When Jim Steele woke up that morning, there was a lovely blonde head that he couldn’t remember, resting on the pillow beside him. Huddled in the adjoining bathroom was a corpse he remembered only too well–for he had snapped the pipestem neck with his own two hands. Hidden in every room of the apartment were dictaphones, recording each whispered murmur. And, having dealt with these matters competently, he was just about to relax–when a contact bomb went off, blowing Kurt Bergen the FBI man into bloody bits.
There you have the take-off for three days in a secret agent’s life–three days which included four murders, a double kidnapping, a disappearance into thin air from the 21st floor of a Manhattan hotel, and a resurrection from the dead.
In 72 hours the subtlest and most dangerous spy ring ever to threaten the United States was broken , and the wisecracking playboy known as Old Doctor Steele was in line for an armful of kudos… and a shiny Congressional Medal.
/Pretty sure this is the second one…