I nodded and leaned back in the chair, trying to wipe the taste of blood out of my mouth. “We had met before,” I said, not committing myself any further.
“You knew who he was,” he insisted.
“Sure. So do you. That’s why I killed him. And don’t ask why I didn’t hold him. I was lucky as it was. I had just picked the lock and got into this room when he came out of the other and if you take a good look at that door you’d see it wasn’t going to be forced easily. Inside there was another exit he could have gotten through if he knew I was here. That bastard knew all the tricks of infighting with knives and guns...”
“Except one,” the field man said.
“What?”
“You nailed him,” he told me.
Randolph’s smile was tight around the edges. “I’m afraid you don’t know our friend very well, Courtney. This is Tiger Mann and when you see his package in the department files it will surprise you. Moscow has him on their ‘A’ list, which makes him a dead boy almost any time at all. He was with the O.S.S. during the war and likes to play spy so much he couldn’t leave well enough alone, so now with the backing of millionaire industrialists who don’t seem to trust their government’s authorized agencies to do a satisfactory job, he gets entangled in everything from espionage to two-bit street brawls for the sake of a buck. I don’t know what he calls himself, but he’s a professional killer with enough power behind him to clean his hands for him but someday he’s going to fall and when he does it will be heard on two continents.”
“Three,” I said. “And don’t hold your breath waiting for it to happen.” I pushed myself out of the chair and got to my feet, the pain in my side giving me hell. “You’re talking too much, Randolph. I’ll be down in the morning to give you a detailed statement.”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I found my hat and picked up my gun. “To see a doctor,” I said. “One who won’t report bullet wounds or knife slashes. Any objections?”
There was just a long moment of silence and Randolph shook his head. He knew I’d be in. I wanted some questions answered too. I got out, went down to the street and walked two blocks before a cab came by. I gave him the number of Rondine’s apartment and settled back against the cushions.
No matter how often I’d see her, this woman I loved so much, she was always a startling surprise, not because of the classic British beauty that radiated from the loveliness of a face framed by shoulder-length auburn hair or a contoured body so magnificent as to be almost unbelievable, but simply because she was there.
For twenty years she had been dead to me. Twenty years ago she had tried to kill me and had, in turn, died herself. Yet here she was. Rondine? No, it’s not really so confusing at all. The first Rondine was her oldest sister who had gone to the Nazis and later to the Soviets. To the Caine family she had never even been born now, and long forgotten except when the memory was dredged up. With me the memory never had died at all. For twenty years I had wanted to kill her and almost did when I found her again. But it wasn’t her at all. It was the youngest sister who had inherited the same peculiar combination of genes and chromosomes to grow into the physical identity of the one forgotten.
To me, though, she was still Rondine. The cover name she had used could never be forgotten, only now it was Edith who used it because I had endowed it in the beginning and this one wore it with all the meaning it was intended to have.
She opened the door, stood there a few seconds and when I said, “Hello, Rondine,” she smiled and held out her hand, throwing the door wide.
Before I walked in she realized something had happened and the smile faded to sudden concern. “Again, Tiger?”
I knew my grin seemed foolish, but it was all I could manage. “Like the ball took a bad hop, kid.”
She tried to make sense out of the slang, got it, and the soft curve of her mouth went grim. “Bad?” With a hand under mine she steered me into the spacious living room and half pushed me into the corner of a sofa.
“I’ll live. You remember Dr. Kirkland?”
“The same one?”
I nodded. “Get him over.”
Without asking more questions she thumbed through the phone book, found a number and dialed it. The conversation was brief, then she hung up and went to the bar, mixing a drink with the unusual efficiency of women handling bottles at three A.M. When she handed me the glass I took a long pull of the whiskey and ginger, then leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
“Can I do anything?”
“No first aid, kid. Kirkland will be here fast enough and I’ve had too many of these things in me to know I’m okay until he comes.”
“Hurt to talk?”
“No.”
“Want to tell me what happened?”
I looked up at her face and saw the serious set to it. There was more in her expression than concern for me. We didn’t have to play games with each other any more at all. She wasn’t the simple U.N. translator she seemed to be, but a well trained operative with a good cover assigned to work under her embassy’s orders. She knew my business too, more than she had a right to know, but there are times when you can’t hide things and have to trust to integrity and understanding and the knowledge that other people can have the same ideals as your own.
I said, “Call Charlie Corbinet and get him here too.”
There was a slight narrowing of her eyes and she knew, all right. This one wasn’t just a street brawl or an accident. It was in the international realm again and it was far from over. Again, without a word, she went to the phone and did as I told her, then picked up my drink and built a new one. When she handed it to me there were tears showing on her cheeks and her lips brushed the back of my hand.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I have to,” I told her.
Dr. Kirkland was painlessly adept at his profession. The bullet had gone through two thicknesses of tough leather of the gun belt, its force slackened, then had sliced sideways into the flesh along my ribs and come to a halt in a bluish welt just under the skin. Both cuts from the knife were more like surgical incisions, the deliberate thrusts having been lost when I twisted out of their way. He finished, gave me a small bottle of capsules to take if things got rough, told me to stop by at the proper intervals and didn’t ask for payment. Martin Grady would foot the bill.
Rondine let me finish dressing before she came out of the bedroom, shaking her head like I was a little kid who didn’t know any better. “You don’t suppose you’re leaving here tonight,” she said.
“Some things won’t wait, doll.”
“Nothing is that important.”
“No?”
“Tiger...”
I reached my hand out and her fingers closed around mine. I said, “All the other things I’ve done... or you’ve been in on... are nothing like this one. If it checks out all of us can be in trouble.” I looked at my watch. Charlie Corbinet was due any second now. “Make like a good secretary and get me one more call in.” I gave her the number and felt the sudden shock run through her hand in a spasm of tension. She had heard me call that number before and knew its implications. Only for a second did she stand there, then reached for the phone. When she dialed it she handed me the instrument silently and started to walk out of the room. “Stay,” I told her.
“You sure you want me to?”
“I’ve seen you kill too,” I reminded her. “This one will take more than me alone.” She nodded, then moved to an armchair and sat down.