The Bavarian sky was already beginning to darken when the black Volkswagen Jetta came down the B-304 from Munich. Reaching Wasserburg am Inn, the driver made no effort to enter the small town but simply skirted it and continued on.
After Wasserburg it was almost a ten-mile drive, mainly on small country side roads, but it took the driver to a point on a boundary road of the Tannenwerder estate where she could safely leave the car, backed in among a thick cave of shrubbery by the roadside.
Quietly Tyreen Mackenzie left the vehicle, standing, as usual, for several moments to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Not for the first time, she wished that she had the vision of a Prime. She knew that the ground sloped upward from the road, and at the crest of the rise she would be able to look down onto the old house less than three hundred yards away.
She now saw that the way up was lighted by the reflection of what seemed to be flickering fire from the other side of the rise. She could also hear the voice, electronically amplified, of Max Tann, and she shivered, for already it sounded like the rabble-rousing oratory of someone from the historic past.
When she reached the crest, the sight that struck her, almost like a blow to the mind, was even more reminiscent of some replay of an old 1930s movie. And she didn't need the superior vision of a Prime in order to see it.
The house itself was huge and bathed in light --- a great tall oblong edifice in gray stone. In front a long raised terrace with central steps and an ornate stone balustrade stretched the entire length of the building. In the center at the top of the steps, a solid wooden lectern had been set up and Maximilian Tann, in a brown uniform that also owed much to another era, stood, flanked by men in similar dress, haranguing a crowd of two or three hundred --- a sea of people, men and women, girls and boys, ranged in well-ordered lines across a vast lawn. Each of these people held a blazing torch that threw disconcerting and moving shadows against the trees and the façade of Tannenwerder. Tann's shadow was, by some prearranged trick of lighting, huge and glowering against the house itself.
"It is with these thoughts in our minds that we must go forward. Fight. Keep faith. Stand firm, shoulder to shoulder. Remember the glorious dead who were betrayed." Tann raised both his hands in little jerking movements as he held the audience entranced. "Only if we stay true to the message of our great forefathers..." One hand swept upward, clawing the air. "Only if we stay true to the oaths of those who went before, will we rebuild what the glorious Adolf Hitler succeeded in building before he was betrayed --- One Empire... One People... One Leader!"
Tyreen felt a cold sweat clouding her forehead. Tann's voice, gestures, and manner were almost exact replicas of those that had belonged to Adolf Hitler half a century before. Even the last words --- "Ein Reich... Ein Volk... Ein Führer!" --- were Hitler's words, and they were a signal to the crowd, which bellowed back in a great series of waves like crashing surf: "Sieg Heil... Sieg Heil... Sieg Heil!" Hail Victory.
Then came the moment that made Tyreen's stomach turn over and the cold sweat envelop her entire body. The sudden launching into song --- one that she knew from old films and recordings and that conjured up the whole Nazi horror:
Die Fahnen hoch, die Reihe dicht geschlossen!
The flags held high! The ranks stand tight together!
It was the Nazi hymn, its marching song, its anthem, the Horst Wessel.
The very tune brought images, culled from books, news films, documentaries, and photographs, sharply to her mind: the young men shot to pieces on the ground, the sea, and in the air; she almost heard the jackboots stamping, her mind seeing the flamboyant uniforms of the SS, and the sinister faces of the Gestapo. Europe a ruin, and the thousands who had disappeared to the camps. The six million Jews who had gone to the gas chambers. It was as though an entire montage of terror had filled her head: the walking dead of Auschwitz, Belsen, Dachau, and the other death camps; the piles of skin and bone; the smoke from the dread chimneys. The horror of those past years when the whole of the continent shrank under the Nazi yoke. Was it all returning again?
There was no doubt now that Sir Max Tann had already captured the leadership of the new Nazi Party, resurrected from its brutal past, fed by the indecision of the present German leadership, and watered by the requirements of a new age ripe for the taking.
Max Tann, she knew, had banked on some spectacular act that would bring him forgiveness for former dealings in death, and set him up as a figure to be reckoned with on a global scale. It was, the unhappy Tasha Nicoletti had told her, going to happen in the Mediterranean. So, this obscenity she now watched was but a prelude of what would come if by any chance the obsessive man could pull off some incredible coup that might make him untouchable in the eyes of the world.
Through all the flashing pictures in her head, the words of the infamous Horst Wessel Song seemed even more prophetic:
Kam'raden, die Rotfront und Reaktion erschossen,
Marschieren im Geist in unsern Reihen mit.
Comrades who, though shot by Red Front or Reaction,
Still march with us, their spirits in our ranks.
Indeed, old Nazi ghosts would revel and caper among this crowd, while the once-defeated leadership, from Hitler to Himmler --- would stand close to this would-be Führer, smiling and nodding at what he was intent on bringing back, plunging the world into yet another dark age and dragging the old abomination from their very graves.
Tyreen was so wrapped up in revulsion that she failed to catch any sign of danger to herself. She had been oblivious to the security patrols that were obviously circling the perimeter of the Tannenwerder estate. Her first glimpse of an emergency came as a sudden flash of movement within the grounds and to her left.
She turned to see two brown-uniformed men about fifty yards away, unleashing a pair of German shepherd --- what else? --- attack dogs. The trained animals had sensed her as an intruder, and now they flew toward her with low growls.
She was on her feet and blundering down through the shrubbery heading back to the car, as the two beasts came bounding over the rise. She unholstered the automatic pistol with her right hand, running for her life and aware of the dogs closing like a pair of express trains.
Despite her Arion speed, she did not quite make the car before the first animal attacked, snarling and leaping for her right arm, its weight carrying her against the car, knocking the breath from her body. She felt a sharp pain as the dog's teeth sank into her forearm and pulled. For a second the heavy shepherd made a mistake, snapping at her arm again but putting itself between her body and the pistol. She put a bullet into the beast, which seemed to stop dead before being thrown backward with a long yelp of pain.
The other shepherd, hearing its partner yelp and seeing it fall, hesitated for a fraction of a second, but it gave her just enough time to slide into the car and close the door.
The dog landed heavily on the bonnet, barking and clawing against the windshield, saliva running from its jaws, the sharp teeth clearly visible. Tyreen started the engine, slammed the vehicle into gear, and shot from the cave of overgrown shrubbery, wrenching hard at the wheel and throwing the dog to the ground, as she accelerated onto the road.
Two bullets struck the rear of the Jetta. She felt the heavy thumps but could not detect damage. Hunched over the wheel and driving as though the very hounds of hell were after her, she screeched around a long bend and headed away from Wasserburg. If their mission was to be truly successful, she had to draw attention away from John Bannon. She knew only too well that she had jeopardized the whole business by making the trip out to Tannenwerder.
After ten minutes she was sure that nobody had followed, but she considered that it would only be a matter of time. The dog handlers had gotten a good look at the car, so it would not take them long to report the matter. When that was done, Tann's orders could take only one form --- John Bannon's and Tyreen Mackenzie's death warrants.
She couldn't leave him there alone. Lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep drag, she consulted the map for another route, one that wouldn't take her back past Tannenwerder. Somewhat calmed by the smoke, she started a circuitous return to Wasserbug am Inn.
Even as John Bannon searched for another way out of the parking lot, two men leaped from the Mercedes, and a third hit the ground running as the BMW came to a jolting stop. All three men were armed, and he saw that one of them was the huge Karl Saal he had seen that morning.
He let out the brake and pushed hard on the accelerator, pointing the Audi straight at the lone man who had jumped from the BMW. He muttered to himself --- "I don't know your name, but I call you the lone idiot" --- for the approaching figure obviously considered himself invincible. Bannon slewed the car to the right, braking hard and letting the offside door swat the foolhardy man. There was a sickening thud, and he just caught a glimpse of the mouth open in a scream and eyes wide with sudden terror. He was also almost sure that his target had been thrown several yards, but he would soon find out. He put on more speed and then performed a perfect wheel-and-brake turn that brought him back facing the two men who had come from the Mercedes. He saw the BMW idiot lying very still a long way off to his right as the first bullets ripped into the Audi, punching a hole in the shatterproof windshield on the passenger side, ripping into the seat next to him.
The only way to fight armed men when you were trapped in a car is to use the vehicle itself, and he slammed the accelerator hard against the floor so that the car leaped toward Saal, who had fired the two shots.
The giant had seen what had happened to the BMW imbecile, and he obviously did not want to share the same fate. He paused, fired again, the bullet passing over the Audi as Bannon tried to spin the car and catch Saal off balance.
The car began the spin, then hit what must have been a patch of oil in the middle of the parking lot. For what seemed to be minutes, he wrestled with the wheel as the Audi went completely out of control, snaking its way toward the little wooden fence that separated the parking lot from the road. At one point he saw Saal's companion suddenly appear on his left side, hands lifted trying to get a shot in, but the Audi must have brushed him as it went rocketing past, for he heard another bump and then a yell over the sound of the engine.
The long uncontrolled skid ended with the Audi crashing straight through the wooden barrier and out onto the road. He whipped the wheel to the right, straightened up as he saw the Mercedes attempting to back up and cut him off. But he had recovered control of the car again and went barreling past the rear of the Mercedes, screeching around the corner and away.
No, not away. It would be a gamble, but he would take it. The alley with its danger signs was coming up fast on his right, so he braked and swung into the narrow road, then put on speed again. He had not fastened his seat belt when the attack had begun, so he was able to hang on to the wheel with one hand, his arm rigid, holding the wheel at twelve o'clock to steer with accuracy, while his left hand began to unlatch the door.
In front of him he saw that the white posts that ran along the top of the cliff face had red reflectors on them. It was simply a question of judgement. He hit a rock and the car lost contact with the ground for a second, landing a little to the left as he regained control.
It was only when he was roughly twenty yards from the line of posts that he gave the car its last burst of speed, then threw open the door and rolled to his left.
He hit the ground hard, winded for a second before he could move toward the nearest piece of cover, a small clump of rocks. Just as he rolled, the Audi hit the warning poles. He saw it leap forward as though it was trying to grab at air and fly, then the nose dipped and it fell. From his cover he heard the first crunch as the metal hit the rock face, then the sudden boom and whoosh as it hit again, rupturing the gas tank, sending a sheet of flame up to the top of the drop.
The `Mercedes and the BMW both crept from the alleyway, their drivers obviously well briefed in the danger of driving too fast into this dangerous place. Four men, plus the massive Saal, were out of the cars as the final crunching and clatter came from two hundred feet below. As Bannon sneaked a peep over the rocks he saw that one of the men was Maurice Perkins.
"My God," one of them said. "He's gone over the edge. Careful, Karl..." as Saal walked toward the sheer drop and looked down.
"He's burning," Saal said in a slow, unbelieving voice. "We've failed. Oh my God, we've failed."
"Karl," Perkins said. "We haven't failed. He's dead. Nobody could have survived in that wreck."
"Then we've not failed." Slow. "We've won, eh, Mo. We've won."
"Please, Karl, don't call me Mo. My name's Maurice."
John Bannon stayed where he was, lying on the ground hidden by the little mound of rocks, his body bruised and sore. Tann's men left fairly quickly, and the local police and rescue team arrived within minutes of their jubilant departure. Several townspeople, alerted by the crash and explosion of the car, followed, milling around anxious to see what had happened.
He used the sudden influx of people to get to his feet, mingle for a few minutes, trying to ease the aches in his body, and think of ways and means to get out of Wasserburg as quickly as possible.
Finally he slipped away, walking back to the hotel across a deserted Marienplatz. There was nobody about in the hotel entrance, so he was able to get to his room unseen. Once there he took a quick very hot shower. Dressed in blazer and slacks, he then returned downstairs again.
The elderly waiter as nodding off behind the small reception desk.
"You work long hours, my friend." Bannon shook him by the shoulder.
"Ach." The waiter slowly opened his eyes. "I don't sleep much these days. You get older, you don't need so much sleep. What can I do for you?"
Bannon asked if he knew a reliable taxi service. "I want to get to Munich as quickly as possible."
"How quickly?"
"Now. Straightaway."
"My brother. He's stupid enough to go anywhere at any time. Wait." He dialed a number and proceeded to have an agitated conversation with somebody he called Wolfie. Putting a hand over the mouthpiece, he grinned. "He'll do it, but you'll have to make it worth his while."
After a little haggling they settled on a price. Bannon paid his hotel bill and went back to finish his packing. Fifteen minutes later he carried the garment bag and the briefcase, repacked with the weapons in the safe compartment, downstairs and found the waiter's brother chatting in the small foyer.
The brother turned out to be older than the waiter, and wore thick-lensed glasses, but he grabbed the bags and set off toward his car. Before following him, Bannon pushed a handful of notes into the waiter's hand and half whispered, "You've never seen me, okay?"
"I never see anybody. That's how you get from being a teenager in Hitler's Germany. It always pays never to see or hear anything."
Wolfie's car was in the same lot that Bannon had used earlier, not even the townspeople allowed to keep their cars in the town itself. Just as they got to the lot, a black Volkswagen Jetta pulled in off the main road.
Seeing the Volkswagen coming directly toward him, Bannon dived between two parked cars. He was rolling under one of them when the Jetta skidded to a halt and a voice hailed him.
Recognizing the voice, he let out a sigh and rolled out, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Exchanging another handful of notes for his bags, he threw them into the Jetta and slid into the passenger seat beside Tyreen Mackenzie.
It took well over an hour to get to Munich, which gave them the opportunity to exchange reports. Her bags were already in the car, so they drove straight to the airport where they found that they had a very long wait, as there were no flights to London until a British Airways departure at seven-thirty in the morning. There were seats on the flight, so they managed to exchange their Lufthansa tickets, to the delight of the young woman at the BA desk.
Speed was essential once they arrived in London, so they did not check in any luggage. Bannon's next step was to use a telephone carefully enough not to give any prior warning to the person whose voice he carried on the tape in his pocket.
Using a credit card, he called Bill Turner at his home number and very quickly laid the news on him, covering both Max Tann's bid for a Fourth Reich in Germany and the name of the person who had betrayed them and the entire country.
You're certain?" Turner was as shaken as Bannon had been.
"One hundred percent proof positive, Bill. Here's what I want you to do." He outlined the exact steps that needed to be taken in the morning. "You can meet me at the airport, but for heaven's sake have everything else fixed."
"It'll all be done." Turner was about to close the line when Bannon asked if Burke and Hare were currently available in London.
"They are."
"Better have them on hand as well."
Burke and Hare were nicknames for Bill Burkeshaw and Tony Hairman, the two most experienced inquisitors who worked for the Secret Intelligence Service. They would certainly be needing them if things were to run to a smooth climax.
Bannon returned to Tyreen, sitting where she had an uninterrupted view of the whole concourse. There was only one cigarette butt in the ashtray beside her, and she added only one more while waiting for their flight.
The BA Airbus landed at exactly eight-thirty local time --- a two-hour trip with a time difference of one hour between Munich and London. Bill Turner, waiting for him, was surprised to see Tyreen getting off the plane with Bannon.
"Everything done?" Bannon asked, and Turner nodded without speaking.
Everyone except C was gathered in the reading room at the Home Office, and two members of the Security Service loitered in the passageway outside the door.
"Ah, our wanderer returns." The Minister spoke with a little surprise. "Turner, you didn't tell us that Mr. Bannon was back."
"He wasn't, sir. Not when I spoke with you early this morning."
"With your permission, Minister," Bannon said, "I'd like to tell you exactly what I've been doing in Germany."
"Of course. Go ahead. Nobody's going to stop you."
So Bannon gave what he later called his "recital," particularly stressing the facts concerning Tann's German citizenship and the scene Tyreen had witnessed on the previous evening --- though he described it as if he had seen it himself.
When Bannon came to the end, the Minister asked if he could be excused for a moment. "I have someone coming over from the Foreign Office." He made toward the door and had almost reached it when Tyreen blocked him.
"Minister," Bannon said, "I'm afraid I am the bearer of even worse news."
The Minister turned around. "Oh?"
"I suggest you stay and hear me out."
Reluctantly, the Minister returned to his seat, grumbling that he hoped this would not take long.
"I've made no secret of the fact that I've been unhappy with the way this whole op has been running from the outset," Bannon began.
Wilson made an exasperated noise. "We're not going into all that again, surely."
"I'm afraid we have to, Commissioner. My feeling is that Tann has been leading us a merry dance from the beginning. For instance, who actually suggested that Tyreen and myself should tip him off about the impending search-and-seizure warrants?"
"Not me," Wilson proclaimed loudly.
"No." Bannon looked at him, steely-eyed. "No, I'm now sure it wasn't you. The whole of that idea was rather cleverly arranged. You voiced the idea, but someone else put it into your mind. Have any of you really thought deeply about how Tann could have faked his death at such short notice? That business on the way to Duxford wasn't arranged on the fly. It had been set up long before Tyreen and I even arrived in Cambridge." He made a gesture toward Turner, who nodded and left the room.
"There are other matters, which I touched on very briefly when we were last gathered here. How in blazes could your people, Wilson --- the police --- and the Security Service have been so left-footed when Tann and company came back into England? How did the timing work when Tyreen and I went up to Hall's Manor and found Lady Tann's body? There are too many coincidences, and Tann had just too much luck. He and his partners knew I would be in Wasserburg well before my arrival. I very nearly lost my life in Germany, and there's a possibility that Tann actually thinks I am dead."
"Where are we actually going with this?" asked the Minister.
"Bear with me, Minister."
Turner came back into the room carrying the same tape recorder they had used on the previous occasion.
"You see, ladies and gentlemen," Bannon indicated that the machine should be put on the table. "Max Tann could not have pulled off his various little dodges unless he had a very special kind of help. Help from inside this room."
"Oh." Wilson sighed. "Who the hell do you think...?"
"I don't think, Commissioner. I know. I know because our mole --- as they say in the spy novels --- left his voice behind in Germany."
"What're you talking abut, Bannon? How much more of this..."
Turner, who had inserted the tape, pressed the Play button.
"This is most urgent," said the Minister's voice on the tape. "An agent from the British Intelligence Service is on his way to Wasserburg. His mission is to run a check on Max and on the current Tannenwerder situation..."
There was an audible gasp, even from the Director General of the Security Service, and the Minister tried to make for the door.
"No good, sir." A pistol had appeared, like some smart conjuring trick, in Turner's hand. "There are people waiting for you there."
"This is... That's a fake... Someone's..." the Minister blustered, stood, sat down, and then stood again. His manner now was that of defeat.
Turner suggested that he surrender to the Security Service people outside, and as the door opened, Bannon caught a glimpse of the two interrogators nicknamed Burke and Hare, loitering in the background.
"I'm sorry, sir," Turner addressed the DG of MI5. "I'm afraid I've probably overstepped my authority in bringing in a pair of your people."
"Not at all." He waved the apology away. "Well, I suppose I'm the senior member present, so I'd better take the chair."
"Sorry again, sir. After Bannon telephoned me from Munich almost in the middle of the night, I spoke at length with the Prime Minister. He's appointed a new chairman. A friend of yours, I think. Lord Harry Dunhill. He's a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee."
"Yes. A very fine man." The DG looked a shade put out.
"He'll take the chair very shortly. He didn't want to come in until this whole business had been dealt with. It is a touchy matter, so the PM's office has asked that nobody talks about it to anyone outside this room." Turner turned to Bannon. "There wasn't much doubt, even without my hearing the tape. I checked as you asked. He's known Tann for a long time. Same school. Same house at school also. They've been cronies for years."
"I think," the DG interrupted, "this would be a good opportunity to take some tea. We've all been up for quite a long time."
"Want to take a look-see before Lord Harvey comes in? Bill Turner asked. "He went to pieces as soon as they took him out."
John Bannon nodded, reaching for Tyreen Mackenzie's hand, and Turner led them to a small room within shouting distance of the reading room.
Bannon knew this pair of interrogators rarely failed to extract whatever information was held by the target --- the "subject," as they called all of their unhappy clients.
The Minister was in his shirtsleeves and seemed to have aged ten years in as many minutes.
"Hallo, Minister," Bannon greeted him brightly. "Treating you well, then?" Getting no reply, he looked at the interrogators, raising an eyebrow.
"Coughing like a man smoking seventy a day," Burke smiled.
"Singing arias like Pavarotti," Hare nodded.
"He's admitted complicity?"
"Friend of Max Tann's for years, he says. He also says that he didn't realize the extent to which the man went. He just helped oil the wheels from time to time, but we know he did more than that."
"May I ask him a couple of things?"
"Be our guest." Hare turned back to the Minister. "You'll have no objections to this gentleman's questions?"
"Depends on what he asks." The Minister had that look, deep in his eyes, which said he knew his career had ended and his only chance was to be completely candid.
"I can promise you," Bannon began, "that if you come clean, I'll personally do my best to see that we keep all this out of the comic papers. Also, I don't expect anyone will want to shout about your activities from the rooftops. Be really cooperative and you'll not even see the inside of a courtroom."
"I've heard all that before." The Minister did not even look up at him.
"I just want information about Tann's associates. Did you know Lady Tann's bodyguards? A pair of grotesques called Cuthbert and Archibald?"
"You mean the pair of cross-dressers? Carla and Anna?"
"Oh, you did know them."
"Saw them around. His fixer, Maurice Perkins, told me who they were."
"Well, who did they really work for --- Lady Tann or Sir Max?"
"Max, of course. Everybody worked for Max in the long run. All you had to do was send someone really straight down to Sir Max and he'd come back bent as a corkscrew."
"Anything special about Duxford?"
"I think the original plan was for them to fly out of Duxford airfield, though that would have been a bit tricky."
"They managed to do it after Lady Tasha's murder." Turner was standing just behind Tyreen. "On that dark night, a corporate jet landed at Duxford just after midnight. Claimed he had a fuel problem. They let him fill up and the pilot made a telephone call. About an hour later, as I understand it, a pair of Land Rovers turned up and the occupants climbed out and boarded the aircraft. The jet took off, but the radio transmissions were, to say the least, on the sparse side. The general feeling is that money changed hands, but I doubt they'll prove anything."
"That was exactly how they were going to do it the first time." The Minister seemed to have gained a small amount of confidence in Bannon's promises. "I think they had a genuine problem with the aircraft that time because, at the last minute, I was told to give them an extra twenty minutes if possible."
"And you were well recompensed for all this, Minister?"
"I took money, yes. I've already told these people that I took money." He made the word "people" sound like an obscenity.
"Max only used money?" Tyreen asked.
"Meaning what I said. Did Max only use money to bribe people?"
The Minister gave a bitter laugh. "Max used anything available. Money always worked because he paid out beyond people's wildest dreams, but the man has no conscience. Would snuff out his mother if it would do any good, and he'd sleep soundly at night. He was equally at home with the blackmail and providing other little favors --- women, even boys."
"Anyone we know?"
"He pimped Carla and Anna for friends. I know that for a fact. When you finally get to him, Bannon, wish him well from me just before he dies. You'll certainly not take him alive, I'd put money on that. Without doubt, Max Tann is the most evil man I have ever known. He's moved through the world like a plague, sowing germs of death disguised as arms and military equipment to anyone willing to pay. He sees nothing wrong in that. In fact he believe that, in the end, the world will accept him because he reckons to have some great plan that will do immeasurable good."
"Didn't I mention that to The Committee? Bannon thought he had told them. "You've no idea what this great boon to mankind actually is?"
"None. Except a code word. SeaFire, he called it. I've heard him laugh and say that when he reveals SeaFire, he will have no enemies in the world."
"Any idea where he's headed next?"
"None. He was in Germany --- but, of course, you knew that. You were there."
"And you allowed me to go. Now why did you do that?"
"What option did I have? I thought it was safe..."
"You also thought it would be the end of me, didn't you?"
The Minister did not reply. He just shook his head, indicating this was not the case. Then: "He might still be there, as far as I know. He did say he had a great deal to do"
"Personally," Bannon sounded as though he was detached, speaking words that were simply thoughts in his mind, nothing to do with any of those present. "Personally, I think he's headed somewhere completely different." He turned to Turner. "A word in private, Bill."
Tyreen followed the two men out of the room.
"Bill, I need to have a word with C again. How's he doing?"
"Making Nurse Forester pretty miserable. You'll be a sight for her sore eyes."
"So shall I," said Tyreen firmly. "If he's going to see C, then so am I."
"Whatever you both wish." Bill Turner prided himself on being a diplomat, so he added that he had organized coffee and sandwiches. "Shall we rejoin them?"
As they reached the reading room door, the new Chairman, Lord Harvey, came up the stairs. Turner introduced Bannon and Tyreen.
"Ah, the man of the moment." Dunhill was one of the younger peers. In his early forties, he was reckoned to be the catch of the year for any young girl who had aspirations to the upper crust. It was said that whoever married him would be forced to share him with politics and government, as he was reputed to be one of the most able men on the Joint Intelligence Committee. "Glad to see you made it back in one piece. But you've caused me all kinds of problems. I've been reading reports since the crack of dawn. This fellow, Tann? Is he really as black as he's painted?"
"Blacker, sir. But I think I know how to hook him."
"Really? Then you can be a great help to me here and now. Let's go in and I'll give you the floor."
The others rose as they saw their new Chairman come through the door, and he made much of shaking hands with each of them before calling the meeting to order.
"Mr. Bannon has asked me to allow him to put a proposal to The Committee, so I've promised to let him speak to you first." He smiled his charming smile and gave a deferential bow to Bannon.
"As you say, sir, I'd like to make some propositions to The Committee." Bannon looked around him belligerently. "More important, I'd like to draw up an order of battle. I think I know where friend Tann has gone, and I'd like to follow him there and bring him back. Dead or alive, I don't really care which." He barely paused to let that sink in. "You're all aware," he continued, not giving anyone a chance to relax. "You're all aware that Max Tann has known our every move since before the start of this business."
There was a silent nodding of heads, and he noticed Commissioner Wilson did not look him in the eye, though his face was flushed with anger.
"The police have worked in tandem with the Security Service, while the Minister controlled every action made in the field. Through him, Max Tann has known who, why, and when regarding law enforcement, security, and intelligence since long before we even stared to take him seriously. He's literally got away with murder, and what's more, he's been playing a game with me, as your authorized agent in the field. In some ways he's been acting as a puppet master. He's led Tyreen and myself on a merry dance, luring us into places where he wanted us to be. In fact, we're very lucky to be alive. I believe it's possible that he wasn't to make an example of Tyreen and myself, and show the world that he's not the diabolical agent we would like people to believe. I'm pretty certain, now, that I know exactly where he is, or at least where he will be within a few days. All I need is The Committee's permission to take certain actions."
No one spoke as Bannon looked around the table, though some heads nodded again.
"Within a short time, Tann will be in Naples," Bannon finally declared. "Through this entire business, he has dropped hints which have put us exactly where he wanted us. I think it follows that he will be expecting me, at least, to be in Naples either just before or just after him. I believe he has chosen that port as the site for the final --- what can I call it? --- final showdown? Also some form of demonstration. Max von Tann is a man desperate to do the trick of suddenly becoming moderately respectable before he announces his bid for political leadership of a new National Socialist Party in Germany. At the same time the world will be told that he has renounced his British citizenship and returned to his rightful place as a German. In simple terms, I need your permission for Ms. Mackenzie and myself to be there. I know you'll say, why put ourselves in obvious danger?"
"Yes, why, Mr. Bannon?" Their new Chairman began to sound very reserved. "There is a technical point here, though. If Tann has already reclaimed his German citizenship, the ball might well be out of our court."
"His lawyers, who seem to be mainly concerned in property matters, are the only people who know that --- apart from the German authorities and myself." He had already sifted this one through his mind and knew it was a technicality that the bureaucrats could argue about for months. "I think, with all respect, sir, that we should ignore the change in citizenship, unless Tann makes some early announcement."
"Well, possibly." Lord Harry was obviously well versed in the tangled niceties of this kind of thing. "However, I did ask you why you required permission to hunt for him in Italy."
"Sir, what began as a relatively simple operation to prove that Sir Max Tann was guilty of certain acts of fraud, and possible illegal arms dealing, has become a personal vendetta between the two of us."
The Chairman spoke softly, leaving nobody in doubt that he also carried a big stick. "I thought that went against all the tenets of your Service, Bannon. You should never make any operation personal. It's the impersonality of such things that keeps you distanced, allows you to act only for your country, and remain detached from the people involved."
"Times are changing, sir. Also, there are moments in this business when you have to get close up and personal, as our American cousins would say."
"Talking of our American cousins," Bill Turner spoke quietly, "We should also get in touch with them. They want Tann almost as bad as we do."
"If you're sent off to Naples, then the Italians will have to sanction this as well as The Committee. We can't just let the Italians go hang." Lord Harry was no fool. "What you appear to be asking might not be in our power to give. The Italians've turned us down before. They have the right to ask for complete details of any legal infringements and go after the party, or parties, concerned using their own agencies on their own turf, so to speak."
"And you won't consider turning a blind eye?"
"How could we, and where's your solid evidence regarding Tann and Naples?"
"You can probably get that in twenty minutes flat. Our people are working on the financial and legal aspects of this case, in Bedford Square. They can probably track down evidence that either Tann himself or Tann International owns property around Naples. Damn it all, his container ships are in and out of there all the time; his cruise ships home port there; he has friends in moderately high places and they turn a blind eye to what he's doing. I think it's the least you can do."
"This Committee cannot do that, Mr. Bannon. We're accountable. We're the ones who'll end up with empty rice bowls if things go wrong." Dunhill smiled, as if he was saying, "Sorry, old boy, but it's out of the question. Nothing personal."
"Again, with respect, sir, I'm the one who could well end up without his life."
"Add me to that." Until now, Tyreen had stayed silent. "You do realize what's going to happen if someone doesn't go after Tann from here? If we don't take complete action and run him to earth? He's going to get away with it. Everyone will turn a blind eye, including the Italians. Our so-called civilization will be the loser. Tann will emerge victorious, and we'll all be back in the dark ages. I have respect for our Italian allies, but even if they did take over, even if Tann was arrested, we'd still be haggling over him ten years from now while he would be sitting on his own pile of wealth and possibly the power of the Chancellorship of Germany. The fact that several thousand deaths will lie at his door won't even cross his mind. Only Tann will be the winner."
"Maybe." Skinner of the Security Service spoke for the first time. "But the Chairman is right. Naples is not in The Committee's bailiwick. Before we could even discuss letting you go, the Italian agencies would have to be brought in."
"It's going to take months if you do that." Bannon was truly angry. This was what happened when you allowed a series of committees and by-the-book attitude of frightened politicians to take over. "So you're all prepared to sit here, hold meetings with the Italian intelligence agencies and their law enforcement people, before you allow us to go and deal with this business?"
"I see no other way."
"Look, John." Bill Turner used his most conciliatory voice. "There is a way. What if we promised to give you an answer in, say, a week's time? You could take seven days' leave and just wait it out. I don't suppose a week's going to make any difference, is it?"
The look that passed between the Chief of Staff and Bannon spoke volumes. Bill Turner knew how C had got around red tape by simple and direct means. Turner was telling Bannon to get on and do it, in his own time, without getting tied hand and foot by the same red tape that C snipped through, putting his own position on the line.
Bannon opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Finally he said, "Bill, you're right, of course. Just as The Committee is right. Tyreen and I cannot expect any of you to put yourselves in jeopardy over this, and a week probably won't make any difference. I change my plea. Might we have a week's leave while you sort matters out with the Italian services?"
"Granted." Lord Harry looked relieved. "Get a good rest, Mr. Bannon, and leave us a number where we can contact you --- and Ms. Mackenzie as well, of course."
"How?" Tyreen asked when they were settled in the car.
"How?" Bannon parroted. "How d'you think, Tyreen? We just go and do it."
"So where do we go first?"
"Get some lunch, then go for a sick visit. We see C, because if we don't there'll be one hell of a stink. I have to let him know where we'll be."
They stopped for lunch on the way to the M4 and, eventually, Quarterdeck.
Halfway through the meal, she leaned over and took one of his hands in both of hers. "John, darling," she spoke in almost a whisper, "I love you as I've only loved one other man." She barely paused over the mention of her husband of one day. "I took your side in there with those idiots who would see the whole of Europe down the drain rather than compromise themselves."
"They don't mean to be like that, Tyreen. I'm sure that in about five days they'll have it all sorted out. Deep down they know I'm right. It's just the whole idea of a committee being responsible for intelligence and security that bothers me, and in five days it will almost certainly be too late."
"Just let me say one thing, John," she persisted. "I feel like you, and I'll do whatever your say. Tann has got to be brought down, but please don't feel it's necessary to take huge risks simply because you've had to act over a matter of principle. I'll stand by you all the way, but you can back down if you feel it's wiser. You certainly won't lose face in my eyes."
He thought for a few seconds. Then: "Tyreen, I truly mean this. I'll be honest with you. We could both quite easily die when we get close to Max Tann again, but I have to try and topple the man. The world's a dangerous enough place without people like him who make it even more hazardous and unhealthy. Neither of us know what he's got going out there in the Mediterranean, and it could be something more horrific than either of us could dream about. No, I couldn't sleep peacefully in my bed unless I at least make a final attempt to get him. You don't have to risk your life by coming with me. In fact, I'd rather that you stayed here in the comparative safety of London."
"Enough!" She squeezed his hand hard enough to make him wince. "If you're set on going, you're not leaving here by yourself. Where you go, I go, no matter the risk."
He knew that any argument he put forward would be useless. When Tyreen Mackenzie made up her mind, there was no way of stopping her. She could be almost as stubborn as he was.
They pulled off at the first service station on the M4 so that he could call Quarterdeck from the comparative safety of a public telephone booth. Nurse Forester sounded quite excited at the news he was coming to visit the Admiral --- until he told her he would be bringing a lady friend.
C, still propped up in his sickbed, seemed delighted to see both of them, and after a little small talk asked the reason for their visit. "I don't believe that you would both come down here just to see an old and sick man."
"I think you already know why we're here, sir. I'd be surprised if The Committee has not already told you, via Bill Turner most probably."
C grunted. "Well, Turner did telephone me. Said The Committee had turned down a request from you, or some such. I didn't truly understand what he was talking about."
"Then the conversation we're about to have has never taken place, if you follow me, sir."
"What conversation? As he turned toward Tyreen, she could not be certain that C's eyelid closed in a wink, or whether she simply imagined it.
Carefully, leaving nothing out, Bannon went through the entire story. Then he outlined what he proposed to do about Tann.
"And what if the fellow's not in Naples, eh? You thought about that?"
"He'll be there, sir. I'd bet my job on it."
"That's what I think you're probably doing. I can't say that I blame The Committee for their action, though I do understand your own point of view --- though I haven't heard it."
"There's no alternative really, sir," Tyreen joined in. "We either do this now or forget about it. Tann has his own timetable, and he's not going to hang around waiting for someone to show up."
"So what do you want from me?"
Turning his face away so that his smile was not visible to the old man, Bannon cleared his throat. "Who said anything about wanting things?"
"My dear chap." C seemed to blossom with goodwill. "When people're in a meeting where the walls have no ears, and there's nobody to give evidence, because we can make this little threesome into an event that never happened, somebody wants something, and I don't believe you merely want the blessings of an old man. So, fire away, John. What do you need?"
"A meeting with Colonel Buckley for a start, sir." Colonel Buckley was the Service's Armourer, the brilliant head of Research and Development. "Preferably, within a few hours. He should also have your tacit instructions to provide us with anything for which we ask --- within reason, of course."
"Oh, of course, within reason, yes indeed. What else?"
"That's about it, sir. That and your word that, should things get very difficult, you'll inform on us, tell The Committee where we are."
"So your bodies can be brought home for burial, eh?"
"Something like that, sir."
"You have it, but on one condition." C paused. "They'll be putting me out to grass soon, Bannon, and I need to be certain of my successor. I'd like your assurance that you would consider the job when I step down."
"Consider it, yes, sir. But that's all I can do. Consider it."
"Understood. Enough said. You can meet the Armourer by the bandstand in Green Park at four o'clock sharp. Now go, John, Tyreen, before an old man gets stupidly sentimental."
It was Tyreen Mackenzie who bought the tickets on their Baxter identities. The following morning's Alitalia flight direct into Rome, with a connection to Naples. John Bannon had explained that he did not want to take a direct flight into Naples. "It's a little bit of insurance," he told Tyreen. She paid in cash that Bannon drew from his personal account.
After taking care of financial business he took a walk in Green Park, and there, close to the bandstand, bumped into the tall, almost emaciated figure of Colonel Buckley.
"And what can I do for you, Mr. Bannon?" The Armourer looked uncomfortable outside his lair deep in the basement of the headquarters building. "I've been given instructions to give you anything within my power."
Bannon went through his list, and the Armourer checked off items telling him either yes or no.
"The wetsuits and diving gear you can buy openly when you're there," Buckley said. "I can get the two briefcases in and delivered to the hotel before you even arrive, there's no problem with that. We've been working on a new design, and they'll carry the bulk of what you'll need."
"I'm not certain we'll require any of the stuff except the weapons, but I'd feel happier if everything was there, on tap."
"Well, I'll do my best. That's all I can promise."
They talked for another five minutes, then they went their different ways.
Bannon insisted on traveling light, and in the flat that night there was much discussion regarding what could, and even should, be taken. Though she was the most efficient field agent he had known, Tyreen had a tendency to take far too much luggage.
"If we were going on a camping holiday, you'd take at least three evening gowns," he chided her.
"Well, one must have something to wear."
"It'll be denims and sneakers most of the way." He came over, put an arm around her shoulder, and held her close. "Just between the two of us, think of it as a busman's honeymoon."
The following morning, they drove to Gatwick, put the car into the long-term lot, and began the process of getting to the air side of the terminal.
As they reached the passport control desk, the officer took their passports, looked at them, then began asking questions: "How long are you going to be out of the country?" "Are you carrying return tickets?"
It was a small delaying tactic that served to give some time to the two burly men who, as if by magic, appeared, one on either side of them.
"Now, we don't want to make a fuss," one of them said quietly. "Just come with us. There's no way either of you is going to get on that flight. Sorry."
Bannon asked to see their authority, and they both flashed Security Service IDs. He had no way of knowing if those were the real things or part of a ploy by Max Tann, whose influence seemed to reach into the very heart of the establishment.
It quickly became clear that this was official business. A sleek Jaguar pulled up in front of the terminal and their luggage was stowed away in the boot, while the two escorts helped them into the back of the car. They both seemed to be in good humor, which was more than could be said for Bannon and Tyreen.
"Cheer up, it could be raining." One of their custodians climbed into the back of the car with them. The other rode shotgun in the front passenger seat. The driver had given them a pleasant and polite greeting of "Morning, sir, ma'am."
Bannon glared at nobody in particular, his face a thundercloud. "This had better be good," he muttered angrily to the officer in the back.
"No idea if it's good, bad, or indifferent. I'm just obeying orders."
The one in front chuckled. "That's what we do for a living these days. A lot of the fun's gone out of life."
"Like hell it has." Bannon knew that he should keep his mouth shut. He also knew that the real problem was getting caught, and that the fury he felt was aimed at himself, not his captors.
Tyreen showed her displeasure by lighting a cigarette without asking permission.
It was a short drive back into London, and Bill Turner stood outside the door that they used at the Home Office. "Sorry about this." He also appeared to be in good spirits.
"We were going on a little holiday, Bill." Tyreen did not even try to disguise her anger.
"So we were told." Turner ushered them into the building, instructing the Security Service men to make themselves comfortable. "It might be a long wait," he told them as though this was the happiest news he had to convey.
The whole Committee was there, except, of course, for C. They looked spry and in good humor also. They were certainly very polite, showing Bannon and Tyreen to their seats at the far end of the table, seeing they had coffee, asking if they wanted anything else.
Finally Lord Harry brought the meeting to order. "I presume that C's Chief of Staff has offered our apologies." He smiled. Charm will get you anywhere, Bannon thought. "Really, we had no option after we spoke with our friends in Italy, but I'll let Turner put you in the picture."
Turner opened with information that made Bannon curse himself for being so lax. "I should tell you that Nurse Forester, looking after C, is one of us." He smiled, rather like the Chairman. "After your meeting with the Chief yesterday she called, so His Lordship went down and had a chat with him. He has a great fondness for you, John, and for Tyreen. Hardly told us anything. However, we do have his bedroom taped, so we already knew what you were up to." The smile again as he picked up a sheaf of notes. "But that's not the real reason you're here. Yesterday, as the Chairman said, we had some lengthy discussions with the Italians. It turns out that we were wrong. In fact, they'll happily allow you to work on their turf. They'll also provide a bit of backup if it's necessary."
"Couldn't you just have got word to us, instead of hauling us back?"
"Ah." It was Lord Harry who replied. "Would that we could, Mr. Bannon. Unhappily you were in a technical breach of our instructions, and we also have quite a lot to tell you. The Italians really want Max Tann as much as we do. It was something they shared with us. In truth, they're pretty happy about the possibility of nabbing him. They hadn't actually put the finger on Tann --- that's their expression, not mine. What we told them was music to their ears. We gave them some information, practically everything, as it happens --- except for the Nazi connection, of course --- and then they recognized him straightaway."
"How so?"
"Our evidence on Tann fits the profile of someone they've been searching for. In fact they're already working with the Americans on it. Their code name is apt, so we've taken it upon ourselves to share it."
"And the code name is?"
"Apocalypse. That's what they've been calling the shadow they've been chasing. Good, Apocalypse?"
"Very original." Bannon could not keep the satirical edge out of his tone.
"Thought you'd like it." Dunhill raised an eyebrow, indicating that he fully agreed with Bannon.
Turner took over and told them the long story. The United Nations had been looking into the murky business of what they called the "international arms bazaar," and its Disarmament Commission had already made some progress.
"So far, the United States have been more concerned with the guns which have found their way onto the streets of their cities, but that's a domestic issue, and a very serious one for them." Turner glanced at his notes again. "The Italians now realize that the trade in weapons through their country has reached incredible proportions. We have also been able to give them evidence that Max Tann is behind at least two-thirds of the deals, making Italy, and his base in Naples, a kind of convenience store for small arms --- pistols, assault rifles, semiautomatics, explosives, and ammunition. These items are being farmed out to a whole slew of organizations and countries. We've talked about that in connection with Tann already, and the Italians sat up and took notice when we showed them what we've got on him. Already we know that among his clients he has the Colombian drug lords, the Irish gunrunners, the Japanese crime bosses, and --- no surprise --- the embargo-busters of the Balkans. The Italians, in turn, have linked him to the off-limits countries in the Middle East. Tann's really been working overtime. Only last month quarter of a million firearms were licensed by the US Federal Government for export to Argentina. Those weapons went nowhere near Argentina, but were neatly diverted by the Tann organization and split between the Colombians and buyers in Europe."
Turner went on to say that Max Tann's people had gone further than any other illegal arms dealers. They had even managed to infiltrate the government computers in Washington and Rome and, with high-tech cunning, had sanctioned hundreds of deals that resulted in the diversion of weapons and military matériel.
"The entire business has reached incredible proportions. We were able to supply a lot of information."
"Which means you're actually going to allow us into the field?" It was all Bannon was interested in: getting back into action.
"Among other things, yes." The Chairman spoke from the far end of the table. "Yesterday we didn't imagine in our wildest dreams that the Italian authorities would embrace such a plan. So things have altered dramatically, and while I cannot praise you for trying to override our orders, I now have the authority to change those orders. Netting Max Tann would be a triumph as far as we're concerned."
"So we can get on with it and go with your blessings?"
"Not so fast, Bannon. Yes, you are going to be allowed into Italy --- possibly along with one or two other people who you aren't like to see --- but I should warn you that, as of this morning, the Italian agencies have no trace of Tann being anywhere near their country. He is, in fact, still in Germany --- Tannenwerder and Wasserburg."
"I didn't expect him to be in Naples when we arrived." Bannon raised his voice, almost shouting. "I told you he would certainly be going there soon."
"Oh, yes, we have no doubt about that, providing nobody tips him off and tells him to stay clear. We've even got an address for you. He keeps a fair-sized villa. Near Amalfi to the south. His facilities in Naples are confined to a small flat and, most important, his warehouses in the port area. These are almost certainly stockpiled with enough military equipment to start World War III, and they're used by his container ships. But for relaxation he has all the trappings of luxury in what our Italian friends refer to as his compound near Amalfi --- tennis courts, swimming pools, servants. Tann does not stint himself when he's off duty."
"With the money he's making by dealing in death, he can afford to be a bit lavish."
A short pause was followed by a nod from the Chairman toward the head of the Security Service. "I'm told, Mr. Bannon, that you seem to have a way with our own penetration agent, the former Junior Minister."
"I spoke with him yesterday."
"Yes, to great effect. You made him some very unauthorized promises, though."
"They were based on the realities of life. You know as well as I do, sir, that nobody in this room wants to see the little rat in court, with every newspaper and television reporter at his heels. Put the ex-Minister in front of a judge and some of you become laughingstocks. A decade ago he would have probably caught the measles --- I think that was the term we used in those days. We'd have a little suicide on our hands, and someone in high places would trot out evidence that he had been under incredible strain. Nowadays we don't do things like that, so we have to offer him a deal. After all, very few people know what's been going on."
"I, for one, cannot comment on any deals, Mr. Bannon. We do have to consider the law. None of us is above it."
"Or below it."
"If you say so. Now, we have a deal to offer you. We feel that, whatever the final outcome and its effect on our former lord and master's life, he does appear to trust you. Nobody in Tann's camp can have any idea that we've turned him, so we want you to arrange that he passes on a little information to his former master."
"What kind of information, sir?"
"Oh, simple stuff. The fact that our search continues in the UK and in Germany where he was last spotted, plus anything else that comes from your fertile imagination. I'm sure you'll give him the right words. Incidentally, he's being kept in one of our safe flats not fifteen minutes' drive from here."
"You said you had a deal to offer me."
"Certainly. You get him to say the right words, hold his hand, stay with him while he passes on the information, and we'll let you and Ms. Mackenzie leave for Naples first thing tomorrow morning."
"Done." He glanced at Tyreen, who nodded back. "I presume Ms. Mackenzie can be present?"
"We'll all be present. You won't see us, but we'll be there. Oh, by the way, they're all on first-name terms. Our former Minister is called Charles."
The safe flat was known to both Bannon and Tyreen, high on the fourth floor of a block of service apartments on the corner of Marylebone High Street and New Cavendish Street. The service had made the Minister very comfortable.
"Got everything you want, Charles?" Bannon greeted him. "Hot and cold running security, good takeaway Chinese and Indian?"
"I hate Chinese food, but the curry's good." He looked much better than when they had last seen him during the interrogation at the Home Office. "You come to give me a pardon?"
Bannon shook his head and Tyreen said she was sorry but they couldn't do that just yet.
"I've told them that I'll give evidence against Tann in camera. Time we had a good witness-protection program over here, like they do in the States."
"We can't have everything, Charles." Bannon turned to the two Security Service officers who were minding the prisoner, asked them if they could leave them alone with him. "Man talk, you know the kind of thing."
With a somewhat hammy reluctance --- for they already had orders --- the two men withdrew, leaving Tyreen included for the "man talk."
"So what's the deal?" Not unnaturally, the man could only think about himself and his future.
"Nothing's been decided yet, Charles. We've talked to a lot of people and, as I told you yesterday, I don't for a minute think you're going to see the inside of a courtroom. Mind you, it's possible that you'll spend the rest of your life in some godforsaken part of the world with a pair of minders who'll be changed every three months. If you want total freedom you'll have to cooperate."
"I've already told them I'll..."
"Yes, yes, Charles, we know what you've promised. Believe me we know, and as far as that goes, everyone's going to show gratitude. However, there is gratitude and gratitude. It comes in many disguises, and in different packages. Now, there is one thing you might be able to do for us that will move you up a few notches."
"Anything."
"Tell me, the telephone number in Wasserburg, was that your only method of contact with Max Tann and his unsavory friends?"
"Took a leaf out of your book, Bannon. We used various dead drops and false telephone codes."
"Nothing else direct?"
"Only the telephone you managed to spike. Tann's end has been ultra-secure, until that last time. I suspect it's some kind of patch-through electronics, because sometimes I get a pickup and talk with that piece of rubbish, Maurice Perkins. We're even on first-name terms. I was able to use it when I wanted to set up a proper meeting with one of them."
"So you sometimes used it when you wanted a meeting with some intermediary who handed you money, right?"
"Well, occasionally."
"Usually."
"Not always, no."
"Would you care to make a call on that line for us?"
"I said I'd do anything."
"Your end would be scripted."
"I'm not absolutely stupid. I understand that."
"We can even do it from here, Charles. Mind you, any deviation from the script and I'll put a bullet through your head. We can do that kind of thing, you know."
"I believe you. What's in the script?"
"We'll work on it together."
Charles waited for at least fifteen seconds before he asked if they could get on with it.
What they worked out in the end was aimed at putting Tann into an even higher state of folie de grandeur, and it was an hour later that Charles dialed the number. They had taken the extra precaution of attaching a speaker to the instrument, linked to headphones so that Bannon could hear everything. Tyreen passed the time by playing solitaire, and both men noticed that she handled a pack of cards rather like an experienced gambler.
"Yes," came from the distant end, and Bannon immediately recognized the voice of Tann's fixer, Maurice Perkins. So the instrument in the offices of Rollen, Rollen, u. Saal was capable of patching in to another line.
"Maurice, it's Charles," the ex-Minister read from the pad on which his script was jotted down in his own clear, and rather schoolboyish, handwriting.
"So what can we do for you, Charles? Don't expect any money for the time being. We're a shade busy."
"I'm sorry to trouble you, but I thought I'd better pass on the latest. It is rather important."
"Shoot."
"They were pretty angry about your little disappearing act in London. Now Sir Max is wanted for murder, though they're not issuing anything to the press. As far as they're concerned, Lady Tann died in the car accident, so the authorities are keeping quiet. In fact, there's still a search going on for Sir Max in Germany as well as here. The agent, Bannon, went missing as well."
Perkins chuckled. "He ended up dead. Very nasty. Bad business about Lady T, but it had to be done. Poor Tasha went right off her rocker. Threatened the Chief, and she wasn't joking. Anyway, good to know that she won't make the funny pages again. Anything else?"
"Yes, the man Bannon isn't dead. He pulled a fast one on you and turned up back here yesterday."
Perkins cursed violently. "What about him, then? What's happening?"
"He's been fired --- him and his girlfriend. Well, they've been suspended from duty. I think he wanted to go after you with guns blazing. I'm supposed to be keeping them under surveillance --- that's a laugh. I've got complete control over the whole thing. Everything comes back to me, as usual."
"And?"
"And guess what? The pair of them have been dashing around London getting money and buying airline tickets."
"Going anywhere in particular?"
"Right into Sir Max's arms, I should think. They leave tomorrow. Gatwick-Rome, then on to Naples. I can pull the police and Security off, and let them out if you'd like another crack at them."
"What a coincidence." Perkins gave a bray of laughter at the distant end. "When winter comes, the spring's not far behind. Thanks, Charles. Maybe you'll get a bonus for this. Let 'em out."
"Just earning my keep, Maurice." The distant line went dead, and Charles slowly put down the handset. "How did I do?"
"Best actor of the year. Oscar and our grateful thanks." Bannon even managed to smile at the unpleasant man.
The porter who took their luggage from the carousel for them seemed quite happy to summon a taxi, and even happier with his tip. The driver of the cab, on hearing the destination, named a price and asked if that was okay by them. Bannon nodded, and the meter was immediately turned off.
Their driver headed into the old city and finally deposited them in front of the Excelsior. Splendidly located on the shore drive, the hotel has views of the bay from its front rooms. Porters hurried down the steps to their left, and Bannon paid the driver the agreed upon amount.
Once through the ancient doors, they found themselves greeted like royalty, and, unusually, shown straight upstairs to their comfortable and traditional room furnished in the Empire style.
They had been told to go through the registration procedure once they had settled in, so Bannon went down, completed the paperwork, and asked if any forwarded luggage had arrived for them.
The young woman at reception told him that there were two special cases that would be delivered to the room directly.
He was on his way back when an instantly recognizable voice spoke from directly behind him. "Just in time for a predinner drink, John, old buddy."
"Lester!" He turned and could hardly believe that his old friend Lester Ferris stood behind him, leaning on his walking stick, a broad smile on his leathery Texan face.
"Fancy meeting you here, John. You haven't changed, I see. Noticed you arrived with a gorgeous lady in tow."
"I'm surprised you didn't recognize her." Bannon looked affectionately at his old friend, who, for many years had served with the Central Intelligence Agency. That career had been cut short by an argument with a shark while he was working with Bannon, though you would hardly know that he had lost both an arm and a leg. True, he walked with the aid of a stick, but the prosthetic arm and leg allowed him to live an almost normal life. "You here on business?" Bannon stepped close to his old friend.
"You never get to leave the business completely, John. You should know that. They just pulled on my leash and brought me back. When Wollenstein told me it concerned you, I couldn't say no." Donald Wollenstein was the CIA's Head of Station in London. "Anyway, the hotel's good, and the food and drink are more than bearable."
Bannon leaned closer and his lips hardly moved. "You know everything?"
"About Apocalypse? Sure, I know most of what you know. I've even been down to Amalfi to look at the little country place he has here. I'll take you over for a look-see tomorrow."
"So we're working together again, eh?"
"I am your guide, philosopher, and friend, John. Now, off you go and bring your lady down to the bar."
When Bannon returned to the room, a porter was just delivering a pair of heavy aluminum cases.
"What have we got in those?" Tyreen had already unpacked and showered. Wearing a pink terry robe, she sat at the little dressing table putting on her warpaint as she sometimes called it. Now, removing the robe, she came over and sat on the edge of the bed to examine the cases. "They look like camera cases."
"A shade more lethal." He dialed in the prearranged codes on the locks of the cases and opened them up. As he went through the weapons, ammunition, and the like, held within the cases by egg-crate foam rubber, he told her about running into Lester Ferris downstairs.
"Lester? What the hell's he doing here?" She had worked with Ferris and Bannon once, years earlier, before Ferris's unfortunate encounter with the shark.
While he recounted the conversation downstairs, Bannon lifted the foam rubber from the bottom of the second case to reveal five boxes about six inches long and two across. "He did it," he muttered. "How on earth did he manage to smuggle these little jewels in, I wonder?"
"Little jewels?" She started to reach for one.
"Not your kind of jewels, darling. This kind will blow people to kingdom come." He held one up to show her.
"That's exactly my kind."
"Yes, yes. By the way, what are you wearing tonight?"
"This." She waved a hand in front of herself.
"There you go, then. Your favorite Walther and a thigh holster."
"Oh, your favorite, John." She took the holster and strapped it on, reminding him of the very first flash of her thighs that he had ever seen --- when she had suddenly drawn a pistol from that same type of holster back when they had both been working for MI5.
While she finished dressing, he took a quick shower, changed into slacks, comfortable moccasins, and a white shirt, over which he put on a lightweight blazer --- mainly to hide the bulge made by the ASP.
Finally, after several changes in her small items of jewelry --- and a lot of "What do you think, John? This one, or this?" --- they went down to join Ferris in the hotel bar.
Ferris already had a couple of drinks lined up. "Just so you don't get too far behind." He then gave Tyreen a warm embrace, apologizing for not having recognized her earlier.
While Tyreen ordered her own drink, Ferris leaned over and spoke quietly to Bannon. "There's a face over there I kinda recognize, John. You ever seen him before?"
There were only three other people in the bar. Two men and a woman, sitting together, very relaxed and in deep conversation.
"The one with the beard?"
"That's the guy. I've seen him somewhere, or maybe just his photograph."
"America's Most Wanted?"
"Don't be a fool. I'm talking big-time names here. That guy's famous for something."
"I vaguely know the face, but can't put a name to him. Nothing for us to worry about."
In spite of the last remark, Bannon quickly gave the trio a thorough once-over. The bearded man was short and stocky, probably in his late forties, with a fine weatherbeaten face. The woman could be any age between eighteen and thirty-five, as she had one of those faces with a scrubbed look, sun-bleached hair that hung lank around her shoulders so that it regularly had to be pushed back with a thin hand. The final member of the party was clean-shaven, earnest-looking, with his hair beginning to recede. He had the manner of an academic, the shoulders slightly stooped, his eyes bright behind a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Ferris was in top form and kept the three of them going with a fund of stories, all of which were supposed to be true, most of them having happened to him personally. Bannon had forgotten what a good raconteur and companion his old friend could be, and they relaxed over dinner at the hotel's Casanova restaurant, which, as was his way, Ferris ordered for them. Tonight he obviously realized that they would not want anything heavy after the journey, so they ate simply --- smoked salmon and Salade Niçoise, followed by an unforgettable chocolate mousse.
It was Ferris who suggested that they return to the bar for coffee and what he called "a little firewater to make us sleep," with a little knowing nod in the direction of Bannon and Tyreen.
The trio was still there, conversing together in English and Ferris caught the bearded man's eye as they walked in. Immediately, Ferris being Ferris, addressed him. "I'm only an old Texas cowhand, but I seen you somewhere. sir. You're kinda famous for something and darned if I can put my finger on what exactly."
The bearded man's face broke into a wide, almost youthful grin. "You must have been reading some very rare magazines, sir. I'm only known in my field. The name's Rex Rexinus."
"I'm Lester Ferris, and you're a marine biologist, right?"
"Absolutely right."
"See," Ferris turned to his friends. "I told you this guy was famous. You wrote a book about deep-ocean fish."
"If you've worked your way through that, then you're very well read, and I doubt if you're really an old cowhand."
"Maybe I stretched the point with that. I been in and out of all kinds of business. But it's been great meeting you, Dr. Rexinus."
"Please join us." Rexinus stood and was already pulling up chairs. "It's nice to be able to speak English with someone else."
"Well, you've got to meet my friends here. This is..."
"James Baxter, and this is my wife, Teresa."
"Yeah." Ferris was putting on his most outrageous drawl. "James and Teresa."
"And my friends." Rexinus leaned over and shook hands. "This is Vesta Murray, and my other friend here is Professor Fritz Acton."
"Not Professor Acton, the biochemist?"
"You're a walking encyclopedia, Mr. Ferris. Yes, I'm a biochemist, as, indeed, is Ms. Murray --- among other things." Acton had a slightly high-pitched voice that somehow did not go with his face, while Vesta Murray's "How do you do?" was very English.
They ordered drinks and there were a few moments of small talk until Ferris, still playing the Texan abroad, asked, "What in heaven's name brings a couple of biochemists and a marine biologist of renown to Naples?"
"Good question, Lester." Rexinus put his head back and laughed. "We thought we were onto something good. About a year ago the three of us had an idea which we felt would benefit the world, but we didn't have the money to carry out the research."
"Ain't that always the way?"
"Usually, yes. But suddenly we found a benefactor, though now we're at a loss what to do. We have the most magnificent floating laboratory out there in the harbor, and we've found that all three of us were wrong." He punctuated this with another laugh. "You see, we were only half right in our theory, which is about as good as being completely wrong. Now we're in even deeper water because the very generous and rich man who backed the entire venture has gone and got himself killed in a car accident, and we can't get a peep out of his company offices in London."
"And who's the filthy-rich benefactor?" Bannon stirred in his chair.
"Man called Tann." Rexinus grunted. "Sir Max Tann. You may have heard of him."
"Vaguely," said Tyreen a shade too quickly.
"I mean, I'm sorry for the fellow, getting killed, but it makes life easier for us in some ways."
"Why would that be?" Bannon asked stiffly, as though just getting over a shot of Novocaine.
"Well." It was Vesta Murray who answered him. "Sir Max is one of these people who demand results. He gave us a year, and --- just before his death --- he cabled us to say he would be coming here to Naples to see a demonstration of the thing we cannot demonstrate."
"A hard taskmaster," Ferris muttered.
"Oh, the hardest," Ms. Murray replied, with wise nods from her two colleagues. "But you'll have to come aboard and see our laboratory, Mare Nostrum. It's an incredible ship. Quite the last word."
Last word is probably right, Bannon considered. Aloud, he said, "We'd love to. How about tomorrow night?"
"An old Texas cowhand," Bannon all but sneered. "Old Texas cowhand, my backside."
"Don't be horrible to your friend, now, John, He did get us a lot of information," Tyreen chided.
It was late afternoon, and the day had provided more information, none of it comforting. Now they stood on the topmost level of an ancient Roman fortification, looking out across the harbor.
The banter between Bannon and his old friend had begun early that morning when they left the hotel to drive down to Amalfi. Ferris, it appeared, had thought of everything, including hiring a car that he could drive with the advanced prosthetics he now used, but Bannon took over with both Tyreen and Ferris as navigators. Not that there was much navigation to do, for the roads were straightforward, taking them directly to Salerno past the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii, then back up the beautiful coast to Amalfi.
"You're quite a well-read little devil for an American," Bannon began.
"It's all the time I've had lying in hospital beds."
"Yes, but to recognize a couple of obscure scientists was quite a feat."
"Not really. I already knew who they were."
"You did?"
"I've been here for a couple of days, and those three are almost permanent fixtures in the hotel bar. A word here and a word there: you know how we glean information, John. At least you used to."
"Fraud," Bannon muttered.
"No, just checking out the opposition. Those three are in some danger, but I don't need to tell you that; you've been up against their boss in person. Don't you think we should warn them?"
"They're innocents as far as Tann's concerned. Won't know what hit them when he does arrive. Yes, I had thought of giving them most of the information tonight. I'll suggest that they whiz their floating lab off to some other port --- perhaps Malta or Gibraltar." Bannon paused briefly, then continued: "You've spent your time checking up on the trio of scientists, Lester. What are they up to on Max Tann's behalf?"
"What are they doing? Well, it's difficult to explain. In fact, even if they do explain the scientific bits to us, we'll probably be none the wiser. I gather it's something to do with an antipollution device. That's the talk in the local bars and bistros. They're trying to produce a substance that will nullify the effects of oil spills."
"That wold be handy."
"It's only talk, but I've seen Mare Nostrum from a distance. She has these pipes, like mortars, set at angles all around her outer deck. The locals say that they would spray a kind of foam on oil spills --- rather like dowsing a fire. The difference is that this foam would suck up the oil and purify the water at the same time, but you heard what they said last night. The thing doesn't work."
"Tann's not going to like that. When he puts money into something, he always counts on a return. Like as not, he'll expect the thing to work."
Tyreen stirred in the back. "Like as not, he'll demand it to work. The man's a loony."
"A loony and his money are not easily parted, either," Bannon said without any humor in his tone. "But we all know he's damned dangerous and, I suspect, is getting more dangerous by the day."
Presently, Tyreen asked if Ernandez had visited any of the caves.
"What're you thinking about, Tyreen?" Bannon asked.
"Nothing in particular, only it struck me that if there really is a submarine out here, a cave would make a good pen for it."
"Submarine!" Ferris's jaw dropped. "What submarine?"
"We know Tann has one --- an old Russian boat. I think World War II vintage, or just after, but he could've been feeding us a line, so I suppose the real thing might even be a modern boat." Bannon's thoughts had already caught up with Tyreen's. "He gave us a cock-and-bull story that it was for a military museum he was going to set up on one of the deserted islands he owns. Planned to have his cruise ships visit the place. None of it rang true."
"That's all we need, a rogue submarine prowling around these waters."
Tyreen launched into the story of their cruise and the damage done to Aegean Princess. "The Italian Navy square searched the whole area soon after that. Found nothing, so he must've squirreled it away somewhere. If we were, in fact, torpedoed."
The sun shone, sparkling off the emerald sea, and the sky was clear but for a few high cirrus clouds as they drove on. Ferris made a remark about Tann certainly picking a nice spot. "It's only a few miles from Amalfi, up the coast. Those rocks down there look like a lunar landscape."
"It all looks volcanic to me." Bannon glanced down toward the beach. They had already left the hulk of Vesuvius behind.
Minutes later they reached the turn, and traveled on a bumpy track leading uphill in a series of sharp bends. Ahead there was a small wooded area. "You can just get into the trees," Ferris told them. "Then we have to walk."
It was some kind of picnic area, deserted at the moment, and Ferris soon led them from the car along a winding footpath that took them to the edge of the trees.
Below them was a long, low oblong building, the four sides enclosing a garden with a swimming pool. The house, with its many arches, was painted a light blue, the whole surrounded by a wall. On the outer perimeter they could see tennis courts and a parking area.
"Nice little place for weekends." Ferris handed Bannon a pair of binoculars and he scanned the house, which was perched above a rocky incline leading to the sea. There were two cars in the lot, and several people worked in the central garden or could be seen moving along the cloisters. Of Tann and his closest colleagues there was no sign.
"Doesn't look as though the master's arrived yet, does it?"
"No, but there are several men down there who look as though they're guests." He had picked out a group of ten or twelve men sitting under one of the cloisterlike arches, drinking. He sharpened the focus on the binoculars, trying to make out faces, but he recognized none of them.
Bannon was just going to hand the glasses to Tyreen when one of the group, a tall and graying bearded man, pushed back his chair and spoke to the others, who began readying themselves to leave.
"Watch this." Bannon realized that the illusion of the group's proximity made him whisper. "They're off to do something."
"I hope it's not a little stroll up here," murmured Tyreen. "Some of those people look nasty."
"I'd forgotten your exceptional eyesight."
While sharper than the Terran norm, her vision lacked the capabilities of a Prime. "It's my youth, darling. Seriously, from here they look like hoodlums."
"Or sailors," added Ferris.
The group straggled through the cloister and disappeared into the house, emerging seconds later outside, walking down the driveway that ended at a pair of stout iron gates exiting onto the road.
"Wait!" Bannon had the binoculars focused on one figure --- an unusually tall man with a slow and lumbering gait. "I know one of them. He damn near killed me in Wasserburg. He's a half-witted man mountain disguised as one of Tann's lawyers. Name of Karl Saal."
As they watched, the gates swung open and the men crossed the road, two of them waiting while a tourist bus went by. At the edge of the cliff, each man seemed to disappear, as though there was some route down to the rocks and the sea below. Within a few minutes they had all passed out of sight.
"I'm going to take a look down there." Bannon's hand moved to his jacket, as though reassuring himself that he was armed.
Tyreen put her hand over his. "No, John. I'm going." The expression on her face brooked no argument. "If I'm not back in an hour, you can come looking." She stood up, stepping from the treeline to start walking, zigzagging her way down the steep slope, keeping well to the left of the house and its perimeter walls. It took almost fifteen minutes to reach the road, with the house and walls still on her right.
Crossing the road, she glanced up to the trees above Tann's house and could just make out the two figures of Bannon and Ferris. She then headed directly toward the point where the men had disappeared.
As they had guessed, there was a way down, a series of steps cut into the rock, dropping at a steep angle. There was also a large red sign that carried a warning legend of skull and crossbones, below which were the words Private and Dangerous. Only authorized personnel beyond this point. Danger of Death in four different languages.
Slowly, Tyreen made her way down the first few steps, then stopped to listen. There was no sound of voices, only the crashing of the surf against the rocks below, though she could see even from here that a wide channel ran from the cliffs between two reefs: enough room for a ship to get through.
The steps became slick with water as she neared the bottom, which was a wide concrete platform fashioned around rocks. Once on the platform, her sneakers were soaked with the spray that burst regularly over the platform. Inching her way along the concrete with her back to the natural rock, she could clearly see the beginning of an opening in the cliff --- a great arched entrance to a cavern. The noise of the sea abated as the surf was sucked back, and for the first time she heard voices, and a Scots accent speaking loudly enough for her to her the words "Come on... Only about twenty-four hours... Hell to pay if we're not ready for him."
She leaned out to take a quick look inside the cave, only to find that the entire entrance was screened by a thick mesh curtain camouflaged in the colors of the surrounding rock. Gently she caught hold of the edge of the netting and pulled it back. Though she allowed herself only a few seconds, it was enough to take in the long concrete walkways and the sinister prow and sail of a black, rust-encrusted submarine nestling within the cave while a dozen or so men climbed over her. She had seen much bigger, nuclear boats being prepared for the sea, and she had no doubt that they were going through the preliminaries.
The ascent back up the rock face took much longer the descent, and the climb up the grassy incline to the wood would have winded a Terran. Even Tyreen was beginning to feel the effects.
"You want to inform your people or the local authorities?" she asked Lester Ferris after she had apprised them of what lay at the bottom of the cliff.
Ferris frowned. Then: "I don't think so. It would be much better if we caught them in the act, don't you think?"
"Certainly, Lester," Bannon replied. "Certainly much better, but I think the prudent way would be to get the Navy here as quickly as we can."
"Plenty of time for that when we see what the timetable's like. Let's talk to the scientific trio and give them the option."
On their way back to Naples, they stopped and strolled through parking lot overlooking the ongoing excavations at the ruins of Herculaneum. Reputed to have been founded by the legendary Hercules, the elite Roman resort had been devastated in AD 79 by the same volcanic eruption that had buried Pompeii, embalming the entire town by covering it with a 35-foot-deep blanket of volcanic ash and ooze. The ruins of the ancient city had been found by accident, by two monks sinking a well.
Taking a pull on her cigarette, Tyreen gazed out over the ruins. She could just make out the shape of the old amphitheater. She shuddered, remembering the shootout at Itálica, just outside Seville. "This place feels haunted," she said, turning her away to gaze out over the harbor.
Ferris sniffed the air. "The ghosts of the Romans," he said, turning his face toward the bulk of Vesuvius looming over them to the northeast.
"If Sir Max has his way, there'll be a lot more ghosts to keep them company," Bannon added.
"And it's up to us to stop it." Tyreen stubbed out her cigarette against the side of a trashcan before discarding it
Back in Naples, they returned to the hotel to change for dinner, then set off to the harbor. Rexinus had given them explicit directions as to where Mare Nostrum was tied up. "You can't miss her," he had said, rightly, because nobody could possibly have missed the exotic-looking ship.
That she had been purpose-built was obvious. Over two hundred feet long, the sleek, seagoing motorized yacht still had the patina of newness on her. She also looked like the kind of craft you saw only on classified documents. The mortarlike tubes, about which Ferris had told them, poked into the air at forty-five degree angles, but it was the superstructure that immediately caught the eye. Aft of the wheelhouse was a long, square plexiglas framework that looked like a modern greenhouse. It climbed higher than the wheelhouse, and the edges along the top were curved, giving it the look of something from science fiction.
"You found us, then." Rex Rexinus stood by the gangway, his infectious laugh splitting the air.
"How could we miss you, Dr. Rexinus?" Tyreen had already said that she would handle Rexinus should he get difficult when they laid the news on him.
The marine biologist welcomed them on board, saying that he would take them on a tour of the ship after dinner. "Poor Vesta doesn't get to entertain very often. She's provided only a cold supper, but it seems to have taken her all day." He turned and laughed again as though this was a great joke.
Bannon was finding his laughter a little hard to bear.
Belowdecks the quarters were more palatial than they expected: a wide and high oblong, oak-paneled living area had been arranged as a dining room, complete with a long adjustable table that was laid out with plates of cold meats and salads of every possible variety. There were crystal glasses and bottles of both a good claret and a somewhat fine Chablis.
"What's through there?" Bannon asked immediately, nodding to the closed door at the far end. He always liked to know the quickest exit when he arrived in a new environment.
"Our modest sleeping quarters." Fritz Acton had the distinct trace of a squashed mid-European accent.
"Modest indeed." Vesta Murray came forward to greet them. "I have the best bedroom I've ever had in the whole of my life. I do hope you don't mind this buffet thing I've thrown together." The gut-glass British accent clashed heavily with Rexinus's American.
"Just what we'd have chosen for ourselves," Bannon said gallantly. In the depth of his heart he could have done with a really good dinner tonight, but he figured that beggars could not be choosers.
Vesta did not appear to have any of the social graces. They had hardly entered the living quarters when she started to pour wine and asked them to "Dig in, chaps," which made Bannon wince and Tyreen stifle a snort of laughter.
While they moved around, eating and drinking, they tried to chip away at the job the trio of scientists were doing for Max Tann. To give credit, Rexinus himself tried to explain the theory behind what he referred to as "an automatic anti-oil pollution system --- AAOPS for short," but the concept was daunting, and they really were none the wiser by the time he had finished.
Eventually, Bannon nodded to Ferris, who, they had agreed, would set things in motion. "Well, folks," he began, using the same old Texas cowboy manner that he had kept up all evening. "I fear we've brought you some disturbing and almost certainly dangerous news."
The three scientists looked at him as though he was quite mad.
"What kind of news?" Rexinus did not laugh.
"You haven't yet been able to get any information from Tann International in London?"
"We told you that last night. Since Sir Max's death we aren't getting any answers at all. It's like the whole organization has died with him."
"Max Tann isn't dead." It was Bannon who exploded the bombshell.
"Isn't... But...?"
"Worse still to come," Tyreen said softly.
"The man is wanted for a number of quite heinous crimes, I fear." Back to Ferris. "Murder is probably the least important. He's wanted for weapons running on a huge scale. I don't think we need to go into the complete story now, but you have to believe us, he's very dangerous, has firepower of his own --- they travel with him usually --- and we expect him in Naples any day."
Tyreen finished it off: "The really amusing thing about him is that he thinks he's the Nazi Messiah, and it appears that a zillion or so German far-right groups believe him."
"Oh, my God!" from Vesta.
"Who the hell are you, with these idiotic stories?" Rexinus had possibly given up laughing for a long time, and his face became even more grave as Ferris showed him his own credentials and introduced Bannon and Tyreen in their true identities.
"We're going to suggest that you pull out of Naples tonight," Bannon told them. "You can always make for Gibraltar, and we can arrange protection for you. Really you are in grave danger. Max Tann will brook no explanations. I doubt if he'll even listen when you tell him the AAOPS won't work. The man thinks he's above any laws, natural, man-made, or scientific. Tell him your original concept doesn't work and he'll tell you that's nonsense. Also, we believe that he's all set to show your invention to the world, and we think his planned display will cause many problems --- including death on a fairly grand scale.
"I don't believe it." Rexinus seemed to be standing his ground. "This is some kind of trick."
"Wish it was, friend," ruefully from Ferris.
"Rex." Tyreen dropped her voice slightly, an old artifice used to gain everyone's attention. "Rex, please, listen to us. Max Tann is very dangerous, and when he gets here he'll bring some of his playmates. They're an ugly bunch. I'm pleading with you. Get out while there's time. Let us deal with him. Us and the local authorities."
"You mean this, don't you?" Vesta looked quite bewildered, turning from one to another of the guests.
"I've never been so certain of anything in my life." Bannon again. "These are truly perilous people."
Rexinus was starting to open his mouth when Tyreen suddenly held up a hand, calling for silence.
"What...?" Rexinus began, then they heard the footsteps above, followed by the call.
"Ahoy there. Ahoy, Dr. Rexinus. Permission to come aboard. It's your admiral. Where the devil are you?"
They all froze, recognizing the voice. It was the voice of Sir Max Tann, sounding as if he had returned from the grave.
