"I ought to know about the country..."
"Whitney will be waiting for you at American Express at seven tonight. He'll show you a couple of hours of color film and brief you."
The films of Rhodesia had been impressive. So beautiful that Nick discounted them. No country could really be put together with the most striking vegetation of Florida and features of California and Colorado's Grand Canyon strewn through the landscape of the Painted Desert He had concluded that the film-makers had used superlative footage, slipped in some shots from botanical gardens, and retouched everything. Whitney had given him a packet of color folders and extensive verbal tips.
Now, sitting slouched with his eyes below the level of the barrier rail, he studied the blonde in the yellow suit Might as well make the best of everything. She was alert, easily the prettiest girl on the concourse. Boyd was trying to pay attention to them all What in the world did he find to talk about in this place? It was less interesting than a railroad station. The brunette with the sailor-like beret was striking. She would be Teddy Northway, from Philadelphia. The other black-haired girl would be Ruth Crossman, very pretty in an intense way; she was the only one with a poker face, but perhaps it was the black-rimmed glasses. The second blonde was something: tall, long hair, not nearly as eyecatching as Booty and yet... She would be Janet Olson.
Hawk's hand fell lightly on his arm and stopped his pleasant evaluation. There. Coming in from the far gate, medium-size, neatly dressed Negro."
"I see him."
"He's John J. Johnson. He can bring gutbucket folk blues out of a horn so mellow it can make you cry. He's an artist with talent as great as Armstrong's. But he's more interested in politics. He's not a Brother X — more of a nonaligned Malcolm X admirer and a Socialist. Not a Black Power booster. He is friendly with all of them, which may make him more dangerous than the ones that bicker among themselves."
"Dangerous how?" Nick asked, watching the slim black man weave through the throng.
"He's intelligent," Hawk murmured without emotion. "The kind society from top to bottom fears most. The man with brains who sees through."
Nick nodded impassively. It was a typical Hawk statement. You wondered about the man and philosophy behind it and then you realized he had really revealed nothing. It was his way of drawing a precise picture of a man in juxtaposition to the world at the moment. He watched Johnson pause when he saw Boyd and the four girls. He had known exactly where to find them. He used a pillar as a barrier between himself and Boyd.
Booty DeLong saw him, wandered away from the group, pretending to read an arrival-departure panel. She went past Johnson, turned. For a moment the white and black skins showed in contrast like the focal point in a painting by Brueghel. Johnson gave her something and turned away at once, going back toward the 38th Street entrance. Booty tucked something into the big leather bag that hung from her shoulder and drifted back into the little group.
"What was it?" Nick asked.
"I don't know," Hawk replied. "We have an inside man in the civil rights group they both belong to. A college thing. You saw its name in the file. He knew Johnson was coming here but not why." He paused, then added wryly, "Johnson is really smart. He doesn't trust our man."
"Propaganda for the brothers and sisters in Rhodesia?"
"Perhaps. I think, Nicholas, you ought to try to find out."
Nick glanced at his watch. It was two minutes before the time he was supposed to join the group. "Anything else going to happen?"
"That's it, Nick. Sorry there isn't more. If we get anything vital at this end that you must know I'll send a courier. Code word 'biltong' repeated three times."
They stood up, turning their backs at once to the concourse. Hawk's hand gripped Nick's, squeezed his hard arm once below the biceps. Then the older man vanished around the corner into a corridor of offices. Nick went down the escalator.
Nick introduced himself to Boyd, was presented to the girls. He used his light handshake and shy grin. Close up, Gus Boyd looked very fit His tan was not as deep as Nick's, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, and he was efficient "Welcome aboard," he said as Nick let go of Janet Olson s slim, cool hand. "Luggage?"
"Checked to Kennedy."
"Good. Girls, if you'll excuse us a second well just double-clear at the Lufthansa counter. The limousines are waiting outside."
As the clerk riffled through their tickets Boyd said, "Have you worked tours before?"
"With American Express. Once. Many years ago."
"It hasn't changed. These dolls ought to be no trouble. We get eight more at Frankfurt They've been doing Europe. They tell you about em?"
"Yes."
"You know Manny long?"
"No. Just joined the outfit."
"O.K Just follow my leads."
The ticket clerk handed back the package of tickets. "All okay. You didn't have to check in here..."
"I know," Boyd said. "Just being careful."
Booty DeLong and Teddy Northway drew a few steps away from the other two girls as they waited. Teddy murmured, "Wow. Whatta man — Grant! Did you see those shoulders? Where'd they dig up that handsome swinger?"
Booty watched the broad backs of "Andrew Grant" and Boyd go toward the counter. "They dug deeply, maybe." Her green eyes were slightly closed, thoughtful and reflective. The soft curve of her red lips was for a moment very firm, almost hard. "Those two look like finks to me. I hope not. That Andy Grant is just too good to be true. Boyd is more the CIA type. A lightweight who loves the easy life. But Grant is a government man if I ever smelled one."
Teddy giggled. "They do all look alike, don't they? Like the FBI men lined up for the peace parade — remember? But — I don't know, Booty. Grant looks — different"
"Well find out," Booty promised.
The first-class section of the Lufthansa 707 was only half-full. The big season was over. Nick reminded himself that although winter was coming to the United States and Europe, it was ending in Rhodesia. He was chatting with Booty when the group distributed themselves, and it was natural to follow her and take the aisle seat beside her. She seemed to welcome his company. Boyd graciously checked on everyone's comfort, like a bull stewardess, and then joined Janet Olson. Teddy Northway and Ruth Crossman sat together.
First class. Four hundred seventy-eight dollars for this leg of the trip alone. All the fathers must be financially fat. From the corner of his eye he admired the round curve of Booty's cheek and the pert, straight nose. There was no baby fat on her jaw. It was very firm to be so pretty.
Over the beer she asked, "Have you been to Rhodesia before, Andy?"
"No, Gus is the expert." Some girl, he thought. She put her finger right on the catch question. Why send an assistant who didn't know the country? He went on, "I'm along to carry bags and back up Gus. And learn. We re making up more tours into the area and I'll probably handle some of them. It s a bonus for your group, in a way. If you recall — the tour only called for one escort."
Booty's hand holding the glass came to rest on his leg as she leaned toward him. "No complaints. Two good-looking men are better than one any day. Have you been with Edman long?"
Damn the girl! "No. I came over from American Express." Stick to the truth. He wondered if Janet was pumping Boyd so that the girls could compare notes later.
"I love to travel. Although I get a funny little guilt feeling..."
"Why?"
"Look at us. Up here in the lap of luxury. Probably fifty people watching our comfort and safety right now. While down below.." She sighed, drank, the hand came back on his leg. "You know — bombs, murder, hunger, poverty. Don't you ever get that sensation? You escorts live the good life. Fine food. Beautiful women. I've heard all about it"