of smiling idiocy. "Now you'd better get dressed, or I'll never get my mind on work."

"I think it's there already." She rose and went slowly to him. "I mean it, though. I've been in this business a long time. I won't get underfoot, and I'm not going to get hurt. I'm a fellow agent, here to help. That's all I am to you."

"Is it?" He cupped his hands beneath her chin. "All right then, Agent Baron. Get on your jockey shorts and dinner jacket. We're going to spy out something to eat."

She laughed. "Are you always hungry?" She drew herself away and made for the connecting door.

"Certainly not. I drink, too." He pulled on the plain dinner jacket supplied by Hawk to middle-income Peter Cane. It sat surprisingly well on the muscular shoulders.

The phone rang.

Nick scooped it up.

"Yes?"

"Cane. This is Henry Judson."

"Good to hear from you, sir. You've had news?"

Judson sounded regretful. "Not yet, I'm afraid. But we're expecting word momentarily. Your report has been studied — on both sides of the ocean, I imagine — and these things take a little time."

They're taking a damn sight longer than usual, thought Nick.