Run, Spy, Run

Moments later, Mr. Peter Cane, handsome and distinguished in his dark dinner jacket and black horn-rimmed glasses, appeared in the lobby with a breathtaking vision on his right arm. The vision was recognizable as Miss Julia Baron, dazzlingly beautiful in a simple black evening gown. Her lush, dark hair peeked over the upturned fur collar of her cape. The staff of the Hotel Rand eyed her appreciatively.

The chauffeur was no less appreciative and much more attentive. He handed her into the back seat and crisply closed the door after her and Nick.

The evening air was crisp and cool. Street lights blurred fuzzily in the darkness.

From the roomy rear of the limousine, Nick kept his eyes fixed on the chauffeur's head and hands. A preliminary survey of the car had satisfied him that it either was an official car or a very good imitation of one — thoroughly appropriate looking, US Consular plates, and a driver of unmistakably American origin. The voice could not have been faked by any actor — certainly not well enough to fool someone so attuned to accents and intonations as Carter.

"You look wonderful, Julie. Did I tell you? Like a princess."

"I like the looks of you, too, Peter."

They locked fingers and lapsed into silence, watching London pass by through the windows. Julie seemed calm and happy. Perhaps she was neither. Nick was uneasy.

The high, stone shadow of the American Consulate loomed up through the windshield and the Rolls glided into a driveway and stopped. Nick relaxed a little. At least they hadn't been taken for the legendary "ride."

Julie grinned and pressed his hand.

"Do you suppose there'll be poison in the soup?"

The Enemy Within

The soup was excellent.

So was the delicate pate, the crisp bread fingers, the fine filet, and the succulent green salad. So were the varicolored wines that accompanied each course.

Henry Judson was cordiality itself. There was no sign of a wife, and he mentioned none. In spite of his borrowed anglicisms, picked up in the course of his many years in London, he was wholeheartedly American, crisply executive and charmingly attentive. He was sensitive to political trends and nuances; he spoke knowledgeably but. not condescendingly about many things. Nick answered in kind, with assists from a remarkably well-informed Julia. Judson went on to talk of life in London and of world affairs with all the impressive familiarity of the true diplomat. Nick sensed that he enjoyed the talking, that he liked their ready answers. He began to feel that he had been foolish and melodramatic.

Hawk's message arrived with the cherries jubilee and fragrant sherry. An aide came in and whispered briefly. Judson nodded, dismissed him, and they finished their meal without haste.

"If the circumstances had been different," the Consul said, setting down his sherry glass, "I should like to have arranged a more elaborate dinner party. But until this thing is done with, we can't afford to call attention to you. I hope we'll have occasion for a celebration later. Coffee?"

It was the first time since he had greeted them that he had alluded to the reason for their presence in the misty city.

They had their coffee in a high-ceilinged, paneled den room somewhere beyond the formal dining room. There was a roaring fireplace flanked by American and English flags. Julia sank into a deep stuffed chair to listen while Nick and Judson examined Hawk's coded message. It was imprinted on a streamer of teletype and incomprehensible to anyone but the party for whom it was intended:

BROWN CONFIRMS BIBLE IS RIGHT ISCARIOT TAKING SILVER IN STEEL HAND SAME 707 INTENDED ELIMINATION LINE ON LOCATION RED PROCEED UNIVERSITY BUSINESS AWAIT FRIENDS WATCH BIG BEN WEDNESDAY GERONIMO.

Henry Judson smiled ruefully.

"I get a lot of these. I must confess I've never learned to make heads or tails out of most of them. We have a decoding staff, of course, and they interpret for me. But I suppose it's basic English to you, Cane."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "Fairly basic. Sometimes open to conflicting interpretations, of course." He passed the streamer to Julie. She read it swiftly and returned it to Nick. He re-read it, went over to a metal ash tray and took out his cigarette lighter. Too bad, he thought, that he didn't have any of Hawk's Quantity K to play with. He applied the flame to the streamer and watched the coarse paper shrivel.

Judson pulled deeply on his cigarette.

"Am I a security risk, too?"

"No, of course not. But one gets in the habit of not leaving things of that sort lying around." Nick stirred the hot ashes. "Anyway, except for sending and receiving messages, I think it would be best to leave the Consulate out of this as much as possible."