Free The Death Dealers by Mickey Spillane Page B

plainclothes guard and disappeared in a room.
    He didn’t take long. Dick was right behind him and when he saw me, waved for me to join him. The guard frowned, let us pass inside and I handed the folder over to Dick. “Here’s your boy Malcolm Turos.”
    He pulled out the photos, scanned the information sheet Ernie had clipped to the top one, and grinned. “Let me get these over to the office. I’ll have one of my men rush it. Tell me something ... do the Feds have copies?”
    “Not yet they don’t.”
    “This ought to shake them a little bit.”
    “Now a favor ...”
    “Yeah, I know. You want to meet royalty. If you get the bum’s rush, think up a good lie. There’s a service entrance one reporter already crashed so you can keep me off the hook if you can make it stick. From now on I don’t even know you.” He looked at Harry a second and added, “Your friend okay?”
    “He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”
    “Your funeral, Tiger.” We made a circuitous route around the main section, went in a side door, and there we were with the political wheels nice and painlessly. So far, at least.
    Most of the crowd was grouped at the other end of the room, separating, gradually, into smaller huddles of four and five, plying the trade in international diplomacy already, smiles as bland and false as a snake’s, cocktail glasses in their hands to disguise the fact that it was anything but an affair of state.
    Apparently the reception line had been run and the formal part was over. It was time for pleasantries and subtleties, and in a mob like this one, anything could happen. I told Harry to grab a glass and circulate, but to stay close to Teish or Sarim Shey whom I could see occupying a corner, carrying on an animated conversation with a half dozen dignitaries. Vey Locca was about ten feet away, surrounded by fascinated men of varied ages totally captivated by this charming Oriental broad. Just thinking of her bedding down with Teish was an ugly thought, but in the world of power and money, some women would do anything.
    The latecomers were still being passed through the one door and it was this bunch I picked to follow into the main grouping, trying to figure out a way to get close to the guests of honor without being obstrusive. I knew damn well the place would be loaded with agents and enough knew me by sight to make it rough if I were spotted, so I had to go along on luck. One advantage I had was that I was there, so they’d have to assume I was cleared through by some other authority.
    Two of the new arrivals were on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee followed by a Midwestern senator and a New York councilman. I knew them all and turned aside until they passed. Behind them a distinguished type on the portly side with a square-cut beard and bristling mustache minced along, then a few from the .U.N. I had seen over there stepped in. I dropped right in behind them.
    I thought I had it made until a finger tapped my shoulder and an Oxford-accented voice said, “I say, old boy, you certainly get around, don’t you?”
    I grinned and moved my hand away from the .45. I said, “Talbot, you can get yourself killed awfully fast that way.”
    “Oh, I don’t think you’re the type to go for a public display of that sort, now are you?”
    “You’d be surprised.” I looked at him squarely. “So what’s your angle, kid? One word from you and I’m on my ear.”
    Talbot smiled nicely and patted my arm. “No necessity for that sort of thing.”
    “You’ve been detailed to cover me, haven’t you?”
    “Along with several others, though I didn’t imagine I’d find you here. Really, you’re leading our chaps an amusing race. How do you do it?”
    “It isn’t easy.”
    “Well now. Let’s make it that way. Since I can keep you well under surveillance as long as we’re together I think it might be better if I simply played your game and sort of watched out for things, don’t you think?”
    “Don’t do me