At last the heavy legs that seemed to belong to some recalcitrant robot took him to broad streets lined with shining pink and blue houses; past the houses and their flowered balconies to the wide business streets; past the statues in a city square; past the small Parisian stores and into a street that gave him a message of comfort and familiarity.
It was impossible to manage the last few steps between the corner and the welcome, open doors of the Majestic. A man could only do so much, and then his poisoned body had to rest or drop...
A shout sounded behind him. It was like the gust of wind that had helped to galvanize him once before. Then huge Senegalese soldiers strode down the sidewalk ahead; he summoned enough strength to dart in front of them, forcing himself to maintain a steady stride so that they remained behind him as a human shield until he reached the hotel doors.
A newspaper was the last thing in the world that he wanted at the moment but he forced himself to stop at the lobby newsstand while he waited to see if anyone came after him. Three lady tourists and a naval officer wandered in. He went upstairs without asking for his key and let himself in with his own door opener. The bed was soft... comfortable... treacherously inviting... Nick turned down the invitation and called Room Service. He paced the floor until the coffee came. Then he double-locked the door and drank and probed his throat with a shaking finger and drank some more and retched. He walked and drank and walked and probed and poured his insides out into the bathroom until a more natural tiredness overtook him. And then, at last, he let himself sit down and rest.
Special Ambassador Nicholas Carter stepped briskly into the Hotel Senegal shortly after the late sunset and the sudden onslaught of dark night, making no attempt to hide or disguise his arrival but not precisely flaunting himself for the benefit of bomb throwers or other possible assassins. He walked across the lobby with the crowd and he waited until his elevator was almost full before he entered it. A laughing young couple got out with him and stopped three doors before his own, partially blocking the view of the watcher at the opposite end of the hallway but giving Nick a chance to see himself being watched.
He rapped the “Lizzie Borden” signal on his door before releasing the two locks — the standard fixture, and his own — and entering, his mind on Hakim and various other people and his hand on Wilhelmina.
Hakim tossed aside his newspaper as Nick entered.
“Ah! The wanderer returns, looking a trifle pale. May I recommend to you a medicinal portion of your very excellent Scotch?”
Nick noticed the glass on the table beside his cross-eyed colleague and he saw that Hakim had been concealing a formidable snub-nosed weapon behind his newspaper. He reset the door locks and nodded enthusiastically.
“You can. You can even pour it. Is the man down the hallway something to do with you, or does he come with the hotel?”
Hakim looked up from his pouring and glanced at Nick sharply with his one good eye. “So he’s still there, is he? No, he’s not mine.”
“But he’s seen you coming and going, huh? Thanks.” Nick swallowed gratefully and lowered himself into an easy chair. “And he knows you have access to the room even when I’m not here?”
“I’m not so sure he does.” Hakim flung himself comfortably into his chair. “I made great play of knocking and being let in by you, and I think I had him fooled until you came back. He must be feeling quite confused by now.”
Nick grinned. “Maybe we ought to give him even more to think about by luring him in here and inviting him to talk. But I doubt if he’s got much to offer.”
Hakim made a face and nodded. “It would be an entertainment, certainly, but he has the look of a rather stupid underling and he may as well stay out there as be replaced by a tougher customer. Perhaps it is best for me to handle him tonight with our other departing friends.” He jerked his evil head in the direction of the closed bathroom. “Unless you think he will make difficulties for you when you leave here again?”
“I’ll manage. Now what about your arrangements for the evening? All set?”
The incredibly ugly face contrived a look even more appalling than usual. “Ah, yesss!” the cockeyed one hissed with hideous glee. “The bodies move tonight!”
Nick raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Of their own volition, no doubt? May I ask...?”
“No, friend, you may not. Evil genius must have its secrets. By the way, I have good news. The grapevine tells me that President Makombe has passed the crisis and shows every sign of making a good recovery.”
“Thank God for that,” Nick said sincerely. “That means we have some hope of cleaning up this mess. But what’s your contact with the grapevine? I thought you weren’t known in these parts?”
Hakim closed his good eye in a mysterious wink and let the other stare up at the ceiling. “I have my methods. Now perhaps instead of asking me all these awkward questions you will tell me how you spent your day and why you look so pale and interesting.”
Nick told him, in brief but vivid detail. Hakim listened with growing interest and made little sucking sounds of appreciation.
“Allah and all his little ones be praised!” he said admiringly. “You must have a head that would bend bullets. But what a pity that we could not call on Honest Abe to raid that stinkhole and flush out all the rats.”
“Yeah, well, the only one who got flushed out was me,” Nick said sourly. Then he smiled reflectively. “I did make one anonymous phone call on my way here — to the local cops. Actually, it wasn’t quite anonymous. I mooed at them hysterically and told them that my name was Madame Sophia and that there’d been a murder at my innocent establishment, the Hop Club. Would they hurry, please, because the murderer was still about and had even attempted an assault on me, Sophia. Then I screamed and hung up rapidly.” Hakim’s fact split into its incongruously attractive grin. “I don’t know what good it’ll do,” Nick concluded, “but at least it should harass them. And a little harassment can sometimes be a very handy thing.”
“I must say you’re a most unusual Ambassador.” Hakim’s tone conveyed both compliment and query. “Is this the way you always conduct your delicate negotiations?”
“We diplomats must be adaptable,” said Nick. “And you’re not my idea of a typical professor. Let’s have another drink.”
They drank to the health of President Julian Makombe, and Nick changed into his evening clothes. He made a small adjustment on his cane, told Hakim to enjoy his evening’s entertainment, and very quietly let himself out into the hallway.
The watcher was no longer at his post.
Nick frowned to himself. It suited him not to have to deal with the man but — where had he gone, and why? Nick’s silent progress down the hall was even more circumspect than usual. But he was still alone when the elevator came, and just as much alone when he stepped into the car.
Except, of course, for the elevator operator.
The doors closed silently behind him and he turned to face the front.
The operator took the car down less than one floor and pressed the stop button. The car shivered to a halt.
“Trouble?” Nick said mildly. But his every sense was tingling and alert.
“Much trouble,” agreed the operator. Something metallic appeared in his hand and he turned to Nick. “The trouble is, you die.” The gun in his hand was equipped with the usual semi-silent silencer.