Free The Hidden Target by Helen MacInnes

She saw Tony frown. In sympathy, she guessed.
    But what worried him was the thought that some trained eye might have seen the way he and Kiley had dropped to the ground just as the bomb was about to explode.
    Kiley ordered scotch for everyone. No expense spared: it was the quickest restorer, raising them all back to normal again. “We’ll lunch here before we get the photographs taken. We’ll cut out the jaunt to Haarlem. Instead, we’ll leave this afternoon. How’s that? You don’t want to stay much longer in Amsterdam, do you?”
    After what had happened? Nina shook her head. “Just one thing, though. It has been bothering me for some time.”
    He waited, suddenly tense. Tony was sitting very still.
    Nina said, “I just can’t go on calling you James. It’s too— too—” She laughed. “It doesn’t sound natural. Too formal for a real American. What shall it be? Jim or Jimmy?”
    “Jim will do.” So I made a small mistake, he thought: I insisted on James. Too formal for a real American... Real? He looked at her sharply, but she was quite oblivious of the scare she had given him. “So we leave today,” he said. “You are ready, Tony?”
    “Any time you say.”
    Nina was looking at the stains on her shirt. Madge needed a change, too. “Let’s not bother about the photographs. We can have them taken later. We don’t need visas right away, do we?”
    “We’ll keep to the arrangements,” Kiley said. The photographer could be trusted: a loyal comrade, knowing what was needed, following instructions and keeping his mouth shut. “Besides, the others are having their pictures taken at this very moment.” Tony rose. “I’d better get over there and tell them about the change in plans. They have gear to collect and stow on board.” He was already half-way to the door.
    “What about his drink?” Madge asked.
    “I guess he didn’t need it,” Kiley said. Tony’s blood pressure must already be high enough. He’ll have to remember to tolerate all the damn silly thoughts about clothes that women find natural. The more they chatter about nitwit topics, the less they’ll discuss anything serious. As for Nina’s outburst against terrorists, that couldn’t be better cover for Tony and me. Who’d expect Nina’s friends to be anything except political dolts like her?
    “We have our own gear to pick up,” Nina remembered. “The bags are at the Alba. That’s nowhere near the garage. So what do we do? Take a taxi?”
    A taxi? With some sharp-eyed driver linking two blondes, the Alba, and the garage? In spite of his own advice to Tony, Kiley drew a long breath to steady his voice. “No. We can stop and pick up your bags on our way out of Amsterdam. Or have you got to pack?” That wouldn’t do at all. The camper waiting, waiting; Tony’s fury unleashed in some savage though apt phrases.
    “A couple of minutes,” Nina assured him. “Just toothbrushes and soap. That’s all.”
    “There’s the bill—” began Madge.
    “I’ll settle it,” Kiley said.
    “We paid six days in advance. So they owe us for two.”
    God give me strength, he thought, and then realised he had called on the name of a deity in whom he didn’t believe. For Christ’s sake... He took a deep draught of the scotch, newly arrived, and choked with sudden laughter. Very American: God and Christ, and two pretty blondes trying to understand and failing. Real enough, Miss Nina?
    “Let’s eat,” he said. “We haven’t time to waste.” And we’ll be out of Amsterdam before the police search reaches garages and courtyards and workshops near the university area. For that barrel organ couldn’t have been pushed for any great distance—too cumbersome. And that little man hadn’t been running blindly. He was headed for his escape route, must have had a car parked safely out of sight. In our garage? Kiley wondered. Always a possibility, considering its owner’s sympathies. Not that a camper, all prepared for a long trip,