New York had clouded up again and the musky smell of rain was in the air. I stood in the doorway of Pat’s precinct building and cased the street, watching the traffic carefully. A row of police cruisers stood at the curb and the flow moved by cautiously. A few other cars were parked farther down and the taxi I’d arrived in sat in a slot outside a coffee house. I’d paid the cabbie twenty to sit with his meter off and his top light unlit while I was in with Pat, so I’d be assured of a fast exit.
There are times when you can feel the trouble hovering, waiting to drop right on top of you. Even though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I knew it was there. The police aren’t the only ones who can sift through a person’s background and come up with information like known associates. Anybody who took even a casual stroll through my history would learn just how often Pat and I had worked together, and could stake out this building—even if it was a police station—to see if I’d show.
Inside the station house’s high-ceilinged reception area, where a desk sergeant ruled from on high, I wedged into a pay booth, not needing anybody’s permission for my one phone call. I thumbed through the directory until I found the number of the nearby coffee house and got the manager to send a waitress out to summon my cabbie to the phone.
“This is your fare,” I said.
“That twenty bucks won’t last forever, bud.”
“My name’s Mike Hammer. That mean anything to you?”
“...I thought you looked familiar.”
“I’m going to send a replacement fare out to you as soon as I can. You’re to drive him to the Hackard Building. He’ll pay the freight.”
“This is way more complicated than ‘follow that car.’”
“Yeah, but I just know you’re up to it, since there’ll be a five-buck tip in it.”
I could hear the shrug in his voice. “Why not?”
Now I looked around the station house reception area. A guy about my age and size in a raincoat was lodging a complaint against his landlord. I listened to him not get anywhere with the desk sergeant, and when I went up to him his face was red with anger. Seemed like perfect casting to me.
“You want to make a quick fifty?” I asked him.
“Who do I have to kill?” Not the smartest thing to say in a police station, but nobody but me was listening.
I explained that he was to run out of here, fast, take that waiting cab across the street, and pay for the fare and a five buck tip out of a twenty I’d give him.
“Go inside the Hackard Building,” I said, “wait a couple minutes, then go back out through the coffee shop entrance and take a cab home or wherever the rest of that twenty will take you.”
“I got it,” he said, nodding. “So where’s the fifty?”
I gave him a beautiful crisp engraving of President Grant.
The guy was heading out, then turned and called, “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“It’s about you making fifty bucks,” I said.
That was good enough for him.
I lagged back in the niche of the doorway. In the quick exit to the cab from the building, the guy could have passed for me. I watched the cab pull away. Right behind, a new black Ford with two men in the front seat pulled out and fell in line.
I jotted down the plate number, and sent a note up to Pat, asking him to check it out with the Motor Vehicle Bureau. Then I took a side door just past the locker room out to the street.
Fifteen minutes later, using a wall pay phone in a small gin mill on Eighth Avenue, I called Pat. He came on the line with a grunt, and said, “So where’d you come up with that plate number, Mike?”
I told him about the stunt with the cab.
“You’re getting cute in your old age, buddy. Let’s hope you didn’t get some poor schlub killed because he was wearing a raincoat and got out at the Hackard Building.”
“If so, it’ll be a relief to that landlord he was bitching about. What about those wheels?”
“Stolen vehicle. If you think that car is full of guys with guns, I can put out an APB.”
“Do that.”
“Anything to please a tax payer.”
“Pat...”
“What?”
“That car was outside your station house. That means my Russian friends know you’re in this, too. That we’re friends. Watch your ass.”
“Not a problem. My ass is in a sling thanks to you, and that makes it easy to keep an eye on.”
He hung up.
I used another dime to buzz the Blue Ribbon and Angie said Des Casey had called and left me a phone number that I recognized as that of Peerage Brokers on Broadway.
The front for Rickerby’s New York office.
“Your friend said it was urgent, Mike,” Angie said.
“Thanks, Angie,” I said, and put the phone back.
Everything was urgent with feds, except getting your tax refund back to you.
I had other things to do, and they could take their damn turn.
* * *
The Wentworth Hotel’s rooms were either high-end residential or permanently reserved by regular wealthy patrons who couldn’t be bothered with the inconvenience of arranging lodgings or packing luggage on a trip to the city. It boasted neither marquee nor doorman, and announced its existence only by way of a small bronze plaque set into the brick beside the entrance.
But once inside you realized its exclusiveness. You were visually inspected, your credentials requested, your presence announced by desk phone, and if found acceptable, you were escorted by private elevator to the appropriate apartment in the company of a cold, quietly contemptuous staff member, who delivered you like a package to the door of the guest or resident, not leaving until that staff member ascertained that you were indeed expected.
And yet all of this exclusivity and security had not prevented Pietro Romanos from crashing the senator’s party the night that started it all....
Irene Carroll thanked the assistant manager, who was so pompous that a tip would have offended him, and he went away.
She stood there, posed in the doorway as if she were a picture and it were her frame, rather boldly outfitted in a Chinese-looking pair of silk lounging pajamas, sky blue with white trimmings, the tips of her full breasts apparent under the fabric. Her feet were bare.
“I was wondering when you would come around, Mike.”
“Surprised?”
“Pleasantly so. Oh, I expected you to take me up on my invitation, just not so soon.”
She turned sideways and gestured for me to come in. I did, brushing by her. She closed the door behind me and I moved through a rather blank entryway into a living room where I expected to find fine old original oil paintings and carefully selected antique furniture.
There were originals here, all right, but of the blown-up comicbook panel and giant soup can variety. The walls and carpet were white, and the furniture geometric, solid blues and reds. I doubted these mod trimmings had come with a Wentworth apartment, and wondered if all the red, white and blue was meant to be patriotic, or was that just a pop art accident?
“Now I’ve surprised you,” she said, smiling, arms folded on the shelf of her generous bosom.
“Not what I pictured,” I admitted.
She sat down on a blue sofa and motioned with a sweep of her hand for me to take the red chair opposite her. When she crossed her legs, there was a sensual swish of silk. That magnificent body was completely covered, but the nakedness beneath the draped fabric taunted me.
“My home in Georgetown,” she said, with a regal shake of her sleek chin-cut white hair, “is painfully, properly Early American. Frankly, to call it a home is a disservice. it’s a mansion. Lovely, tasteful, and filled with antiques that many a museum would envy.”
“So when you come to the city, you like a change.”
She shrugged. “I come here to have a good time. I don’t throw the parties, I just go to them.” She smiled to herself, laughed the same way, then shared her thoughts: “My late husband oversaw the decoration of the Georgetown place. He would have a shit fit if he saw this. Particularly if he knew how much that Warhol cost, and those Lichtensteins.”
I smiled and nodded, like I knew what the hell she was talking about, then said, “You mentioned you might be able to help me with my current. situation.”
“Your. situation, Mike, as you so euphemistically put it, has Washington in an uproar. and, in some respects, of course, I am Washington.”
“And here I thought I had an ego.”
“Not ego, Mike, rather hard reality. There are times when my services are essential in that town. Politics are not entirely made in smoke-filled caucus rooms, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “But I try to stay out of politics.”
“Lately you have a funny way of doing that, Mike.”
“Politics is Republicans and Democrats, and I couldn’t have less interest in either. But when a bunch of slobs have world domination in mind, this old G.I. sits up and takes notice. Because that’s about survival, and survival’s a subject I’m an expert in.”
She got her lovely, strange laugh going again, and I started to bristle, and she saw that. Her laughter stopped, her expression grew more serious, and she held her palms up in surrender.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Mike. I’m not laughing at you.”
“Well, you’re not laughing with me, lady, ’cause I’m not laughing.”
“Now I have offended you. I’m sorry. So very sorry. I laugh because you are so impressive, such a rare example of the kind of man you rarely seen anymore.”
“Try a museum. Ancient history wing.”
“Mike... I’m interested in you. My meeting you this morning wasn’t entirely born of curiosity. It was suggested by certain people that I arrange to see you, draw you out, even get... close to you... and report back what I had learned.”
“You’d be taking on some hard duty, kid.”
That got a sudden smile and that tinkly laugh again. “Yes, I’m beginning to figure that out. I took the time to read up on you and ask a few discreet questions. That’s why I’m being so frank.”
“Think you can learn more that way?”
“Possibly,” she admitted. “But after spending even a little time with you, I don’t expect you to tell me any more than you want me to know... so now it’s back to a matter of curiosity again.”
She flipped open an enameled box and held it out to me. “Cigarette?”
They were black with gold tips. “No. I gave that up. Too risky.”
That got a laugh out of her, that tinkling thing that was two parts bells ringing and one part breaking glass. She selected a cigarette, produced a small lighter from somewhere, then sat back smoking with her arms crossed under her breasts, lifting them, a pose that was intentionally provocative.
I made a gesture with my shoulders and relaxed in the chair. The damn thing was actually pretty comfortable. “You were supposed to have been at Allen’s party the night the shooting took place.”
“Thank goodness I was late!”
“Yeah, thank goodness,” I said. I was starting to wonder about that. “You knew everybody on the guest list, didn’t you?”
“Certainly. Quite well. Some were people of importance, others simply friends of Allen’s. It was a kind of going-away party for Allen, you know, with the Russian trip coming up shortly. It was a last-minute affair on his part and there wasn’t time for him and his wife. do you know Emily?”
“Yes, I met her. Nice lady.”
“Wonderful woman. One of the sweetest you could hope to meet. Anyway, it was too late for the Jaspers to arrange anything very elaborate. I think they got the idea of putting together a party the week before, when N.A.S.A. threw their own party after the successful Gadfly launch. Allen and Emily went down to be part of that, you know. He’s a big supporter of N.A.S.A., which isn’t the case with every senator of his political persuasion. He went down there in part as a show of support for his friend, Dr. Giles—Harmon Giles... whom I believe you know.”
“Not well. He patched me up that night.”
She looked skyward, as if she could see the satellites spinning up there. “Harmon Giles is one of the modern greats.”
“Really.”
“Oh yes, he was in the aerospace program as a surgeon-scientist since its inception. Overwork forced his retirement, and he went back to private practice after the last launch. They still call him in for consultations.”
“I might check in with him myself. Leg is still buggin’ me a little.”
Her smile was teasing. “Hope it’s nothing too serious...?”
I smiled back at her. “Doesn’t interfere with anything important.”
She gave me a sleepy-lidded glance. “No, I wouldn’t imagine so.”
“How about filling me in on the other guests?”
“You really should talk to Allen about them.”
“I want your version.”
She took a deep drag on the cigarette, blew smoke out through dragon nostrils, and snuffed it out in a red enamel ashtray.
Finally, she said, “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Mike, but I do know this: most of the guests had security clearances, and the others were all personal friends of Allen’s. Allen would never associate with anyone disreputable or suspect in any way. He’s a fine man, a fine American, and he’s my friend.”
I didn’t remember suggesting otherwise. Why was she defensive all of a sudden?
“Anyway,” she was saying, the moment gone now, “my understanding is that the shooting you were involved in grew out of an attempted robbery.”
“It could have been something else.”
Her eyes tensed. “What?”
“Assassination.”
“Of whom?”
“That’s what I’m wondering about.”
“Of Allen?” She leaned forward, watching me as if she feared I might make a break for it. “Doubtful, Mike. Doubtful.”
“Why?”
“Allen is a controversial figure, at times, but he doesn’t have those kinds of enemy. Somebody might toss an egg, but not a.”
“Bullet? Irene, he’s a United States senator. All it takes is one screwball—one disgruntled, homicidal constituent. You said other important people were there.”
“Not of a similar stature. Anyone else there could have been replaced in their role by someone equally as competent.”
“What about Dr. Giles?”
She shook her head, the white hair shimmering. “Why attack a retired space program surgeon?”
“Did you ever consider this?” I asked, sitting forward. “You were supposed to have been there too. You didn’t show up until after it was over.”
Alarm dawned. “You mean, I could have been...”
“The target? Yes. If it was an assassination attempt, why not you? You are Washington, remember?”
“I meant that tongue-in-cheek, Mike!” Speaking of her tongue, it touched her lips and left them gleaming wetly. “I’m just a... a glorified hostess...”
“You’re the only one left of your kind in Washington and you damn well know it. With your contacts, you could have heard or seen something you weren’t supposed to, and if you ever put the pieces together, and exposed this knowledge, it might have national or even international ramifications.”
“That is just ridiculous.” But even as she said it, her voice was shaking and her tone weak.
“Is it?” I asked quietly.
“Mike.”
“Think about it, Irene. This began the night you were late to a party. Everyone figures your jewels are a possible motive. But maybe it was your life that guy was after.”
She let her hands fall into her lap and I saw the machinery of her mind going into motion. She threw back a stray lock of hair and said, “You were the one abducted, Mike. In Russia. Not Manhattan.”
“Right now, Irene, the heat’s on me because Soviet national prestige is on the line. But let’s assume that you are an unwitting part of this. that you do know something, even if you don’t recognize it, much less remember it.”
“Mike, you’re scaring me.”
“My showing up at that party was something Allen didn’t even know about till the last minute. I could have been there to make contact with you per your instructions. I have certain things in my background that would come in handy if you needed a strong defender in dealing with the Soviets.”
“Oh, but you know it wasn’t like that.”
“But does the K.G.B. know it, Irene?”
She got up suddenly, tossed her hair and went to a small black-and-white bar in the corner and made a drink. I shook my head when she offered me one. When she walked over, her nervousness was palpable. “What you suggest just isn’t possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible,” I said. “Now I need to determine if it’s probable.”
“I wish you hadn’t even mentioned it...”
I got up and reached for my hat. “Had to, honey. I needed to see your reaction.”
“You saw it. And?”
“And I’m satisfied. If this starts to look like you were the catalyst, I’ll be in touch straightaway.”
She put her drink down on the glass coffee table and almost ran to me. “Mike—please don’t go. Not yet.”
“You’ll be all right here,” I told her. “The President couldn’t get in this damn hotel without getting patted down and grilled. But if you want me to put a man outside, I can arrange that.”
Her arms snaked around me and her fingers were at my neck, one hand digging into the hair at the nape. “Please stay, Mike...” She pressed against me and the warmth of her body wanted to suck me in like a vacuum. The apparent softness was all firm reality, her heavy breathing giving a separate and deliberate movement to her thighs and the flat of her belly.
This was a woman. Not a little girl. A woman with curves and flesh and passion and urgency...
I hugged her lightly, then held her away. “There’s too much to be done for me to stay,” I said. “I’ll be back, Irene. I will be back.”
She stepped away reluctantly. “That wasn’t right, throwing a scare into me like that.”
“Why not, honey?” I grinned at her. “You scare the hell out of me.”
A flicker of a smile parted her lips. “All right. Get out of here, you big bully. And I’ll work at thinking up ways to scare you even better.”
“I just might like that,” I said.
And I stuffed on my hat and left her in the red, white and blue living room, with the big comic-book face of a crying woman staring at her.
* * *
Peerage Brokers was a single floor in an unremarkable building on Broadway. It could have been an accounting firm or a mail order company or anything at all, really, with its desks and chairs and filing cabinets and typewriters and faceless crew of apparent office drones. But this was a very different kind of business, behind the bland façade.
The brunette receptionist was in her thirties, neither attractive nor unattractive, in a gray suit. Unlike Jasper’s secretary, she didn’t pretend not to know me.
“Mr. Rickerby’s in the conference room, Mr. Hammer.”
“Thanks, kiddo.”
Art Rickerby was standing facing a window, waiting for me, with Tony Wale already seated at a small conference table. Another guy was seated there, too. Him I didn’t recognize. This struck me as a roadshow version of my recent farce in D.C.—call it The Pentagon Follies. I shut the door behind me. Art turned and motioned me toward a chair.
The stranger sat at the head of the table—a slim, narrow-faced guy in a three-piece suit, his hair short and gray, with frozen gray eyes that dissected me as I walked over and sat down and tossed my hat on the table.
The guy didn’t bother to get up or offer a hand to shake when Rickerby said, “Vincent Worth, Mike Hammer.”
Rickerby sat, leaving one chair between us. “Mike, Mr. Worth is attached to Special Sections.”
I gave the great Mr. Worth the most sneeringly insolent expression I could muster.
“Mr. Worth can drop dead,” I said.
With as much expression as Buster Keaton regarding a train coming his way, Worth said, “I’ve heard about your childish attitude, Hammer.”
“Mike,” Rickerby said, “Mr. Worth is in charge of this case now. There are multiple agencies involved, including mine, and Mr. Worth is coordinating all of their efforts.”
Worth said, “Cooperation is not optional, Hammer.”
I sat forward. “Who the hell do you think you’re screwing with? Any cooperation you get from me is a matter of my own choice and discretion, so don’t give me any crap and maybe I’ll play ball. Maybe. Now—what urgent thing did you want to see me about?”
I’ll give them credit, Worth particularly. My little tantrum didn’t faze any of them. Rickerby and Wale had heard it all before, and this newcomer of a scrawny unblinking bureaucrat had been told what to expect.
Worth said, “Our orders were to go along with you only so far, Hammer. Don’t press your luck.”
“Why not?”
“Because your odds of making it to the end of the week are just about nil without our cooperation.”
Something clearly was up—Rickerby’s expression sent that message, strong. So it was time to lean back and shut up and behave.
Worth reached in a coat pocket and tugged out an envelope. He tossed it on the table like the card that won the game. “We got a make on that print your secretary lifted in your office yesterday.”
I frowned. “Was it the guy who killed the real Rath?”
“We don’t know if your visitor did the actual killing or not. That was likely someone else. We just know who your visitor was... is. The report came in from London a few hours ago.”
“I’m interested.”
“Felipe Mandau—a known Soviet agent.”
In spy speak, that wasn’t redundant—that Mandau was a “known” Soviet agent and not just a “suspected” one was significant.
“So,” I said, “you have definitive proof that a K.G.B. agent is operating on American soil.”
“We do, Mr. Hammer.”
It was “Mr. Hammer,” again. We were regular lodge members now
Worth was saying, “Mandau works exclusively on high-priority, special assignments. We know he was implicated in that Canadian business a few years ago, and again in Madrid earlier this year. There are no useful pictures of him, nor any positive physical identification.”
“Why’s that?”
Rickerby chimed in: “This spook works the disguise bit. He’s a master at it.”
Worth went on: “Your description of him is of little or no value because it’s unlikely that he’ll appear the same the next time.”
Then that froggy look of his had been stagecraft. You had to be damn good to pull that kind of thing off at close quarters.
“So I may not recognize him myself,” I said, “should I run into him.”
“That’s right. And we’re sharing this information with you, Mr. Hammer, because Mandau’s interest in you is... suggestive.”
“Of what?”
Rickerby said, “As Mr. Worth said before, Mike, this assassin only works high-priority assignments. That confirms our assumptions that you are a top K.G.B. target.”
“And you already know why,” I said. “Right now, the Soviets look like saps, and I’m the guy who—”
Worth cut me off. “Perhaps there’s a different reason, Mr. Hammer. We believe that K.G.B. agents or domestic assets may have had several opportunities to kill you since your return to New York.”
“I’m not that easy to kill.”
Rickerby said, “Damnit, Mike, quit being so full of yourself. You really think the K.G.B. couldn’t liquidate one lousy private eye if they felt like it?”
“They couldn’t manage it back home. What makes you think they can pull it off on my turf?”
Worth said, “Hasn’t it occurred to you, Mr. Hammer, that Mandau could have taken out both you and your secretary before Sergeant Casey slugged him?”
“He didn’t have time,” I said.
But who was I kidding? He did just stand there a while...
Rickerby said, “We’re inclined to think there’s another reason why you weren’t shot down in cold blood.”
“Look, guys.”
“You look, Hammer. Felipe Mandau is the likely assassin on half a dozen major hits internationally in the last two-and-a-half years. The K.G.B. isn’t likely to waste his considerable talents on an inconsequential subject. Ever hear of Conrad Toy?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll enlighten you. Conrad Toy is Colonel Toyevshka, only the man largely responsible for disrupting the unity between the Allies after World War II. When Drushev was ousted, Toy took over the K.G.B. department designed to blow Latin American relations wide open, and he damn near succeeded. Despite our putting a crimp in those plans, he managed to avoid shipment to a gulag during the recent regime change. He is reportedly now in charge of international assassinations.”
Rickerby said, “Conrad Toy is Felipe Mandau’s direct superior, and we have reports that he may be in the country. Possibly in this city.”
Worth picked up: “And when they go so far out on a limb as to put the likes of Toy on the scene in person? You know the situation’s hot.”
“So catch him,” I said with a shrug. “All you alphabet boys are in the soup together on this one, aren’t you?”
“We will catch him,” Worth told me slowly, “but probably not until we find out where you come into this.”
“What, do you think I’m holding out? Hell, technically I’m one of Rickerby’s men—you want to see my badge?”
“Mike,” Rickerby said, “we just think there’s something else to this, something we don’t know, and something you don’t know.”
“No, I do know,” I said.
They all sat forward, even the frozen-eyed Worth.
“If they’ve passed up chances to kill me,” I said, “that means they want me alive. They want to abduct me again. Make me stand trial in Moscow. Embarrass Uncle Sam and make me out a war criminal.”
Rickerby and Worth exchanged glances. Across the table sat Tony Wale. He hadn’t said a word throughout all of this.
I said, “I gave you guys the picture loud and clear in Washington. You read the polygraph charts. What else do you want from me?”
Worth looked at Rickerby and nodded.
Then Rickerby, with a smile that wouldn’t fool an infant, said, “Frankly, Mike, we’d like to dangle you out there as bait.”
“Aren’t you doing that already?”
“You have a minimum amount of support on this thing— Sergeant Casey at your side, and a handful of agents salted around keeping an eye on you and... Velda.”
There was something in Rickerby’s voice I didn’t like. “Why the pause before Velda’s name?”
And now, finally, Tony Wale spoke.
He and I went way back, but he had done damn little to help me when I was held in D.C.
“You’re very close to your secretary, aren’t you?” Wale said. “She’s a remarkable woman, Miss Sterling.”
I felt the muscles in my upper back go taut. “Yeah, she is. So what?”
“An hour ago we prevented her attempted abduction. The two men who tried it were killed.”
I reached across the table and grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him over to me. The other two men jumped from their chairs, startled as hell.
“Where is she, Tony?”
He was scared, flopping on that table like a swordfish on deck; his hands clutched at my wrists and tried to force them down, but he couldn’t. “Take it easy, Mike! She’s home! Home and safe.”
I let go slowly, then clenched my fists again so they couldn’t see my hands trembling. Wale crawled back across the table, shaken and missing his dignity.
I turned to Rickerby. “Who were they, Art?”
“Local hoods. One of our cars cut them off, and the punks knew they’d been had. There was a high-speed chase and they turned their car over. Both died in the crash.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes. We would have liked to question them.”
“I would have liked to break their necks.”
Worth said, “Mr. Hammer, we don’t believe your secretary knew the attempt was even made. They were spotted moving in, saw our people, and panicked, trying to get out of it. That simple. You were lucky we were tagging along behind her. Right now, we’re running a check on both the late perpetrators, but I’m not holding out any hopes of finding anything.”
“Damn!”
Rickerby said, “Mike, this tells us they’re reaching out to locals—that means they have a limited crew here in the States. We’ve picked up back-channel chatter that indicates a second assassin, possibly Mandau’s partner, is also in the country.”
I smashed a fist into my palm. There were lightning flashes in front of my eyes. “I’ll find them all and I’ll kill them all!”
“Actually, Mike,” Rickerby said, “you’re closer to what we’re after than you might guess.”
“Huh? What?”
Worth said, “The pressure’s on in Washington, Mr. Hammer. Tomorrow the Soviet Ambassador is making a visit to the White House. There are voices against you in both houses of Congress, and Communist factions around the world are screaming for your hide.”
I made a suggestion about what all these good people could do to themselves.
Rickerby was in the chair next to me now. He put a hand on my shoulder. “There is a real problem tied into all this, Mike, and it’s a bad one.”
My head was throbbing. “And the hits just keep on coming. What?”
His voice was as calm as mine was ragged. “As you pointed out back in D.C., we don’t have any extradition agreement with Soviet Russia... but we do have such treaties with several of those other countries you, uh, traveled through.”
“Aw, shit.”
“You can come out on the short end, my friend.”
I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I can hear it in your voice, Ricketyback. you’ve got an angle.”
The three men exchanged glances, and tiny smiles. I didn’t know whether to be nervous or reassured.
“Mike, if you can deliver one of those Soviet agents to us, preferably alive,” Rickerby said, “we would have evidence of espionage on American soil. That could be viewed as an act of war.”
“Or,” Worth said, “it could serve as a bargaining chip.”
“I give you a K.G.B. agent,” I said, “and you can put the squeeze on the Soviets?”
“We can trade someone on the level of Mandau or even better Conrad Toy for half a dozen of our people rotting in an East Berlin prison.”
“And part of the deal is the heat comes off me?”
Rickerby nodded. “You have our word. You have my word.”
I rolled that around in my mind some. “How much time have I got?”
Worth said, “These efforts to extradite you have to go through all sorts of channels, of course. I’d say you might have a week. That is, if you can live that long, or avoid being abducted. Of course, if you would allow us to increase our protective participation...”
“No,” I said, and reached for my hat. I got to my feet. “I don’t want to scare these boys off. Now we’re at the flush them out stage.”
“Otherwise, Mr. Hammer,” Worth said, “if this extradition effort goes through, I would get a really top-notch lawyer, if I were you.”
“Oh, if it comes up,” I said, “I’ll get the best.”
“That’s a relief to hear.” He paused and frowned. “Who might that be?”
“The American public,” I said. “I want to see what the voters will do to the idiots who yelled for my scalp.”