The Watercress File: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C. A. M. P.

by V. J. Banis

  He would like to have known just where the other performers were, the ones who would be substituted for this group. He knew they were somewhere in the same theater, for the plans called for them to be picked up from Bigelow’s office. But he did not dare risk looking around for them. He could only hope, as the time came for departure, that everything would go as planned.

  The limousine arrived for him and his fellow performers right on schedule. There were only seven of them—the pianist, a vocal group, and an acrobatic troupe, plus himself. Jackie’s plans to thwart this kidnapping depended upon his being able to get to the driver. As they climbed into the limousine, Jackie boldly climbed into the front with the chauffeur.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to sit in the back,” the driver told him in a surly voice.

  Jackie giggled and flipped a wrist. “Don’t be such a goose. It’s hot, and it’s too crowded back there for all of us. Besides, I won’t grope you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Without waiting for the driver to have a change of heart, he slammed the door and settled back in the seat.

  His bluff worked. The driver seemed unhappy over the situation, but he chose not to argue it further. Jackie remained in the front as the car moved away from the theater.

  They weren’t attempting to be subtle. The car was moving in the exact opposite direction from the one it should have been taking. From the corner of his eye, Jackie could see some of the others exchanging glances. The glass had been closed between the front and rear compartments, and when the pianist knocked on the glass, the driver ignored the summons altogether.

  “Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Jackie asked innocently. He wanted to play it dumb until it was safe to take over control of the car. In his pocket, however, his fingers curled around the handle of a jeweled derringer, the gun he always carried when he was working on a case. It was a single shot affair, and not good for anything beyond a short distance.

  It was all that he usually needed, however, and safer for his purposes than the more lethal weapons available. For one thing, he had no special license to kill; his training, in fact, had carefully prepared him to avoid killing except as a necessity, in self-defense.

  They turned unexpectedly and sharply into a darkened alley. Another quick turn, while the passengers in the rear sat forward in alarm, and they were in a dark and deserted parking area behind some warehouses. Jackie had not counted on this, but as he saw the moving van that pulled into the lot from another alley, he realized that they were about to be transferred to the other vehicle. He had planned on their being kept in this car, but he could see now that, from their kidnapers’ standpoint, a moving van would be safer.

  The limousine had stopped. Jackie’s hand tightened on the derringer as the chauffeur pulled a gun, an ominous-looking Luger.

  “Everybody out,” he said, waving the gun menacingly. “And into the van.”

  Genuinely frightened, the others obeyed, scrambling out of the limousine. Jackie got out on his own side, waiting for a chance. The driver circled the car, motioning them toward the van. Jackie saw the beady eyes look aside, checking for witnesses. It was his chance. He dropped behind a fender, and fired. His aim was perfect. The chauffeur yelped and dropped the gun as the bullet tore through his hand. With lightning speed, Jackie was in front of him, and had the Luger.

  “Now then,” he said, brandishing the weapon. “What about your friends in the van—are they armed?”

  “They aren’t,” a voice said behind him. “But I am.”

  Jackie felt a threatening poke at his spine. He didn’t have to ask—he knew the feel of a gun in his back. Cursing himself silently, he dropped the Luger to the ground.

  “That’s better,” the singer said. “Now, you’ll kindly join the others at the moving van.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Jackie told him as he walked obediently toward the moving van.

  “We’ll see,” the other said. “I’m just glad we decided to include me in the group, just in case. Nick had a hunch someone might have gotten wise.”

  “Is Nick the boss?” Jackie asked, his mind working rapidly as usual. Eventually he would make an escape, and he might as well collect all the information possible.

  “Right you are,” his companion answered. They had reached the van. The others, frightened and bewildered by the fast exchange of advantages, were already huddled inside. Jackie was prodded with the gun, and he climbed reluctantly inside. There was no opportunity to try for the gun. No sooner was he inside the van, than the door was slammed quickly shut and bolted noisily in place. He shoved against it at once, but it was sealed tightly. Like it or not, they were prisoners inside the truck.

  * * * *

  Aunt Nasturtia pulled the car into the darkened edge of the parking lot, switching off the engine quickly. The big Cadillac was quite a change from the older model car which they had at the house, and which she was accustomed to driving. Still, things were going smoothly.

  “You’re on,” she said to Mari, beside her in the front seat.

  Mari checked herself in her compact mirror, gave the bodice of her dress a final downward tug, and opened the car door. “Here’s hoping he likes blondes,” she said. With a grin and a wave, she was gone.

  Jackie had coached her carefully about how she was to play the scene. The driver of the other limousine must think she was from the theater, so that he would be less suspicious. For that, she had to get inside the theater, and emerge from there.

  She found the side door that Jackie had described, and as he had assured her, it was unlocked. She slipped inside and moved lightly down the hall, following his directions. A turn, then another, and she was approaching the rear door, the one at which she should find the waiting limousine.

  It was there, just as planned. She groaned inwardly as she saw the driver—one of those shifty, greasy types that she didn’t really go for. Oh well, she thought philosophically, with his pants down that wouldn’t matter—anyway, she was being patriotic. That was the one thing she liked about this kind of work. You got to carry on a lot, and no one could say you were being immoral—it was your duty, after all.

  She approached the open window on the driver’s side of the car. He looked up and leered as she approached, swinging her wide hips seductively. Her breasts bounced and jiggled freely within the loose confines of the dress.

  “Got a match?” she asked, leaning against the side of the car. Her breasts swayed in the window opening, practically grazing his nose. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “Sure,” he managed to sputter, gulping loudly. She half expected him to lean out and bite one of the nipples just to see if they were real.

  “Lonesome?” she asked when he had lit the cigarette for her with trembling hands.

  “I’m waiting for some people,” he said in a voice that told her he wasn’t going to put up much resistance. With that face, she thought to herself, he probably didn’t get too many propositions.

  “Doesn’t look like they’re here yet. As long as you’re just killing time, wouldn’t you rather kill it together?”

  He was having a real battle with himself, she could see that. His thighs were yelling for him to take her up on the offer; his fear of whoever he worked for was telling him to stay where he was.

  “Look,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “We could pull just over there.” She pointed to the other end of the dark parking lot, opposite the place where Nasturtia was parked. “We can see your friends when they come out, all right?”

  “All right,” he finally agreed, his head bobbing. Mari came around the car and slid inside, moving all the way across the seat to press against him. He was scarcely able to start up the car and pull into the parking lot.

  When they were parked, Mari saw to it that he was turned away from the theater’s exit. She didn’t want him to see what was going on there. That meant, of course, keeping him occupied. She kissed him hotly, rubbing her big breasts against his chest. One shaking hand slipped nervousl
y under her skirt. She pushed her legs apart boldly, inviting him to explore, and dropped her own hand to his legs.

  What she found was a pleasant surprise—this wasn’t going to be such a disappointing bit after all. She was only sorry she didn’t have a sack to put over his head, in which case it could be a really glorious occasion. As it was, however, she was busy watching the back window. She saw Aunt Nasturtia pull up to the door, and a few minutes later the phony performers had trouped out of the theater and were in the car. Mari smiled with relief as she saw Aunt Nasturtia drive away with her guests.

  Work was over, now she could concentrate on playing. Her companion had been trying hard to get her arranged on the seat. She helped him accomplish the feat now, closing her eyes. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was wonderful to feel—and she was feeling plenty.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What’s happening?” The voice, Jackie guessed in the darkness, belonged to one of the acrobats.

  “To put it very simply, we’re being kidnapped.” Jackie slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand as the truck started up, moving slowly at first as they went down the alley, and then gathering speed as they apparently reached the street.

  “But why?” This was a feminine voice, belonging to one of the singing group.

  “It’s a little hard to explain,” Jackie answered. He was thinking frantically. It had been his assumption that they would only be held, or even driven around, until the assassination had been completed at the theater. The fact that more elaborate plans had been made must mean that they weren’t any of them intended to live to tell what had happened. Some accident would happen, something that would effectively destroy this truck, and them with it. And for the moment, he was at a loss how he could prevent it.

  He thought of Aunt Nasturtia, who even now would be driving off with her carful of bogus entertainers. She was only expecting to delay them briefly—but unless he could escape from the interior of this fast moving truck, there would be no performers to start the show.

  Moving carefully in the dark, he reached inside his mouth with one hand. At the back of his mouth, one wisdom tooth came loose in answer to his tugging. It was a fake, a clever counterfeit of a tooth that was in actuality a miniature bomb, a capsule of high-powered explosives that escaped detection in the event of a search, and gave him an ace in the hole.

  The explosive would be sufficient to blow open the door of the van, of that he was certain. But the fallacy in that plan was apparent. The explosion would be certain to harm the people inside the van as well.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” Someone asked in the darkness.

  “Nothing, if I can help it,” Jackie assured him. “But to do that, I’ve got to get out of here somehow. Does anyone have a match?”

  “I’ve got a lighter,” the pianist suggested. “But where in blazes are you?”

  “Follow my voice,” Jackie instructed, “and keep talking. I’ll try to find you too.”

  He moved slowly, balancing himself to the sway of the truck, following the sound of the pianist’s voice. He reached out, and found himself with a handful of something that, despite the fabric covering it, was obviously masculine.

  “I think you found me,” the pianist said with a chuckle. He did not, Jackie noticed, move away from the hand that was still holding him gently.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jackie said into the darkness. He gave the tensing flesh a gentle squeeze. It would be pleasant...but there was work to be done, he reminded himself with a sigh, and took his hand away, feeling for the lighter instead.

  He answered the pianist’s smile in the flickering light from the lighter before he devoted his attention to the interior of the van.

  “Just as I thought,” he said aloud. “A hatch in the top.”

  The others looked up too, and saw the square opening in the roof of the van, covered with a trapdoor type covering.

  “Someone will have to boost me up there,” Jackie said, flicking out the lighter as it began to grow too warm to hold.

  “That’s right down our alley,” one of the acrobats said. He moved toward where Jackie was standing. “Give me your hand.”

  Jackie reached for and found the hand of the acrobat. The other tumbler joined them, and the two of them managed easily to lift the agent upward.

  It was no easy task. The truck was moving rapidly now, and turning frequently, following some rambling route. It took precision balance on the part of the two men to hold him up. Jackie reached the door above and pushed. It refused to budge.

  “Maybe if one of us tried,” the one fellow below suggested.

  “No, help me get my shoe off,” Jackie said instead. They managed to remove his shoe and hand it up to him. Jackie twisted the heel and it gave to reveal a concealed compartment. Inside was a small metal bar, designed to be used as a lever. Handing his shoe back down, he fitted the bar into the hatch and pried. It yielded, very slowly at first and then, with a groan of rusty hinges, it swung upward. The wind caught it and helped to fling it all the way back.

  “That’s it. Hang on to me until I get a good grip up here.” With the two men below supporting him, Jackie managed to lift himself half out of the opening. He signaled to them to let go.

  “I don’t know what will happen,” he warned them as he hung suspended. “Get down on the floor and cover your heads with your arms, just in case there’s a crash. I’ll do what I can to prevent it.”

  With his miniature bomb in his hand, he pulled himself up and onto the top of the truck. They were moving out of the city now, on some back street that he didn’t recognize. As he crouched on the domed top of the truck, a shot rang out, and a bullet ricocheted off the metal near him.

  He looked behind. The Cadillac limousine was following them, and one of the men in the car had spotted him. Keeping as low as possible, Jackie inched toward the front of the truck. He had to get inside the cab, and somehow gain control of the truck.

  Behind him, the Cadillac was pulling closer, the gunman trying to get a better aim at him. And they were succeeding. The bullets were whizzing ever closer. Jackie held the explosive capsule in his hand. He could fling it now, and put the Cadillac out of commission—but that would leave him virtually weaponless. He might need the fake tooth when he got inside the cab of the truck.

  He decided to bide his time. Keeping as low as he possibly could, he crept forward. The truck was moving fast, too fast for his comfort. One false move and he would be thrown free.

  He neared the cab of the truck—the going was getting trickier. Now he would have to go over the side and reach the door. Even then, he would have to prevent himself from being knocked off the running board by the driver.

  He took a firm hold on a piece of molding and began to lower himself over the side. Behind them, the men in the Cadillac had spotted him again and guessed his maneuver. They were pulling out to come alongside the truck. He would be a sitting duck for them.

  He watched as the big car nosed into the left lane and shot forward, racing toward him. With one hand, Jackie twisted the capsule, setting the detonator, and hurled it at the windshield of the car.

  It went off with a powerful noise and a cloud of smoke. The windshield went, and took with it, from what he could see, a good portion of the driver’s face. The Cadillac careened crazily across the road and then back. Jackie thought for a moment that it would run right into him, but it didn’t. Instead, it sideswiped the cab of the truck and then bounced across the ditch where it came to a stop at last.

  The collision had been too slight to do much damage to the truck, but it was enough to cause the driver to come to a sudden stop. Jackie dropped lightly to the ground as the door opened and the driver of the truck leaped out. He had only half turned before Jackie hit him, shooting forward like a rocket. They went down together, hitting the concrete with a thud.

  Jackie had rolled with the man as they fell, and the driver landed beneath him. The landing was enough to stun him, and Jackie put him
soundly to sleep with a fist in the jaw.

  There was a shot behind him, and sparks flew up from the spot where the bullet struck the roadway. Jackie fell flat, turning as he dropped. The other man from the truck was firing from inside.

  The driver’s gun lay inches away. Jackie stretched, reaching it at last with his fingers. He crawled behind the scant bulk of the driver’s body, using the man for a shield.

  He couldn’t afford to waste bullets on bad shots. He waited, watching intently for that vital second when the man in the truck raised his head to aim again. Jackie fired once, and the man fell against the window sill.

  Jackie took only a second to stick his head inside the truck and tell the others that everything was all right now, and that they were on their way back to town. Then, dragging the two men from the truck to the side of the road, he climbed behind the wheel of the truck and turned it carefully around, heading at top speed back into the city.

  * * * *

  Nasturtia drove away from the theater with a triumphant grin on her face. Everything was going exactly as planned. Now she had only to stall until the coast was clear. She flicked on the radio and tuned it to the station that would be carrying the program.

  It was now about eight-fifteen. The program was scheduled to begin at eight-thirty. Jackie had assured her that by eight-forty-five he would be there, and the real performers would be beginning the program. With Ravel’s “Bolero,” he had said.

  She headed west, making her way surely but subtly away from the theater where they were to do the show. If only her passengers did not suspect anything, or notice the route they were taking.

  By eight thirty, she had managed to circle about the city and put them some considerable distance from the theater. But her passengers suddenly noticed the time. One of them tapped angrily on the glass separating the two compartments and pointed to his watch.