by Nick Carter
She looked at him for another long moment. "I will get ready," she said.
João Junior wailed.
"I feel a bit like that myself," said Nick. "Maybe we should do a duet, kid."
The baby stopped wailing and watched him with solemn eyes as he crossed to the window and looked out from behind the curtains.
A compact car with small, high windows was idling on the corner of Da Gama Drive and the cross-street. Nick watched it for a moment. It was occupied by two men who seemed, from that distance, to be waiting, looking for someone. He turned and strode through a narrow passageway into the kitchen. Through a window over the sink he saw that the back of the house let out onto an alleyway lined with fences. The back of another house faced the alley. His view of the outlet onto the street was blocked. He opened the back door very quietly and looked out.
A man was lounging against the fence at the end of the alley. An ordinary enough looking man, but one with no apparent reason for being there. Business suit, hat, cigarette, lounging against the fence. Not right for this time of day. Maybe not for any time of day. Experimentally, Nick rattled the knob of the door.
The lounger came to attention and swung toward the sound. Nick closed the door quietly.
He went back into the living room and the window The compact car was moving slowly past the house. And stopping. A man got out. He looked so much like an old-time Chicago gangster that it was almost laughable. But there was nothing laughable about the hard, expressionless face or the resolute, flat-footed walk.
The situation had all the makings of a siege. And a gun battle was the last thing Nick needed at the moment.
He scooped up Joe Junior and whisked him into the bedroom where Carmen de Santos was swiftly packing a small bag. Even before she could straighten up in surprise, he said calmly: "Mrs. de Santos, we have visitors. Stay in here with the baby and keep away from the door and window. Don't come out until I come and get you." As he talked he put Joe Junior gently in her arms and moved to the bedroom window. It looked out on a strip of garden that led into the back alley. From his vantage point he was unable to see the watcher at the end of the alley or the car that idled on the road in front. Good. Chances were that their view of the bedroom window was no better.
The front doorbell shrilled.
Nick grinned reassuringly at the young woman and her baby, gave them a helpful shove toward the open closet, and ran into the kitchen where he bolted the door and jammed a sturdy wooden chair under the knob. From the kitchen window he could see a fraction of the end of the alley. The watcher strolled across his line of vision and out of sight. He seemed to be digging at his fingernails with a knife.
The doorbell rang again.
Nick went back to the living room with a quick, light stride. Whoever was outside was rattling the doorknob with little result. It was a sturdy door and the lock was unusually effective. De Santos had evidently thought it worthwhile to take some precautions.
The knob rattled and the bell screamed several times in succession while Nick stationed himself against the wall away from the window and nearest to the door hinges. This way he might be able to perform two useful actions at once.
The familiar sounds of lock-picking began.
Then… there were two sharp reports and the lock shattered.
Nick's body waited like a coiled spring ready for release.
The door opened suddenly, but not so suddenly that it slammed against the wall. That might look too suspicious from outside. A beat of time. Nick made a noiseless move that took him away from the crack between door and jamb but not so far that he lost the cover of the door.
The flat-footed man stepped into the room and the trap closed.
Nick gave him just half of the time he needed to step to the far side of the doorway and kick the door shut to reveal whoever might be hiding behind it. It was Nick who slammed the door shut and the stranger who fell sprawling and cursing, his gun-arm twisted beneath him in a grip of tempered steel. Something like a mailed fist hit him twice on the lower neck, with such blinding force that he did not even feel Nick's scientifically brutal kick. Nick slammed him on the head with his own gun just once for good measure, then moved to the window.
The driver was waiting at the wheel, unaware that it was not his colleague who had shut the door.
Nick pocketed Flatfoot's gun and dragged the prone figure against the door. There was not much time for a search, but he did not need much time. Again, he found no papers, only a small quantity of cash and a keychain. The keychain was much like Ferret's. But this time the little golden key bore the number 9. He took the keys and loped quickly into the bedroom.
"One down," he said cheerfully to the closet door. "Don't worry — we'll be out of here soon."
"What is it?" came an anxious voice. "Do you not think we should call the police?"
"Not on this phone, Senhora," said Nick, sidling along the wall to the window. He heard a horn tooting somewhere in front of the house. As if on cue the watcher in the alley strolled into view and disappeared again behind the rear walls. Nick tugged at the window, discovered there was a lock on it, and unlatched it. It slid up easily. He could hear footsteps coming to a stop at what he judged to be the back door.
"Just hold everything now," he said quietly. "I'll be coming back through the window, so don't be afraid."
"What if it isn't you?" she whispered. Young João was whimpering.
"It'll be me," Nick said, and stepped over the sill.
Except for the idling motor there was no sound from the car in front. Nick's senses were so finely tuned that he could hear a sort of fumbling at the back door, the rattle of pans in the. kitchen next door, and a bicycle whirring down a slope. But there was nothing coming from the front.
He lowered himself silently into the garden and cat-footed his way to the back alley.
The backdoor man relinquished his grip on the doorknob and, his back to Nick, stood on tiptoe to peer into the de Santos' kitchen window. It wasn't easy. He was short and the window was high. But it made things much easier for Nick.
It didn't matter that gravel crunched beneath Nick's feet as he neared the window. It was too late for any sound to warn the man. His upraised arms made him the perfect victim for the commando tactics Nick employed. A steel trap caught at the straining neck and bore down on it until something snapped, and a blow like a flatiron falling from a height more than finished the job. There had been one wheezing grunt. The man crumpled like a slaughtered ox.
The car horn sounded again — three short, sharp blasts.
Nick left the man where he was and ran back along the alley and into the garden.
Everything seemed as before.
Nick pulled himself up through the bedroom window and landed lightly, still moving. He heard a gasp as he opened the closet door. Carmen de Santos cowered in the corner under her dead husband's suits, clutching her crying child.
"It's all right," said Nick. "You'll be okay. We'll have to hurry. Go out through the kitchen. Never mind what you see outside. My car's up the slope."
She came out of the closet, half sobbing.
"But… but… I am not ready! How can we just leave…?"
"We have to," Nick said crisply, snapping the suitcase shut. "Head for the kitchen. I'll be with you in a couple of seconds."
Suitcase in hand, he made one final check from the window. And he heard a car door open. He slid the window shut, locked it, and hurried after the woman and the baby.
She stood at the back door, looking beaten and baffled.
"Take the suitcase," Nick ordered. "And give me the baby."
He pulled the chair away from the door as he spoke and slid back the bolt. Little Joe wailed lustily.
"No!" she said. "No! Nobody touches…!"
"Yes," said Nick, flinging the door open. "Or you'll lose him altogether." He took the child roughly from her grasp and thrust the suitcase at her. "I'll apologize later but now you'll have to do as I tell you."
<
br /> He pushed her out of the back door and closed it behind them. The baby's cries subsided to muffled yelps behind Nick's hand.
Carmen de Santos gave one quick gasp at what she law in the alley and then stumbled along beside Nick, reaching up to clutch Little Joe's tiny fist.
"Be careful how you hold him!" she whispered fiercely.
"Sshhh! Stop here a minute."
They were at the corner of the house where the alley met the small garden. Nick listened. At first he could hear nothing but passing cars, for the afternoon traffic was beginning to build up. Then there was a lull, and he heard footsteps on the sidewalk.
Nick risked a careful look around the corner.
Through the gap between the houses he could see the figure of a man pacing back and forth. As Nick watched the man stopped, stared at his watch, then made up his mind to act. He walked rapidly past the gap toward the de Santos house and out of view.
"Let's go," whispered Nick. "To the end of the alley and turn right."
"Give me the baby," the woman said.
"Come on! Hurry!"
He could hear the footsteps walking up the short pathway to the front door.
"Please," she said. "I will keep him quiet. Believe me, I trust you. But perhaps you will need your hands."
The footsteps stopped.
Nick looked at her for one split second. She was in control, now, and he knew instinctively that she would not let him down. Wordlessly, he handed her the baby and took the case. Little Joe's one small whimper quickly trailed away. Nick took Carmen by the arm and steered her across the gap and down the alley.
Behind him he could hear a thudding on the door.
Half running, they reached the end of the alley and looked out into the sloping cross-street. As far as it was possible to tell, all cars and pedestrians were going about their legitimate business. They hurried up the slope. Nick's car was waiting.
A woman's voice suddenly split the afternoon.
"Luiz! Luiz! Come and see! I told you I heard something!"
Carmen caught her breath.
"Not us," said Nick. "The alley. It can only help us if your neighbor's seen it. Third man'll have other things to think of besides us. Here we are. Get in."
As Nick got into the driver's seat and started up he could hear excited shouts coming from the direction of the alley. Luiz and friends had apparently joined the neighborhood body-finding club. He put the car in gear.
"Keep your head down 'til we get away from here," he ordered, slowing to a brief stop at Vasco da Gama Drive.
She nodded and pulled herself lower in the seat, rocking Little Joe on her lap.
Nick let a couple of cars go past and then coasted across the Drive. The compact car was still standing on the corner. He made a mental note of the license number, and repeated it to Carmen de Santos.
"Remember it, will you?"
She nodded again. "I will."
He accelerated. Another car on the Drive burst into life and made a left turn onto a busy road toward Rio. All traffic sounds blended into one comfortable, throbbing noise.
No one followed them.
"Mrs. de Santos," he began. Young João sat quietly. His mother turned solemn eyes toward Nick. "It's time for my apologies," Nick said, "and I'll owe you more before we're through. I'm going to check you in at the San Francisco, make sure that all your expenses are taken care of, and then leave you to call the police and tell them all about it. I'll be in contact with them myself very soon. But there's a lead that I simply must track down, and right away. If I get involved with them it'll take all night, and I'll lose it."
She smiled faintly. "I understand that. João would have been the same. But they will be very angry."
"I'm sure they will," he agreed. "But they can easily track me down through the Serrador if they get really anxious."
They talked as they drove downtown, discussing what she should say to the police and how careful she must be with herself and little João. Then they fell silent until he checked her into the hotel under an assumed name and insisted on paying a week's advance.
"Don't worry about it," he said cheerfully, handing her some extra cash, "I'll get it all back. Expenses."
He saw Carmen and the baby to their small suite and left.
Michael Nolan alias Robert Milbank alias Nick Carter was in one helluva complicated mess. But at least he knew that he wasn't being followed.
* * *
Rosalind knew that she was.
"Damn him, anyway," she muttered to herself, almost believing — for a fleeting moment — her own act with the man her Aunt Ada would have called a "masher."
Then reality caught up with her — and Tomaz was close behind.
She quickened her step along the broad, tree-lined street running past the museum. People strolling in the bright afternoon and the flow of traffic offered some cover. But not enough. Tomaz had time to think things over and possibly make a plan. He might realize that under the cover of the trees and the sound of passing cars he could just possibly get away with a shot. And he might be very anxious to try, since she had seen his face and would know it anywhere. So had Dr. Soares! But then so had any number of people, no doubt, who'd wandered through the museum. Only she had a reason for pointing a finger at Tomaz.
There were several pairs of feet walking along the sidewalk near her. Her ears singled out one pair and heard them coming after her. She rounded a bend. The trees were thicker here. Her pace quickened. So did his. She broke into a run. So did he. She could almost hear his breath.
Suddenly the trees opened up and formed the entrance to a park of statuary and fountains. She was almost past it when she saw the knot of tourists admiring an immensely muscular torso near the gate. Reaching with a speed that surprised even her, Rosalind made a sharp turn and ran into the park. She heard Tomaz making a clumsy turn after her. Several of the tourists had turned to watch the chase. With an embarrassed smile, she joined the group. Thank God a few of them were a familiar type of American. Her eyes flickered over them. Schoolteacher or librarian. Elderly couple, possibly Middle West. The balding, self-appointed Cheerleader with the loud shirt. The bright-eyed old lady, doubtless the most sprightly of the bunch. Her heart warmed to them. Tomaz, she noted, with a deliberately flustered look, had come to a hesitant halt just inside the gate.
"Please forgive me," she said tremulously to the nearest bald head and flat chest, "but that man! He's been following me and saying the craziest things! Do you mind if I join you? I… I know it's silly, but I just don't know how to shake him off. I'm trying to get back to town but he won't get off my heels!"
An old lady tut-tutted. "How dreadful, my dear. You must stay with us." Schoolteacher said, knowingly: "My God, the men in these hot countries!" A baldhead with a noble stomach growled ferociously, "Why, the swine!" And the tour conductor, a cheerful young man with a smiling brown face and reassuringly broad shoulders, raised his hands in generous welcome.
"Join us, Senhorina! We will look after you. You will ride back with us on the bus, yes?"
"Yes!" said Rosalind fervently. The group enveloped her.
Tomaz backtracked uncertainly as the group swept past him. Several uncomplimentary remarks were passed. But he stopped outside the gate and held his ground as they left the park, his eyes burning a hole in Rosalind's back.
When they were safely on the bus and pulling away from the curb Rosalind saw him trying frantically to hail a cab. As far as she could see, he failed. But when they got safely into town a few minutes later and she had thanked her escort, she slipped into the powder room of a café and made drastic changes in her appearance — just in case.
Disappearance of a Snoop
Ten to five.
Nick stopped at the desk of the Serrador.
"Any messages for Nolan?"
The clerk raised an amused eyebrow at him. "One, Senhor. You will forgive me if I did not inscribe it exactly as the telephone operator gave it to me." He reached into a slot a
nd handed the message to Nick. It read: "4:30 p.m. A young lady. Message… Where have you been? Call me at home! No name."
Nick grunted. "What did the young lady say, according to the operator?"
The clerk grinned openly. The manager would have been ashamed of him.
"Forgive me, Senhor. She said: 'Leave this message… Where the hell have you been, you louse? Call me at home the minute you get in.' Sorry, Senhor. She said that."
"Humpph," said Nick. A smile of amusement and relief crossed his bearded face. "I suppose I know who it is, but did she speak English or Portuguese?"
The clerk's grin got even broader. Ah yes — he seemed to be thinking — it was very hard to keep track of all the women in one's life.
"English, Senhor. But with an accent much like my own."
Clever girl, thought Nick, even more relieved.
"Well, thank you. No visitors?"
The clerk remembered his position and wiped off his smile.
"Two gentlemen were asking for you, Senhor. They were together. When I said you were not in, they went away."
So. They asked. Smarter than Ferret. But did they go away?
Nick looked thoughtful. "Izzat so. And no message? Happen to notice what they looked like? I was sort of expecting somebody."
The clerk shook his head regretfully.
"There are many such enquiries every day. They were of medium height, perhaps. Possibly a little older than the Senhor…" He shrugged. "It is really impossible to remember."
Nick nodded sympathetically. "I know. Thanks."
Nick stopped at the stand to buy cigarettes and look over the lobby. There were no suspiciously raised newspapers or watchers behind the graceful pillars. But the elegant lobby was so full of people that it was impossible to tell for sure. He made his way to the phone booths and selected the middle one of three that were unoccupied. After waiting cautiously for a few moments, he dialed the International and asked for Miss Montez. While the connection was being made he reflected on whether anyone would be waiting for him upstairs — especially since Ferret's "disappearance."