The Lance

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Nick opened his door. Selena had dressed in heels and a sleek designer creation of blue silk cut low over her breasts. The fabric rippled when she moved. A chain and earrings of Black Hills gold picked up the highlights in her hair. A soft black jacket completed her outfit. Her smile was enough to make Nick forget all about Nazis and plots.

They were going out for dinner, the date she'd talked about when he was in Jerusalem. The first date he'd had since Megan died. He'd dressed in his best suit, a gray weave over a light blue shirt and dark blue tie. The look was only slightly marred by the bulge of the .45 under his jacket.

"You look wonderful," Selena said. "I thought we'd go over to DuPont Circle. I know a place with a good wine list and great little things to eat."

"Sounds good. You look terrific. Really terrific." Nick took her arm. They rode the elevator down to the first floor of his building. They nodded at the security guard and walked out into the chill of an October evening on the East Coast. The street was deserted, unusual for this time of night.

They strolled toward the corner to look for a taxi. The evening bore a hint of coming winter in the air. A garbage truck rumbled by and stopped up the block ahead of them. Two men in overalls and baseball caps climbed from the cab. They began emptying cans lined in the alley.

Nick and Selena came abreast of the truck. One of the garbage men pivoted and drove the metal lid from a can into Nick and knocked him to the pavement. The second grabbed Selena. Nick felt a hard boot in his ribs and rolled to get away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Selena struggling.

A second kick came at his head. He caught the foot and twisted in and down with all his strength. The man screamed and fell to the sidewalk. He reached inside his overalls and pulled out a dark, blue automatic. Nick fired, the roar of the .45 harsh in the night air. The phony trash man sprawled on the sidewalk.

Selena grasped her attacker and hurled him into the side of the garbage truck. He bounced against the metal and pulled out a pistol. Before he could fire, she leapt into the air and planted a flying kick in the center of his chest. He slid down the side of the truck and collapsed, his head slumped over his chest. Blood poured from his nose and mouth. He coughed twice and died.

It had taken no more than half a minute.

"Are you all right?" Nick got to his feet.

"Yes." She looked down at her dress.

The sleek blue was ripped down the front, exposing her breast. She pulled the jacket tight around her and cast an eye over him.

"You look pretty good, yourself."

His suit was trashed, the soft, gray weave torn and dirty. Nick went over to the man slumped next to the truck, felt for a pulse.

"He's dead."

"He should be. I've practiced that strike for years. It's supposed to kill. I never thought I'd have to use it for real."

"He had a gun."

"I know," she said, "but it doesn't help."

Sirens sounded down the block.