Death of the Falcon

Chapter 7

“That was delicious, but I feel as if I’ve gained at least ten pounds,” Candy enthused as she and Sherima waited for me to retrieve their coats from the checkroom. If she’d put on extra weight, it didn’t show a bit, I thought as I handed over the claim checks. The floor-length white sheath dress she was wearing looked as if it had been stitched together on her, with loving hands fitting the soft material to every curve. Sleeveless and slit high, to her knees, it set off both the reddish highlights of her flowing hair and the golden tan that I knew covered every delicious inch of her body. I suspected she had selected the gown for just that reason.

“Me too,” Sherima agreed. “Nick, dinner was wonderful. The cuisine here is the equal to that of any I’ve had in Paris. Thank you so much for bringing us.”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” I said, taking her long sable coat from the attendant and settling it around her slender shoulders when she indicated that she preferred to wear it cape fashion, as she had earlier. She had worn a black empire gown that accented her shoulder-length raven hair and her high bosom that graced her slender figure. I had been proud to walk into the dining room at 1789 with two such lovely women and coolly return the envious stares of every man there. Through his seemingly endless connections, Hawk had managed on short notice to arrange a somewhat secluded table for us, but I realized the word had spread quickly of the former Queen’s presence when a stream of people began to find excuses to pass us as we dined. I was certain Sherima and Candy had noticed, too, but neither chose to remark about it.

“Here you are,” I said, holding out Candy’s leopard coat. As she slipped into the luxurious wrap that would have brought howls of outrage from wildlife conservationists, I let my hand linger on her shoulders for a moment, touching her soft, sensitive skin. She gave me a quick, knowing smile. Then, turning to Sherima, she said something that nearly choked me.

“You know, I think I’m going to exercise before I go to sleep tonight.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sherima agreed, then looked closely at Candy, perhaps suspecting her friend’s double meaning.

When Candy returned her look with an innocent expression, saying “Unless I’m too tired, of course. The night’s still young,” Sherima’s face fell into a warm smile. She touched Candy’s hand affectionately and we started for the door.

As we went outside, I walked between the two women, letting each one take an arm. I pressed Candy’s hand inside my elbow and she returned the gesture, squeezing my forearm. Then a slight tremor that I knew came from sexual arousal swept over her.

“Cold?” I asked, grinning down at her.

“No. It’s beautiful tonight. It’s so warm, it feels more like summer than spring. Nick, Sherima,” she added quickly, “what do you say to walking a bit? These old homes around here are so lovely, and the exercise would do us all good.”

Sherima turned to me, asking, “Would it be safe, Nick?”

“Oh, I think so. There seem to be lots of people out tonight enjoying the nice weather. If you’d like, we could walk up around Georgetown University, then circle around and stroll down N Street to Wisconsin Avenue, and on along to M Street. That’s where you noticed all those stores this morning and I believe a number of them are open late. It’s only a bit after eleven, and if nothing else, you could do a little window shopping.”

“Let’s do it, Sherima,” Candy said. “It sounds like fun.”

By then, we had reached the limousine, where Abdul stood holding open the door. “All right,” Sherima assented. Turning to her bodyguard, she said, “Abdul, we’re going to walk for a bit.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing as always. “I shall follow along in the car.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Abdul,” Sherima said. “Nick, couldn’t we pick out a corner where Abdul might meet us after a while? Better still, I have an idea. Abdul, you take the rest of the night off. We won’t need you any more tonight. We can get a cab back to the hotel, can’t we, Nick?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “There are always a lot of cabs on Wisconsin Avenue.”

When her bodyguard started to protest that it would be no trouble for him to follow us in the car, and that it was his place to be with her, Sherima held up her hand to silence him. The gesture obviously was a holdover from her days as Queen of Adabi and Abdul, an experienced courtier, because silent instantly.

“That’s an order, Abdul,” she told him. “You have been on the go looking after us ever since we got to this country, and I’m sure you can use the rest. Now, do as I say.” Her tone left no room for argument.

Bowing deeply, Abdul said, “As you wish, my lady. I shall return to the embassy. What time do you wish me to be at the hotel in the morning?”

“Ten o’clock will certainly be early enough,” Sherima said. “I think Candy and I can use a good night’s sleep, too, and this little walk will be just the thing to make certain we get it.”

Abdul bowed once more, closed the door, and went around the car, driving of! as we started to walk along Prospect Avenue toward the university grounds just a few blocks away.

Ambling past the older buildings on the campus, I told the girls what little I knew about the school. Almost two hundred years old, it once had been run by the Jesuits and subsequently developed into one of the world’s best known institutions for international and foreign service studies. “Many of our most important statesmen studied here over the years,” I said, “which is logical, I reckon, since it is located in the capital.”

“It’s lovely,” Sherima said, admiring the Gothic majesty of one of the main buildings as we passed by. “And it’s so quiet around here; it almost seems that we stepped back in time. I think it’s marvelous the way that the buildings have been preserved. It’s always so saddening to see the grand architecture of a city’s older sections become ignored and decay. But this is delightful.”

“Well, ma’am, our time-traveling will end when we get down to Wisconsin Avenue,” I said. “On a night like this the pubs will be full of young people involved in very comtemporary social rituals! And, by the way, Washington is supposed to have some of the prettiest women in the world. An old friend of mine from Hollywood was working on a movie here, and he swore that he’s never seen so many attractive women in one place before. Now, that’s something for a Hollywood man to say.”

“Is that why you like to spend so much of your time in Washington?” Candy asked jokingly.

“Strictly business with me, ma’am,” I insisted, and we all started to laugh.

By that time, we had turned down N Street, and they were remarking over the old homes, carefully preserved in their original state. I explained that since 1949, and the enactment of the Old Georgetown Bill, no one is allowed to build or demolish a building in the Historic District without permission from the Commission of Fine Arts.

“Nick, you sound like a guide book,” Candy kidded me at one point.

“That’s because I love Georgetown,” I said honestly. “When I find time on a trip up here, I always end up walking the streets, just enjoying the whole atmosphere of the area. In fact, if we have time and you aren’t too tired hiking, I’ll show you the house that I’d like to buy someday and just settle down in. It’s at Thirty-second and P Streets. Someday — maybe a long time away — but someday I’m going to have that house,” I mused aloud.

As I continued with my little lecture tour, I was conscious that the day of my eventual retirement might never arrive. Or that it might come very soon — and violently.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a battered old station wagon was passing us for the third time as we stopped in front of 3307 N Street and I was explaining that this was the house that President Kennedy, then a Senator, had bought for Jackie as a present after the birth of their daughter Caroline. “They lived here until moving to the White House,” I said.

As Sherima and Candy stared at the house and talked quietly, I used the opportunity to follow the station wagon’s progress along the block. Just past the corner of Thirty-third Street, it halted, double-parking in a dark spot between the glow cast by the streetlights. As I watched, two shadowy figures got out of the right side doors, crossed the street, and walked almost to the intersection ahead of us. I had noticed there were four people in the station wagon, so that left two of them on our side of the street. Without being obvious to Sherima and Candy, I transferred the trenchcoat I’d been carrying over my right arm to the other side after easing my Luger into my left hand so that the coat was draped over it. Then I turned back to the girls, who were still talking in whispers about the tragedy of JFK.

“Come on, you two,” I said. “This was supposed to be a night for fun. I’m sorry that I stopped here.”

They moved up to join me, both subdued and saying little as we walked on. We crossed Thirty-third Street, and I left them to their thoughts. I saw the two men who had crossed the street in my peripheral sight. They had come back to our side and had fallen in behind us. About thirty yards ahead, both doors on the driver’s side of the station wagon opened, but no one got out. That would come as we got closer, I figured, where the darkness was deepest on the block.

My companions apparently weren’t conscious of the footsteps coming up fast behind us, but I was. A few yards further on and we would be hemmed in between two pair of what I was pretty certain were assassins ready to make another try at Sherima. I decided to act while we were in a spot where some of the corner streetlight’s glare penetrated the branches of the still leafless trees.

Turning suddenly, I faced two tall, muscular blacks who were, by then, almost running to catch up to us. They skidded to a stop as I demanded harshly:

“Are you foIlowing us?”

Behind me, I heard one of the women gasp as they suddenly swung around to be confronted by the hulking, dark-clad pair who faced me sullenly. I also heard a metal thud from further along the block behind me that told me a door on the double-parked station wagon had been flung open, slamming into one of the vehicles at the curb.

“No — what are you talking about?” one of the men protested. His actions belied his words, however, as he lunged forward with an open switchblade.

My coat-shrouded arm brushed the knife aside while I pulled the trigger on the Luger. The slug caught him in the chest and flung him backward. I heard him grunt, but already had turned to his partner, who was clawing at a gun stuck in his belt. My stiletto had dropped down into my right hand and I plunged it into him, pinning his hand to his stomach for a moment before withdrawing it. Then I lunged forward once more and slid the blade deep into his throat then pulled it out immediately.

Someone, Candy I thought — had screamed at the sound of my shot and then another scream — this time from Sherima — swung me instantly back to them. Two more husky blacks were almost upon the women. One was raising a gun; the other seemed to be trying to open a switchblade knife that appeared stuck. I fired Wilhelmina again and the side of the gunman’s forehead suddenly vanished and was replaced by a torrent of blood.

The fourth attacker froze in his tracks as I swung the Luger clear of the trenchcoat and leveled it at him. A light came on in the doorway of the house beside us and I could see the fear turning the black face into a glistening mask of sweat. I stepped up close and said softly:

“Who’s The Sword? And where is he?”

The terrified man’s features seemed almost paralyzed as he looked at me and then at the barrel of the Luger that was pointed up under his chin. “I don’t know, man. I swear it. Honest, man, I don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about. I only know that we got told to wipe you out.”

I could tell that Sherima and Candy were moving closer to me, instinctively seeking protection. And I knew, too, that my prisoner was telling the truth. No one who was that afraid to die would worry about keeping secrets.

“Okay. Beat it,” I said. “And tell whoever gave you your orders to cool it or he’ll end up like your friends here.”

He didn’t even answer; just turned, raced to the station wagon and gunned the motor that had been left running and pulled away, not bothering to close the doors which banged into two cars parked along the street.

Suddenly conscious that lights were blazing in almost every nearby house, I turned to find Sherima and Candy huddled together, staring in horror at me and at the three figures sprawled on the ground. Finally, Sherima spoke:

“Nick, what’s happening? Who are they?” Her voice was a croaking whisper.

“Muggers,” I said. “It’s an old trick. They work in a foursome and box in their victims so they can’t run in either direction.”

I realized that both of them were looking at the gun and knife in my hands — especially at the still-bloody stiletto. I bent down and stuck it deep in the ground beside the cobblestone walk and pulled it out clean. Straightening, I said: “Don’t let these upset you. I always carry them. I got in the habit in New York, but I’ve never had.to use them before. I’ve had them since I got mugged there one night and spent a week in the hospital getting stitches put in and taken out.”

Certain that a call to the police had been made from one of the now brightly-lighted houses on the block, I put the Luger back in its holster and slipped the knife back up my sleeve, then took the girls by the arm and said:

“Come on, let’s get out of here. You don’t want to get involved in something like this.” My words were aimed at Sherima and, despite her shock, she understood what I meant.

“No. No. It would be in all the papers… But what about them?” She looked down at the bodies on the ground.

“Don’t worry. The police will take care of them. When we get back to the hotel, I’ll call a friend of mine on the police force and explain what happened. I won’t identify you two unless it’s absolutely necessary. And even if it is, I think the D.C. police will be as eager to keep the real story out of the papers as you are. The headlines about an attack on you would be even bigger than the ones about Senator Stennis being shot and I’m sure the District doesn’t want any more of that kind of publicity.”

As I talked, I quickly guided them past the two dead and one dying man on the ground and continued leading them around the corner onto Thirty-third Street. Moving hastily and expecting police cars to arrive at any moment, I kept them going until we reached the corner of O Street, then let them rest a minute in front of historic old St. John’s Episcopal Church.

“Nick! Look! A cab!”

Candy’s first words since the attack started were the most welcome I’d heard in a long time. Not only did it mean that she was coming out of the shock that had temporarily paralyzed her vocal chords and was once more thinking rationally, but there was nothing we needed more at that moment than an empty cab. I stepped into the street and flagged him down. I helped them inside, got in after them and said calmly to the driver, “Watergate Hotel, please,” as I slammed the door. As he started off, a District police car came roaring along Thirty-third Street with its siren warbling. By the time we reached Wisconsin Avenue and M Street, Georgetown’s major intersection, police cars seemed to be coming from every direction.

“Something big must have happened,” the cabby remarked, stopping to let one of the cruisers swerve around him. “Either that or the kids are streaking up at Georgetown again and the cops don’t want to miss it this time, just in case the girls decide to join in.”

None of us felt like answering him and our silence must have offended his sense of humor for he didn’t say another word until we got back to the hotel and he announced the fare. A two-dollar tip put the smile back on his face, but my attempt to brighten my companions’ countenances as we walked into the lobby failed dismally for neither of them responded to my question:

“Shall we streak to the elevator?”

As we were riding up to our floor, it suddenly struck me that they probably didn’t know about streaking, not having been in the country when the craze occurred. I didn’t feel up to trying to explain, either, and just escorted them to their door and said goddnight. Both of them looked at me oddly, mumbled something, then closed the door in my face. I waited for the bolt to snap, then went to my room and phoned Hawk once more.

“Two of them are from New York City, the dead ones. The one your bullet struck in the chest still is in intensive care at the hospital and not expected to live or even regain consciousness. He’s from D.C. They all have links to the Black Liberation Army, it appears. New York says the pair from there are wanted in Connecticut for the murder of a state trooper. The local one is out on bail for a bank robbery, but was being sought again for a supermarket holdup.”

It was almost two a.m. when Hawk got back to me. He didn’t sound quite as upset as he had been when I phoned him earlier to report what had happened in Georgetown. His immediate concern then had been to establish a plausible cover-up with the District police. Plagued with one of the highest crime rates in the country, they couldn’t be expected to take kindly to having three more killings added to the local total on the FBI’s statistical reports.

“What’s going to be the official story?” I asked. I knew that the police would have to come up with some explanation for the gunfire and bodies in one of the city’s better residential sections.

“Four muggers made the mistake of picking on a decoy squad, with two detectives posing as women, and, in the shootout, came up losers.”

“Will the newsmen buy that?”

“They may not, but their editors will. The request for their cooperation came from so high that they couldn’t help but go along with it. The story will make the papers, but won’t be played up at all. The same will hold true for radio and TV; they’ll probably pass it up completely.”

“Sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“It couldn’t be helped, I guess, N3.” Hawk’s tone was considerably more gentle than it had been a couple of hours earlier. “The thing that concerns me most,” he continued, “is that you may have blown.your cover with Sherima and the girl. I still can’t understand why you agreed to taking that walk in the first place. The wiser course, it seems to me, would have been to come back to the hotel by car.”

I tried to explain that I was faced with the decision of whether to appear a party-pooper and perhaps lose the advantage of being looked upon as enjoyable company or to take the risk of a stroll in what should have been a relatively safe area.

“I hadn’t counted on the restaurant being staked out by that foursome,” I admitted. “However, there’s always the possibility that if they hadn’t caught up to us walking, they might have cut off the car and just started shooting.”

“That could have been nasty,” Hawk agreed. “According to our information from New York, one of that pair from there usually uses a sawed-off shotgun. That’s how they linked him to the killing of the trooper. If he had opened up with it when the three of you were jammed into the back seat of the limousine, there’s a pretty good chance the District police would have had the same number of victims, only a different cast. I wonder why he didn’t use it in the street. It probably was in the station wagon.”

“Maybe The Sword had established the ground rules,” I suggested. “If he plans to blame the CIA for Sherima’s death as we suspect, the shotgun might not have seemed the proper weapon for secret agents to be using.”

“Whose idea was the little walk in the first place?” Hawk wanted to know.

That was a point that had been bothering me from the time the three of us had climbed into our fortuitous cab and headed back to the Watergate. I had been mentally playing back the conversation that led up to our almost fatal stroll, and I told Hawk that I still hadn’t reached a definite decision about its origin.

“I’m sure it was Candy who remarked on the nice night and had the sudden inspiration about walking,” I explained to my chief. “But the idea seemed to have popped into her head only after she and Sherima had been talking about getting more exercise. And the conversation about exercise, as best I can recall, really began when Candy made a remark that was intended for me and had no connection with walking.”

“How’s that?”

Trying not to arouse Hawk’s moral indignation, T explained as simply as possible that her words seemed intended to convey the message that she would be visiting my room later that night. He harrumphed a bit, then decided, as I had done long before, that it didn’t seem possible to lay the blame for the Georgetown ambling on any ulterior motive. At least not at present.

Hawk wasn’t about to let the subject of my sexual adventures drop, however. “I feel certain there will be another attempt on Sherima’s life soon,” he said. “Perhaps even yet tonight. I trust you won’t let yourself be distracted, N3.”

“By now, my charges should be sound asleep, sir. At the Great Falls today, Candy told me that she had some tranquilizers, so I suggested that she and Sherima each take one or two before going to bed tonight. And they agreed it was a good idea. I’m hoping that a good night’s rest will help them forget some of the details of this evening and, hopefully, keep them from having too many doubts about my explanation for being armed.”

Before hanging up, Hawk said he had followed through on a suggestion I had made in our initial conversation after the attack. “I had a call made to the assistant manager of the hotel, as we discussed. He was told it was the Adabian embassy calling and that Sherima had been accosted by a persistent freelance photographer while at dinner this evening. The ‘Adabi gentleman’ requested that someone watch the hallway on your floor tonight and see that no one disturbs her. The night manager said he would take care of it at once, so there should be someone out there.”

“He’s there,” I said. “I checked the hallway myself earlier and an elderly Irishman who had to be a house detective pretended to be searching through his pockets for his room key until I came back inside.”

“Didn’t he get suspicious of your sticking your head out into the hail?”

“No. I had some coffee sent up as soon as I got back, so I put the tray back outside the door. He probably just assumed I was putting it there for Room Service to pick up.”

“Well, with him out there, the only other entrance to Sherima’s room is over the balcony and I guess you’ll be covering that,” Hawk said.

“I’m watching it right now, sir. Fortunately, the second phone in this room has a long cord and I’m just inside the balcony door now.”

“All right, N3. I’ll expect a call from you in the morning… Huh, I guess since it’s already morning, I mean later this morning.”

When I said that I would check in at eight a.m., Hawk said, “Make that seven. I’ll be back here by then.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, then hung up, knowing that the old man really wouldn’t be going home to bed but would be spending what was left of the night on the well-worn leather couch in his office. It was his “ready room” when we had a major operation under way.

I had turned the two wrought iron chairs on my little terrace into a makeshift chaise lounge and my trenchcoat into a blanket. The night was still balmy, but the dampness from the Potomac finally penetrated, and I stood up to move around a bit and work the chill out of my bones. The luminous dial of my watch read three-thirty, and I was just contemplating trying a few pushups when a soft thud on the next balcony, the one outside Sherima’s room, attracted my attention. Pressing into the darkest corner near the door, I looked over the low wall that separated my balcony from Sherima’s.

At first, I couldn’t see anything there. Straining my eyes in the darkness, I spotted a rope hanging down from the roof of the hotel and extending past the front of Sherima’s balcony. What I heard, I decided, was the rope striking and falling on past the curving front wall. Then I heard another sound from up above, and I looked up to see someone coming down the rope. His feet swung precariously past the overhang as he began the slow, hand-over-hand descent. I could see no more than his shoes and pants cuffs when I vaulted the divider and pressed myself against the opposite wall, deep in the shadows. So far, it had been impossible for the intruder to spot me. A moment later, as he secured a foothold on the three-foot-high balcony wall, he was less than ten feet away from me. I stiffened, controlling my breathing, standing completely motionless.

Dressed completely in.black, he steadied himself momentarily, then dropped quietly to the terrace floor. He stood still as though he were expecting something. Thinking that he could be waiting for a confederate to follow him down the rope, I waited, too, but no one appeared from above to join him. At last, he moved up close to the sliding glass door and appeared to be listening for some-, thing, probably to determine whether anyone was moving about inside.

When he reached out to try to open the door, I decided it was time to make my move. I stepped up behind him, reached over one shoulder, and slapped a hand over his mouth, at the same time letting him feel the muzzle of my Luger against the side of his head.

“Not a word, not a sound,” I whispered. “Just back up as I do and come away from the door.”

He nodded and I took three steps backward, still keeping my hand across his’ mouth so that he followed my retreat whether he wanted to or not. I swung him around to face me when we reached the corner furthest from the door. In the soft light that filtered upward from the Watergate courtyard below, I could see that he was an Arab. A fearless one, too. Even in that subtle glow I could see hatred glaring from his eyes; not a trace of intimidation over being caught flickered in his angry face.

Holding my Luger barrel right in front of his mouth, I asked, “Anyone else up on the roof?”

When he didn’t answer, I marked him as a professional; obviously, he realized that I wasn’t prepared to shoot him and risk arousing the entire hotel. Testing just how far his professionalism went, I swiped the heavy gun barrel down across the bridge of his nose. The crunch of bone giving way sounded loud, but I knew that it was only because I was standing so close to him. I tried the question again. He was a real pro, not answering or even taking the chance of raising a hand to wipe away the blood that began cascading down over his chin.

Shifting the gun to my left hand, I let my stiletto drop into my right and brought it under his throat, stopping just short of breaking the skin. He flinched, but the eyes continued to spark defiance and the lips stayed locked. I raised the needle-sharp point a bit and it pricked his skin, drawing more blood. Still he wouldn’t speak. A little pressure set the point deeper in his throat just under his Adam’s apple that began bobbing nervously.

“Another inch and you’ll never be able to talk again,” I warned him. “Now, let’s try again. Is there anyone else up—”

The sound of Sherima’s balcony door sliding open halted the interrogation abruptly. Keeping my stiletto at my prisoner’s neck, I turned slightly, my Luger swinging to cover the figure emerging from the doorway. It was Candy. For a moment, she was rooted in her steps as she took in the macabre scene. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized me; then she stared with expressionless horror at the bloody man almost impaled on the blade in my hand.

“Nick, what’s going on?” she asked softly, tentatively inching to my side.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I told her, “so I came out on the balcony to get some air and relax a bit. I spotted this fellow standing outside Sherima’s door, so I jumped over the wall and collared him.”

“What are you going to do with him?” she asked. “Is he a robber?”

“That’s just what we’ve been talking about,” I said. “But I’ve been doing all the talking.”

“What happened to his face?”

“I think he had an accident getting onto the balcony,”

I lied.

My prisoner hadn’t moved, except for his eyes which had swept back and forth over our faces during the conversation. However, when I mentioned his “accident,” a tight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“He looks Arabian,” Candy whispered. “Could he have been trying to hurt Sherima?”

“I think we’re going to go next door to my room and have a little talk about that,” I said, and was pleased to see a trace of fear finally appear in the night prowler’s eyes.

“Shouldn’t we call the police, Nick?” Candy said, not taking her eyes from the Arab. “After all, if somebody is trying to harm Sherima, we should get some protection. Maybe I should call the embassy and get Abdul.”

At her mention of the bodyguard’s name, the big Arab’s nostrils pinched as he sucked in air. The name obviously meant something to him; as I watched him, beads of perspiration began to break out on his forehead, and I had the impression he feared the wrath of the former Queen’s devoted guardian. His eyes rolled around the balcony, then flicked upward as if he were looking for some means of escape.

“That might be a good idea to call Abdul,” I agreed. “Maybe he can get some answers out of our friend here.”

Again, the Arab’s eyes flicked upward, but he said nothing.

“I’ll go do it now,” Candy said, tinning away. “Sherima’s sound asleep, the pills worked, so I’ll tell Abdul to— Nick, look out!”

Her scream wasn’t loud, but she had grabbed my arm at the same time and its completely unexpected force thrust my hand forward, plunging the knife deep in my captive’s throat. His eyes opened in disbelief for a moment, then snapped shut almost at the same time. I jerked back the stiletto. Blood welled out after it and I knew immediately that he never would talk to anyone again. He was dead. I wasn’t worrying about him right then, though, because I was swinging around to see what had caused Candy’s gasp of terror.

Still clutching my arm, she pointed upward, apparently not yet realizing the consequence of her sudden jolt to my arm. “Something’s moving up there,” she whispered. “It looks like a snake.”

“It’s a rope,” I said, checking the rise of my anger. I turned back to bend over the Arab, who had slipped down to the corner of the’ terrace. “That’s how he got here.”

“What happened to him?” she asked, staring down at the dark hulk at my feet.

I couldn’t let her know that she had been the cause of his death. She had enough troubles without having to be faced with another burden to carry around with her. “He tried to get away when you screamed, and slipped and fell forward on my knife,” I explained. “He’s dead.”

“Nick, what are we going to do?” Fear was rising in her voice again, and I didn’t want an hysterical woman on my hands at that moment. Bending swiftly, I wiped the blood from my knife on the dead man’s jacket, then sheathed the blade up my sleeve and returned the Luger to its holster.

“First,” I said, “I’m going to get the body over this wall and into my room. We can’t stay here talking, we might waken Sherima, and it’s better if she knows nothing about this after what she’s already gone through tonight. Then, I’m going to help you over the wall, and you and I are going to have a little talk. Now, while I take care of him, you duck back inside and make certain Sherima still is asleep. And get a robe or something on, then come back out here.”

Events had been happening so fast, I hadn’t noticed until then that all Candy had on was a filmy pale yellow negligee, cut to a deep V and barely containing her generous bosom, which heaved spasmodically with each nervous breath.

As she turned to do as I had instructed, I lifted the dead man from the floor and unceremoniously dumped him over the wall that separated the two balconies. Then I walked over to the would-be assassin’s rope, still dangling over Sherima’s terrace-front wall. I was quite certain that he hadn’t made the trip to the hotel on his own; it was likely that at least one more companion still waited on the roof one floor above us.

And I felt sure that whoever had been there had taken j off after this one had failed to return after a reasonable amount of time. If the Arab’s accomplice was as professional as his dead friend had been, he would have realized something had gone wrong. The assassination, if successful, should have been accomplished in five to ten minutes, at the most. And a look at my watch had told me that it had been fifteen minutes since his feet first appeared coming down the rope. And although all of the conversation outside Sherima’s room had been in whispers and most of the movements had been muffled, there was still the chance that the second man or men had heard something, because the Watergate courtyard was quiet at that hour. Only the sound of an occasional car passing on the nearby highway by the Potomac had broken the nighttime silence, and that couldn’t possibly have covered the balcony scuffle.

I decided not to make the climb up the rope to the roof; instead, I jumped up on the balcony railing and cut part way through the rope, weakening it just enough so if someone attempted to descend it again, it wouldn’t hold the intruder’s weight, dropping him into the courtyard ten floors below. Candy reappeared at the balcony door just as I jumped from the railing. She stifled a scream, then saw that it was me.

“Nick, what—?”

“Just making certain no one else uses that route tonight,” I said. “How’s Sherima?”

“She’s out like a light. I think she took a couple of extra tranquilizers, Nick. I had given her two before she went to bed, but I noticed just now in my bathroom that the bottle was on the sink. I counted them, and there seem to be at least two less than I should have.”

“You’re sure she’s all right?” I was concerned that the former Queen might have unintentionally overdosed.

“Yes. I checked her breathing and it’s normal, maybe just a little slow. I’m sure that she’s only had four of my pills, and that’s just enough to put her out for ten or twelve hours.”

I could tell from the looks Candy was giving me that she was full of questions. I delayed having to come up with the answers for a while, by asking her: “How about you? Why were you awake? Didn’t you take something to make you sleep, too?”

“I guess I got so involved in getting Sherima quieted down and off to bed that I just forgot, Nick. I flopped down across my bed finally and started to read. I must have dozed off for an hour or so without having taken any tranquilizers. When I woke up, I came in to check on Sherima, and that’s when I heard a noise on her balcony… you know what happened after that.” She paused, then said abruptly, “Nick, who are you, really?”

“No questions, now, Candy. They can wait until we get to my room. Wait here a minute.”

I vaulted the divider again and carried the dead Arab into my room, stashing him in the shower and pulling the curtain across the tub, just in case Candy should go into the bathroom. Then I returned to Sherima’s balcony and lifted Candy over the divider, following with what I hoped was my final vault of the night.

Candy was hesitant about entering the room, and I realized she probably expected to see the dead man on the floor. I led her inside and closed the sliding door after us. I had turned on the lights when I’d been inside before to conceal the corpse. Candy looked quickly around the room, then breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see him anywhere. She turned to me and said, “Now can you tell me, Nick?”

She looked directly at me, her eyes wide and unblinking as she clutched the sheer peignoir over its matching gown. I put an arm around her and led her to the couch. Sitting j down beside her, I took her hands in mine. Having worked out in my mind what I hoped would be a plausible story, I started to talk.

“My name is really Nick Carter, Candy, and I do work for the oil company, but I’m not so much a lobbyist as I am a private investigator. Normally, I handle security checks on personnel, or, if one of our people gets in trouble, I try to smooth out the rough spots and make sure there aren’t headlines that would make the company look bad. I have a license to carry my gun, and a couple of times overseas, I’ve had to use it. I started to carry the knife after I got into a pretty rough tangle in Cairo once— a couple of thugs took the gun away from me, and I ended up in the hospital.”

“But why are you here now? Is it because of Sherima?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “We got word from our office in Saudi Arabia that there might be an attempt made on her life. The threat didn’t sound too serious, but the home office decided to send me here, just in case. If somebody did try something and I could save her, the company reckoned that Shah Hassan would be mighty grateful to us — our firm has been trying to get in good with him for some time. There still are a lot of potential oil reserves in Adabi that haven’t been leased to anybody for exploration and my bosses would like to have a crack at them.”

She seemed to be trying to accept my explanation, but asked an obvious question, “Shouldn’t the American government have been told about the threat to Sherima? Isn’t it their job to protect her?”

“For awhile, I thought so, too,” I said, trying to appear embarrassed. “But the people who pay my salary, and it’s a good one, want to come off being the good guys if anything should happen. There’s billions at stake if they can get drilling rights in Adabi. And, to be honest and fair to them, I don’t think anyone really took the threat seriously. There didn’t seem to be any reason for anyone to want to kill Sherima. Maybe if she still were married to Hassan, but it didn’t seem to us that after the divorce, she was in danger.”

“But that man on the balcony… do you think he was trying to hurt Sherima?”

“I don’t know for sure. He could have been just a robber, though the coincidence of his being an Arab has me wondering now.”

“What about those men in Georgetown tonight? Was that coincidence, too?”

“That was a coincidence, I’m sure. I checked with a friend of mine at District police headquarters just a little while ago and he tells me that the three men they found in the street out there all have records as muggers or petty thieves. It looks like they were prowling around looking for likely victims and spotted us leaving the restaurant, saw we had a limousine but were starting to walk, so they followed us.”

“Did you tell him about your shooting them? Are we going to have to answer questions and go through a police investigation? Sherima will just die if she gets involved in that kind of thing. She’s trying so hard not to embarrass Hassan.”

I explained that I hadn’t let on to my supposed police friend that I knew anything about the incident in Georgetown, other than just saying that I had been in the area at the time and saw all the police cars and wondered what had happened. “I got the feeling the police think those blacks made the mistake of trying to rip off some big drug dealers or something, and muffed it. I don’t reckon the police are going to try too hard to find out who killed them. They probably feel that it’s three less thugs they have to worry about being on the streets.”

“Oh, Nick, it’s all so horrible,” she whispered, snuggling up against me. “What if somebody is trying to hurt Sherima? What if you’d gotten killed?” She was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, she jerked erect and turned blazing eyes on me. “Nick, what about us? Was meeting me part of your job? Were you supposed to make me fall for you just so you could stick close to Sherima?”

I couldn’t let her believe that, so I pulled her to me almost roughly and kissed her deeply in spite of her struggling. When I released her, I said, “Lovely lady, my orders were not to even make contact with Sherima, or anyone with her, unless some threat developed. My bosses arranged for me to have this room next to hers, yes, but my meeting you was strictly an honest-to-goodness accident. A wonderful one, too, it turned out. But when the company finds out I’ve been hanging around with you and Sherima, I’m in for big trouble. Especially if they think I might have done anything that could goof them up later when they try to get those oil leases.”

She seemed to believe me, for concern suddenly came over her face and she leaned forward to kiss me, saying softly, “Nick, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Sherima. I was afraid that you were using me. I don’t think I could…” The sentence trailed off as she buried her face on my chest, but I knew what she had been going to say, and I wondered just who had used and hurt her so deeply. Touched, I lifted her face and pressed my lips gently over hers again. Her response was more demanding as her tongue played against my lips, and as I opened them, darted inside to become a probing, teasing demon that brought an instant reaction from me.

Finally breaking off the embrace, she asked, “Nick, can I stay here with you for the rest of the night?”

I wanted to get on the phone to AXE and arrange for another collection — the man in the bathroom — so I said lightly, “There’s not that much of the night left, I’m afraid. The sun will be up in a couple of hours. And what if Sherima wakes up and finds you gone?”

“I told you she’d be out for hours yet.” A pout settled on her face as she said, “Don’t you want me to stay… now that I know all about you?” The pout had turned into a hurt expression and I knew she was thinking that she’d been used again.

Gathering her in my arms, I rose and carried her to the bed. “Get those clothes off,” I ordered, smiling. “I’ll show you who wants you to stay.” As I began to undress myself, I picked up the phone and told the desk to waken me at seven-thirty.

I was up and had completed my exercises when the wake-up call came. I picked it up on the first ring, thanking the operator quietly so I wouldn’t waken Candy. I wanted a few more minutes of privacy before I sent her back to Sherima’s suite.

For one thing, I had to get dressed and slip out to the balcony to retrieve my makeshift alarm. After I dumped Candy on the bed, she had insisted on going into the bathroom before our Iovemaking started. She wanted to remove her makeup, she explained, but I felt certain that her intense curiosity made her want to check out where I had hidden the dead man.

I had used the opportunity to take a long piece of black thread from the spool I always carried in my luggage. Tying one end of it around a glass from the kitchenette and racing out and over the wall to Sherima’s balcony door, I knotted the other end to the handle. It was invisible in the darkness. Vaulting back to my side again, I set the glass on the top of the divider. Anyone trying to open Sherima’s door would pull the glass off to shatter on the balcony floor. Since there had been no crash during the few hours before daybreak, I knew no one had attempted to reach Sherima that way. And no commotion had come from the hotel detective in the hallway.

When I returned to the room, I saw that the demands we had made on each other during more than two hours of passion before Candy finally dropped off to sleep showed on her face, bathed in the morning sun that glowed through the balcony doorway. She had made love with complete abandon and had given herself with an intensity that outdid all our previous encounters. We had come together again and again, and after each peak, she would be ready again, her caressing hands and teasing mouth almost daring me to prove my affection anew, to wipe out any thought that I was merely using her.

I bent over and kissed her soft wet lips. “Candy, it’s time to get up.” She didn’t stir, so I moved my mouth down her slender neck, leaving a trail of quick, pecking kisses. She moaned softly and brushed a hand over her face as a childlike frown passed swiftly over her face. I slid a hand under the sheet and cupped it over her breast, massaging gently as I kissed her on the lips again.

“Hey, gorgeous, it’s time to get up,” I repeated, raising my head.

She let me know she was awake by reaching up and slipping both arms around my neck before I could stand up. She pulled me back to her, and this time, she was the one planting tiny kisses over my face and down my neck. We ended up in a long embrace, and I let her go, finally, to say:

“Sherima will be waking up soon. It’s almost eight o’clock.”

“No fair sending me away like this,” she murmured, leaning back against the pillows and blinking her eyes against the bright morning sunlight. She turned her face to me and smiled coyly, then looked down at my pants.

“You’re dressed,” she said. “That’s not fair either.”

“I’ve been up and dressed for hours,” I teased. “Did my exercises, wrote a book, toured the District, and had time left over to catch a short movie.”

She sat up, filling die room with her laughter. “I suppose you’ve branded a whole herd of cattle, too,” she said between giggles.

“Well, ma’am,” I said, “now that you mention it—”

“Oh, Nick, even with everything that’s happened,” she sighed, her face becoming soft, “I don’t think I’ve liked a man’s company as much as I do yours — not for a long, long time.”

The smile was gone from her face and she had become serious again, a pensive expression settling over her brow. She sat against the pillows for a moment, listening to whatever her mind was saying to her. Then just as suddenly, she turned those bright hazel eyes to me again, and I saw a smile flicker at the corners of her mouth.

“Sherima won’t be up yet,” she grinned, starting to lie back on the bed. “At least for another — oh — half hour…”

“Oh no you don’t!” I said, jumping from the chair I’d taken. “This time I mean up!”

I had far too much to do this morning to give way to Candy’s tempting invitations. Stepping to the bed, I leaned over and pulled the covers down, and in the same movement, rolled her over onto her stomach and swatted her on her bottom.

“Ouch! That hurt!”

I doubted that I had hurt her, but she did jump out of bed.

“And now,” I drawled, “we have to get you back to your room.”

At first, she tossed me a puzzled expression, then, looking at her negligee and peignoir lying over a chair, said, “Oh, that’s right. I don’t have my keys.”

“That’s right, so it’s out the way you came in.”

As she slipped into her negligee, she seemed to suddenly remember her other enormous appetite. “Nick — what about breakfast?”

“A bit later. I have some phone calls to make.”

“All right. Now, how do I discreetly return to my room?” she asked, pulling the peignoir tightly around her.

“Like so.” I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the balcony, then lifted her across the dividing wall. If there were any other early risers looking out their windows in the Watergate that morning, they must have thought they were seeing things. When she had lowered herself to the floor, she leaned back over the wall and kissed me quickly, then turned and. ran through the door and into Sherima’s room.

Returning to my own room, I crossed to the telephone and began punching out Hawk’s number. I was just about to punch the last digit when my door chime started to ring madly and a pounding rattled the door panel at the same time. Slamming down the receiver, I ran to the door and threw it open. Candy stood there, her face ashen and her eyes brimming with tears.

“Nick,” she cried, “Sherima’s gone!”