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
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
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