In short, I must not lead the life I did do;

borrow from Mama Tullas wash line a voluminous and comfortable kaftan for her and a thigh length shirt for himself. They were both hungry enough to concentrate on eating, but they smiled whenever their eyes met, which was often. When their hands touched as they hunted in the basket for food, the touch also became a caress. When all the food had been eaten, Lars excused himself with grave courtesy and pushed through the bushes. Trying to suppress giggles, Killashandra did the same. But when she returned to the clearing, Lars was making a couch of polly fronds and sweetly scented ferns. In silent accord, they lay down, spread the light blanket over their weary bodies and, hands lightly clasped, surrendered to fatigue. Once again the sensation of light fingers stroking the crystal scars roused Killashandra. You were a long time learning to handle polly, werent you? he said, his teasing tender. She sighed, hoping she could somehow, and, with reasonable truth, evade his natural curiosity about her. She darent risk a full disclosure even in the euphoria which still enveloped them. I came from the City. Id no choice about an island life or an education in polly planting. Must you go back to the City? Apprehension roughened his voice, his fingers tightened on hers in an almost painful grip. Inevitably. She turned her face against his arm, wishing it were bare and she could taste the skin covering the strong arms that had held her with such love: which must hold her once again in love, preferably for a long, long time. I dont belong here, you know. I didnt think you did, and his reply was amused acceptance, once you dropped the Keralawian accent. She warned herself to watch what she said. Where do you belong, Carrigana? Besides in your arms? Then the honesty of the moment began to close in on her. I dont really know, Lars. These moments were out of context with any previous part of her life on Fuerte or Ballybran: totally divorced from Killashandra, Crystal Singer. Pragmatically she knew the euphoria would end all too soon but the desire to prolong it consumed her. How about you, Lars? Where do you belong? The Islands dont actually hold me any more. Ive come to realize that over the past few months. And think that my father recognizes it, too. Oh, Im partner in an interisland carrier service thats reasonably profitable useful to the islanders certainly. He grinned. But three years in the City at the Complex taught me discipline, order, and efficiency and the easy way of islanders digital camera memory size picture irritates me. I cant see me settling in to City life, either Killashandra raised herself on her elbow, looking down at his face. The muscles were relaxed but the strength and character in his features were not the least bit diminished. Arent you going to appeal the Masters decision? Her fingers traced his clearly defined left brow. No one appeals their decision, Carrigana, he said with a contemptuous snort. Then he drew both eyebrows together: her finger followed to caress away his scowl. They did, damn their souls to everlasting acid, have the incredible gall to suggest that, if I performed a slight service for them, they might consider. And like a childish fool I believed them. Incensed by his memories, he swung to a sitting position, arms clasping his knees tightly to his chest, his mouth in a bitter line. A real fool but so desperate to have my composition accepted not so much for my own prestige as to prove that an islander could succeed at the Complex and to vindicate the support the islanders had given me during those years. He twisted his torso around to face her. Youd never guess what this slight service was. I wouldnt? Killashandra was quite certain what he would say. They wanted me to make an assault on a visiting dignitary. Possibly the most important person to set foot on this forsaken mudball. Assault? On Optheria? On whom? What visiting dignitary? Killashandra was astonished at the surprise and concern in her voice, a genuine enough response to Larss shocking statement You heard that Comgail had died, shattering a manual of the Festival Organ? When she nodded silently, he continued. You may not know that the damage was deliberate. It was easy for her to react suitably, for a death involving crystal would not have been painless. There are a lot of people who believe that they we, and he grinned humorlessly, admitting to his complicity, have an inalienable right to leave this planet in order to achieve professional fulfillment. And that right should be enjoyed by more than disappointed composers, Carrigana. This restriction is stagnating intelligent people all over this world. People who have tremendous gifts which have no channel whatever on this backward natural mudball. So, it was decided to manufacture a situation that would require the presence of an extraplanetary official. An impartial but prestigious person who could be approached to register our protest with

Come, I'll take no denial:

they take the boats? Around to the Back. Well just check to see how much time there is before the wind rises. Therell be a lot to do before we can take the Pearl Fisher to the safe mooring. Killashandra glanced up and down the picturesque waterfront, for the first time seeing just how vulnerable it was. The first line of buildings was only four hundred meters from the high-tide mark. Wouldnt they be just swept away in hurricane driven tides? They often are, Lars startled her by saying as they strode purposefully toward the settlement. But mostly polly floats. After the last big blow, Morchal salvaged the complete roof. It was floating in the bay, he just dried it out and reset it. I should help Keralaw, Killashandra suggested tentatively, not really wanting to leave his side but ignorant of what island protocol expected of her in the emergency. Larss hand tightened on her elbow. If I know Keralaw she has matters well in hand. Im not risking you from my side for an instant, Carrigana. I thought Id made that plain. Killashandra almost bridled at the possessive tone of his voice but part of her rather liked the chauvinism. She had too hearty a respect for storm not to wish to be in the safest place during one. Common sense told her that was likely to be in Lars Dahls company. Men and women were filing in and out of the tavern. Lars and Killashandra entered and found a veritable command post. The bar was now dispensing equipment and gear which Killashandra could not readily identify. Along the back wall, the huge vdr screen was active, showing a satellite picture of the growing storm swirling in from the south. Estimated times of arrival of the first heavy winds, high tide, the eye, and the counter winds were all listed in the upper left hand corner. Other cryptic information, displayed in a band across the top of the screen, did not mean much to her but evidently conveyed intelligence to the people in the bar. Including Lars. Lars, Olavs on line for you, called the tallest of the men behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward a side door. The fellow paused in his dispensations, and Killashandra was aware of his scrutiny as she followed Lars to the room indicated. However rustic the tavern looked from the outside, this room was crammed with sophisticated equipment, a good deal of it meteorological, though not as complex as instrumentation in the Weather Room of the Heptite Guild. And all of it printing out or displaying rapidly changing information. Lars? A young man turned from sony alpha a300 digital camera the scanner in front of him and, screwing his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new arrival What are you going to do Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look at Killashandra. Tanny, this is Carrigana. And theres nothing I can do with this storm blowing up. Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite picture as he spoke. The worst of it will pass due east. Dont worry about the things you cant change! He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the worried expression did not entirely alter. Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought, on that chip of an island. Tannys my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on Angel, Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling cloud mass. What if the direction changes, Lars? Tanny refused to be reassured. You know what the southern blows are like He made an exaggerated gesture with both arms, nearly socking a passing islander, who ducked in time. Tanny, there is nothing we can do. Theres a great big polly on the island thats survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the archipelago. Well go have a look as soon as the blows gone. All right? Lars didnt wait for Tannys agreement, guiding Killashandra back into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and receiving a small handset. A light one will do me fine, Bart, he added and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. Most of what I own is either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana, he added as they walked out on the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being passed out. Might not need them but its less for them to pack to the Ridge. As Lars turned her west, away from the settlement, she caught sight of Tanny, watching them, his expression still troubled. The wind was picking up and the water in the harbor agitated. Lars looked to his right, assessing the situation. Been in a bad one yet? he asked her, an amused and tolerant grin on his face. Oh, yes, Killashandra answered fervently. Not an experience I wish to repeat. How could Lars know how puny an Optherian

And wish that you had never spoke the word,

climb up the wet, slippery rope, be crawled blindly over the lip of the cave and flung himself to the ground, sobbing for breath. Swiftly, without speaking, Miller bent down, slipped the twin loops of the double bowline from Mallory's legs, undid the knot, tied it to Brown's rope, gave the latter a tug and watched the joined ropes disappear into the darkness. Within two minutes the heavy battery was across, underslung from the two ropes, lowered so far by Casey Brown then hauled up by Mallory and Miller. Within another two minutes, but with infinitely more caution, this time, the canvas bag with the nitro, primers and detonators, had been pulled across, lay on the stone floor beside the battery. All noise had ceased, the hammering of the sledges against the steel door had stopped completely. There was something threatening, foreboding about the stillness, the silence was more menacing than all the clamour that had gone before. Was the door down, the lock smashed, the Germans waiting for them in the gloom of the tunnel, waiting with cradled machine-carbines that would tear the life out of them? But there was no time to wonder, no time to wait, no time now to stop to weigh the chances. The time for caution was past, and whether they lived or died was of no account any more. The heavy Colt .455 balanced at his waist, Mallory climbed over the safety barrier, padded silently past the great guns and through the passage, his torch clicking on half-way down its length. The place was deserted, the door above still intact. He climbed swiftly up the ladder, listened at the top. A subdued murmur of voices, he thought he heard, and a faint hissing sound on the other side of the heavy steel door, but he couldn't be sure. He leaned forward to hear better, the palm of his hand against the door, drew back with a muffled exclamation of pain. Just above the lock, the door was almost red-hot. Mallory dropped down to the floor of the tunnel just as Miller came staggering up with the battery. "That door's hot as blazes. They must be burning" "Did you hear anything?" Miller interrupted. "There was a kind of hissing" "Oxy-acetylene torch," Miller said briefly. "They'll be burnin' out the lock. It'll take timethat door's made of armoured steel." "Why don't they blow it ingeignite or whatever you use for that job?" "Perish the thought," Miller said 3615 camera digital vivicam vivitar hastily. "Don't even talk about it, boss. Sympathetic detonation's a funny thingthere's an even chance that the whole damned lot would go up. Give me a hand with this thing, boss, will you?" Within seconds Dusty Miller was again a man absorbed in his own element, the danger outside, the return trip he had yet to make across the face of the cliff, completely forgotten for the moment. The task took him four minutes from beginning to end. While Mallory was sliding the battery below the floored well of the lift, Miller squeezed in between the shining steel runners of the lift shaft itself stooped to examine the rear one with his torch and establish, by the abrupt transition from polished to dull metal, exactly where the spring-loaded wheel of the shell-hoist came to rest. Satisfied, he pulled out a roll of sticky black tape, wound it a dozen times round the shaft, stepped back to look at it: it was quite invisible. Quickly he taped the ends of two rubber-covered wires on the insulated strip, one at either side, taped these down also until nothing was visible but the bared steel cores at the tips, joined these to two four-inch strips of bared wire, taped these also, top and bottom, to the insulated shaft, vertically and less than half an inch apart. From the canvas bag he removed the T.N.T., the primer and detonatora bridge mercury detonator lugged and screwed to his own specificationfitted them together and connected one of the wires from the steel shaft to a lug on the detonator, screwing it firmly home. The other wire from the shaft he led to the positive terminal on the battery, and a third wire from the negative terminal to the detonator. It only required the anununition hoist to sink down into the magazineas it would do as soon as they began firingand the spring-loaded wheel would short out the bare wires, completing the circuit and triggering off the detonator. A last check on the position of the bared vertical wires and he sat back satisfied. Mallory had just descended the ladder from the tunnel. Miller tapped him on the leg to draw his attention, negligently waving the steel blade of his knife within an inch of the exposed wires. "Are you aware, boss," he said conversationally, "that if I touched this here blade across those terminals, the whole gawddamned place would go up in smithereens." He shook his head musingly. "Just one little slip of the hand, just one teeny little touch and Mallory and Miller

How should I greet thee?--

emotionally drained after each performance. We recognized that problem early on the performer is shielded from the full effect of the organ in order to retain a degree of objectivity. And, of course, in rehearsal the transducer system is completely bypassed and the signals inserted into a systems analyzer. Only the best compositions are played on the full organ system. Naturally. Tell me, are the smaller organs amplified in this fashion? The two-manual organs are. We have five of them, the rest are all single manual with relatively primitive synthesizer attentuator and excitor capability. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. Thyrol was not blind to the implied compliment and looked about to smile as the outside door opened to admit the work party. Behind them came three more men, their stance and costume identifying them as security. The work party stopped along the wall while the security trio tramped stolidly down to where Thyrol and Killashandra stood by the sensory feedback transponder. Elder Thyrol, Security Leader Blaz needs to know what disposition is to be made of the debris. He saluted, ignoring Killashandras presence. Bury it deep. Preferably encapsulated in some permaform. Sea trench would be ideal, Killashandra answered and was ignored by the security leader, who continued to look for an answer from Thyrol. Abruptly Killashandras captious temper erupted. She slammed her right hand into the leaders shoulder, forcefully turning toward her. Alternatively, insert it in your anal orifice, she said, her voice reasonable and pleasant. With a wave of astounded gasps sounding in her ear, she made her exit. Chapter 7 As Killashandra started across the stage to retrace her steps to the Complex, she decided that that was the last place she wanted to go in her state of mind After all, Trag had chosen her because she could be more diplomatic than Borella. Not that Borella mightnt have handled that security fardle-face with more tact, or effectiveness. However, the Optherians were stuck with her and she with them, and just then she didnt wish to see one more sanctimonious, self-righteous, smug Optherian face. She strode to the edge of the stage, peered over at the ten-foot drop to the ground, saw the heavy doors at each end of that level and made her decision. She lay at the edge, swung her kodak c533 5mp digital camera legs down, gripping the overhang, and let go. Her knees took the jar and she leaned against the wall for a moment just as she heard the men emerge from the organ room. Shell have gone back to the Complex, Thyrol said, breathless with anger. He hurried across the stage, followed by the others. Simcon, if you have offended the Guildmember, you may have jeopardized far more than you have protected The heavy door closed off the rest of his reprimand. Somewhat mollified by Thyrols attitude and pleased with her timely evasion, Killashandra dusted off her hands and moved toward the clearly marked exit door at the outer edge of the amphitheater. Even the soft sound of the brushing was echoed by the fine acoustics. Grimacing, Killashandra stepped as cautiously and as silently as she could toward the exit. The heavy door had the usual push-bar on the inside, which she depressed, holding her breath lest it be locked from a control point. The bar swung easily out. She opened it only wide enough to permit her egress and it closed with a thunk behind her. Its exterior was without handle or knob for reentry and a flange protected it from being forced open if such a circumstance ever arose on perfect Optheria. Killashandra now found herself on a long ledge which led to one of the switchback paths she had seen yesterday, though this one was at the rear of the Complex. From that height she had a view of an unpretentious area of the City, to judge by the narrow streets and the small single-story buildings crowded together. Between it and the Complex heights lay a stretch of cultivated plots, each planted with bushy climbing plants and fenced off from its neighbors, and most of them neat. In several, people were busily watering and hoeing in the early morning sunlight. A rural scene served as a restorative to Killashandras exacerbated nerves. She began her descent. As she reached the valley floor, her nose was assailed by the unmistakable aroma of fermenting brew. Delighted, Killashandra followed the odor, squeezing past an old shed, traversing the narrow path between allotments, nodding polite greetings to the gardeners who paused in their labors to regard her with astonishment. Well, she was wearing a costume which marked her as alien to Optheria, but surely these people had encountered aliens before. The aroma lured her on. If it tasted half as good

She will gar hang me hie."

do they have at the shuttleport? Isotope scanner. Lars said with a grimace. The popular theory is that the detector is set off by a rare isotope of iron peculiar to Optherian soil. Once the residue of the isotope builds up in the bone marrow, it tends to be self-perpetuating. Thereve been unsuccessful attempts to neutralize the isotope and jam the scanners but nothing works. Then he scowled. All the guards are rehabs and never miss. Trying to get past them is an effective form of suicide. There is also a stun field that operates in the event that another concerted attempt is ever made to gain entry to the port. I was met by four Optherians Trag began. Who had been passed in. Oh, authorized personnel come and go but they are very careful to display their authorization to the guards. Killashandra had punched up sandwiches which she now passed to the men. We dont have much time before dinner and the concert, and I need a bath, she announced, her mouth half full of sandwich. So do I. Lars followed Killashandra, taking the jammer with him after an apologetic nod to Trag. Trag is no threat to us, huh? Lars murmured sarcastically, once they were in the unmonitored bathroom. Killashandra shrugged and grimaced. I didnt think hed cut up that stiff, but then, neither of us knew what lies the elders were spinning. And the Guild does have a reputation to maintain, especially if they had to call in the FSP to get a cruiser for a fast trip here. But, she added, rather pleased, it means they cared. I felt I was talking to a brick wall, Killa, until it came down. Lars ran his fingers through his thick hair. What would you have done if it hadnt, Killa? Well, it did and Trag has been converted. Now all we have to do is get word to your father. Just how many people would we have to get to safety? I mean, if Trag has that warrant for party or parties Lars framed her face with his hands, grinning down at her. No matter how broad that warrant, Killa, it wouldnt extend to all those who really need our protection. Nahia, Hauness, Theach, Brassner, and Olver are just the most important. Why Couldnt some just disappear into the islands? Lars shook his head. Then well have to hold tight somehow until Trag reports the subliminal conditioning to the Federated Council. The Fleet Marines would land, in force, and the compact digital camera viewfinder Elders would be sampling rehab. Youre safe as long as Im here and stop shaking your head. Look, Trag can return, now that the organ is repaired and Im unabducted Is the cruiser still here? Oh, I rather doubt it. Then unless he can recall it, hes surfaced on Optheria until the next liner and thats not due for at least two weeks. Two more weeks! Killashandra realized that she had taken for granted the same constant space traffic that frequented Shanganaugh Moon Base. What? Have my charming presence and inspired coupling worn thin now that you have a fellow crystal singer to pair you? Trag? You think Trag and I? Dont be funny! Listen to me, young man, theres a lot you dont know about crystal singers! Id like the time to find out. His reply was wistful even if the kiss he gave her was not. And her response to his embrace temporarily suspended less urgent matters, even the bath. Fortunately, by the time Trag knocked peremptorily on the bathroom door, they were both dressed. Coming, Killashandra responded in a trill, bestowing one last kiss on Lars before she hauled open the door. Sweeping dramatically into the main room with Lars a step behind her, she was delighted to see Trag, a half empty glass of beer in his hand, in the company of Thyrol, Mirbethan, and Pirinio. Facetiously wondering if Polabod had been loaned to another Quartette, she greeted them graciously, exclaiming her eagerness to attend the evenings concert and, at long last, hear an Optherian organ. Dinner was served in the same chamber that had charmed Killashandra. The charm was enhanced this time by the fact that Elder Pentrom was missing from the guest roster. Trag was monopolized at one end of the table by Elders Ampris and Torkes, who engaged him in very serious discussions, while Mirbethan did her best to introduce unexceptional topics into conversation at the other. Thyrol, Pirinio, and two very meek older women instructors completed the buffer between the Elders and the distinguished and newly arrived Guild-member Trag. Elder Torkes, Trag said in a well-pitched voice that carried to every part of the dining room after he had sipped the beverage in his glass, my metabolism requires the ingestion of a certain quantity of alcohol daily. What have you to offer? After that, Killashandra didnt bother straining her ears

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

as a matter of courtesy and to give information as to his intentions. Instead of resentment, Mallory could feel only an overwhelming relief and gratitude to the smiling giant who towered above him: he had talked casually to Miller about driving Stevens till he died and then abandoning him, talked with an indifference that masked a mind sombre with bitterness at what he must do, but even so he had not known how depressed, bow sick at heart this decision had left him until he knew it was no longer necessary. "I am sorry." Andrea was half-contrite, half-smiling. "I should have told you. I thought you understood. . . . It is the best thing to do, yes?" "It is the only thing to do," Mallory said frankly: "You're going to draw them off up the saddle?" "There is no other way. With their skis they would overtake me in minutes if I went down into the valley. I cannot come back, of course, until it is dark. You will be here?" "Some of us will." Mallory glanced across the shelter where a waking Stevens was trying to sit up, heels of his palms screwing into his exhausted eyes. "We must have food and fuel, Andrea," he said softly. "I am going down into the valley to-night." "Of course, of course. We must do what we can." Andrea's face was grave, his voice only a murmur. "As long as we can. He is only a boy, a child almost. . . . Perhaps it will not be long." He pulled back the curtain, looked out at the evening sky. "I will be back by seven o'clock." "Seven o'clock," Mallory repeated. The sky, he could see, was darkening already, darkening with the gloom of coming snow, and the lifting wind was beginning to puff little clouds of air-spun, flossy white into the little gully. Mallory shivered and caught hold of the massive arm. "For God's sake, Andrea," he urged quietly, "look after yourself!" "Myself?" Andrea smiled gently, no mirth in his eyes, and as gently he disengaged his arm. "Do not think about me." The voice was very quiet, with an utter lack of arrogance. "If you must speak to God, speak to Him about these poor devils who are looking for us." The canvas dropped behind him and he was gone. For some moments Mallory stood irresolutely at the mouth of the cave, gazing out sightlessly through the gap in the curtain. Then he wheeled abruptly, crossed the floor of the shelter and knelt in front of Stevens. The boy was propped up against Miller's anxious arm, the eyes lack-lustre and expressionless, bloodless cheeks deep-sunken in a grey and parchment face. Mallory smiled at him: he hoped the shock didn't show in his face. batteries for jvc digital video camera "Well, well, well. The sleeper awakes at last. Better late than never." He opened his waterproof cigarette case, profferred it to Stevens. "How are you feeling now, Andy?" "Frozen, sir." Stevens shook his head at the case and tried to grin back at Mallory, a feeble travesty of a smile that made Mallory wince. "And the leg?" "I think it must be frozen, too." Stevens looked down incuriously at the sheathed whiteness of his shattered leg. "Anyway, I can't feel a thing." "Frozen!" Miller's sniff was a masterpiece of injured pride. "Frozen, he says! Gawddanined ingratitude. It's the first-class medical care, if I do say so myself!" Stevens smiled, a fleeting, absent smile that flickered over his face and was gone. For long moments he kept staring down at his leg, then suddenly lifted his head and looked directly at Mallory. "Look, sir, there's no good kidding ourselves." The voice was soft, quite toneless. "I don't want to seem ungrateful and I hate even the idea of cheap heroics, butwell, I'm just a damned great millstone round your necks and" "Leave you, eh?" Mallory interrupted. "Leave you to die of the cold or be captured by the Germans. Forget it, laddie. We can look after youand these ruddy gunsat the same time." "But, sir" "You insult us, Lootenant." Miller sniffed again. "Our feelings are hurt. Besides, as a professional man I gotta see my case through to convalescence, and if you think I'm goin' to do that in any gawddamned dripping German dungeon, you can" "Enough!" Mallory held up his hand. "The subject is closed." He saw the stain high up on the thin cheeks, the glad light that touched the dulled eyes, and felt the self-loathing and the shame well up inside him, shame for the gratitude of a sick man who did not know that their concern stemmed not from solicitude but from fear that he might betray them. . . . Mallory bent forward and began to unlace his high jack-boots. He spoke without looking up. "Dusty." "Yeah?" "When you're finished boasting about your medical prowess, maybe you'd care to use some of it. Come and have a look at these feet of mine, will you? I'm afraid the sentry's boots haven't done them a great deal of good." Fifteen painful minutes later Miller snipped off the rough edges of the adhesive bandage that bound Mallory's right foot, straightened up stiffly

"But say so now again;" With that he sent another arrow

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 digital camera direct marketing success 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