“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
Hawk’s icy stare had approval in it. N3 accepted little on the words of others. Nothing was exhausted until he personally had tried it. That was only one reason why Nick Carter was AXE’s number-one agent. “Our departments are at your complete disposal,” Hawk said. “Get whatever you need. Good luck, Nick.”
Nick was already standing. “I’ll do my best, sir.” He knew the chief never expected any more, or less, than his best.
From AXE’s Special Effects and Editing Department Nick got the two disguises he figured he’d need. One was Chris Wilson, which was merely a matter of clothing, some padding here and there, and a few changes in mannerisms. The other, to be used later, was a bit more complicated. He had everything he needed — clothing and make-up — stored in the secret compartment of his luggage.
At Documents he committed to memory a two-hour, tape-recorded lecture on Chris Wilson’s work at NASA, along with everything personal AXE knew about the man. He received the necessary passport and papers.
By noon a slightly pudgy, bespeckled, new Chris Wilson boarded the Boeing 707, Flight 27, to Orlando, Florida.
CHAPTER TWO
As the plane circled Washington for the turn south, Nick noticed the snow had let up slightly. Patches of blue sky peeked through the clouds, and as the plane gained altitude, his window brightened with sunlight. He settled himself in his seat, and when the No Smoking light went out, he lit one of his cigarettes.
Several things seemed odd about Professor Loo’s defection. For one, why wasn’t the professor taking his family with him? If the Chi Corns were offering him a better life, it seemed logical that he’d want his wife and son to share it with him. Unless, of course, his wife was the reason behind his defection.
Another puzzling thing was how the Chi Corns knew the professor was working on that skin compound. NASA had a strict security system. Everyone who worked for them was screened thoroughly. Yet the Chi Corns knew about the compound, and convinced Professor Loo to perfect it for them. How? What could they offer him that the Americans couldn’t match?
Nick intended to find answers. He also intended to get the professor back. Once the CIA sent their agent to kill the man, it would mean Nick had failed — and Nick had no intention of failing.
Nick had had dealings with defectors before. He found they defected for greed, or they were running from something, or they were running to something. In the case of Professor Loo there could be several reasons. Number one, of course — money. Maybe the Chi Corns promised him a lump-sum deal for the compound. Certainly NASA wasn’t the highest paying outfit around. And everyone can always use a little extra scratch.
Then there were marital troubles. Nick guessed every married man had problems with his marriage at one time or another. Maybe his wife was sleeping around. Maybe the Chi Corns had someone better for him. It could be he was just disgusted with his marriage and this looked like the easiest way out. Two things were important to him— his family and his work. If he felt his family was breaking up, that might be enough to send him over. If not, it was his work. As a scientist, he probably demanded a certain amount of freedom in his work. Maybe the Chi Corns offered unlimited freedom, unlimited facilities. That would be an incentive for any scientist.
The more Killmaster thought about it, the more possibilities cropped up. The relationship the man had with his son; overdue bills and repossession threats; disgust with American political policies. All maybes, perhaps, and probablys.
Of course the Chi Corns could actually be forcing the professor to defect, threatening him in some way. To hell with it, Nick thought. As always, he would play it by ear, using his talents, weapons and brains.
Nick Carter stared at the slow-moving landscape far below his window. He had not slept in forty-eight hours. Using yoga, Nick concentrated on the complete relaxation of his body. His mind remained tuned to his surroundings, but he forced his body to go limp. Every muscle, every fiber, every cell completely relaxed. To anyone watching, he looked like a man in deep slumber, yet his eyes were open, his brain conscious.
But his relaxing was not to be. The stewardess interrupted him.
“Are you all right, Mr. Wilson?” she asked.
“Yes, fine,” Nick said. The muscles in his body tightened again.
“I thought you had fainted. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
She was a lovely creature, almond-eyed, with high cheekbones and rich, full lips. The airline’s liberal uniform policy allowed her blouse to wrap itself tightly around her large protruding breasts. She wore a girdle because it was demanded by all airlines. But Nick doubted if she wore one except while working. She certainly didn’t need it.
The stewardess grew embarrassed under his gaze. Nick’s ego was enough to know that even with thick glasses and a thick middle, he still had an effect on women.
“We’ll be in Orlando soon,” she said, a slight flush in her cheeks.
As she moved down the aisle in front of him, the short skirt revealed long, nicely tapered legs, and Nick blessed short skirts. He thought momentarily of asking her to dinner. But he knew there would be no time. When he had finished his interview with Mrs. Loo, there was a plane to catch for Hong Kong.
At the small airport in Orlando, Nick stored his baggage in a locker, and gave the professor’s home address to a taxi driver. He felt slightly uncomfortable as he settled in the back seat of the taxi. The air was muggy and hot, and although Nick had shed his topcoat, he still wore a heavy suit. And all that padding around his waist didn’t help much, either.
The house sat squeezed between other houses just like it that lined both sides of the block. Because of the heat, sprinklers were going in front of almost every one. The lawns looked well manicured and richly green. Gutter water flowed down both sides of the street, and concrete sidewalks usually white had darkened with wetness from the sprinklers. A short sidewalk ran from the front porch to the curb. As soon as Nick paid the taxi driver, he had a feeling he was being watched. It started with the fine hair bristling on the back of his neck. A slight, prickly chill went through him, then quickly left. Nick faced the house just in time to see a curtain flow back into place. Killmaster knew he was expected.
Nick didn’t particularly care for this interviewing business, especially with housewives. As Hawk had pointed out, she’d already been interviewed and could offer nothing useful.
As Nick approached the door, he fixed his face to reveal his widest, boyish grin. He pushed the bell once. The door opened immediately and he was face-to-face with Mrs. John Loo.
“Mrs. Loo?” Killmaster asked. When he got a short nod, he said, “My name is Chris Wilson. I worked with your husband. I wonder if I might chat with you awhile.”
“Chat?” Her brow wrinkled into a frown.
Nick’s grin remained frozen on his face. “Yes. John and I were good friends. I can’t understand why he would do such a thing.”
“I’ve already talked with someone from NASA.” She made no move to open the door wider or to invite him in.
“Yes,” Nick said. “I’m sure you have.” He could understand her hostility. The husband’s leaving was hard enough on, her without being pestered by CIA, FBI, NASA, and now him. Killmaster felt like the ass he was pretending to be. “If I could just talk to you…” He let the words trail off.
Mrs. Loo sighed deeply. “Very well. Come in.” She opened the door, stepping back slightly.
Once inside, Nick stood awkwardly in the foyer. It was slightly cooler in the house. He had his first real look at Mrs. Loo.
She was short, under five feet. Nick guessed her age to be in the middle or late thirties. Her raven hair lay in thick swirls on top of her head, trying to give an illusion of height but not quite carrying it off. The curves of her body blended into a stout roundness, not thick especially, but heavier than normal. She looked about twenty-five pounds overweight. Her Oriental eyes were her most outstanding feature, and she knew it. They were meticulously made up with just the right amount of liner and shadow. Mrs. Loo wore no lipstick, no other make-up. Her ears were pierced, yet no earrings hung from them.