Death of the Falcon

by Nick Carter

  As we got out of the car, Sherima instructed Abdul to return at eight-thirty to pick us up. I suggested that we could easily go to Georgetown by taxi, and that Abdul might enjoy a night off.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter,” he said with his usual iciness, “but I require no night off. It is my job to be at my lady’s disposal. I shall return at eight-thirty.”

  “All right, Abdul,” Sherima said, sensing, perhaps, that her faithful bodyguard’s feelings might have been hurt. “But you be certain to get something to eat.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing. “I shall do so at the embassy immediately. I can drive there easily and be back here as you instructed.” He closed the discussion by stepping quickly around the car and driving off.

  “Abdul takes his job very seriously, Nick,” Sherima said as we rode up to our floor in the elevator. “He does not mean to be impolite; it is just his manner.”

  “I understand,” I said, stopping at my door while they continued to their suite. “See you in the lobby.”

  Moments later, I was on the phone to Hawk, who had some information for me.

  “For one thing,” he began, “that fool First Secretary didn’t give up waiting for Sherima until about fifteen minutes ago. We never got into the suite, so don’t count on the bugs.”

  I started to say something about an unscrambled phone, but he broke in to say that, if nothing else, Communications hadn’t wasted the day at the Watergate entirely. “A scrambler has been installed in your phone, so you can talk freely.”

  “Great! What about my three friends at the Falls?”

  “Just about now,” he said slowly, “their totally incinerated corpses are being removed from the wreckage of their Datsun on MacArthur Boulevard near the Naval Research Center. A tire must have blown out, for they suddenly swerved and hit a gasoline tank truck just waiting to swing into the Center. A couple of officers from Naval Intelligence happened to be passing at the time, and they saw the accident. Fortunately, the driver of the tank truck jumped clear just before the explosion. From what the Naval Institute witnesses told the Maryland State Police, the truck driver’s in the clear. It was just an accident.”

  “Were you able to find out anything about them before the accident?”

  “Their photographs and prints were taken, and we’ve established that they were members of the Rengo Sekigun. We thought most of those Japanese Red Army fanatics had been rounded up or wiped out, but apparently, these three had fled Tokyo and made their way to Lebanon; they’d been taken in by Black September.”

  “How did they get here?”

  “We haven’t pinned that down yet, but we’re working on it. The Beirut office says it had a report that some Japanese being trained by Black September had decided that the September organization wasn’t militant enough for them so they made contact on their own with the Sword’s Silver Scimitar boys. He may have arranged to have them sent here for this job on Sherima.”

  “So they didn’t think the Black September was militant enough,” I mused. “What did they think that little massacre their fellow countrymen pulled at Lod Airport in Tel Aviv a couple of years back was—an exercise in pacifism?”

  “What are your plans for the evening?” Hawk wanted to know. “Do you want any back-up assigned?”

  I told him about our dinner at the 1789 Restaurant, then rang off. As if on cue, there was a knock at my door.

  Loosening my tie as I crossed to the door, I swung it open. Candy pushed past me immediately, closing it quickly behind herself.

  “Don’t you ever just walk into a room?” I chided her.

  “You never can tell who’s out there,” she replied, then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. Our tongues played games for a while, then she pulled her mouth away, saying, “Umm. I’ve been wanting to do that all day, Nick. You have no idea how hard it was being good while Sherima was around.”

  “You have no idea how hard it was for me, too, but what about Sherima?” I asked, not entirely distracted by the fact that she was opening my shirt, loosening my belt, and guiding me toward the bed.

  “She took a quick shower, then said she was going to nap until seven forty-five,” Candy replied, sitting on the bed and gesturing for me to join her. “That means we have over an hour together before I have to get back there and get dressed myself.”

  I sat next to her, taking her face between my hands.

  “You don’t mind living dangerously with our little secret, do you?”

  At first, she smiled in response to that, but suddenly her face clouded over, and the large hazel eyes looked past me toward the door. A strange sort of bitterness rung in her voice as she said abstractedly, “Everyone has a’ secret. We all do, don’t we? You, me, Sherima, Abdul . . .” That last was uttered with a shadowy grimace, and I wondered for a second why. “Even his High and Mighty Majesty Hassan . . .”

  She realized I was watching her closely as she spoke, and seemed to snap from her mood, snaking her slender arms around my neck and pulling me down.

  “Oh, Nick, hold me. No secrets now—just hold me.”

  I covered her full mouth with mine and kissed her. She ran her fingers through my hair, then trailed them over the back of my neck, returning my kiss long and deeply. We undressed each other. She moved to the bed.

  She lay on her back, her long, wavy hair spread out on the pillow over her head. Her eyes were partly closed, and her face had become more relaxed. I ran a finger over her chin, then down around her long, classical neck, and she let a deep sigh escape her lips as my caresses became more intimate. She turned to her side, kissing me urgently.

  For several minutes, we lay side by side, not speaking, touching each other almost tentatively, as though each of us expected the other to object in some way. I could see that she had slipped back into her own thoughts. Occasionally, she would shut her eyes tightly, as though erasing some thought from her mind, then open them widely again to look at me and allow a smile to cross over her lips.

  Finally, I asked, “What is it, Candy? You’re doing a lot of thinking about something or another.” I tried to sound as off-handed as possible.

  “Nothing—it’s really nothing,” she answered softly. “I —I only wish we’d met ten years ago . . .” She rolled to her back again and put her arms over her head. “Then so much wouldn’t have happened . . . With you to love . . .” She fell silent, staring up at the ceiling.

  I raised myself on one elbow and looked down at her. I hadn’t intended to have this beautiful woman fall in love with me. But then I also hadn’t intended to find myself feeling as much as I did for her.

  There was nothing I could say in response to her words that wouldn’t betray the fact that I knew much more about her own secret past—and what she probably was talking about just now—so I filled the silence with a long kiss.

  In a moment, our bodies were saying everything that had to be said for the time. We made slow, easy love, the way two people who have known each other for a long time do, giving and receiving equal pleasure.

  Later, as we lay quietly, Candy’s head on my shoulder, I could feel that she was relaxed, the tension of her previous thoughts vanished. Suddenly, she bolted upright.

  “Oh, my God—what time is it?”

  Taking my watch from the bedside table, I said, “Exactly seven-forty, ma’am,” affecting an exaggerated drawl.

  She laughed. “I just love the way you talk, Nick.” And then, “But now I have to run.” Gathering her clothes and virtually jumping into them, she mumbled like a schoolgirl nearing the curfew hour. “God, I hope she didn’t wake up yet . . . Well, I’ll just say I had to go down to the lobby for something . . . Or that I took a walk or something . . .”

  Dressed, she leaned over the bed and kissed me again, then turned to rush out of the room. “See you in forty-five minutes,” I called after her.

  As I showered, I realized that no matter where I was focusing my thoughts, they always returned to form around the imag
e of Candy, and to echo her words. People had secrets—that was a fact. And perhaps my secret from her was the biggest one of them all. But there had been something in her tone that bothered me.

  This was turning into much more than the simple assignment of protecting the former Queen. There was a mystery that entangled the lives of these people, and although it might be a personal thing, it still intrigued me. Yet, there seemed to be more than personal considerations: and they seemed to focus around Abdul.

  Bedawi could simply be jealous of the way in which I was usurping his role. He’d surely seemed humiliated about slipping up on his responsibilities back at the Falls, and his coldness toward me had only increased after that. Still, I couldn’t, help feeling that there was more to the formidable looking bodyguard than met the eye. The AXE backgrounder on him had been far too incomplete.

  Hoping that Hawk would have more information on Bedawi’s Washington friends, I stepped from the shower under the warming rays of the overhead lamp. I’d have to put my speculations to rest for a while, I told myself, until I had more solid information to go on.

  Selecting a dinner jacket that wasn’t without the Texas touch, I began dressing, laughing silently at the way Hawk hadn’t missed a single detail in my wardrobe. The jacket, although formal, had buttons with the logo of my supposed business.

  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 o
riginal 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.