Agent Counter-Agent (10 page)

"Is that the whole story?" he asked acidly.

He wasn't buying it. I had to improvise as I went along. "Well, if you must know, I got sick. At first I thought the girl had poisoned me, but it was just a bad case of the
turista's
disease. I wouldn't have been any good to you even if I had been able to make contact."

His eyes were glued to my face as I spoke. Finally they softened slightly. "Good Lord. We're on the brink of the climax of our biggest mission in years, and you decide to get sick. Well, maybe it's my fault. Maybe I've been pushing you too hard."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said. "But I did have to check the girl out. I'm convinced now that she's above suspicion."

"Well, I guess that's something, even if it is something negative."

"Maybe it was a wild goose chase," I said. "Anyway, I'm back on the job now. What are the new developments?"

Hawk pulled out a long Cuban cigar. He bit off the end and rolled it in his mouth but didn't light it. I had a strong sensation of
déja vu —
Hawk in another setting, doing the same thing. All the premonitions and flashes of impossible half-memories were making me nervous.

"The Vice-President has gone crazy on us. He says we're overdoing the security bit. He's pulled off some CIA men and sent the extra Secret Service boys home. Said it looked bad to the press to have an army of security people around, as if we don't trust the Venezuelan police."

"That's too bad," I said. Actually, it was fine. The fewer Americans around to put on my act for, the easier my job would be when I arrived at the conference.

"Well, there are still a lot of people at the palace with guns in their pockets. I brought N7 over myself when I thought you might be at the bottom of a six-foot hole somewhere."

For the first time, I realized that part of the reason Hawk had been so angry was that he'd been really worried about me. Or, rather, about Nick Carter. Somehow the realization moved me, and I found myself wondering just what fate Carter had met at the hands of the Vigilantes.

"N7-that's Clay Vincent?" I asked.

"Yes. He's put up in a third hotel, Las Américas. I've had him checking into your disappearance." he said sarcastically. "Now he can get onto more important matters. Tonight the Vice-President is attending an unscheduled party that's being given in the gardens of the American Embassy. The Venezuelan President will put in an appearance. Since the conference is tomorrow, I want to begin taking special precautions now, particularly regarding any events not on the original schedule." He chewed on the cigar.

The mention of those enemies of the people made me flare up inside. A hot wave of hatred took hold of me, and I had to struggle to hide it. One wrong move with Hawk could destroy the mission.

"All right, I'll be there," I said.

"Are you really all right now, Nick?" Hawk suddenly asked.

"Sure, why not?"

"I don't know. You just looked different there for a moment. Your face changed. Are you sure you re not still sick?"

I accepted the excuse quickly. "That could be," I said. "I'm not really myself today." I thought that any moment he would see through my disguise and I would have to kill him with the Luger in my pocket. I didn't want to kill him. He seemed like a good person, even if he was one of the enemy. But anybody who got in the way of my mission would have to be eliminated — there was no alternative.

"Well, you're really not yourself," Hawk said slowly. "I was going to send you over to the embassy to check on a couple of aides who will be at the palace tomorrow, but I don't think you're up to it. You'd better get some rest till this evening."

"That isn't necessary, sir," I said. "I'll be happy to go to the embassy and…"

"Damn it, N3! You know better than to argue with me. Just get back to your room and stay there till you're needed. I'll call you when it's time to go the embassy."

"Yes, sir," I said meekly, grateful for the opportunity to avoid any more contact with the Americans than was absolutely necessary.

"And don't contact that damned girl," Hawk shouted after me.

The embassy gardens are beautiful any time, but they were particularly splendid that evening. There were lanterns all around the grounds. Flaming braziers and food tables had been set up for guests. At one end of the garden there was a platform where a band played all evening.

Hawk and Vincent were there with me, but we didn't speak to each other. I had met Vincent in a restroom earlier. We had exchanged greetings, and it was pretty awkward for me. I knew I was supposed to know him, but I hadn't been prepared for a meeting with another AXE man. I'd had to bluff my way through our conversation, and I was afraid I hadn't been convincing. Vincent talked briefly about AXE headquarters and about a previous assignment we'd worked on together. I'd let him do the talking and just agreed with everything he said.

The Vice-President appeared quite early in the evening. I tried to avoid him completely. His face and voice aroused such strong emotions in me that I was sure I'd blow my cover if I met him face to face. I went over to the band and just listened to them play. The music was beautiful, and it made me long for the day when my homeland would be free from tyranny. For the first time in hours I began to relax.

But my luck didn't hold out. I heard a voice behind me, and it was the hideous voice of the American Vice-President.

"Mr. Carter."

I turned and looked into his face and began to feel the horrible pressure in my head, but I fought the revulsion. The Vice-President was flanked by two Secret Service men, who nodded to me.

"Mr. Vice-President," I said tightly.

"You have not met the President, I believe," the monster was saying. He gestured toward an approaching figure, and I saw the man I hated most in the world. He was erect and distinguished-looking, a seemingly harmless old man with a wide smile and a chest full of ribbons and medals. But I knew what he stood for, and it made my stomach churn. He came up and stood beside us. Two plainclothes policemen and an aid were just behind.

"Mr. President, this is one of the best young men in our security services," the Vice-President said. "Mr. Carter."

"It pleases me to meet you, Mr. Carter."

The proximity of that face made my rage almost uncontrollable. I fought the overpowering impulse to throw myself onto him and tear him to pieces with my bare hands. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and I felt a severe tightening in my chest, which continued to grow and grow. My head ached so much I thought it was going to explode.

"I… I am…" I gasped and looked away from the two men. I had to get control of myself, but I didn't know how. I looked back, grim-faced. "It is my pleasure, Mr. President," I said.

They were all staring at me as if I'd lost my mind. The security people were studying me carefully.

"Are you all right, young man?" the President asked.

My eyes struggled to meet his. "Oh, yes," I said quickly. "I'll be all right. I've just had a bout with the
turistas."

The Vice-President was watching my face closely. "You had better get some rest, Mr. Carter," he said quietly. In another minute they'd moved on to speak with the American ambassador.

In sudden desperation I turned to go after them. My hand went into my jacket. I was going to pull the Luger and blow their heads off. But when I felt the cold metal of the gun against my hand, I came to my senses. This was not the plan, and I had to follow orders. I pulled my hand back out and wiped the sweat off on my jacket. I was trembling all over. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed my actions, and when I turned toward the building, I saw my AXE colleague Clay Vincent staring at me. He'd been watching the whole time.

Fighting my panic, I hurried toward the rear of the embassy building, to the men's room. I felt sick and was afraid I was going to vomit. I was still trembling, and my head felt as if it would split open.

In the restroom I ran cold water over my head and leaned heavily against a washbasin. I put the faces out of my mind, and the pain and nausea began to subside. When I turned to find a towel, Vincent was there.

"What's wrong with you, Nick?" he asked.

I turned from him and dried myself. "It must have been something I ate," I answered. "I guess I'm still a little under the weather."

"You look terrible," he persisted.

"I feel all right now."

"Don't you think you ought to see the embassy doctor."

"Hell no. I I'm really okay now."

There was a long silence while I ran a comb roughly through my hair.

"I got something in a drink in that café in Beirut when we worked that one together," he said. "Remember? You helped me out of that. I was just trying to return the favor."

Something deep inside my brain responded when he mentioned the Beirut incident. I had a very brief vision of Clay Vincent falling against an old brick wall and my going to help him back on his feet. In a split second the scene was gone, and I wondered if I had even visualized it.

It shook me up. I'd never met Clay Vincent before in my life. How could I remember being with him in Beirut? I'd never been outside of Venezuela except the time I went to the United States. I didn't know a thing about Lebanon. Or did I? Again I had the feeling that there was something about my past they'd kept from me at the clinic. Something very important. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe the drugs had stimulated my imagination so I could invent scenes to help me with my impersonation of Nick Carter.

"Sorry," I said. "I appreciate your interest, Clay."

He smiled briefly, but then the look of concern came back. "Nick, what the hell were you doing out there after they spoke to you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked defensively.

"Well, for a minute, it looked like you were going for that Luger of yours. What was going on?"

My mind raced through several possible answers. "Oh, that. I guess I'm pretty edgy. I saw a guy reach into his jacket, and for a minute I thought he was going for a gun. I felt like an idiot when he pulled out a handkerchief."

Our eyes met and locked as Vincent assessed my answer. If he challenged me, I'd have to kill him right there, and that would mean big trouble.

"Okay, buddy," he said. His voice had softened. "You'd better get some rest so you'll be better by tomorrow."

I looked at him. He was a stocky, sandy-haired man, probably about thirty-two years old. He had an open, honest face, but I knew he could be tough.

"Thanks, Clay," I said.

"Forget it."

For the rest of the evening I tried to stay out of the mainstream of activity. Hawk appeared at one point when everybody was watching a group of dancers and stood beside me.

"Everything appear normal?" he asked without looking at me.

"Yes, sir," I answered. I wondered if Vincent had spoken to him about me.

"There doesn't seem to be any need for you to stay around much longer, Nick," he said. "I'm sending Vincent back to his hotel, too. But I'll see you bright and early tomorrow at the palace. Even though everything seems fine, I still have that feeling about the warning note. Have you spotted that man who was following you around?"

Another unfamiliar scene flashed through my mind — a man standing in a white room holding a gun on me. No, it was a corridor, not a room. I touched my forehead with my hand while Hawk stared at me.

"No. No, I haven't seen him." How did I even know what man he was talking about? Nothing had been mentioned in the file that my comrades had read to me. Unless I had forgotten.

"Nick, are you sure you're okay?" Hawk asked. "With Vincent here, I could probably do without you at the conference."

"I'm all right!" I said somewhat harshly. I glanced at Hawk, and he was regarding me bleakly, chewing on an unlit cigar. "Sorry. But I feel I'm needed at the conference, and I want to be there."

I had tried to keep the raw panic out of my voice. If Hawk pulled me off the security job, it would be impossible for me to carry out my mission.

"Okay," he finally said. "See you tomorrow, son."

I couldn't look at him. "Right."

Hawk moved on around the garden, and I left. I didn't feel like going right back to my hotel. I needed a drink. I took a taxi to the El Jardín because I felt lonely and somehow I associated that place with the girl at the clinic. When I got inside, I was surprised to see her sitting at a corner table. She was by herself, sipping a glass of wine. She saw me immediately.

I turned away from her and went to a table across the room. I felt a terrible urge to go to her, to tell her the problems I'd had, to take her to bed with me. But she herself had forbidden me to make contact. A waiter came, and I ordered a cognac. When he left, I looked up and she was standing beside my table.

"Good evening, Rafael." She sat down beside me. She was even more beautiful than I'd remembered.

Her first name suddenly came to me, out of the depths of my subconscious. "Your name is… Tanya." I looked into her eyes. "I'm not supposed to know that, am I?"

"No, but I think I know why you do. It's all right."

"I'm not supposed to be with you, am I?"

"I've been asked to contact you. To see how you feel and to make sure you have been accepted as Nick Carter."

"I've been accepted," I said. "But the one called Hawk is a little too concerned about my well-being. I was introduced to the President this evening, and it was pretty rough for a minute. But I think I've convinced Hawk that I'm all right."

Tanya's lovely face grew somber. "Hawk is the one man who can abort this entire mission. You must keep him convinced in any way you can that you are Nick Carter and that you are able to carry out your assignment at the conference." Her voice was strained and urgent. "It is imperative that you have access to the conference room at the noon recess."