Читать книгу The WATERCRESS File - Victor J. Banis - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

Of all the cities in the United States, Jackie thought, pressing his nose against the glass to look out the window, none could be more beautiful to see from the air, at night, than Washington. The pilot had come in low, banking slightly to allow the passengers a full, breathtaking view. The Washington Monument reached up into the sky, looking almost as if it would scrape the underside of the plane. Other monuments, each lighted artfully, were set like jewels in the tapestry of the city. And every where were the lights and color of Washington by night—the streets radiating out from the center, like the spokes of a wheel, creating a brilliant starburst effect.

The stewardess passed, pausing to indicate Jackie’s still unfastened safety belt. He clasped it over his middle and watched as the ground loomed nearer. The landing gear had already descended with a loud thunk and a few minutes later the plane bounced slightly as it came down, touched the ground, and they were braking mightily as they swept down the runway.

As he entered the terminal, Jackie glanced around for Ted Summers, in case he’d beat him there by the special jet. There was no sight of him, and he was about to move on, expecting to find Summers at the baggage area, when a stranger stepped unexpectedly in front of him.

“Mr. Holmes,” the stranger asked, his manner business-like and formal.

“Yes,” Jackie answered, motionless but alert.

“Craig Mathews,” the man said, flicking open his wallet to reveal his identification. “Of the C.I.A.—Summers couldn’t make it, and he thought this might be more down our line anyway.”

“I see,” Jackie answered simply. In a sense, he was disappointed. He had looked forward to an encore with the handsome, masculine Treasury agent with whom he had worked before and who he had managed to bed before their partnership was ended.

On the other hand, he could hardly resent Craig Mathews as a replacement. The C.I.A. agent looked more like an ivy-league student—nut brown hair combed with extreme care in a continental style, a small but apparently well-formed body fitted into a four button suit and tab-collared shirt, with a finger thin tie. Rather a nice piece of homo-work, Jackie decided, something he really wouldn’t mind boning up on.

His survey of Craig Mathews surface charms had taken no more than a second. Now, smiling, he shook Craig’s hand warmly in his own, and started down the hallway, with the agent falling into step beside him.

“New England?” he asked as they walked. He had noted a distinct accent in Craig’s voice.

“Boston,” Craig answered, without embellishment.

He was not, Jackie observed, bubbling over with good cheer.

“I’ll have to get my bag,” Jackie said as they neared the baggage pick up area.

“I’ll have it picked up for you,” Craig Mathews told him, steering him instead toward the exit. Jackie did not like the abrupt, nearly rude way in which he was being handled, but he did not for the moment offer any objections. He remained silent as he followed his companion outside.

As if by magic, a cab appeared in front of them. It was not, Jackie observed, in line with the others that took turns with the fares from the airport, but rather had been parked quite by itself. Efficient, he thought admiringly—in the cab, with another agent driving them, they could talk safely without fear of being overhead by the wrong party. Craig Mathews, Jackie noted, glanced carefully inside as he stooped to enter the cab. He was taking no chances on mistakes.

The cab had begun to move again almost before Jackie was inside. Jackie pulled the door closed and relaxed against the seat. The windows were closed, shutting out the bouyant April air, but he suspected that was deliberate, and did not try to open one.

“Now then,” Mathews said finally. “What’s this about Butterfly?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Jackie answered with a grin. “But I don’t know much myself. For all I can say, it might be just a wild goose chase.”

Carefully and rapidly he explained about the call from Aunt Lily. “It might be nothing,” he repeated. “But with a name as important as Butterfly, I didn’t think it would do to take any chances.”

“You’re probably right,” Mathews agreed, although he was frowning. No doubt, Jackie thought, watching the youthfully handsome agent, he was disappointed. And also uncomfortable—with some reason. If he knew about Jackie, presumably from Summers, he knew Jackie was gay—and made a policy of always getting his man.

“Did you get the address?” Mathews asked of the driver, leaning forward. The driver repeated Aunt Lily’s address correctly. They were already driving in that direction.

They rode for a few blocks in silence. Jackie found himself wishing that his companion would thaw out slightly. Even if he didn’t make the scene with Mathews, it was a shame to see anyone so attractive being so unfriendly.

“You know,” Jackie said aloud finally, determined to break the ice. “I don’t think you like me.”

Mathews did not even look in his direction, nor did the expressionless mask on his face slip at all. “My instructions had nothing to say about liking you,” he said simply.

Jackie winced—it wasn’t a very good beginning, “I suppose you hate faggots,” he said, allowing himself to be a little sarcastic.

Mathews shrugged. “Not particularly. I just prefer to be around my own type, as I’m sure you do as well.”

“On the contrary, I like being around straight men,” Jackie said. “Particularly the Irish type.” With a big smile, he leaned toward the agent and clapped a hand loudly and brazenly on one of Mathew’s legs, halfway between the knee and his nicely rounded crotch.

Mathews jumped as though he had been stuck with a pin. “Cool it,” he snapped angrily, knocking Jackie’s hand off his leg.

Jackie shrugged and folded his hands across his own lap. At least he had broken through that icy facade, which was an accomplishment. In the rear-view mirror, he saw the driver of the car watching the back seat, barely able to suppress his amusement. Jackie winked, and the driver started to chuckle. At the same time, he caught sight of Mathew’s angry face, and swallowed the laugh, choking loudly instead.

Jackie did not attempt anything more in the way of ice-breakers. Better not push his luck too far, he decided, at least not right away. If by chance they were together for a while...well, that might be a different matter. There was no denying that Mathews was attractive. His complexion was inclined to be ruddy, although a faint shadow of freckles could be seen at the bridge of his nose. Beneath thick eyebrows, his wide eyes were a bright Kelly green. His nose, just avoiding being too large, tilted upward at the tip, and his mouth was a sharply etched and wide design above an angular chin. Boyish, handsome, and Irish as County Cork—except for the Mathews name. He made a mental note to ask about that later.

As for Craig’s resentment—well, it was not hard to understand. Jackie had encountered it often enough, as did most homosexuals. Of course, he could have saved himself a certain degree of embarrassment by acting more masculine and less noticeably homosexual. But his effeminate mannerisms were essential, a mask that he wore in public as a part of his job.

Like Mathews, Jackie too was an agent, although not for the United States or any other government. His organization was international, and underground, a highly efficient network of agencies and people, dedicated to a common cause—the protection and advancement of homosexuals. It was called C.A.M.P., and there were few who knew of its existence, although many benefited from its work. Throughout the world, agents of different sections within the organization worked tirelessly—some of them attempting to improve the lot of the homosexual politically, some socially; some worked with medicine and others with the mind.

Jackie’s field was protection, the super police activities necessary to protect and save homosexuals from the dangers of blackmail and violence. He had come to the field young, after an unfortunate experience, and he was one of C.A.M.P.’s top men. Although he appeared to be only an effeminate and probably helpless faggot, small, blond, and comfortably pretty, he was in fact a man of awesome feats and capabilities. His aim with a gun was so perfect that neither he nor anyone else could remember a single shot within the last five years that had not hit its intended target. Although he was slender, he was not at all weak. With a wiry strength that belied his size, and a full understanding of nearly all the arts of self-defense, from judo to karate, from wrestling to sword fighting, he was a match for any adversary.

Craig Mathews, however, could not know any of this, for his files would have little to say about C.A.M.P., and less about Jackie Holmes. Mathews would know only that Jackie was a homosexual, working for a homosexual outfit, and that Ted Summers, the T-man who knew Jackie, had passed on a message and warned that Jackie’s suggestions were not to be taken lightly.

Staring out the window on his own side of the car, Mathews was thinking exactly those thoughts. He did not like the assignment at all, nor his companion. Summers had indicated that Holmes was a sharp individual, but Mathews could see little to admire about the nelly queen sitting next to him. Chances were, fortunately, that there would be little to the assignment.

It was not likely that some zany relative of this fairy’s had actually stumbled upon anything connected with Butterfly, the super-secret, world-wide spy organization that was a source of fear to most of the world governments.

The top agents of two dozen nations, to say nothing of the U.N. and Interpol, were rarely able to come up with any information as to their activities—so although he could not afford to pass up the lead, Mathews had little hope for the outcome. In the meantime, he hoped to hell that the blond faggot next to him would just keep his hands to himself.