Any Minute Now by Eric Van Lustbader Page A

lines. In the ten days we were together, we killed more than two dozen North Vietnamese. He saved my life. And when he got shot in the hip I carried him to safety.”
    Abruptly Hemingway swung back again to impale her with his eyes. “That’s the meaning of friendship, Julie. The meaning of loyalty. The compressed time of war makes for trust, makes for friends for life.”
    Her head bobbed in silent assent.
    â€œI trust you, Julie. I want you to know that.”
    â€œThank you, sir.” Her heart flipped over, thinking of her time screwing King Cutler. Why am I even doing it? she asked herself, although she already knew the answer. Self-esteem had always been a problem for her, no more so than in her sham of a marriage. But had her thought been correct? Did Hemingway know about her betrayal? All at once, she felt dirty, unworthy, humiliated, reactions all too familiar. “I appreciate your candor.”
    â€œLuther St. Vincent. You know him?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say know,” Julie said. “But he’s the head of Directorate N.”
    â€œAnd a fucking pain in my ass, excuse my French.” Hemingway sighed. “Unfortunately, he not only outranks me, but he’s protected by the mandarins on high.” His hands curled into fists. “He’s taken a project away from me. A very important project. I’ve prepared for this contingency with King Cutler. But now I’ve been thinking that isn’t enough. St. Vincent has one weak spot—his bête noire, you could say. I need your help in this matter.”
    â€œAnything, sir. You can count on me.”
    He let his fists subside, so that his hands lay flat on either side of a slim file folder. “Whatever you have planned for tonight, cancel it.”
    â€œI was just going to have dinner, then see a movie.” Actually, Julie had planned to spend the night with Cutler, but that wasn’t going to happen now. She knew it shouldn’t happen ever again, but she felt trapped, too weak to break it off or even walk away.
    â€œGood.” He opened the file, but didn’t glance at it.
    Hemingway’s eyes shifted away from her, looking at nothing, so far as Julie could tell.
    He licked his lips. His face held an expression that made her even more anxious.
    â€œYou ever hear of a place called The Doll House?”
    â€œNo,” she said truthfully. “But I can guess it’s not filled with Barbies and Kens.”
    â€œQuite right.” Hemingway licked his lips again, then cleared his throat. “There’s a person of interest who works there. Pole dancer, occasional lap dancer. She goes by the name of Sydny.” He spelled it out for her. “Real name”—now he did consult the file—“Louise Kapok.” He closed the folder, looked up. “She’s working tonight. Starts at ten, but I want you to be there earlier to get the lay of the land, as it were.” He chuckled as if just now getting the inadvertent double entendre.
    Julie was have difficulty getting over her surprise. “Let me get this straight. You want me to stake out The Doll House?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBut I’m not a trained field agent. Surely you have any number of—”
    â€œI do,” he said, “but I don’t want a field man. I want you to talk to Sydny woman to woman.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œI’ll tell you in a moment,” he said. “I chose you because you report directly to me and this has to stay between the two of us. It’s not an official inquiry, which, as you know, we are forbidden by law to conduct on U.S. soil.” He turned, put the entire file through the shredder beside his desk. “Also I don’t want her spooked.”
    â€œWhy in the world would she be spooked?”
    â€œBecause,” Hemingway said, “one of her best clients is Greg