by Nick Carter
Luiz Silveiro held gold key number two.
Who, Nick wondered, held gold key number one?
As he turned to Rosalind with a deprecating little smile, he saw Perez Cabral coming toward the group at the door. There was smooth authority in his step and cold venom in his eyes.
Nick shook his head at the young drunk and guided Rosalind out of the club.
Night Life of a Spy
There was a message waiting for Nick in his mail slot at the Copacabana International. It was from Carla.
The evening newspapers were also waiting. They blazoned out the story of Carmen de Santos and Michael Nolan, and their details of Nolan's activities and suspicions were amazingly complete. One of the subheads read: No One Knows Where Langley Is. Another said: Body in Nolan's Room Not Nolan's.
Nick skimmed the stories with a sort of grim satisfaction. Buried near the end of the most informative of them was one line he was especially glad to read: 'Innocencia Andrade, singer at the Moondust Club (known to patrons as Lolita) demands — and gets — police protection.'
Rosalind listened with a cynical smile as he read her Carla's message.
Afraid to call, the message said. Made number of calls today and suspect someone listening in. Am frightened and need you. Don't call. Please come — come as soon as you read this, no matter what time it is. Don't tell R. What's ours is ours, and I am yours… Carla.
"Will you go?" asked Roz. "She seems to have a lot of faith that you'll hop to it when she calls. Or whistles."
"That's a sneaky smile you have, my love," Nick said reproachfully. "Yes, I'll go. It may be my last chance to butter her up. And after that — an early morning visit to the club, to see if I can find a keyhole for a golden key."
Rosalind's eyes widened. "Tonight? But we'll both be seeing Cabral tomorrow."
"Tonight," he said firmly. "Can you handle the radio as well as I think you can?"
She nodded. "Yes, but…"
"Then get on to Hawk. Tell him where we stand now."
He left a few minutes later, leaving her with that tingling feeling that came with his touch and his kiss, and a new feeling — jealousy.
* * *
It was well after two o'clock on a moonless night. He left the Jag parked on a side street and made his way to Pierce Langley's house. It was in darkness but for a dim glow that came from deep in the interior. He melded with the darkness and walked quietly around the place, then waited in silence for a few minutes at the front door before pressing the bell. A small barred window opened in the door and Carla looked out. The door opened with a scraping of locks.
"Robert!" she said breathily. "Robert. I have been so frightened. Close the door. There." She bolted it behind him. Nick noticed that the lock was, if anything, even sturdier than the one on João de Santos' front door.
"What about Pierce?" he said bluntly. "What do you hear about him?"
She took him by the arm, guiding him into the dark living room.
"Nothing," she said, standing before him in the dark. "Nothing. I think he will not come back. I am frightened, and I am also glad."
"What frightened you?" he asked, feeling her brush against him. In the darkness he could feel the diaphanous softness of what she was wearing.
"Later," she said softly. "Let me tell you later. When you have made me less frightened." Her hands probed at his dinner jacket. He felt her warm breath on his face.
"What about me?" he said sharply. "Maybe I'm scared, too. Oh, I want you, Carla. I told you that. But how do I know this isn't the old rabbit game? Husband away, all dark in the house, and suddenly — poof! flashbulbs in all directions, and trouble from here to hell. No, I want to be sure you're alone in the house. Show me."
"For God's sake," she said angrily. "Is that the kind of man you are?"
"Yes, that's the kind of man I am," he said evenly. "Or so I've found, since I started making money. Show me.
"God damn you," she said softly. "All right. I'll show you."
She led him through the house. He checked everything — windows, doors, closets, dark corners. By chance, or by something, they stopped in a bedroom equipped with an enormous oval bed and a number of mirrors. Nick looked at the bed.
"Mr. and Mrs.?" he asked nastily.
"Mine and mine only," she said. "Now are you satisfied that no one will leap out at you?"
"I am satisfied," he said, looking at her in the dim light. "I hope you understand, Carla. I play for keeps. I must be sure. I was taken once — only once — before. Now what was it that you were going to tell me?"
"That I was going to tell you later," she amended. "Or would you rather leave at once?" Her wandering hands fumbled at his clothes. "You can leave and I will never see you again. Or you can stay." The soft, long fingers prowled along his shirt buttons. "Do you want to leave?" A hand stroked him somewhere below the belt. "Do you really want to leave me now? Do you?" The hands went beneath his shirt and roamed his back and chest. Her mouth touched his, and he felt her trembling. Their tongues met, and her hands went on moving. Now they were swift and urgent. Partly uncovered, he stood against her and felt that the sheer robe had parted. Her thighs swiveled rhythmically against him. Her soft tongue parted from his and she whispered: "There now, there. Would you leave me? Would you?"
For answer he drew her even closer to him and found her lips again.
"I wouldn't leave you now," he said, and lowered his tall body to meet hers.
She backed against the bed, pulling him with her.
"Take them off. Take them off," she breathed. "Hurry."
He never did undress completely. He did not want to; and she was much too ready. Something of her pulsing excitement began to affect him and she knew it almost as soon as he did. She laughed softly and spread-eagled herself beneath him.
"You do want me, don't you?" she sighed. It was a breath of triumph and anticipation. Her arms went about his shoulders and her tongue flickered over his lips.
"Be strong with me," Carla whispered. "Be strong, but not too sudden."
But she was the sudden one. Her legs knotted themselves around his and joined him to her, and her smooth, firm hips pumped with controlled energy. She moved much as they had moved together on the dance floor, with incredible grace and intoxicating rhythm. It was an erotic dance and a horizontal one, but it had a wild sort of beauty. He, too, performed with gracefully controlled strength, with the almost superhuman stamina and fluidity of an expert in the art of Yoga. She moaned and sighed, and her body rolled and strained.
"Oh, more… more… more…" she groaned. "Give me everything…"
He marveled at her plastic strength and insatiable hunger. She twisted, and made him twist with her; she exerted her full strength to provoke yet more of his and make their joint excitement rise; he gave her back his own electric energy and his muscular power — leashed, or else she might be broken beneath him, but not subdued. She took it all and wanted more and more and more…
"You animal!" she almost spat. "God, you beautiful animal!"
And he was not being gentle. There was nothing sweet and subtle about their lovemaking; it was like a mating to the background of jungle drums that beat slowly and compellingly at first and then built in tempo and volume to such a point that a wild crescendo had to come.
Her muscles tightened where they touched his. He could feel the dampness of her skin, so close to his as their bodies moved in intimate accord. She started gasping in a sort of frenzy and the lovely, leggy body became wildly agitated.
His mind told him coldly that the passion was hers alone, but his body told him otherwise.
It was an explosion, a volcanic eruption, a wild upheaval of chunks of world flying about; it was a blazing holocaust, searing, fading, dying… leaving its victims with nothing but a whimper and a twitch.
There was release from everything except the everlasting message imprinted on Nick's brain: You Are Still A Spy. Get Up and Get Your Clothes On.
They lay beside eac
h other for a while, not touching. At last she shivered and drew her frivolous robe about her. Then he kissed her lightly on the ears and eyes and began to put himself back together again.
"Carla… Carla the magnificent," he said. "And what could possibly frighten anyone like you?"
"Hmmmm?" She stretched delicately purring like a jungle cat.
"You said that you were frightened," he reminded her. "What was it that frightened you?"
"Oh." She sat up suddenly and moved to sit alongside him at the edge of the tremendous oval bed. The dim light found a worried frown between her eyes.
"Perhaps it is nothing, but — have you seen the papers?"
Nick squinted at her. "Only briefly. Why?"
"There's a great mess about some nosy reporter claiming that Pierce is only one of several people who've disappeared lately, and one or two of the others have been found dead. It is a crazy story and of course I don't believe in it, but…"
"But what?" Nick asked sharply, withdrawing from her by the slightest fraction of an inch.
"But there is something strange going on. I — I — just before you came, maybe twenty minutes before, I thought I heard someone trying to get in at the front door and then the windows."
"What in the world!" he said irritably. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
She turned and stared directly into his eyes. "Perhaps because I thought you wouldn't care to stay." He made an angry sound and turned his eyes away. "But it wasn't only that," Carla continued. "I made some calls today to find out what had become of Pierce. And after a while I was almost sure that my line was being tapped. There was a sort of beep-beep sound every now and then that I never noticed before. I know I'd never heard it before…"
"Where's your phone?" said Nick, pulling on his clothes.
"There's one in the living room and one in Pierce's study. Wait, though. There is something else. When I got through to Pierce's office they were surprised when I said he had called me from there to say he was going away. They were sure that he had called from here."
Nick frowned. "That's very strange. When exactly was he supposed to have called them, and when did you last talk to him?"
"When I talked to him," she recalled, "it was late on a Monday afternoon. Now that I think of it, it was probably just after office hours, so perhaps no one else was there at the time. And they say he called them early the next morning, shortly after the time he used to come in. And that was December 3. And now it's the middle of January."
"I do think that's very odd," said Nick slowly. "Do you mean to say that during all that time you didn't even try to find him, and no one even called you to find out where he was?"
Carla sighed wearily. "Oh, Robert… Robert. Do we have to go through that again? I told you. I felt nothing about him. I can't help it. Of course, now I… now I am worried. Now I'm sure that something's wrong. Just about everybody knew how things were between us. They weren't very likely to call me to find out where he was. Except for the office. They say they did try to call me several times, but never found me at home. The police asked me a lot of questions this evening," she said with a sudden change of tone. "They wanted to know if anyone else had been asking for him lately."
Nick drew in a sharp breath. "My God! I hope you didn't mention my name! You know I can't afford to be dragged into anything like this. I have enough trouble waiting for me in New York."
"No, I didn't mention your name," she said with a touch of scorn. "And I won't, unless…"
"Unless what?" His voice was hard.
Her eyes flickered over his face. "Unless you try to — to stay away from me."
He stared down at her, his expression cruel and menacing.
"No, Carla. I don't make deals like that. You don't blackmail me." His hands reached down to touch her throat and his thumbs caressed the soft flesh meaningfully. "Nobody threatens me. Understand? Nobody. You can only be the loser if you try. Don't try." He squeezed less gently and then let his hands fall to his sides. She clutched her throat protectively, fear shining in her eyes.
"You wouldn't do that," she whispered. "You wouldn't. I was only trying to…"
"Sure, Carla." He smiled unpleasantly. "You were only trying to make a monkey out of me." He turned his smile into a rueful grin. "I'm sorry, baby. I don't want to hurt you. Especially not after such a wonderful night. But you've got to get it through your head that I won't be played around with." He straightened his tie and dusted off his jacket. "I think I'd better leave you now."
"Yes, you'd better," she said in a low voice. "You can find your own way out."
"All right." He turned toward the bedroom door and stopped. "Oh. Listen. You'd better lock up carefully after me and then call the police to say you've had prowlers, because if someone was trying to…"
"Get out!" she screamed suddenly. "Get out! First you threaten me and then you offer me your damned advice! What kind of a swine are you!" Her voice broke and became a sob. "Go," she said dully. "Just go."
He stared at her for a moment, then turned away wondering what had made her what she was and feeling a sense of shame much the same as before.
Picking his way through the dim hall and living room he wondered if he should try to check the telephone but decided that he'd already overstayed his welcome. He risked a cautious look through the Judas window, feeling sure that Milbank would have done exactly that, then let himself out into the cool night air when he was reasonably sure that no one was around. Once outside he glided swiftly to the side of the house and waited in the shadows, looking out into the night. After a moment he heard the front door rattle decisively without opening, and he knew that Carla had locked it after him.
He watched and waited for some minutes before moving on. The houses were nearly all in darkness, but the street lights were bright. He felt as conspicuous as a bright red pimple on a nose. But Robert Milbank would only look mildly furtive instead of melting through the concealing darkness of back yards. He could only hope that his instinct would help him to spot trouble before it spotted him.
What he did see was a pair of policemen strolling the block toward the Langley house on the opposite side of the street. He made himself stagger slightly as he passed them. He knew that they had noticed him swaying happily toward his car as though he had no thought of anything but home and bed.
They went their way.
Nick swiftly covered the remaining block to his car. Habit made him circle it cautiously and peer under the hood before getting in and driving off.
The next time he parked the car he left it several blocks from the Copa International and braced himself for a fairly long walk to the Carioca Club. His first move was to redistribute Wilhelmina, Hugo and Pierre to their favorite positions — which he had felt they could not tactfully occupy during his visit to Carla. Then he headed for the Club in long, loping strides that ate up the blocks.
The Carioca Club was dark and silent when he reached it and the nearby streets were almost deserted. He waited, watching the front entrance of the Club for any late-working employees to depart. Then he walked around the block looking for the back entrance and anyone who might be guarding it.
Someone was. A streetlamp threw a shadow on a blank rear wall.
Careless idiot, thought Nick dispassionately, and walked once more around the block to make sure that no one else was waiting around. This time he came around behind the shadow with Wilhelmina's willing butt ready for the assault. The man was leaning against the wall of a brick passageway lined with garbage cans and assorted trash, and he was yawning. Wilhelmina came from the side and slammed into his temple. The man managed one surprised, dazed look before Wilhelmina came down again with savage force, and then he dropped. Nick dragged him into the passageway and lifted from him one snub-nosed gun, one slim blackjack, and an ordinary bunch of keys. That was all except for a large roll of money, which he decided to keep to give Sleepy something to think about when he came around. If he did.
The keys were useful. Th
ey opened a back door with a remarkably intricate lock and let Nick step into a stale-smelling back hallway without having to resort to his Lockpickers' Helper. But there wasn't a golden key in the bunch. There could only be one reason why: whatever door the golden keys fit wasn't planned to be opened tonight. Nick closed the back door but left it on the latch. His pencil flashlight played along the hall. One open door led to a vast kitchen. A short passageway led to a group of tiny dressing rooms smelling of old powder and older perspiration. Another led into the vast recesses of the Club proper. The dim shape of a seated man was barely visible at a table near the door. Nick closed it as silently as he had opened it and cat-footed his way back to the rear hallway. Nothing stirred. There was one more door to investigate. It was locked, and Sleepy's keys didn't fit. Nick hesitated. One in front, one temporarily immobilized in back, and — what behind the door?
Come on, Carter. You're here — you might as well.
His left hand worked at the lock and his right was ready with Wilhelmina.
It seemed like an eternity before the lock gave and he pulled the door open. And still there was silence.
He stepped onto a small landing and looked down a flight of stairs. The pencil beam stroked light over a storage basement. The stairs were wide and sturdy and made no creak of complaint as he went down. Most of the stuff below was junk: spare chairs, broken tables, covered props for the floor shows. But part of the area was apparently used as a machine shop for in-the-house repairs, for well-equipped work benches lined one of the walls. Two doors led off the main area. One yielded to the Lockpickers' Helper and revealed a room piled high with crates. The crates were addressed to Cabral Carioca Club, and marked Club Furnishings.
But the one that was open contained carbines and automatic rifles. And it didn't take an eye even as expert as Nick's to realize that they were made in China.