And bid them at present good b'w'ye;

said impatiently. "They find nothing. And then they search the countryside for half a mile around. And what do they find? Again nothing. So then they know that they have been fooled, and that we are in the town, and will come to search the town." "With the teeth-comb," Mallory murmured. "With the teeth-comb. And what do they find?" Louki paused, then hurried on before anyone could steal his thunder. "Once again, they will find nothing," he said triumphantly. "And why? For by then the rain will have come, the moon will have vanished, the explosives will be hiddenand we will be gone!" "Gone where?" Mallory felt dazed. "Where but to Vygos castle, Major Mallory. Never while night follows day will they think to look for us there!" Mallory looked at him in silence for long seconds without speaking, then turned to Andrea. "Captain Jensen's only made one mistake so far," he murmured. "He picked the wrong man to lead this expedition. Not that it matters anyway. With Louki here on our side, how can we lose?" Mallory lowered his rucksack gently to the earthen roof, straightened and peered up into the darkness, both hands shielding his eyes from the first drizzle of rain. Even from where they stoodon the crumbling roof of the house nearest the fortress on the east side of the squarethe wall stretched fifteen, perhaps twenty feet above their heads; the wickedly out- and down-curving spikes that topped the wall were all but lost in the darkness. "There she is, Dusty," Mallory murmured. "Nothing to it." "Nothin' to it!" Miller was horrified. I'veI've gotta get over that?" "You'd have a ruddy hard time going through it," Mallory answered briefly. He grinned, clapped Miller on the back and prodded the rucksack at his feet. "We chuck this rope up, the hook catches, you shin smartly up" "And bleed to death on those six strands of barbed wire," Miller interrupted. "Lould says they're the biggest barbs he's ever seen." "We'll use the tent for padding," Mallory said soothingly. "I have a very delicate skin, boss," Miller complained. "Nothin' short of a spring mattress" "Well, you've only an hour to find one," Mallory said indifferently. Louki had estimated that it would be at least an hour before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance speed flashes digital cameras to begin a diversion. "Come on, let's cache this stuff and get out of here. We'll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover 'em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we'll have no time to start undoing packs when we get back here." Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance. "This can't be the pack," he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. "Here, wait a minute, though." "What's up, Dusty?" Miller didn't answer immediately. For a few seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened. "The slow-burnin' fuse, boss." His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. "It's gone!" "What!" Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. "It can't be, Dusty, it just can't! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!" "Sure I did, boss," Miller grated. "And then some crawlin' bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again." "Impossible!" Mallory protested. "It's just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksackI saw you do it in the grove this morningand Louki has had it all the time since then. And I'd trust Louki with my life." "So would I, boss." "Maybe we're both wrong," Mallory went on quietly. "Maybe you did miss it out. We're both helluva tired, Dusty." Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. "It's my own fault, boss, my own gawddamned fault." "What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above man, I was there when . . ." Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence. Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygosthey should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn't be down there. Mallory's instructions to him had been explicitto hide the remainder of the T.N.T. blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a

And a broad arrow he let flye,

infatuation Trag! Im not Ballyblind, Killashandra, Trag said in a stern voice, and, if the Elders consider you two self-absorbed to the exclusion of other, more treacherous activities, it is a safeguard, however tenuous. At least while we are still on Optheria. Trag turned to Lars. Once we leave, Lars Dahl, you are in grave jeopardy. Lars nodded and, when Killashandra closed her fingers about his, he smiled down at her. All I need is a half-days start on any pursuit; no one will ever find me in the islands. Trag managed to look skeptical without changing a muscle in his face. Not this time, I think. This time the islanders are to be disciplined to a final and total obedience to the Optherian Council. They have to catch us first, Lars said calmly, although anger flared in his eyes and his fingers tightened on Killashandras. In an abrupt change he shrugged. The threat of wholesale reprisal is scarcely new. Trag has that warrant Killashandra suggested but caught the obstinate set of Larss face. May I remind you, Killashandra, Trag said, that a Federated Council warrant is not a writ one exercises with impunity. If I am forced to use it, Lars, and whoever else it includes, would be charged with your abduction and subject to the authority of the FSP Council. If I dont press charges, once theyre off Optheria If you perjure yourself in a Council Court, Killashandra Ree, not even the Heptite Guild can rescue you from the consequences. I repeat, and listen to me this time. Lars interrupted firmly, jiggling Killashandras arm for her attention, I only need a head start and there isnt a captain on this planet who could catch me. Look, Trag, its not your affair, but if youre willing to disorganize the Conservatory projector, would you consider doing others? There are quite a few two-manual organs on the Mainland. To have two sabotaged will already be a considerable boon, but the more Mainlanders who are freed from subliminal manipulation, the more chance wed all have of surviving until the Federated Council moves. The Elders can blandly puff on about disciplining islanders, but first they have to jizz enough Mainlanders up to the point of a punitive action. Mainlanders are a passive bunch, after so many years of the pap theyve been subjected to. He grinned maliciously. You saw last night which of the three pressures the audience responded to the most Not the martial pride! So, psyching a punitive force up would take time, a clever program, and sufficient audience saturation. digital camera v camcorder The smaller the net the subliminals cast, the longer it will take the Elders to mount any sort of expedition to the islands. Now, and Lars leaned forward urgently, you and Killa have to make a report to the Federated Council? Well, I would find it hard to believe that any Council acts fast. Right? Trag nodded. Speed is determined by the physical threat to the planet involved. Not to the population? Killashandra asked, surprised at Trags emphasis. Trag shook his heavy head. Populations are easy to produce, but habitable planets are relatively scarce. He indicated that Lars should continue. So, your report will be considered, deliberated upon, and then? It may indeed take time, Lars Dahl, but the Federated Council has outlawed the use of subliminal conditioning. There is absolutely no question in my mind that action will be taken against the Optherian Elders. A government which must resort to such means to maintain domestic satisfaction has lost the right to govern. Its Charter will be revoked. Theres no danger that you and Killashandra will be restrained from leaving? Lars asked abruptly. Why should we be? Can they have any suspicion that someone knows that they maintain control by illicit means? Comgail did, Killashandra said, even if he was killed before he could pass on the information. Whoever killed the man must wonder if Comgail had accomplices. Lars shook his head positively. Comgails only contact was Hauness and Hauness didnt reveal that until after Comgails death. I knew that some drastic measure was planned. Not what it was. Tell me, Lars, Trag asked, does any one suspect that you are aware of the subliminals? Lars shook his head vigorously. How? I always pretended the correct responses after concerts. Father didnt warn me until I was sent to the Mainland for my education. His warning was accompanied by a description of the retribution I would suffer, from him as well as the Council, if I ever revealed my knowledge unnecessarily. Lars grinned. You may be sure I told no one Besides your father, who knows? Trag asked. Or dont you know that? Lars nodded. Hauness and his intimates. As a trained hypnotherapist, he caught on to the subliminals but had the sense to keep silent. It is quite possible that others in his profession know it, but if they do, they dont

And he called with furious mood,

lungs well developed from singing opera and crystal. Physically, too, she was immensely fit. She could swim from island to island until she found one that was inhabited, one from which she could be rescued. Unless all the islanders were in on this insidious kidnap scheme. The hazards that she must overcome were only two: lack of water was one, but she felt that she could refresh herself sufficiently from the polly fruit the tree flourished on all the islands she could see. Too, the larger denizens of the sea constituted a real problem. Some of them, cruising beyond her lagoons, looked deadly dangerous, with their pointed, toothy snouts, or their many wire-fine tentacles which seemed to have an affinity for the same yellowback fish she favored. She had spent enough time watching them to know that they generally fed at dawn and dusk. So, if she made her crossings at midday, when they were dormant, she thought she had a fairly good chance to avoid adding herself to their diet. Three weeks on the island was long enough! She had a few of the emergency food packets left and they would be unharmed by a long immersion. Following the directions in her useful little pamphlet, she had made several sturdy lengths of rope from the coarse fiber of the polly tree, with which she could secure the hatchet to her body. Her original clothing was down to shreds which she sewed with lengths of the tough stem into a halter and a loin cloth. By then she had become as tan as her abductor and was forced to use some of the oilier fishes to grease her hide for protection. She would coat herself thoroughly before each leg of her swim to freedom. Having made her decision, Killashandra implemented it the next day at noon, swimming to her first destination in less than an hours time. She rested while she made up her mind which island of the seven visible would be next. She found herself constantly returning to the one farthest north. Well, once there, none were far away if she decided shed overshot the right line to take. She made that island by mid-afternoon, dragging herself up onto the narrow shore, exhausted. Then she discovered some of the weak points in her plans: there werent many ripe polly fruits on the island; and fish wouldnt bite on her hook that evening. Because she found too few fruits, she was exceedingly thirsty by morning and chose her next point of call by the polly population. The channel between was dark blue, deep water, and twice she was startled by dimly seen large shapes moving beneath her. Both times she floated face down, arms discount memory sony digital camera and legs motionless, until the danger summoned by her flailing limbs had passed. She rested on this fourth island all the rest of that day and the next one, replenishing her dehydrated tissues and trying to catch an oily fish. To her dismay, she could only attract the yellowbacks. Eventually she had enough of them to provide some oil for her raddled skin. On her voyage to the fifth island, a fair sized one, she had her worst fright. Despite the suns being at high noon, she found herself in the midst of a school of tiny fish that was being harvested by several mammoth denizens. At one point she was briefly stranded on a creatures flank when it unexpectedly surfaced under her. She didnt know whether to swim furiously for the distant shore or lie motionless, but before she could make a decision the immense body swirled its torpedo tail in the air and sounded. Killashandra was pulled under by the fierce turbulence of its passage, and she swallowed a good deal more water than she liked before she returned to the surface. As soon as she clambered up on the fifth island, she headed for the nearest ripe polly fruit only to discover that she had lost her hatchet, the last packets of emergency rations, and the fish hooks. She slaked her thirst on overripe polly fruit, ignoring the rank taste for the sake of the moisture. That need attended to, she gathered up enough dry fronds to cushion her body, and went to sleep. She woke sometime in the night, thirsting for more of the overripe fruit which she hunted in the dark, cursing as she tripped over debris and fell into bushes, staggering about in her search until she had to admit to herself that her behavior was somewhat bizarre. About the same time she realized that she was drunk! The innocent polly fruit had been fermenting! Given her Ballybran adaptation, the state could only have been allowed by her weakened constitution. Giggling, she lay down on the ground, impervious to sand or discomfort and fell into a second drunken sleep. Much the worse for her various excesses, Killashandra awoke with a ghastly headache and a terrible need for water. Number five was a much larger island than her other way stops and she was searching so diligently to relieve her thirst that she almost passed the little canoe without its registering on her consciousness. It was only a small canoe, pulled up beyond the high tide mark, a paddle angling from the narrow prow. At another time and without her

O'er his white banes, when they are bare,

cracking roar of the flames. "Incendiaries, boss," he announced. "What did you think they were using?" Mallory asked shortly. "Matches? They're trying to smoke us out, to burn us out, get us in the open. High explosive's not so good among trees. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred this would have worked." He coughed as the acrid smoke bit into his lungs, peered up with watering eyes through the tree-tops. "But not this time, not if we're lucky. Not if they hold off another half-minute or so. Just look at that smoke!" Miller looked. Thick, convoluted, shot through with fiery sparks, the rolling cloud was already a third of the way across the gap between grove and cliff, borne uphill by the wandering catspaws from the sea. It was the complete, the perfect smoke-screen. Miller nodded. "Gonna make a break for it, huh, boss?" "There's no choicewe either go, or we stay and get friedor blown into very little bits. Probably both." He raised his voice. "Anybody see what's happening up top?" "Queuing up for another go at us, sir." Brown said lugubriously. "The first bloke's still circling around." "Waiting to see how we break cover. They won't wait long. This is where we take off." He peered uphill through the rolling smoke, but it was too thick, laced his watering eyes until everything was blurred through a misted sheen of tears. There was no saying how far uphill the smoke-bank had reached, and they couldn't afford to wait until they were sure. Stuka pilots had never been renowned for their patience. "Right, everybody!" he shouted. "Fifteen yards along the tree-line to that wash, then straight up into the gorge. Don't stop till you're at least a hundred yards inside. Andrea, you lead the way. Off you go!" He peered through the blinding smoke. "Where's Panayis?" There was no reply. "Panayis!" Mallory called. "Panayis!" "Perhaps he went back for somethin'." Miller had stopped half-turned. "Shall I go " "Get on your way!" Mallory said savagely. "And if anything happens to young Stevens I'll hold you . . ." But Miller, wisely, was already gone, Andrea stumbling and coughing by his side. For a couple of seconds Mallory stood irresolute, then plunged back downhill towards the centre of the grove. Maybe Panayis had gone back for something and he couldn't understand English. kodak dcs 420 digital camera specs Mallory had hardly gone five yards when he was forced to halt and fling his arm up before his face: the heat was searing. Panayis couldn't be down there; no one could have been down there, could have lived for seconds in that furnace. Gasping for air, hair singeing and clothes smouldering with fire, Mallory clawed his way back up the slope, colliding with trees, slipping, falling, then stumbling desperately to his feet again. He ran along to the east end of the wood. No one there. Back to the other end again, towards the wash, almost completely blind now, the super-heated air searing viciously through throat and lungs till he was suffocating, till his breath was. coming in great, whooping, agonised breaths. No sense in waiting longer, nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do except save himself. There was a noise in his ears, the roaring of the flames, the roaring of his own bloodand the screaming, heart-stopping roar of a Stuka in a power-dive. Desperately he flung himself forward over the sliding scree, tumbled and pitched headlong down to the floor of the wash. Hurt or not, he did not know and her did not care. Sobbing aloud for breath, he rose to his feet, forced his aching legs to drive him somehow up the bill. The air was full of the thunder of engines, he knew the entire squadron was coming in to the attack, and then he had flung himself uncaringly to the ground as the first of the high explosive bombs erupted in its concussive blast of smoke and flameerupted not forty yards away, to his left and ahead of him. Ahead of him! Even as he struggled upright again, lurched forward and upward once more, Mallory cursed himself again and again and again. You mad-man, he thought bitterly, confusedly, you damned crazy mad-man. Sending the others out to be killed. He should have thought of itoh, God, he should have thought of it, a five-year-old could have thought of it. Of course Jerry wasn't going to bomb the grove: they had seen the obvious, the inevitable, as quickly as he had, were dive-bombing the pall of smoke between the grove and the cliff! A five-year-old-the earth exploded beneath his feet, a giant hand plucked him up and smashed him to the ground and the darkness closed over him. CHAPTER 12 16001800 Once, twice, half a dozen times, Mallory struggled up from the depths of a black, trance-like stupor and momentarily touched the surface of consciousness only to slide back into the

Robin Hood took his mantle from 's back,

he was injured by the shards or because he had destroyed the manual. That would have only got him sent to rehab. Who is responsible for the subliminal programming? Lars grinned maliciously, My own personal candidate is Ampris; he is musically trained. It wouldnt take musicality to strike notes in the right sequence, Trag said. True, but he knows as much about the organ as every performer must and he became head of the Conservatory about the time the subliminal conditioning started. It began shortly after my father arrived, and he was here to investigate the first request for the revocation of the planet-bound restriction. Then, too, Torkes has always favored the propaganda control of population. But what one Elder does, the others invariably condone. And subliminal conditioning sustains them in their power. Arrange for me to meet your father, Lars Dahl. Lars grinned. His credentials are as suspicious as mine, Guildmember. I doubt we could reach him. In any event, we are here, close to the damning proof of what we suspect. Surely a bird in hand Bird? The word exploded from Killashandra, a result of the tension she felt and a combination of surprise and respect for Larss sterling performance under Trags unnerving scrutiny. Perhaps the analogy is wrong, and Lars shrugged diffidently. Well, Guildmember? Have I my day in court, too? Three more crystals? Trags manner gave no indication of his thoughts. Two more, Killashandra said, if we are using the original key. Trag made a barely audible grunt at that comment before he reached for the next crystal and motioned Lars to place his bracket. Killashandra could not keep her mind entirely on the task at hand for she suddenly realized just how much rested on the truth of the dissidents contentions. Had she indeed allowed a sexual relationship to cloud her judgment? Or favorable first impressions from Nahia, Hauness, and the others to color her thinking? And yet, there was Corish von Mittelstern, and Olav Dahl. Or was that convoluted situation carefully contrived? She might be out on a limb, the saw in her own hand, she thought as she delicately tightened the bracket on the second crystal. She didnt dare look at Lars across the open case as they straightened up. Expressionless as ever, Trag handed Lars the tuning hammer. Lars gave Killashandra a rakish and digital olympus camera repair reassuring grin and then tapped out the sequence: da da da-dum, da da da-dum. For one hideous moment nothing happened and Killashandra felt the last vestige of energy drain from her body with the groan she could not stifle. A groan that was echoed by a muted noise and a slight vibration in the floor. Startled, she and Lars looked down but Trag remained with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Clever! was his comment as the wall sank slowly and, to their intense relief, noiselessly apart from the initial protest. Clever and utterly despicable. As soon as the descending wall reached knee height, Trag swung over it, Lars right behind him. For a heavy man, Trag moved with considerable speed and economy of motion. He did a complete circuit of the room, his eyes sweeping from one side to the other, identifying each bank in the complicated and extensive rack system, and the terminal which activated the units. He completed his circuit at the three heavy cables that provided the interface between the two sets of computers. No one has been in here for some time, he said finally, noting the light coating of dust on the cabinets No need, Guildmember. You may address me as Trag. Lars grinned triumphantly at Killashandra, where she stood, resting her ear against the door panel. Nothing must interfere at this critical moment. Trag. The yearly dose for Optherians occurs shortly before the Festival season begins, and the tourists arrive. All Optherians are given the opportunity and privilege, and Larss voice was mildly scornful, of attending the preliminary concerts for the current years Festival selections. The Mainlanders get their dose then, to keep them contented while the tourists are here. Then, the tourists get theirs, which includes sufficient Optherianisms to prevent them from accepting messages from strangers for posting once they return to their homes. Some dont, you know, having fallen for the vastly superior and secure Optherian natural way of life. Trag dropped his gaze from the fascinating cable. How many escape these conditioning sessions? Not many Mainlanders, though there are a few who independently discovered the subliminal images. Lars turned to Killashandra. Nahia, Hauness, Brassner, and Theach. Over the last ten years, theyve been able to warn those they felt could be trusted. Do the Elders

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

injured man who has to have attention, and at once. We'll take him to safety and then come back for you. Keep the door shut." I was addressing all of them now, but the white-haired man's wrathful spluttering attracted my attention again. "And if you don't shut up and co-operate, you can stay here. If it weren't for us you'd be dead, stiff as a board, in a couple of hours. Maybe you will be yet." I moved up the aisle, followed by Jackstraw. The young man who had been lying on the floor pulled himself on to a seat, and he grinned at me as I passed. "How to win friends and influence people." He had a slow cultured drawl. "I fear you have offended our worthy friend." "I fear I have." I smiled, passed by, then turned. These wide shoulders and large capable hands could be more than useful to us. "How are you feeling?" "Recoverin' rapidly." "You are indeed. You didn't look so good a minute ago." "Just takin' a long count," he said easily. "Can I help?" "That's why I asked," I nodded. "Glad to oblige." He heaved himself to his feet, towering inches above me. The little man in the loud tie and the Glenurquhart jacket gave an anguished sound, like the yelp of an injured puppy. "Careful, Johnny, careful!" The voice, the rich, nasal and rather grating twang, was pure Bowery. "We got our responsibilities, boy, big commitments. We might strain a ligament" "Relax, Solly." The big man patted him soothingly on his bald head. "Just takin' a little walk to clear my head." "Not till you put this parka and pants on first." I'd no time to bother about the eccentricities of little men in loud jackets and louder ties. "You'll need them." "Cold doesn't bother me, friend." "This cold will. Outside that door it's 110 degrees below the temperature of this cabin." I heard a murmur of astonishment from some of the passengers, and the large young man, suddenly thoughtful, took the clothes from Jackstraw. I didn't wait until he had put them on, but went out with Joss. The stewardess was bent low over the injured wireless operator. I pulled her gently to her feet. She offered no resistance, just looked wordlessly at me, the deep brown eyes huge in a face dead-white and strained with shock. She was shivering violently. Her hands were like ice. "You want to die of cold, Miss?" This was no time for digital consepts camera driver soft and sympathetic words, and I knew these girls were trained how to behave in emergencies. "Haven't you got a hat, coat, boots, anything like that?" "Yes." Her voice was dull, almost devoid of life. She was standing alone by the door now, and I could hear the violent rat-a-tat of her elbow as it shook uncontrollably and knocked against the door. "I'll go and get them." Joss scrambled out through the windscreen to get the collapsible stretcher. While we were waiting I went to the exit door behind the flight deck and tried to open it, swinging at it with the back of my fire axe. But it was locked solid. We had the stretcher up and were lashing the wireless operator inside as carefully as we could in these cramped conditions, when the stewardess reappeared. She was wearing her uniform heavy coat now, and high boots. I tossed her a pair of caribou trousers. "Better, but not enough. Put these on." She hesitated, and I added roughly, "We won't look." "I -1 must go and see the passengers." "They're all right. Bit late in thinking about it, aren't you?" "I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't leave him." She looked down at the young man at her feet. "Do youI mean" She broke off, then it came out with a rush. "Is he going to die?" "Probably," I said, and she flinched away as if I had struck her across the face. I hadn't meant to be brutal, just clinical. "We'll do what we can for him. It's not much, I'm afraid." Finally we had him securely lashed to the stretcher, his head cushioned against the shock as best we could. When I got to my feet, the stewardess was just pulling her coat down over the caribou pants. "We're taking him back to our cabin," I said. "We have a sledge below. There's room for another. You could protect his head. Want to come?" "The passengers" she began uncertainly. "They'll be all right." I went back inside the main cabin, closing the door behind me, and handed my torch to the man with the cut brow. The two feeble night or emergency lights that burned inside were poor enough for illumination, worse still for morale. "We're taking the wireless operator and stewardess with us," I explained. "Back in twenty minutes. And if you want to live, just keep this door tight shut."

Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;

ducked low in reflex instinct as a sudden burst of automatic fire whined in murderous ricochet off the boulders before him. He had expected this. It was the old classic infantry attack patternadvance under covering fire, drop, cover your mate and come again. Swiftly Andrea rammed home another charge into the magazine of his Mauser, dropped flat on his face and inched his way along behind the low line of broken rock that extended fifteen or twenty yards to his righthe had chosen his ambush point with careand then petered out. At the far end he pulled his snow hood down to the level of his brows and edged a wary eye round the corner of the rock. Another heavy burst of automatic fire smashed into the boulders he had just left, and half a dozen men three from either end of the linebroke cover, scurried along the slope in a stumbling, crouching run, then pitched forward into the snow again. Along the slope the two parties had run in opposite directions. Andrea lowered his head and rubbed the back of a massive hand across the stubbled grizzle of his chin. Awkward, damned awkward. No frontal attack for the foxes of the W.G.B. They were extending their lines on either side, the points hooking round in a great, encircling halfmoon. Bad enough for himself, but he could have coped with thata carefully reconnoitred escape gully wound up the slope behind him. But he hadn't foreseen what was obviously going to happen: the curving crescent of line to the west was going to- sweep across the rock-shelter where the others lay hidden. Andrea twisted over on his back and looked up at the evening sky. It was darkening by the moment, darkening with the gloom of coming snow, and daylight was beginning to fail. He twisted again and looked across the great swelling shoulder of Mount Kostos, looked at the few scattered rocks and shallow depressions that barely dimpled the smooth convexity of the slope. He took a second quick look round the rock as the rifles of the W.G.B. opened up once more, saw the same encircling manoeuvre being executed again, and waited no longer. Firing blindly downhill, he half-rose to his feet and flung himself out into the open, finger squeezing on the trigger, feet driving desperately into the frozen snow as he launched himself towards the nearest -rock-cover, forty yards away if an inch. Thirty-five yards to go, thirty, twenty and still not a shot fired, a slip, a stumble on the sliding scree, a catlike recovery, ten yards, still miraculously immune, and then he had dived into shelter to land on chest fastest picture taking digital camera and stomach with a sickening impact that struck cruelly into his ribs and emptied his lungs with an explosive gasp. Fighting for breath, he struck the magazine cover, rammed home another charge, risked a quick peep over the top of the rock and catapulted himself to his feet again, all inside ten seconds. The Mauser held across his body opened up again, firing downhill at vicious random, for Andrea had eyes only for the smoothly-treacherous ground at his feet, for the scree-lined depression so impossibly far ahead. And then the Mauser was empty, useless in his hand, and every gun far below had opened up, the shells whistling above his head or blinding him with spurting gouts of snow as they ricochetted off the solid rock. But twilight was touching the hills, Andrea was only a blur, a swiftly-flitting blur against a ghostly background, and uphill accuracy was notoriously difficult at any time. Even so, the massed fire from below was steadying and converging, and Andrea waited no longer. Unseen hands plucking wickedly at the flying tails of his snow-smock, he flung himself almost horizontally forward and slid the last ten feet face down into the waiting depression. Stretched full length on his back in the hollow, Andrea fished out a steel mirror from his breast pocket and held it gingerly above his head. At first he could see nothing, for the darkness was deeper below and the mirror misted from the warmth of his body. And then the film vanished in the chill mountain air and he could see two, three and then half a dozen men breaking cover, heading at a clumsy run straight up the face of the hilland two of them had come from the extreme right of the line. Andrea lowered the mirror and relaxed with a long sigh of relief, eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked up at the sky, blinked as the first feathery flakes of falling snow melted on his eyelids and smiled again. Almost lazily he brought out another charger for the Mauser, fed more shells into the magazine. "Boss?" Miller's voice was plaintive. "Yes? What is it?" Mallory brushed some snow off his face and the collar of his smock and peered into the white darkness ahead. "Boss, when you were in school did you ever read any stories about folks gettin' lost in a snowstorm and wanderin' round and round in circles for days?" "We had exactly the same book in Queenstown," Mallory conceded.

That gentlemen do make the merchant rise,

This is a Bellemere, but its too sour for me. The best beer in the galaxy is a Yarran brew. Yarran? She regarded Corish with keener interest. If Corish came from Beta Jungische, he was a long way from a regular supply of Yarran beer. Killashandras curiosity rustled awake. The Yarran brewmasters have no peers. Surely your brother has mentioned Yarran beer? Well, now, its possible that he has, Killashandra said slowly, as if searching her memory. But then, he told me so much that I cant remember half. She was about to giggle again and then decided that, not only did her giggle nauseate herself but it might repel Corish and she wanted to satisfy this flicker of curiosity about him. Why are you traveling to Optheria? Family business, sort of. An uncle of mine went for a visit and decided to become a citizen. We need his signature on some family papers. Weve written several times and had no reply. Now, he could be dead but I have to have the proper certification if he is, and his print and fist on the documents if he isnt. And you have to come all the way from Beta Jungische for that? Well, theres a lot of credit involved and this isnt a bad way to go. He enscribed a half circle with his beaker, including the ship as well as the dancers, and smiled at Killashandra over the rim as he sipped. This Pilsners not all that bad, really. What have you there? She went along with Corishs adroit change of subject and with the beer sampling. Although singing crystal brought with it an inexhaustible ability to metabolize alcohol without noticeable affect, she feigned the symptoms of intoxication as she confided her fake history to the Jungian, whenever necessary embellishing her actual experiences at the Arts Complex. Thus Corish learned that she was a keyboard specialist, in her final year of training, with high hopes that the Optherian Festival would provide her with sufficient data for an honors recommendation. She had credentials of sufficiently high caliber to gain entrance into the Federal Music Conservatory on Optheria where she hoped shed be allowed to play on an Optherian organ. An hour is all I need, she told Corish, blinking in her simulation of advancing inebriation, for the purposes of my dissertation. From what I hear about their precious organ, youd be lucky to get within spitting distance. Even half an hour. I hear that only underwater digital cameras for sale Federal licensed musicians are allowed in the organ loft. Well, theyll have to make an exception in my case because I have a special letter from Fuertes President hes a friend of my familys. And a sealed note from Stellar Performer Dalkay Mogorog She paused deferentially at the mention of that august personality, who was evidently unknown to Corish, and Im sure theyll concede. Even fifteen minutes? she asked as Corish continued to shake his head. Well, theyll just have to! I havent come all this way to be refused. Im a serious student of keyboard instruments. I won a scholarship to the Federated Sentient Planets Conservatory on Terra. Ive been permitted to play on a Moartian clavier, a Handelian spinet, Purcells harpsichord, a Bach organ, and a Beethoven pianaforte and She hiccuped to mask the fact that she was running out of prestigious composers and instruments. So? Which beer do you prefer now? Huh? Corish solicitously conducted her to her cabin and arranged her on her bunk. As he drew a light blanket over her, she felt the static leap from her shoulder to his hands. He hesitated briefly, then quietly left. As Killashandra gave him time to leave her passage-way, she reviewed her performance and decided that she hadnt dropped from character, even if he had. It was rather nice of him, too, not to have taken advantage of her. When she felt secure, she slipped from her cabin and down to the gymnasium level. At that hour, it was empty and she enjoyed an hours luxuriating in the radiant fluid. They met the next morning at the breakfast hour, Corish solicitously inquiring after her health. Did I fall asleep on you? she asked with wide-eyed dismay. Not at all. I just saw to it that you were safely in your own cabin before you did. Critically, she held her hands out in front of her. Wel1, at least, theyre steady enough to practice. Youre going to practice? I practice every day. May I listen Well it can be quite boring I have to spend at least an hour on the preliminary finger exercises and scales before I can do any interesting music If Im

By February you may find the skins

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they Of garter snakes and water moccasins imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

O I hae killed my fadir deir,

slumbered under that placid exterior. Had we met an unarmed Smallwood and Corazzini then, I do not think we would have stopped short of killing him with our hands. I suppose, too, that we were all three of us exhausted as we had never been before, frost-bitten, bleeding, thirsty and steadily weakening from lack of food. I say 'suppose', because logic and reason tell me that these things must have been so. But if they were I do not think they touched the minds of any of us that night. We were no longer ourselves, we were outside ourselves. Our bodies were but machines to serve the demands of our minds, and our minds so consumed with anxiety and anger that there was no place left for any further thought. We were following the tractor. We could, I suppose, have turned back in the hope of stumbling across Hillcrest and his men. I knew Hillcrest well enough to know that he would know that those who had taken over our tractorhe had no means of knowing who they were, for all he knew Zagero might have suddenly overpowered uswould never dare make for Uplavnik but would almost certainly head for the coast. The likelihood was that Hillcrest, too, would head for the Kangalak fjordtogether with a small bay beside it, the Kangalak fjord was the only break, the only likely rendezvous in a hundred miles of cliff-bound coastand he could go there arrow-straight: on board his Sno-Cat he had a test prototype of a new, compact and as yet unmarketed Arma gyroscope specially designed for land use which had proved to have such astonishing accuracy that navigation on the ice-cap, as a problem, had ceased to exist for him. But, even should he be heading towards the coast, our chances of meeting him in that blizzard did not exist, and if we once passed them by we would have been lost for ever. Better by far to head for the coast, where some patrolling ship or plane might just possibly pick us upif we ever got there. Besides, I knew that both Jackstraw and Zagero felt exactly as I didunder a pointless but overpowering compulsion to follow Smallwood and Corazzini until'we dropped in our tracks. And the truth was that we couldn't have gone any other way even had we wished to. When Smallwood had dropped us off we had been fairly into the steadily deepening depression in the ice-cap that wound down to the Kangalak glacier and it was a perfect drainage channel for the katabatic wind that was pouring down off the plateau. Although powerful enough already when we had been abandoned, that wind was now blowing with the force of a full gale, mercury cyberpix digital camera and for the first time on the Greenland ice-plateaualthough we were now, admittedly, down to a level of 1500 feet -1 heard a wind where the deep ululating moaning was completely absent. It howled, instead, howled and shrieked like a hurricane in the upper works and rigging of a ship, and it carried with it a numbing bruising flying wall of snow and ice against which progress would have been utterly impossible. So we went the only way we could, with the lash of the storm ever on our bent and aching backs. And ache our backs did. Only three peopleZagero, Jackstraw and myselfwere able to carry anything more than their own weight: and we had among us three people completely unable to walk. Mahler was still unconscious, still in coma, but I didn't think we would have him with us very much longer: Zagero carried him for hour after endless hour through that white nightmare and for his self-sacrifice he paid the cruellest price of all for when, some hours later, I examined the frozen, useless appendages that had once been his hands, I knew that Johnny Zagero would never step into a boxing ring again. Marie LeGarde had lost consciousness too, and as I staggered along with her in my arms I felt it to be no more than a wasted token gesture: without shelter, and shelter soon, she would never see this night out. Helene, too, had collapsed within an hour of the tractor's disappearance, her slender strength had just given out, and Jackstraw had her over his shoulder. How all three of us, exhausted, starved, numbed almost to death as we were, managed to carry them for so long, even though with so many halts, is beyond my understanding: but Zagero had his strength, Jackstraw his superb fitness and I still the sense of responsibility that carried me on long hours after my legs and arms had given out. Behind us Senator Brewster blundered along in a blind world all of his own, stumbling often, falling occasionally but always pushing himself up and staggering gamely on. And in those few hours Hoffman Brewster, for me, ceased to be a senator and became again my earliest conception of the old Dixie Colonel, not the proud, rather overbearing aristocrat but the embodiment of a bygone southern chivalry, when courtesy and a splendid gallantry in the greatest perils and hardships were so routine as to excite no comment. Time and time again during that .bitter night be insisted, forcibly insisted, on relieving one of

The King then said to Earl Marischal,

off. Itll blow itself out over the ocean as usual. You only get our storms when they make up in the Broad, not from this far south. So, Killashandra thought, she was in the southern hemisphere of Optheria, which explained the switch in seasons. And it explained why this group felt themselves secure from Mainland intervention and searches. Even with the primitive jet vehicles, an enormous distance could be traversed in a relatively short time. It struck Killashandra that if Nahia, Hauness, and the others could travel so far, so could the Elders, especially if they wanted to implicate islanders. Or was that just talk? If, as Lars had admitted, Torkes had set him up to assault her in order to verify her identity and was using that assault now to implicate the islanders, would it not be logical to assume that some foray into the islands would be made by officialdom? If only to preserve their fiction? Killashandra closed her mouth on this theory for she had gleaned it from information she had overhead surreptitiously. Well, shed find a way to warn Lars, for she had a sudden premonition that a warning was in order. From what she had seen of the Elders, reapplying to the Guild would be a humiliating embarrassment to their sort of bureaucracy. Unless and Killashandra smiled to herself they took the line that Killashandra Ree had not arrived as scheduled. How tidy it could be made, the Elders able to suppress any reference to the reception in her honor. However, Lanzecki would know that she had gone, and know, too, that she would not have evaded the responsibility she had accepted. And there would be computer evidence of her arrival even the Elders would have a hard time suppressing that sort of trail mark. Not to mention her use of the credit outlet on Angel. This could be very interesting! She must have dozed off, for the couch had been comfortable, the days unusual exercise exhausting, and watching the weather screen soporific. It was the lack of storm noise that woke her. And a curious singing in her body which was her symbionts reaction to drastic weather changes. A quick glance at the screen showed her that the eye of the storm was presently over Angel Island. She rubbed at her arms and legs, sure that the vibration she felt might be discernible. However, Nahia had curled up on the end of the long couch, Hauness, one arm across her shoulders, was also asleep, head back against the cushions. Theach was still diddling, but Erutown and Lars were absent. She heard voices and steps on the circular stair digital camera lumix dmc-lz7 and made a dash for the toilet. She distinguished Larss distinctive laugh, a bass rumble from his father, and a grunt that could be Erutown, and some other voices. Until the eye had passed and the symbiont had quieted, Killashandra wanted to avoid everyone, especially Lars. Carrigana? Lars called. Then she heard him approach the toilet and rap on the door. Carrigana? Would you mind fixing some hungry storm watchers more of those excellent sandwiches? Under ordinary circumstances, Killashandra would have had a tart rejoinder but catering would solve the more immediate problem. Just a moment. She splashed water on her face, smoothed back her hair, and regarded the blossoms about her neck. Strangely enough they were not dead, their petals were still fresh despite the creasing. Their fragrance scented her fingers as she opened the crushed flowers and spread them back into their original shapes. When she opened the door, Nahia and Hauness were making their way toward the catering area. They only want to talk weather, Nahia said with a smile. Well help you. The others did talk weather, but on the comunits to other islands, checking on storm damages and injuries, finding out what supplies would be required, and which island could best supply the needs. The three caterers served soup, a basic stew, and high-protein biscuits. In the company of Nahia and Hauness, the work was more pleasant than Killashandra would have believed. She had never met their likes before and realized that she probably never would again. The respite at the storms eye was all too brief, and soon the hurricane was more frightening in its renewed violence. Though it was a zephyr in comparison to Ballybran turbulence, Killashandra rated it a respectable storm, and slept through the rest of it. A touch on her shoulder woke her, a light touch that was then repeated and her shoulder held in a brief clasp. That was enough to bring Killashandra to full awareness and she looked up at Nahias perplexed expression. Killashandra smiled reassuringly, attempting to pass off the storm resonance still coursing through her body. As Lars was draped against her, she moved cautiously to a sitting position and took the steaming cup from Nahia with quiet thanks. Killashandra wondered how the man had been able to sleep with her body buzzing. Other storm watchers had disposed themselves for sleep about the room. Outside a hard rain

"O hold thy hand, hold thy hand," said Robin then,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they "And shoot not thy arrows so keen; imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

But I, being fond of true philosophy,

in the residence? Why, yes, Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. Im not usually so easily upset, citizens. Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olavs hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olavs right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkess retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners ears. The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly fruit, pulp, and heart was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish. From the way in which Torkess officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they werent used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentroms dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains did. When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded. Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl? On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I dont normally pass by for its a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset. Do you have this islet marked on your charts? Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner. Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off camera canon digital sd750 elph powershot as he had her? As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position. You keep a log? Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible seamanship. Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement. Torkes returned to his meal. What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master? Killashandra asked, indicating the smacker. Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember, and Olav launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland. With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished. Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that now was the time to show him the islet. We can call up the information right here, Olav said, going to the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape above slid to one side exposing a large screen. Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly upward, and in another adjustment, magnified the chosen islet, complete with its protecting reefs, quite isolated from other blobs of polly-treed islands. Here, Elder Torkes, is where I discovered the Guild-member. Fortunately, whoever abandoned her left her where there is a good fresh spring. He now magnified the islet so that its topographical features were apparent. Id a bit of a shelter on the height, Killashandra said. Here, Lars agreed and pointed. And mercifully I was high enough there to be out of reach of the hurricane tides just barely I fished in this lagoon, and swam, there, too, because the larger things couldnt pass over the reef. But, as you can see, gentlemen, I could not

As if they had been threshing of corn.

out everything. I was trembling violently, and although Corazzini must have noticed it he affected not to. He stepped forward and handed me the Beretta, butt first. "You're a mite careless about where you stow your armoury, Doc. I've known for a long time where you kept this. But I guess it may have been fairly useful these last few minutes." "Butbut why-?" "Because I've got a damned good job and a chair behind a vice-president's desk waiting for me in Glasgow," he snapped. "I'd appreciate the chance to sit in that chair some day." Without another word, he turned away. I knew what he meant, all right. I knew we owed him our lives. Corazzini was as convinced as I that someone had engineered the whole thing. It didn't require any thought at all to guess who that someone was. My first thought was for Jackstraw. Jackstraw with a broken arm was going to make things very difficult for me: it might well make things quite impossible. But when I'd worked his parka off it required only one glance at the unnatural twist of the left arm to see that though Jackstraw had had every excuse for thinking his arm gone, it was, in fact, an elbow dislocation. He made no murmur and his face remained quite expressionless as I manipulated the bone back into the socket, but the wide white grin that cracked his face immediately afterwards was proof enough of his feelings. I walked over to where Helene Fleming sat on the sledge, still shaking from the shock, Mrs Dansby-Gregg and Margaret Ross doing their best to soothe her. The uncharitable thought struck me that it was probably the first time that Mrs Dansby-Gregg had ever tried to soothe anyone, but I was almost ashamed of the thought as soon as it had occurred to me. "That was a close call, young lady," I said to Helene. "But all's well.. . . Any more bones broken, eh?" I tried to speak jocularly, but it didn't sound very convincing. "No, Dr Mason." She gave a long shuddering sigh. "I don't know how to thank you and Mr Nielsen" "Don't try," I advised. "Who pushed you?" "What?" She stared at me. "You heard, Helene. Who did it?" "Yes, I -1 was pushed," she murmured reluctantly. "But it was an accident, I know it was." "Who?" I persisted. "It was me," Solly Levin put in. He was twisting his hands nervously. "Like the lady canon eos digital camera refurbished body said, Doc, it was an accident. I guess I kinda stumbled. Someone tapped my heels and" "Who tapped your heels?" "For cryin' out loud!" I'd made no attempt to hide the cold disbelief in my voice. "What would I want to do a thing like that for?" "Suppose you tell me," I said, and turned away, leaving him to stare after me. Zagero stepped in my way, but I brushed roughly past him and went up towards the tractor. On the sled behind I saw the Rev. Smallwood sitting nursing a bleeding mouth. Corazzini was apologising to him. "I'm sorry, Reverend, I'm really and truly sorry. I didn't for a moment think you were one of them, but I couldn't afford to take any chances back there. I hope you understand, Mr Smallwood." Mr Smallwood did, and was suitably Christian and forgiving. But I didn't wait to hear the end of it. I wanted to get through the Vindeby Nunataks, and get through with as little loss of time as possible, preferably before it became dark. There was something that I knew now that I had to do, and as soon as possible: but I didn't want to do it while we were all teetering on the edge of that damned crevasse. We were through without further incident and at the head of that long almost imperceptible slope that fell away for thousands of feet towards the ice-bare rocks of the Greenland coast, before the last of the noon twilight had faded from the sky. I halted the tractor, spoke briefly to Jackstraw, told Margaret Ross to start thawing out some corned beef for our belated mid-day meal, and had just seen Mahler, now semi-conscious, and Marie LeGarde once again safely ensconced in the tractor cabin when Margaret Ross came up to me, her brown eyes troubled. "The tins, Dr Masonthe corned beef. I can't find them." "What's that? The bully? They can't be far away, Margaret." It was the first time I'd called her that, but my thoughts had been fixed exclusively on something else, and it wasn't until I saw the slight smile touching her lipsif she was displeased she was hiding it quite wellthat I realised what I had said. I didn't care, it was worth it, it was the first time I had ever seen her smile, and it transformed her rather plain facebut I told my heart that there was a time and a place for somersaults, and this wasn't it. "Come on, let's have a look." We looked, and we found nothing. The tins were gone all

He went laughing all the way.

friend was not alone." Mallory tightened his lips, mentally cursed himself for his obtuseness. VoicesDusty had said there had been voices. Must be even more tired than he had thought. . . . A tall, lean man blocked the entrance to the doorway. His face was shadowed under an enveloping snow-hood, but there was no mistaking the gun in his hand. A short Lee Enfleld rifle, Mallory noted dispassionately. "Do not shoot!" The little man spoke rapidly in Greek. "I am almost sure that they are those whom we seek, Panayis." Panayis! Mallory felt the wave of relief wash over him. That was one of the names Eugene Viachos had given him,. back in Alexandria. "The tables turned, are they not?" The little man smiled at Mallory, the tired eyes crinkling, the heavy black moustache lifting engagingly at one corner. "I ask you again, who are you?" - "S.O.E.," Mallory answered unhesitatingly. The man nodded in satisfaction. "Captain Jensen sent you?" Mallory sank back on the bunk and sighed in long relief. "We are among friends, Dusty." He looked at the little man before him. "You must be Loukithe first plane tree in the square in Margaritha?" The little man beamed. He bowed, stretched out his hand. "Louki. At your service, sir." "And this, of course, is Panayis?" The tall man in the doorway, dark, saturnine, unsmiling, inclined his head briefly but said nothing. "You have us right!" The little man was beaming with delight. "Louki and Panayis. They know about us in Alexandria and Cairo, then?" he asked proudly. "Of course!" Mallory smothered a smile. "They spoke highly of you. You have been of great help to the Allies before." "And we will again," Louki said briskly. "Come, we are wasting time. The Germans are on the hills. What help can we give you?" "Food, Louki. We need foodwe need it badly." "We have it!" Proudly, Louki gestured at the rucksacks. "We were on our way up with it." "You were on your way. . . ." Mallory was astonished. "How did you know where we wereor even that we were on the island?" Louki waved a deprecating hand. "It was easy. Since first light German troops have been moving south through Margaritha up into the hills. All morning learn about digital cameras they combed the east col of Kostos. We knew someone must have landed, and that the Germans had blocked the cliff path on the south coast, at both ends. So you must have come over the west col. They would not expect thatyou fooled them. So we came to find you." - "But you would never have found us" "We would have found you." There was complete certainty in the voice. "Panayis and Iwe know every stone, every blade of grass in Navarone." Louki shivered suddenly, stared out bleakly through the swirling snow. "You couldn't have picked worse weather." "We couldn't have picked better," Mallory said grimly. "Last night, yes," Lould agreed. "No one would expect you in that wind and rain. No one would hear the aircraft or even dream that you would try to jump" "We came by sea," Miller interrupted. He waved a negligent hand. "We climbed the south cliff." "What? The south cliff!" Louki was frankly disbelieving. "No one could climb the south cliff. It is impossible!" "That's the way we felt when we were about half-way up," Mallory said candidly. "But Dusty, here, is right. That's how it was." Louki had taken a step back: his face was expressionless. "I say it is impossible," he repeated flatly. "He is telling the truth, Louki," Miller cut in quietly. "Do you never read newspapers?" "Of course I read newspapers!" Louki bristled with indignation. "Do you think I amhow you sayilliterate?" "Then think back to just before the war," Miller advised. "Think of mountaineerin'and the Himalayas. You must have seen his picture in the papersonce, twice, a hundred times." He- looked at Mallory consideringly. "Only he was a little prettier in those days. You must remember. This is Mallory, Keith Mallory of New Zealand." Mallory said nothing. He was watching Louki, the puzzlement, the ?omical screwing up of the eyes, head cocked to one side: then, all at once, something clicked in the little man's memory and his face lit up in a great, crinkling smile that swamped every last trace of suspicion. He stepped forward, hand outstretched in we!come. "By heaven, you are- right! Mallory! Of course I know Mallory!" He grabbed Mallory's hand, pumped it up and down with great enthusiasm. "It is indeed as the American says. You need a shave. . . . And

Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,

Schmeisser would tear him in half before he could cover the distance. But he would try. He must try. It was the least he owed to Andrea. Skoda reached the back of the table, opened a drawer and lifted out a gun. An automatic, Mallory noted with detachmenta little, blue-metal, snub-nosed toybut a murderous toy, the kind of gun he would have expected Skoda to have. Unhurriedly Skoda pressed the release button, checked the magazine, snapped it home with the palm of his hand, ificked off the safety catch and looked up at Mallory. The eyes hadn't altered in the slightestthey were cold, dark and empty as ever. Mallory ificked a glance at Andrea and tensed himself for one convulsive fling backwards. Here it comes, he thought savagely, this is how bloody fools like Keith Mallory dieand then all of a sudden, and unknowingly, he relaxed, for his eyes were still on Andrea and he had seen Andrea doing the same, the huge hand slipping down unconcernedly from the neck, empty of any sign of knife. There was a scuffle at the table and Mallory was just in time to see Turzig pin Skoda's gun-hand to the tabletop. "Not that, sir!" Turzig begged. "For God's sake, not that way!" "Take your hands away," Skoda whispered. The staring, empty eyes never left Mallory's face. "Take your hands away, I sayunless you -want to go the same way as Captain Mallory." "You can't kill him, sir!" Turzig persisted doggedly. "You just can't. Herr Kommandant's orders were very clear, Hauptmann Skoda. The leader must be brought to him alive." "He was shot while trying to escape," Skoda said thickly. "It's no good." Turzig shook his head. "We can't kill them alland the other prisoners would talk." He released his grip on Skoda's hands. "Alive, Herr Kommandant said, but he didn't say how much alive." He lowered his voice confidentially. "Perhaps we may have some difficulty in making Captain Mallory talk," he suggested. "What? What did you say?" Abruptly the death's head smile flashed once more, and Skoda was completely on balance again. "You are over-zealous, Lieutenant Remind me to speak to you about it some time. You underestimate me: that was exactly what I was trying to dofrighten Mallory into talking. And now you've spoilt it all." The smile was still on his face, the voice light, almost bantering, but Mallory was under no fflusions. He owed his life to the young W.G.B. lieutenanthow easily one could respect, form a friendship with a man like Turzig if it weren't for this damned, refurbished mark canon camera digital crazy war. . . . Skoda was standing in front of him again: he had left his gun on the table. "But enough of this fooling, eh, Captain Mallory?" The German's teeth fairly gleamed in the bright light from the naked lamps overhead. "We haven't all night, have we?" Mallory looked at him, then turned away in silence. It was warm enough, stuffy almost, in that little guardroom, but he was conscious of a sudden, nameless chili; he knew all at once, without knowing why, but with complete certainty, that this little man before him was utterly evil. 'Well, well, well, we are not quite so talkative now, are we, my friend?" He hummed a little to himself, looked up abruptly, the smile broader than ever. "Where are the explosives, Captain Mallory?" "Explosives?" Mallory lifted an interrogatory eyebrow. "I don't know what you are talking about." "You don't remember, eh?" "I don't know what you are talking about." "So." Skoda hummed to himself again and walked over in front of Miller. "And what about you, my Mend?" "Sure I remember," Miller said easily. "The captain's got it all wrong." "A sensible man!" Skoda purredbut Mallory could have sworn to an undertone of disappointment in the voice. "Proceed, my friend." "Captain Mallory has no eye for detail," Miller drawled. "I was with him that day. He is malignin' a noble bird. It was a vulture, not a buzzard." Just for a second Skoda's smile slipped, then it was back again, as rigidly fixed and lifeless as if it had beeii painted on. "Very, very witty men, don't you think, Turzig? What the British would call music-hall comedians. Let them laugh while they may, until the hangman's noose begins to tighten. . . ." He looked at Casey Brown. "Perhaps you" "Why don't you go and take a running jump to yourself?" Brown growled. "A running jump? The idiom escapes me, but I fear it is hardly complimentary." Skoda selected a cigarette from a thin case, tapped it thoughtfully on a thumb nail. "Hmm. Not just what one might call too co-operative, Lieutenant Turzig." "You won't get these men to talk, sir." There was quiet finality in Turzig's voice. "Possibly not, possibly not." Skoda was quite unruffled. "Nevertheless, I shall have the information I want, and within five

To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid;

and stay there, Casey, will you? Stay by the window. Leave the frontt door unlocked. If we have any visitors, let them in." "Club 'em, knife 'em, no guns," Brown murmured. "Is that it, sir?" "That's it, Casey." . "Just leave this little thing to me," Brown said grimly. He hobbled away through the doorway. Mallory turned to Andrea. "I make it twenty-three minutes." "I, too. Twenty-three minutes to nine." "Good luck," Mallory murmured. He grinned at Miller. "Come on, Dusty. Opening time." Five minutes later, Mallory and Miller were seated in a taverna just off the south side of the town square. Despite the garish blue paint with which the tavernaris had covered everything in sightwalls, tables, chairs, shelves all in the same execrably vivid colour (blue and red for the wine shops, green for the sweetmeats shops was the almost invariable rule throughout the islands)it was a gloomy, ill-lit place, as gloomy almost as the stern, righteous, magnificently-moustached heroes of the Wars of Independence whose dark, burning eyes glared down at them from a dozen faded prints scattered at eye-level along the walls. Between each pair of portraits was a brightly-coloured wail advertisement for Fix's beer: the effect of the decor, taken as a whole, was indescribable, and Mallory shuddered to think what it would have been like had the tavernaris had at his disposal any illumination more powerful than the two smoking oil lamps placed on the counter before him. As it was, the gloom suited him well. Their dark clothes, braided jackets, tsantas and jackboots looked genuine enough, Mallory knew, and the black-fringed turbans Louki had mysteriously obtained for them looked as they ought to look in a tavern where every islander thereabout eight of themwore nothing else on their heads. Their clothes had been good enough to pass muster with the tavernarisbut then even the keeper of a wine shop could hardly be expected to know every man in a town of five thousand, and a patriotic Greek, as Louki had declared this man to be, wasn't going to lift even a faintly suspicious eyebrow as long as there were German soldiers present. And there were Germans presentfour of them, sitting round a table near the counter. Which was why Mallory had been glad of the semi-darkness. Not, he was certain, that he and Dusty Miller had any reason to be digital cameras designer colors physically afraid of these men. Louki had dismissed them contemptuously as a bunch of old womenheadquarters clerks, Mallory guessedwho came to this tavern every night of the week. But there was no point in sticking out their necks unnecessarily. Miller lit one of the pungent, evil-smelling local cigarettes, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Damn' funny smell in this joint, boss." "Put your cigarette out," Mallory suggested. "You wouldn't believe it, but the smell I'm smelling is a damn' sight worse than that." "Hashish," Mallory said briefly. "The curse of these island ports." He nodded over towards a dark corner. "The lads of the village over there will be at it every night in life. It's all they live for." "Do they have to make that gawddamned awful racket when they're at it?" Miller asked peevishly. "Toscanini should see this lot!" Mallory looked at the small group in the corner, clustered round the young man playing a bouzoukoa long-necked mandolinand singing the haunting, nostalgic rembetika songs of the hashish smokers of the Piraeus. He supposed the music did have a certain melancholy, lotus-land attraction, but right then it jarred on him. One had to be in a certain twi-lit, untroubled mood to appreciate that sort of thing; and he had never felt less untroubled in his life. "I suppose it is a bit grim," he admitted. "But at least it lets us talk together, which we couldn't do if they all packed up and went home." "I wish to hell they would," Miller said morosely. "I'd gladly keep my mouth shut." He picked distastefully at the mezea mixture of chopped olives, liver, cheese and appleson the plate before him; as a good American and a bourbon drinker of long standing he disapproved strongly of the invariable Greek custom of eating when drinking. Suddenly he looked up and crushed his cigarette against the table top. "For Gawd's sake, boss, how much longer?" Mallory looked at him, then looked away. He knew exactly how Dusty Miller felt, for he felt that way himselftense, keyed-up, every nerve strung to the tautest pitch of efficiency. So much depended on the next few minutes; whether all their labour and their suffering had been necessary, whether the men on Kheros would live or die, whether Andy Stevens had lived and died in vain. Mallory looked at Miller again, saw the

Colder thy kiss;

The wandering beam of a torch and they were bound to be seen, it was impossible not to be seen: he and Dusty Millerthe American was stretched out behind him and clutching the big truck battery in his armswere wide open to the view of anyone who happened to glance down that way. Perhaps they should have stayed with the others a couple of roofs away, with Casey and Louki, the one busy tying spaced knots in a rope, the other busy splicing a bent wire hook on to a long bamboo they had torn from a bamboo hedge just outside the town, where they had hurriedly taken shelter as a convoy of three trucks had roared past them heading for the castle Vygos. Eight thirty-two. What the devil was Andrea doing down there, Mallory wondered irritably and at once regretted his irritation. Andrea wouldn't waste an unnecessary second. Speed was vital, haste fatal. It seemed unlikely that there would be any officers insidefrom what they had seen, practically half the garrison were combing either the town or the countryside out in the direction of Vygosbut if there were and even one gave a cry it would be the end. Mallory stared down at the burn on the back of his hand, thought of the truck they had set on fire and grinned wryly to himself. Setting the truck on fire had been his only contribution to the night's performance so far. All the other credit went to either Andrea or Miller. It was Andrea who had seen in this house on the west side of the squareone of several adjoining houses used as officers' billetsthe only possible answer to their problem. It was Miller, now lacking all time-fuses, clockwork, generator and every other source of electric power who had suddenly stated that he must have a battery, and again it was Andrea, hearing the distant approach of a truck, who had blocked the entrance to the long driveway to the keep with heavy stones from the flanking pillars, forcing the soldiers to abandon their truck at the gates and run up the drive towards their house. To overcome the driver and his mate and bundle them senseless into a ditch had taken seconds only, scarcely more time than it had taken Miller to unscrew the terminals of the heavy battery, find the inevitable jerrican below the tailboard and pour the contents over engine, cab and body. The truck had gone up in a roar and whoosh of flames: as Louki had said earlier in the night, setting petrol-soaked vehicles on fire was not without its dangersthe charred patch on his hand stung painfullybut, again as Louki had said, it had burned magnificently. A pity, in a wayit digital camera drivers fr had attracted attention to their escape sooner than was necessary but it had been vital to destroy the evidence, the fact that a battery was missing. Mallory had too much experience of and respect for the Germans ever to underrate them: they could put two and two together better than most. He felt Miller tug at his ankle, started, twisted round quickly. The American was pointing beyond him, and he turned again and saw Andrea signalling to him from the raised trap in the far corner: he had been so engrossed in his thinking, the giant Greek so catlike in his silence, that he had completely failed to notice his arrival. Mallory shook his head, momentarily angered at his own abstraction, took the battery from Miller, whispered to him to. get the others, then edged slowly across the roof, as noiselessly as possible. The sheer deadweight of the battery was astonishing, it felt as if it weighed a ton, but Andrea plucked it from his hands, lifted it over the trap coaming, tucked it under one arm and nimbly descended the stairs to the tiny hail-way as if it weighed nothing at all... Andrea moved out through the open doorway to the covered balcony that ovetlooked the darkened harbour, almost a hundred vertical feet beneath. Mallory, following close behind, touched him on the shoulder as he lowered the battery gently to the ground. "Any trouble?" he asked softly. "None at all, my Keith." Andrea straightened. "The house is empty. I was so surprised that I went over it all, twice, Just to make sure." "Fine! Wonderful! I suppose the whole bunch of them are out scouring the country for usinteresting to know what they would say if they were told we were sitting in their front parlour?" "They would never believe it," Andrea said without hesitation. "This is the last place they would ever think to look for us." "I've never hoped so much that you're right!" Mallory murmured fervently. He moved across to the latticed railing that enclosed the balcony, gazed down into the blackness beneath his feet and shivered. A long long drop and it was very cold; that sluicing, vertical rain chilled one to the bone. . . . He stepped back, shook the railing. "This thing strong enough, do you think?" he whispered. "I don't know, my Keith, I don't know at all." Andrea shrugged. "I hope so." "I hope so," Mallory echoed. "It doesn't

"His name shall be alterd," quoth William Stutely,

night. If she wants me now why doesn't she come and ask me?" "Because she's scared of you, that's why," she said angrily. She stamped a foot in the frozen snow. "Will you go or not?" I went. Below, I stripped off my gloves, emptied the ice out of them and washed my blistered, bleeding hands in disinfectant. I saw Marie LeGarde's eyes widen at the sight of my hands, but she said nothing: maybe she knew I wasn't in the mood for condolences. I rigged up a screen in the corner of the room remote from the table where the women had been gathering and dividing out the remaining food supplies, and had a look at Margaret Ross's back. It was a mess, all right, a great ugly blue and purpling bruise from the spine to the left shoulder: in the centre, just below the shoulder blade, was a deep jagged cut, which looked as if it had been caused by a heavy blow from some triangular piece of sharp metal. Whatever had caused it had passed clean through her tunic and blouse. "Why didn't you show me this yesterday?" I asked coldly. "I -1 didn't want to bother you," she faltered. Didn't want to bother me, I thought grimly. Didn't want to give yourself away, you mean. In my mind's eye I had a picture of the pantry where we had found her, and I was almost certain now that I could get the proof that I needed. Almost, but not quite. I'd have to go to check. "Is it very bad?" She twisted round, and I could see there were tears in the brown eyes from the pain of the disinfectant I was rubbing on none too gently. "Bad enough," I said shortly. "How did you get this?" "I've no idea," she said helplessly. "I just don't know, Dr Mason." "Perhaps we can find out." "Find out? Why? What does it matter?" She shook her head wearily. "I don't understand, I really don't. What have I done, Dr Mason?" It was magnificent, I had to admit. I could have hit her, but it was magnificent. "Nothing, Miss Ross. Just nothing at all." By the time I had pulled on my parka, gloves, goggles and mask she was fully dressed, staring at me as I climbed up the steps and out through the hatch. The snow was falling quite heavily now, gusting in swirling ghostly flumes through the pale beam of my torch: it seemed to vanish as it hit the ground, freezing as it touched, or scudding smoke-like over the frozen surface with a thin digital camera hp r742 rustling sound. But the wind was at my back, the bamboo markers stretched out in a dead straight line ahead, never less than two of them in the beam of my torch, and I had reached the crashed plane in five or six minutes. I jumped for the windscreen, hooked my fingers over the sill, hauled myself up with some difficulty and wriggled my way into the control cabin. A moment later I was in the stewardess's pantry, flashing my torch around. On the after bulkhead was a big refrigerator, with a small hinged table in front of it, and at the far end, under the window, a hinged box covered over what might have been a heating unit or sink or both. I didn't bother investigating, I wasn't interested. What I was interested in was the for'ard bulkhead, and I examined it carefully. It was given up entirely to the small closed doors of little metal lockers let in flush to the wallfood containers, probablyand there wasn't a single metal projection in the entire wall, nothing that could possibly account for the wound in the stewardess's back. And if she had been here at the moment of impact, that was the wall she must have been flung against. The inference was inescapableshe must have been elsewhere at the time of the crash. I remembered now, with chagrin, that I hadn't even bothered to see whether or not she was conscious when we'd first found her lying on the floor. Across the passage in the radio compartment I found what I was looking for almost immediatelyI'd a pretty good idea where to look. The thin sheet metal at the top left-hand corner of the radio cabinet was bent almost half an inch out of true: and it didn't require any microscope to locate or forensic expert to guess at the significance of the small dark stain and the fibres of navy blue cloth clinging to the corner of the smashed set. I looked inside the set itself, and now that I had time to spare it more than a fleeting glance it was abundantly clear to me that the wrenching away of the face-plate didn't even begin to account for the damage that had been done to the set: it had been systematically and thoroughly wrecked. If ever there was a time when my thoughts should have been racing it was then, but the plain truth is that they weren't. It was abominably cold inside the chilled metal of that dead plane, and my mind was sluggish, but even so I knew that this time I couldn't be wrong about what had happened. I could see now why the second

Behind the panes, which wind about

As the brilliantly successful Chief of Operations of the Subversive Operations Executive in Cairo, intrigue, deception, imitation and disguise were the breath of life to Captain James Jensen, D.S.O., R.N. As a Levantine stevedore agitator, he had won the awed respect of the dock-labourers from Alexandretta to Alexandria: as a camel-driver, he had blasphemously out-camel-driven all available Bedouin competition: and no more pathetic beggar had ever exhibited such realistic sores in the bazaars and marketplaces of the East. To-night, however, he was just the bluff and simple sailor. He was dressed in white from cap-cover to canvas shoes; the starlight glinted softly on the golden braid on epaulettes and cap peak. Their footsteps crunched in companionable unison over the hard-packed sand, rang sharply as they moved on to the concrete of the runway. The hurrying figure of the air commodore was already almost lost to sight. Mallory took a deep breath and turned suddenly towards Jensen. "Look, sir, just what is all this? What's all the flap, all the secrecy about? And why am I involved in it? Good lord, sir, it was only yesterday that I was pulled out of Crete, relieved at eight hours' notice. A month's leave, I was told. And what happens?" "Well," Jensen murmured, "what did happen?" "No leave," Mallory said bitterly. "Not even a night's sleep. Just hours and hours in the S.O.E. Headquarters, answering a lot of silly, damnfool questions about climbing in the Southern Alps. Then hauled out of bed at midnight, told I was to meet you, and then driven for hours across the blasted desert by a mad Scotsman who sang drunken songs and asked hundreds of even more silly, damnfool questions!" "One of my more effective disguises, I've always thought," Jensen said smugly. "Personally, I found the journey most entertaining!" "One of your" Mallory broke off, appalled at the memory of the things he had said to the elderly, bewhiskered Scots captain who had driven the command vehicle. "II'm terribly sorry, sir. I never realised" "Of course you didn't!" Jensen cut in briskly. "You weren't supposed to. Just wanted to find out if you were the man for the job. I'm sure you areI was pretty sure you were before I pulled you out of Crete. But where you got the idea about leave I don't know. The sanity of the S.O.E. has often been questioned, but even we aren't given to sending a flying-boat for the sole purpose of enabling junior officers to spend a month wasting their sony dsc650 digital camera review substance among the flesh-pots of Cairo," be finished dryly. "I still don't know" "Patience, laddie, patienceas our worthy commodore has just advocated. Time is endless. To wait, and to keep on waitingthat is to be of the East." "To total four hours' sleep in three days is not," Mallory said feelingly. "And that's all I've had. . . . Here they come!" Both men screwed up their eyes in automatic reflex as the fierce glare of the landing lights struck at them, the flare path arrowing off into the outer darkness. In less than a minute the first bomber was down, heavily, awkwardly, taxi-ing to a standstill just beside them. The grey camouflage paint of the after fuselage and tailplanes was riddled with bullet and cannon shells, an aileron was shredded and the port outer engine out of commission, saturated in oil. The cabin perspex was shattered and starred in a dozen places. For a long time Jensen stared at the holes and scars of the damaged machine, then shook his head and looked away. "Four hours' sleep, Captain Mallory," he said quietly. "Four hours. I'm beginning to think that you can count yourself damn' lucky to have had even that much." The interrogation room, harshly lit by two powerful, unshaded lights, was uncomfortable and airless. The furniture consisted of some battered wall-maps and charts, a score or so of equally scuffed chairs and an unvarnished deal table. The commodore, flanked by Jensen and Mallory, was sitting behind this when the door opened abruptly and the first of the flying crews entered, blinking rapidly in the fierceness of the unaccustomed light They were led by a dark-haired, thick-set pilot, trailing helmet and flying-suit in his left hand. He had an Anzac bush helmet crushed on the back of his head, and the word "Australia" emblazoned in white across each khaki shoulder. Scowling, wordlessly and without permission, he sat down in front of them, produced a pack of cigaottes and rasped a match across the surface of the table. Mallory looked furtively at the commodore. The commodore just looked resigned. He even sounded resigned. "Gentlemen, this is Squadron Leader Torrance. Squadron Leader Torrance," he added unnecessarily, "is an Australian." Mallory had the impression that the commodore rather hoped this would explain some things, Squadron Leader Torrance among them. "He led tonight's attack on Navarone. Bill, these