ed, she just went into a deep-freeze locker and came out the instant they departed.
He discovered that she danced expertly and they stayed on the floor because it was fun — and because Nick heartily enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and the aroma of her perfume and body. When Ruth and Valdez returned they exchanged dances, drank fairly steadily and gathered into a group in one corner of the big room comprised of some people Nick had met and some he hadn't.
During one pause Ruth said, standing beside Jeanyee, "Will you excuse us for a few moments? Dinner should be announced about now and we want to freshen up."
Nick was left with Pat They picked up fresh drinks and toasted each other with the usual cheers. He learned nothing new from the South American.
Alone together in the ladies' lounge Ruth said to Jeanyee, "What do you think of him after a close look?"
"I think you got the best of it this time. Isn't he a dream? Much more interesting than Pat."
"The Leader says if Deming joins, forget Pat."
"I know." Ruth sighed. "I'll take him off your hands as agreed. Anyway he's a good dancer. But you'll find Deming is really something else. So much charm to waste on the oil business. And he's all man. He nearly turned the tables on Leader. You'd have laughed. Of course Leader switched them right back — and he's not mad about it. I think he admires Deming for it. He recommended him to Command."
The girls were in one of the innumerable lounges available for ladies — complete dressing rooms and baths. Jeanyee looked at the expensive furnishings. "Should we talk here?"
"Safe," Ruth answered as she retouched her exquisite lips at one of the giant mirrors. "You know the military and political only spy on the outs. These are the ins. You can snoop on individuals and double-cross each other, but if you're caught spying on the group you're finished."
Jeanyee sighed. "You know so much more about politics than 1 do. But I know men. There's something about this Deming that bothers me. He's too — too strong. Have you ever noticed how the generals are made of brass, especially their heads? And the steel men are steel and the oil men oily? Well, Deming is hard and quick and you and Leader discovered he has courage. He doesn't fit the oil man pattern."
"I'll say you know men. I never thought of it that way. But those are the reasons Command is interested in Deming, I suppose. He's more than just a businessman. He's interested in money, like all of them. I checked that tonight. Offer him whatever you think will work. I suggested my father might have something for him, but he didn't snap at the bait."
"Cautious, too…"
"Sure. That's a plus. He likes girls, in case you were afraid you were getting another one like Karl Comstock."
"No. I told you I know Deming is all man. It's just — well maybe he's such a valuable type I'm not used to it. I felt he was wearing a mask some of the time, just as we are."
"I didn't get that impression, Jeanyee. But be alert. If he's a thief he's no use to us." Ruth sighed. "But what a body…"
"You're not jealous?"
"Of course not. Given a choice I'd pick him. Given an order, I take Pat and make the most of it."
What Ruth and Jeanyee did not discuss — never discussed — was their conditioned taste for Caucasian rather than Oriental men. Like most girls raised in a certain society, they had adopted its norms. Their ideal was a Gregory Peck or Lee Marvin. Their Leader knew this — he had been carefully briefed by Command One, who often discussed it with their psychologist, Lindhauer.
The girls closed their handbags. Ruth started to leave but Jeanyee hung back. "What shall I do," she asked thoughtfully, "if Deming is nor what he seems? I still have that strange feeling…"
"That he might be on the other team?"
"Yes."
"I see…" Ruth paused, her face expressionless for an instant, then stern. "I wouldn't want to be you if you're wrong, Jeanyee. But if you became sure, I suppose there would be only one thing to do."
"Rule seven?"
"Yes. Hood him."
"I never made that decision on my own."
"The Rule is clear. Hood him. Leave no traces."
Chapter IV
Because the real Nick Carter was the kind of a man who drew people to him, both men and women, when the girls returned to the conservatory they saw him from the balcony in the center of a good-sized group. He was chatting with an air force single-star about artillery tactics in Korea. Two entrepreneurs he had met at the newly reopened Ford's Theatre were trying to get his attention to talk oil. A ravishing redhead he had exchanged warm remarks with at an intimate little party was talking with Pat Valdez while she looked for on opening to get Nick's eye. Several other assorted couples had said, "Hey, there's Jerry Deming!" — and were pushing in.
"Look at that," Ruth said. 'The personality kid. He's too good to be true."
"That's oil," Jeanyee replied.
"That's charm."
"And salesmanship. I'll bet he sells that stuff by the tanker-load."
"He does, I think."
The girls sweetly penetrated the knot of bodies. Ruth claimed Nick and Jeanyee reached Pat as the soft tones of chimes sounded over the PA system and hushed the crowd.
"Sounds like the SS UNITED STATES," the redhead chirped loudly. She had almost made it to Nick, and now he was lost to her for the time being. He saw her from the corner of his eye, filed the fact for reference, but made no sign.
A man's voice said over the PA loudspeakers, in dulcet oval tones that sounded professional, "Good evening everyone. The Cushings welcome you to the All Friends dinner party, and have asked me to say a few words. This is the eighty-fifth anniversary of this dinner, which was started by Napoleon Cushing for a most unusual purpose. He wished to acquaint the philanthropic and idealistic Washington community with the need for more missionaries in the Far East, especially in China. For many years the dinner parties were influential in obtaining many kinds of support for this noble effort."
Nick took a gulp of the drink he had been nursing and thought, Oh, man, tuck Buddha in a basket. Build me a home where the water buffalo roam out of kerosene and gasoline tins.
The unctuous voice went on. "For some years, due to circumstances, this project has been somewhat curtailed, but it is the sincere hope of the Cushing family that the good works will soon be resumed.
"Due to the present size of the annual dinner, tables have been placed in the Madison Dining Room, the Hamilton Room in the left wing and in a large room at the rear of the house."
Ruth squeezed Nick's hand and said with a tiny giggle, "The gymnasium."
The speaker concluded, "Most of you have been advised where your place cards can be found. If you are not sure, the butler at the entrance to each room has a guest list and can advise you. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. The Cushings say again — thank you all for coming."
Ruth asked Nick, "Have you been here before?"
"No. I'm working my way up."
"Come on and see the things in the Monroe Room. It's as interesting as a museum." She motioned to Jeanyee and Pat to follow and threaded away from the group.
It seemed to Nick they walked a mile. Up wide stairways, through great halls like hotel corridors, except that the furnishings were varied and expensive and every few yards a servant stood at attention to provide guidance if required. Nick said, "They have their own army."
"Almost. Alice said they employed sixty people before they cut the staff a few years ago. Some of these were probably hired for the occasion."
"They impress me."
"You should have seen the do a few years ago. They were all dressed as French court servants. Alice had something to do with modernizing that."