Temple of Fear (20 page)
Killmaster put the Lincoln in gear and started backing out of the lane.
Chapter 15Hawk had said nine sharp, Friday morning.
Nick Carter was two minutes late. He did not feel badly about it. Considering everything, he thought himself entitled to a couple of minutes leeway. He
was
there. Thanks to the International Dateline.
was
there. Thanks to the International Dateline.
He was wearing one of his newer suits, a light spring flannel, and his right hand was in a cast nearly to the elbow. Strips of adhesive made a tic-tac-toe pattern on his lean face. He was still limping badly as he walked into the outer office. Delia Stokes was at her typewriter.
She gave him a head to toe glance and an effulgent smile. "I'm so glad, Nick. We were a little worried for a time."
"I was a little worried myself, for a time. Are they in there?"
"Yes. Since half past — waiting for you."
"Hmmmm — do you know if Hawk has told them anything yet?"
"He hasn't. Waiting for you. As of now just the three of us know."
Nick straightened his tie. "Thanks, sweetheart. Remind me to buy you a drink after. A little celebration is in order."
Delia smiled. "Da you think you should be seen out with an older woman. After all, I'm not a Girl Scout'any more."
"Cut it out, Delia. One more crack like that and you blow the drink."
An impatient rasp came over the intercom. "Delia! Send Nick in, please."
Delia shook her head. "He's got ears like a cat."
"Built-in sonar." He went into the inner office.
Hawk had a cigar in his mouth. The cellophane was still on it. That meant he was excited and trying not to show it. He had talked with Hawk on the phone at length, and the old man had insisted on rigging this little scene. Nick didn't understand it, except that Hawk was trying for some kind of a dramatic effect. But to what purpose?
Hawk introduced him to Cecil Aubrey and a man named Terence, a dour lanky Scot who merely nodded and puffed on an obscene pipe.
Extra chairs had been brought in. When they were all seated Hawk said, "All right, Cecil. Tell him what you want."
Nick listened in growing amazement and puzzlement. Hawk avoided his eye. What was the old devil up to?
Cecil Aubrey went through it fast. What he wanted, it appeared, was that Nick go to Japan and do what Nick had just been to Japan and done.
At the end Aubrey said: "Richard Philston is extremely dangerous. I suggest that you kill him on sight rather than try to take him."
Nick glanced at Hawk. The old man was staring innocently at the ceiling.
Nick took the glossy photo from his inner pocket and handed it to the big Englishman. "This your man Philston?"
Cecil Aubrey stared down at the dead face, at the shaven head. His mouth opened as his jaw dropped.
"I'll be damned! It looks like — but without the hair it's a little hard to — I can't be sure."
The Scot came over to look. One quick glance. He tapped his superior on the shoulder, then nodded to Hawk.
"It's Philston. Na doubt about it. I dinna ken how you did it, mon, but congratulations."
To Aubrey he added quietly, "It's Richard Philston, Cecil, and ye know it."
Cecil Aubrey put the photo on Hawk's desk. "Yes. It's Dick Philston. I've waited a long time for this."
Hawk gave Nick a hard stare. "That will be all for right now, Nick. I'll see you after lunch."
Aubrey raised a hand. "But wait — I mean I'd like to hear some of the details. This is amazing and..."
"Later," said Hawk. "Later, Cecil, after we've discussed our own very private business."
Aubrey frowned. Coughed. Then, "Oh, yes. Of course, David. You needn't worry. I keep my bargains."
At the door Nick looked back. He had never seen Hawk in exactly this light before. Of a sudden his boss looked like a wily old cat — a cat with cream smeared all over his whiskers.
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