I wish that thou give such a blast

avoided his importunities with a giggle, slipping past a group of women. He paused there and someone less fastidious crowned him. Killashandra continued to glide forward and toward the shadows cast by the polly trees growing above the high tide line. The joyous sensuality of the islanders amused and frustrated her. Crystal resonance was slowly abating, and consequently her bodys normal appetites were returning. Corish and Lars Dahl were still deep in conversation at the water s edge. She was level with them now, though shadowed from their notice and she could observe unobtrusively. She sank to the warm sand, the unused garlands fragrant in her loose grip. Ignoring the happy roistering at the barbecue pits, she concentrated on the two men. What could be of such fascination to them in the midst of all this jollity? Her original instinct about Corish had been correct: he was an FSP operative. Unless she was fooling herself and his association with the impertinent Lars Dahl was a coincidence. She doubted that vigorously. Did Corish know that Lars Dahl had abducted her? And why? Had Corish taken some covert part in that kidnapping? Had Corish known who she was? Killashandra chuckled to herself, amused by the possibility although everything pointed to Corish having accepted her in the role she had played for him. Then she thought of how her earlier shipmates had reacted to the knowledge that she was a crystal singer. She doubted that Corish was less a man, particularly in his ease on the Athena, who would not make the most of his chances. Keralaw had said that Lars Dahl was the first Angel Islander to reach the Music Conservatory. That explained his presence in the infirmary corridor, and his unconventional clothes, for the islanders appeared to prefer the browns and tans that emphasized their sunned skins. Why had he appeared so unexpectedly in Gartertown? Though he certainly maximized his opportunities. Had the original note of dissatisfaction with Optheria originated in these islands? That appeared logical, now that she had seen the different styles and standards, and had heard Elder Ampriss disparaging remarks about the islanders early rebellion against the Optherian authoritarianism. A shout went up by the long beef pit, and people surged toward it, platters in hand. The aroma was tantalizing and slowly Killashandra rose to her feet. A full stomach was unlikely to improve her understanding of the puzzle, but it wouldnt hinder thought. Corish and Lars Dahl seemed to have succumbed to the enticement as well. In that instant, digital camera black friday Killashandra decided to approach her problem in a direct fashion. Altering her direction, she intercepted the two men. Youve had your natter, she began, mimicking Keralaws throaty drawl and speech pattern, now enjoy. Angels a good island for feasting. She flung one garland on Corish, the other about Lars Dahls neck, making her smile as seductive as possible. Before they could respond, though neither removed her flowers, she linked her arms in theirs and propelled them toward the pit, grinning from one to the other, daring them to break away. Corish shrugged, smiled tolerantly down at her, accepting her impudence. Lars Dahl, however, covered her hand on his arm and, just then, their thighs brushed and she lurched against him, abruptly aware of receiving an intense shock. Startled, she glanced up at Lars Dahl, his face illuminated by the pit fires, his lazy smile appreciating the contact shock they had both felt. His long fingers curled tightly around hers with a hint of possessiveness. His blue eyes sparkled as his gaze challenged her. His arm fastened hers to his smooth warm waist as Killashandra candidly returned his glance. He sidestepped suddenly, pulling Killashandra with him so that she had to drop Corishs arm. Ive certainly done enough talking, he said, grinning more broadly at the success of his maneuver and maneuvering. Corish find yourself another one. Youre mine, arent you, Sunny? Corish gave a slightly contemptuous snort but continued on while Lars Dahl stopped, swinging Killashandra into a strong embrace, his hands caressing her back, settling into her waist to hold her firmly against him as he bent his head. The flowers were crushed between them, their fragrance spilling into her senses. With an inadvertent gesture of acceptance, Killashandras hands slid up his bare warm chest, her fingers caressing the velvet skin, taking note of the strong pectoral muscles, the column of his throat. His lips tasted salty, but firm, parting hers as he settled his mouth against her, and once again the shock of their contact was almost like crystal. Hungrily Killashandra surrendered to his deft kiss, trying to meld her body against the strong, lean length of him. She altered her arms, stroking the silky skin of his hard-muscled back, all her senses involved in this simple act. They parted slightly, his hands still caressing her, one hand on the bare skin beneath her shirt as she gently stroked his

He is a stout fellow, forbear.

I should have seen it then. I still hadn't got beyond the stage of calling myself by every name I could think of when she stirred, sighed and straightened in the crook of the arm with which I was supporting her. Her eyes opened slowly, focused themselves on me, and I could feel the pressure on my forearm as she shrank away. "It's all right, Miss Ross," I urged her. "Please don't be afraid. I'm not madreally I'm notjust the biggest blundering half-witted idiot you're ever likely to meet in all the rest of your days. I'm sorry, I'm most terribly sorry for all I've said, for all I've done. Do you think you can ever forgive me?" I don't think she heard a word I said. Maybe the tone of my voice gave her some reassurance, but it was impossible to tell. She shuddered, violently, and twisted her head to look in the direction of the flight deck. "Murder!" The word was so low that I could hardly catch it. Suddenly her voice became high-pitched, unsteady. "He's been murdered! Whowho killed him?" "Now take it easy, Miss Ross." My heavens, I thought, of all the fatuous advice. "I don't know. All I know is that you had nothing to do with it." "No." She shook her head tiredly. "I don't believe it. I can't believe it. Captain Johnson. Why should anyonehe hadn't an enemy in the world, Dr Mason!" "Maybe Colonel Harrison hadn't an enemy either." I nodded towards the rear of the plane. "But they got him too." She stared down the plane, her eyes wide with horror, her lips moving as if to speak, but no sound came. "They got him too,'I repeated. "Just as they got the captain. Just as they got the second officerand the flight engineer." "They?" she whispered. "They?" "Whoever it was. I only know it wasn't you." "No," she whispered. Again she shuddered, even more uncontrollably than before, and I tightened my arm round her. "I'm frightened, Dr Mason. I'm frightened." "There's nothing" I'd started off to say there was nothing to be frightened of, before I realised the idiocy of the words. With a ruthless and unknown murderer among us, there was everything in the world to be frightened of. I was scared myself: but admitting that to this youngster wasn't likely to help her morale any. So I started talking, telling her of all the things we had found out, of the suspicions we had and of what had happened to me, and when I finished she looked at me and said: "But why was I taken into the wireless cabin? I must have been, mustn't I?" sony cyber-shot 8.1mp digital camera reviews "You must have been," I agreed. "Why? Probably so that someone could turn a gun on you and threaten to kill you if the second officerJimmy Waterman, you called him, wasn't it -didn't play ball. Why else?" "Why else?" she echoed. She gazed at me, the wide brown eyes never leaving mine, and then I could see the slow fear touching them again and she whispered: "And who else?" "How do you mean 'Who else'?" "Can't you see? If someone had a gun on Jimmy Waterman, someone else must have had one on the pilots. You can see yourself that no one could cover both places at the same time. But Captain Johnson must have been doing exactly as he was told, just as Jimmy was." It was so glaringly obvious that a child could have seen it: it was so glaringly obvious that I'd missed it altogether. Of course there must have been two of them, how else would it have been possible to force the entire crew to do as they were ordered? Good heavens, this was twice as bad, ten times as bad as it had been previously. Nine men and women back there in the cabin, and two of them killers, ruthless merciless killers who would surely kill again, at the drop of a hat, as the needs of the moment demanded. And I couldn't even begin to guess the identity of either of them. "You're right, of course, Miss Ross," I forced myself to speak calmly, matter-of-factly. "It was blind of me, I should have known." I remembered how the bullet had passed clear through the man in the back seat. "I did know, but I couldn't add one and one. Colonel Harrison and Captain Johnson were killed by different gunsthe one by a heavy carrying weapon, like a Colt or a Luger, the other by a less powerful, a lighter weapon, like something a woman might have used." I broke off abruptly. A woman's gun! Why not a woman using it? Why not even this girl by my side? It could have been her accomplice that had followed me out to the plane earlier in the evening, and it would fit in beautifully with the facts. . . . No, it wouldn't, faints couldn't be faked. But perhaps- "A woman's gun?" I might have spoken my thoughts aloud, so perfectly had she understood. "Perhaps even meor should I say perhaps still me?" Her voice was unnaturally calm. "Goodness only knows I can't blame you. If I were you, I'd suspect everyone too." She pulled the glove and mitten off her left hand, took the gleaming ring off her third finger and

An angry man was he;

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

And kist his wounds that were so red.

responsible for the theft of the fuses. And for the smashing of the radio valves. And for the theft of the condensers." "And for the theft of the sugar," Joss put in. "Though heaven only knows why they should want to steal that." "Sugar!" I exclaimed, and then the question died in my throat. I happened to be looking straight at the little Jew, Theodore Mahler, and the nervous start he gave, the quick flicker of his eyes in Joss's direction, was unmistakable. I knew I couldn't have imagined it. But I looked away quickly, before he could see my face. "Our last bag," Joss explained. "Maybe thirty pounds. It's gone. I found what little was left of itjust a handful lying on the floor of the tunnelmixed up with the smashed valves." I shook my head and said nothing. The reason for this last theft I couldn't even begin to imagine. Supper that night was a sketchy affairsoup, coffee and a couple of biscuits each as the only solids. The soup was thin, the biscuits no more than a bite and the coffee, for me at any rate, all but undrinkable without sugar. And the meal was as silent as it was miserable, conversation being limited to what was absolutely necessary. Time and again I would see someone turn to his neighbour and make to say something, then his lips would clamp tightly shut, the expression drain out of his face as he turned away without a word: with almost everyone thinking that his or her neighbour might be a murderer, or, what was almost as bad, that his or her neighbour might be thinking that he was a murderer, the meal was by all odds the most awkward and uncomfortable that I'd ever had. Or, that is, the first part of it was: but by and by I came to the conclusion that I'd a great deal more to worry about than the niceties of social intercourse. After the meal I rose, pulled on parka and gloves, picked up the searchlight; told Jackstraw and Joss to come with me and headed for the trap-door. Zagero's voice stopped me. "Where you goin', Doc?" "That's no concern of yours. Well, Mrs Dansby-Gregg?" "Shouldn't youshouldn't you take the rifle with you?" "Don't worry." I smiled thinly. "With everyone watching everyone else like hawks, that rifle's as safe as houses." "Butbut someone could jump for it," she said nervously. "They could get you when you're coming down the hatch" "Mr Nielsen and I are the last two persons they'd ever shoot. Without us, they couldn't get a mile from here. digital camera buying advice and tips The most likely candidates for the next bullet are some of yourselves. You're absolutely inessential and, as far as the killers are concerned, represent nothing more than a waste of priceless rations." With this comforting thought I left them, each person trying to watch all the others at one and the same time, while doing his level best to give the appearance of watching no one. The wind was so slight now that the anemometer cups had stopped turning. The dying embers of the burnt-out plane were a dull smouldering glow to the north-east. The snow had gone completely and the first faint stars were beginning to show through the thinning cloud above. It was typically Greenland, this swift change in the weather, and so, too, was the temperature inversion that would surely follow in the morning, or before morning. Twelve hours from now it was going to be very cold indeed. With searchlight and torches we examined every inch of the tractor and sledges, above and below, and if there had been a pin there I would have sworn that we couldn't have missed it, far less anything so large as a couple of guns. We found nothing. I straightened, and turned to look at the glow that was lightening the sky to the east, and even as I stood there with Joss and Jackstraw by my side the moon, preternaturally large and rather more than half full, heaved itself above the distant horizon and flooded the ice-cap with its pale and ghostly light, laying down between itself and our feet a bar-straight path of glittering silver grey. We watched in silence for a full minute, then Jackstraw stirred. Even before he spoke, I knew what was in his mind. "Uplavnik," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we set off for Uplav-nik. But first, you said, a good night's sleep." "I know," I said. "A traveller's moon." "A traveller's moon," he echoed. He was right, of course. Travel in the Arctic, in winter, was regulated not by daylight but my moonlight. And tonight we had that moonand we had a clear sky, a dying wind and no snow at all. I turned to Joss. "You'll be all right alone?" "I have no worries," he said soberly. "Look, sir, can't I come too?" "Stay here and stay healthy," I advised. "Thanks, Joss, but you know someone must remain behind. I'll call you up on the usual schedules. You

The wind sall blaw for evermair."

outstretched and saying something I couldn't catch. It was a brave gesture of the little minister's, but a forlorn and hopeless one: I could see Corazzini change his gun to his left hand, strike Mr Smallwood a heavy backhanded blow across the face and the sound of a body falling on the ice above was unmistakable. And then Corazzini was waving the others back at the point of the gun and was advancing towards the wooden battens that straddled the crevasse, and I knew with a dull certainty how he intended to dispose of us. Why waste two bullets when all he had to do was to kick the edges of these battens over the side? Whether these . battens, weighing two hundred pounds between them, struck us or smashed away the last remaining buttress of the snow-bridge was quite immaterial: the point was that I was inescapably attached to them by the nylon rope round my waist, and when they plummeted down I would go with them, tearing away the bridge and carrying Jackstraw with me to our deaths in the unthinkable depths below. Despairingly, I considered the idea of snatching at the rifle still strapped to Jackstraw's back, but dismissed it even with the thought. It would take me seconds to get it off. There was only one thing for it, and it wasn't going to do me any good at all. With a jump I could be half-way up the rope in a second, the increased weight would make the battens difficult to kick over, and while Corazzini was either pushing these or pumping bullets into me as I swarmed up the rope, somebodyZagero, say, could get him from the rear. That way there might, at least, be a faint chance for Jackstraw. I swung my arms behind me, bent my knees then remained frozen in that ridiculous position as a rope came uncoiling down from above and struck me across the shoulder. I glanced up and saw Corazzini smiling down at me. "You two characters fixin' on stayin' down there all day? Come on up." It would be useless to try to describe the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that whirled through my mind in the ninety seconds that elapsed before Jackstraw and I stood once more in incredulous safety on the trail above. They ranged from hope to bafflement to wild relief to the conviction that Corazzini was playing a cat-and-mouse game with us, and no one thought was in my mind for more than seconds at a time. Even when I was safe, I still didn't know what to think, the overwhelming relief and gladness and reaction blotted out everything. I was trembling violently, and although Corazzini must have noticed it he affected sony digital camera carl zeiss not to. He stepped forward and handed me the Beretta, butt first. "You're a mite careless about where you stow your armoury, Doc. I've known for a long time where you kept this. But I guess it may have been fairly useful these last few minutes." "Butbut why-?" "Because I've got a damned good job and a chair behind a vice-president's desk waiting for me in Glasgow," he snapped. "I'd appreciate the chance to sit in that chair some day." Without another word, he turned away. I knew what he meant, all right. I knew we owed him our lives. Corazzini was as convinced as I that someone had engineered the whole thing. It didn't require any thought at all to guess who that someone was. My first thought was for Jackstraw. Jackstraw with a broken arm was going to make things very difficult for me: it might well make things quite impossible. But when I'd worked his parka off it required only one glance at the unnatural twist of the left arm to see that though Jackstraw had had every excuse for thinking his arm gone, it was, in fact, an elbow dislocation. He made no murmur and his face remained quite expressionless as I manipulated the bone back into the socket, but the wide white grin that cracked his face immediately afterwards was proof enough of his feelings. I walked over to where Helene Fleming sat on the sledge, still shaking from the shock, Mrs Dansby-Gregg and Margaret Ross doing their best to soothe her. The uncharitable thought struck me that it was probably the first time that Mrs Dansby-Gregg had ever tried to soothe anyone, but I was almost ashamed of the thought as soon as it had occurred to me. "That was a close call, young lady," I said to Helene. "But all's well.. . . Any more bones broken, eh?" I tried to speak jocularly, but it didn't sound very convincing. "No, Dr Mason." She gave a long shuddering sigh. "I don't know how to thank you and Mr Nielsen" "Don't try," I advised. "Who pushed you?" "What?" She stared at me. "You heard, Helene. Who did it?" "Yes, I -1 was pushed," she murmured reluctantly. "But it was an accident, I know it was." "Who?" I persisted. "It was me," Solly Levin put in. He was twisting his hands nervously. "Like the lady

We have had no sport for these fourteen long days,

two or three hours' driving time from where we were, but without a wireless or any other means of contacting him he might as well have been a thousand miles away for any hope there was of two tiny moving objects encountering each other by chance in that vast and featureless land. Soon after eight o'clock in the morning I stopped to have a look at the two sick people on the sledge, professional instinct, I suppose, but an empty token gesture: there was nothing we could do for them, except give massage at frequent intervals. The sound of Mahler's dyspnoea, his whooping gasping breathing, was the tolling of a death-bell to our ears, and this effort to breathe was extinguishing the last embers of life in his emaciated and frozen body. In three hours' time, by noon at the latest, Mahler would be dead. Nothing could ever save him now, it was madness, an utterly wasted effort to continue to drag him along on a sledge: he was past caring or knowing or feeling now, he could die just as peacefully if we left him lying on the glacier. Or so I have thought since then. But Mahler was more than a man to us that day, he was a symbol: we would leave Mahler when he had drawn his last gasping breath, but never before. Marie LeGarde was dying too, but quietly, softly, peacefully, like a little candle flame flickering to extinction. Maybe she would go first, maybe Mahler. But both of them would die this day. The going was becoming increasingly difficult now, not so much because of the gradually steepening slope of the glacier which made the sledge overrun us more and more frequently, but because of the fact that Jackstraw's torch had all but completely given out, and the fissures and crevasses that, earlier, had merely been nuisances to be negotiated, now became menaces to be avoided at the cost of our lives. It was now that Balto proved of his greatest value yet: as Jackstraw had said on our first day out from the IGY cabin, the big Siberian had an uncanny nose for crevasses, both open and hidden, in daytime or dark, and he made never a mistake that morning, constantly running ahead and then back towards us to guide us in the safest direction. Even so, progress was heartbreakingly slow. Shortly after half-past eight in the morning we came across the tractor sled lying at an angle against a moraine. Even in the near darkness it was plain to see what had happened. The steepness of the glacier, not to mention sudden unaccountable dips to left and right across its width, must have made the heavy sled a dangerous liability, for, from its tracks, digital camera review multiple sites we had several times seen where it had slewed wildly at an angle, pivoting round on its iron tow-bar as, brakeless, it had sought to overrun the tractor. Obviously, Smallwood and Corazzini must have fearedand with reason -that on one of these occasions it would pull round the tail of the tractor after it and topple the tractor on its side, or, worse, drag it into a crevasse: so they had unhooked the tow-bar and left the sled. It was surprising that they hadn't done this earlier: apart from carrying their fuel and food, which reserves could easily have gone into the tractor cabin itself, it had been a useless encumbrance to them. As far as I could judge they had abandoned it with all its contents-apart, of course, from the portable radio-including the wraps we had given Zagero and Levin when they had ridden on it at the point of a gun. We took these, tucked them round Mahler and Marie LeGarde and passed on. Three hundred yards later I stopped so abruptly, that the sledge, bumping into me, made me lose my footing on the slippery ice. I stood up, laughing softly, laughing for the first time for days, and Zagero came up close and peered into my face. "What gives, Doc?" I laughed again and was just on the point of speaking when his hand struck me sharply across the face. "Cut it out, Doc." His voice was harsh. "That ain't goin' to help us any." "On the contrary, it's going to help us a very great deal." I rubbed a hand across my cheek, I couldn't blame him for what he had done. "My God, and I almost missed it!" "Missed what?" He still wasn't sure that I wasn't hysterical. "Come on back to the tractor sled and see. Smallwood claims he thinks of everything, but he's missed out at last. He's made his first big mistake, but oh, brother, what a mistake! And the weather's just perfect for it!" I turned on my heel and actually ran up the glacier towards the sled. Many items were carried as standard equipment in ICY parties, both in the field and at base camps, and none more standard than the magnesium flares which first came into common use in the Antarctic over a quarter of a century agothey are indispensable as location beacons in the long polar nightsand radiosondes. We carried more radio-sondes than any other item of equipment, for our primary purpose on the ice-capthe garnering of information about density, pressure, temperature,

Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.

then burst into a sputtering pool of light, the harsh sound and sudden brilliance alike strangely alien in the stillness of the desert night. Mechanically, Mallory's eyes followed the cupped sweep of the flaring match to the cigarette jutting out beneath the commodore's clipped moustache, saw the light stop inches away from the face, saw too the sudden stillness of that face, the unfocused vacancy of the eyes of a man lost in listening. Then the match was gone, ground into the sand of the airfield perimeter. "I can hear them," the commodore said softly. "I can hear them coming in. Five minutes, no more. No wind to-nightthey'll be coming in on No. 2. Come on, let's meet them in the interrogation room." He paused, looked quizzically at Mallory and seemed to smile. But the darkness deceived, for there was no humor in his voice. "Just curb your impatience, young manjust for a little longer. Things haven't gone too well tonight. You're going to have all your answers, I'm afraid, and have them all too soon." He turned abruptly, strode off towards the squat buildings that loomed vaguely against the pale darkness that topped the level horizon. Mallory shrugged, then followed on more slowly, step for step with the third member of the group, a broad, stocky figure with a very pronounced roll in his gait. Mallory wondered sourly just how much practice Jensen had required to achieve that sailorly effect. Thirty years at sea, of courseand Jensen had done exactly that were sufficient warrant for a man to dance a hornpipe as he walked: but that wasn't the point. As the brilliantly successful Chief of Operations of the Subversive Operations Executive in Cairo, intrigue, deception, imitation and disguise were the breath of life to Captain James Jensen, D.S.O., R.N. As a Levantine stevedore agitator, he had won the awed respect of the dock-labourers from Alexandretta to Alexandria: as a camel-driver, he had blasphemously out-camel-driven all available Bedouin competition: and no more pathetic beggar had ever exhibited such realistic sores in the bazaars and marketplaces of the East. To-night, however, he was just the bluff and simple sailor. He was dressed in white from cap-cover to canvas shoes; the starlight glinted softly on the golden braid on epaulettes and cap peak. Their footsteps crunched in companionable unison over the hard-packed sand, rang sharply as they moved on to the concrete of the runway. The hurrying figure of the air commodore was already almost lost to sight. Mallory took a deep breath and turned cameras digital sony wholesale suddenly towards Jensen. "Look, sir, just what is all this? What's all the flap, all the secrecy about? And why am I involved in it? Good lord, sir, it was only yesterday that I was pulled out of Crete, relieved at eight hours' notice. A month's leave, I was told. And what happens?" "Well," Jensen murmured, "what did happen?" "No leave," Mallory said bitterly. "Not even a night's sleep. Just hours and hours in the S.O.E. Headquarters, answering a lot of silly, damnfool questions about climbing in the Southern Alps. Then hauled out of bed at midnight, told I was to meet you, and then driven for hours across the blasted desert by a mad Scotsman who sang drunken songs and asked hundreds of even more silly, damnfool questions!" "One of my more effective disguises, I've always thought," Jensen said smugly. "Personally, I found the journey most entertaining!" "One of your" Mallory broke off, appalled at the memory of the things he had said to the elderly, bewhiskered Scots captain who had driven the command vehicle. "II'm terribly sorry, sir. I never realised" "Of course you didn't!" Jensen cut in briskly. "You weren't supposed to. Just wanted to find out if you were the man for the job. I'm sure you areI was pretty sure you were before I pulled you out of Crete. But where you got the idea about leave I don't know. The sanity of the S.O.E. has often been questioned, but even we aren't given to sending a flying-boat for the sole purpose of enabling junior officers to spend a month wasting their substance among the flesh-pots of Cairo," be finished dryly. "I still don't know" "Patience, laddie, patienceas our worthy commodore has just advocated. Time is endless. To wait, and to keep on waitingthat is to be of the East." "To total four hours' sleep in three days is not," Mallory said feelingly. "And that's all I've had. . . . Here they come!" Both men screwed up their eyes in automatic reflex as the fierce glare of the landing lights struck at them, the flare path arrowing off into the outer darkness. In less than a minute the first bomber was down, heavily, awkwardly, taxi-ing to a standstill just beside them. The grey camouflage paint of the after fuselage and tailplanes was riddled with bullet and cannon shells, an aileron was shredded and the port outer engine out of commission, saturated in oil. The

And largest, thinking it was just the thing

began to stow it away. Well rig the cabin before we sail, Lars said, nodding astern toward the hatch. Killashandra didnt know much about ships of this class but the cabin looked very orderly to her, arranged as it was for daytime use. She went to the forward cabin, and decided that she had been in the top right-hand bunk. She turned back, to approximate the view she would have had, and decided that the Pearl Fisher had conveyed her to that wretched little island. Update! Lars said as he came down the companionway, talking to the handset. He listened as he did a cursory inspection of the nearest cupboards, smiling as he turned toward her. Alert me to any changes. Over. He put the handset down and, in one unexpected sweep, hauled her tightly into his arms. His very blue eyes gleamed inches above her face. His face assumed the expression of a sex-mad fiend, his eyes wide in exaggerated ferocity, as he bent her backward in one arm his other hand stroking her body urgently. Alone, at last, mgirl, and who knows when next we have the privacy I need to enjoy you to good advantage. Oh, sir, unhand me! Killashandra fluttered her eye lashes, panting in mock terror. How can you ravish an innocent maid in this hour of our peril? It seems the right thing to do, somehow, Lars said in a totally different tone, releasing her so abruptly she had to catch herself on the table. Curb your libido long enough for me to make the bed youre about to be laid in. He flipped the table onto its edge, gestured for her to take the other side of the seat unit which pulled out across the deck. Simultaneously they fell onto the bed, and Lars began his assault on her willing person. The summons of the handset brought them back to reality that had only peripherally impinged on their activities. Lars had to steady himself in the lurching ship to reach the handset. He frowned as he heard the update. Well, beloved, I hope youre a good sailor, for its going to be a rough passage around the wing. That storm is hurrying to meet us. Neither a veer nor a pause! Grab the wet weather gear from that cupboard. Temperatures falling and the rains going to be cold. Fortunately Lars gave clear instructions to his novice crew and Killashandra coped with her tasks well enough to gain his nods of approval. The Pearl Fisher was fitted to be sailed single-handed, with the sheet lines winched to the cockpit and other remotes to assist in the absence of a human crew. Lars beckoned Killashandra to join him in the stern as the anchor was key chain camera digital lifted by remote. Another hauled the sloops mainsail up the mast, Larss pennon breaking out as the clew of the sail locked home. The wind took the sail, and the ship, forward, out of the wide mouth of the harbor, which was now clear of all craft. Nor did there seem to have been anyone to notice their delay. The beach was empty of people. The shuttered shops and houses had an abandoned look to them. The tide was already slopping into the barbecue pits and Killashandra wondered just how much would be left on the waterfront when they sailed back into Wing Harbor. Killashandra found the speed of the Pearl Fisher incredibly exhilarating. To judge by the rapt expression on his face, so did Lars. The fresh wind drove them across the harbor almost to its mouth, before Lars did a short tack to get beyond the land. Then the Pearl was gunwale deep on a fine slant as she sped on a port tack toward the bulk of the Wing. It was an endless time, divorced from reality, unlike cutting crystal where time, too, was sometimes suspended for Killashandra. This was a different sort of time, that spent with someone, someone whose proximity was a matter of keen physical delight for her. Their bodies touched, shoulder, hip, thigh, knee, and leg, as the canting of the ship in her forward plunge kept Killashandra tight against Lars. Not a voyage, she realized sadly, that could last forever but a long interval she hoped to remember. There are some moments, Killashandra informed herself, that one does wish to savor. The sun had been about at the zenith when they had finally tacked out of the Wing Harbor. It was westering as they sailed round the top of the Wing with its lowlands giving way to the great basalt cliffs, straight up from the crashing sea, a bastion against the rapidly approaching hurricane. And the southern skies were ominous with dark cloud and rain. In the shelter of those cliffs, their headlong speed abated to a more leisurely pace. Lars announced hunger and Killashandra went below to assuage it. Taking into account the rough water, she found some heat packs which she opened, and which they ate in the cockpit, companionably close. Killashandra found it necessary to curb a swell of incipient lust as Lars shifted his long body against hers to get a better grip on the tiller. Then they rounded the cliffs and into the crowded anchorage which sheltered Angels craft. Lars fired a flare to summon the jitney to them, then he

With a hey down down and a down

should." The voice was high-pitched, but the enunciation clear and precise, and I found it vaguely irritating that it should so perfectly match his appearance, be so exactly what I should have expected. He laughed, a nervous deprecating laugh. "My parishioners, you know . . . " I was tired, worried and felt like telling him what he could do with his parishioners, but it wasn't his fault. "There's precedent in plenty in your Bible, Reverend. You know that better than I. It'll do you good, really." "Oh well, if you think so." He took the glass gingerly, as if Beelzebub himself were on the offering end, but I noticed that there was nothing so hesitant about his method and speed of disposal of the contents: his subsequent expression could properly be described as beatific. I caught Marie LeGarde's eye, and smiled at the twinkle I caught there. The reverend wasn't the only one who found the coffeeand brandywelcome. With the exception of the stewardess, who sipped at her drink in a distraught fashion, the others had also emptied their glasses, and I decided that the broaching of another MarteU's was justified. In the respite from the talk, I bent over the injured man on the floor. His pulse was slower, steadier and his breathing not quite so shallow: I slipped in a few more heat pads and zipped up the sleeping-bag. "Is heis he any better, do you think?" The stewardess was so close to me that I brushed against her as I straightened. "Hehe seems a bit better, doesn't he?" "He is a bit, I think. But nothing like over the shock from the wound and the exposure, though." I looked at her speculatively and suddenly felt almost sorry for her. Almost, but not quite: I didn't at all like the direction my thoughts were leading me. "You've flown together quite a bit, haven't you?" "Yes." She didn't offer anything more. "His headdo you think" "Later. Let me have a quick look at that back of yours." "Look at what?" "Your back," I said patiently. "Your shoulders. They seem to give you some pain. I'll rig a screen." "No, no, I'm all right." She moved away from me. "Don't be silly, my dear." I wondered what trick of voice production made Marie LeGarde's voice so clear and carrying. "He is a doctor, you know." "No!" I shrugged and reached for my brandy glass. Bearers of bad news were ever unpopular: I supposed her reaction was the modern equivalent of the digital camera tripod wheels classical despot's unsheathing his dagger. Probably only bruises, anyhow, I told myself, and turned to look at the company. An odd-looking bunch, to say the least, but then any group of people dressed in lounge suits and dresses, trilby hats and nylon stockings would have looked odd against the strange and uncompromising background of that cabin where every suggestion of anything that even remotely suggested gracious living had been crushed and ruthlessly made subservient to the all-exclusive purpose of survival. Here there were no armchairsno chairs, evenno carpets, wall-paper, book-shelves, beds, curtainsor even windows for the curtains. It was a bleak utilitarian box of a room, eighteen feet by fourteen. The floor was made of unvarnished yellow pine. The walls were made of spaced sheets of bonded ply, with kapok insulation between: the lower part of the walls was covered with green-painted asbestos, the upper part and entire roof sheeted with glittering aluminium to reflect the maximum possible heat and light. A thin, ever-present film of ice climbed at least half-way up all four walls, reaching almost to the ceiling in the four corners, the parts of the room most remote from the stove and therefore the coldest. On very cold nights, such as this, the ice reached $e ceiling and started to creep across it to the layers of opaque ice that permanently framed the undersides of our rimed and opaque skylights. The two exits from the cabin were let into the fourteen-foot sides: one led to the trap, the other to the snow and ice tunnel where we kept our food, petrol, oil, batteries, radio generators, explosives for seismological and glacial investigations and a hundred and one other items. Half-way along, a secondary tunnel led off at right anglesa tunnel which steadily increased in length as we cut out the blocks of snow which were melted to give us our water supply. At the far end of the main tunnel lay our primitive toilet system. One eighteen-foot wall and half of the wall that gave access to the trap-door were lined with twin rows of bunkseight in all. The other eighteen-foot wall was given over entirely to our stove, work-bench, radio table and housings for the meteorological instruments. The remaining wall by the tunnel was piled with tins and cases of food, now mostly empties, that had been brought in from the runnel to begin the lengthy process of defrosting. Slowly I surveyed all this, then as

In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle

your friends on their choice of companion." "I can tell you everything, Lieutenant, I can tell you everything!" Andrea pressed forward excitedly, eager to consolidate his advantage, to reinforce the beginnings of doubt. "I am no friend of the AlliesI will prove it to youand then perhaps" "You damned Judas!" Mallory made to fling himself forward, but two burly soldiers caught him and pointed his arms from behind. He struggled briefly, then relaxed, looked balefully at Andrea. "If you dare to open your mouth, I promise you you'll never live to" "Be quiet!" Turzig's voice was very cold. "I have had enough of recriminations, of cheap melodrama. Another word and you join your friend in the snow there." He looked at him a moment in silence, then swung back to Andrea. "I promise nothing. I will hear what you have to say." He made no attempt to disguise the repugnance in his voice. "You must judge for yourself." A nice mixture of relief, earnestness and the dawn of hope, of returning confidence. Andrea paused a minute and gestured dramatically at Mallory, Miller and Brown. "These are no ordinary soldiersthey are Jellicoe's men, of the Special Boat Service!" "Tell me something I couldn't have guessed myself," Turzig growled. "The English Earl has been a thorn in our flesh these many months past. If that is all you have to tell me, fat one" "Wait!" Andrea held up his hand. "They are stili no ordinary men but a specially picked forcean assault unit, they call themselvesflown last Sunday night from Alexandria to Casteirosso. They left that same night from Castelrosso in a motor-boat." "A torpedo boat," Turzig nodded. "So much we know already. Go on." "You know already! But how?" "Never mind how. Hurry up!" "Of course, Lieutenant, of course." Not a twitch in his face betrayed Andrea's relief. This had been the only dangerous point in his story. Nicolai, of course, had warned the Germans, but never thought it worth while mentioning the presence of a giant Greek in the party. No reason, of course, why he should have selected him for special mentionbut if he had done so, it would have been the end. "The torpedo boat landed them somewhere in the islands, north of Rhodes. I do not know where. There they stole a caique, sailed it up through Turkish waters, met a big German patrol boatand sunk it." Andrea paused for effect. "I was less than hail a mile away at the time in windows 2000 canon digital camera problem my fishing boat." Turzig leaned forward. "How did they manage to sink so big a boat?" Strangely, he didn't doubt that it had been sunk. "They pretended to be harmless fishermen like myself. I had just been stopped, investigated and cleared," Andrea said virtuously. "Anyway, your patrol boat came alongside this old caique. Close alongside. Suddenly there were guns firing on both sides, two boxes went flying through the airinto the engine-room of your boat, I think. Pouf!" Andrea threw up his hands draniatically. "That was the end of that!" "We wondered.. ." Turzig said softly. "Well, go on." "You wondered what, Lieutenant?" Turzig's eyes narrowed and Andrea hurried on. "Their interpreter had been killed in the fight. They tricked me into speaking EnglishI spent many years in Cypruskidnapped me, let my sons sail the boat" "Why should they want an interpreter?" Turzig demanded suspiciously. "There are many British officers who speak Greek." "I am coming to that," Andrea said impatiently. "How in God's name do you expect me to finish my story if you keep interrupting all the time? Where was I? ah, yes. They forced me to come along, and their engine broke down. I don't know what happenedI was kept below. I think we were in a creek somewhere, repairing the engine, and then there was a wild bout of drinkingyou will not believe this, Lieutenant Turzig, that men on so desperate a mission should get drunk and then we sailed again." "On the contrary, I do believe you." Turzig was nodding his head slowly, as if in secret understanding. "I believe you indeed." "You do?" Andrea contrived to look disappointed. "Well, we ran into a fearful storm, wrecked the boat on the south cliff of this island and climbed" "Stop!" Turzig had drawn back sharply, suspicion flaring in his eyes. "Almost I believed you! I believed you because we know more than you think, and so far you have told the truth: But not now. You are clever, fat one, but not so clever as you think. One thing you have forgottenor maybe you do not know. We are of the Wurttembergische . Gebirgsbataillonwe know mountains, my friend, better than any troops in the world. I myself am a Prussian, but I have climbed everything worth climbing in the Alps and Transylvaniaand I tell you that the south cliff cannot be climbed. It is impossible!" "Impossible perhaps for you." Andrea shook his head sadly.

Robin Hood he would and to fair Nottingham,

their sense. The sentence, and the voice, echoed in her mind as if spoken in a tunnel. At the softest repetition, comprehension returned. The voice was Antonas, the Chief Medical Officer of the Heptite Guild. Sensation returned then, but sensation was limited to feeling something under her chin and a restraint about her shoulders. The rest of her body was deprived of feeling. Killashandra twitched convulsively and felt the viscous resistance of radiant fluid. She was immersed that explained the need for chin support and the shoulder restraint. Opening her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself in the tank room of the Infirmary. Beyond her were several more such tanks, two occupied, judging by the heads visible above the rims. So, youve rejoined us, Killashandra! How long have you been soaking me, Antona? Antona glanced at a display on the tank. Thirty-two hours and nineteen rinses. Antona shook a warning finger at Killashandra. Dont push yourself like this, Killa. Youre stretching your symbionts resources. Abuses like this now can cause degeneration problems later on. And its later on you really need protection. Remember that! A mirthless smile crossed Antonas classic features. If you can. Well, at least put it in your memory banks when you get back to your room, she added, with a sigh for the vagaries of singer recall. When can I get up? Killashandra began to writhe in the tank, testing her limbs and the general response of her body. Antona shrugged, tapping out a code on the terminal of the tank. Oh, anytime now. Pulse and pressure readouts strong. Head clear? Yes. Antona pressed a stud and the chin support and shoulder harness released Killashandra. She caught the side of the tank, and Antona handed her a long robe. Do I need to tell you to eat? Killashandra grinned wryly. No. My stomach knows Im awake and its rumbling. Youve lost nearly two kilos, you know. Can you remember when you last ate? Antonas voice and eyes were sharp with annoyance. No use asking, is it? Not the least bit. Killashandra replied blithely as she climbed out of the tank, the radiant fluid sheeting off her body, leaving her skin smooth and soft. She pulled the robe on. Antona held up a hand to balance her down the five steps. How much crystal resonance do you experience now? Antona poised her fingers above the tanks digital camera what is small terminal. Killashandra listened attentively to the noise between her ears. Only a faint trace! Her breath escaped her lips in a sigh of relief. Lanzecki said that you cut enough to go off-world. Killashandra frowned. He said something else, too. But I forget what. Something important, though, Killashandra knew. Hell probably tell you again in good time. Get up to your quarters and get some food into you. Antona gave Killashandras shoulder an admonitory squeeze before she turned away to check on the other patients. As Killashandra made her way up from the Infirmary level, deep in the bowels of the Guild Complex, she puzzled over the memory lapse. She had been reassured that most singers had several decades of unimpaired recall before memory deteriorated, but no fast rule determined the onset. She had been lucky enough to have a Milekey Transition ending in full adaptation to Ballybrans spore, an adaptation that was necessary for those inhabiting the planet Ballybran. That kind of Transition held many benefits, not the least of which was avoiding the rigors of Transition Fever, and was purported to include a longer span of unimpaired memory. In this one instance, she could, perhaps, legitimately blame fatigue. As the lift door opened on the deserted lobby of the main singer level, not a singer was in sight. The storm had blown itself out. She paused to glance through to the dining area and saw only one lone diner. Pulling the robe more tightly about her, she hurried down the corridor to the blue quadrant and her apartment. The first thing she did was call up her credit balance, and felt the knot that had been tightening in her belly dissolve as the figures 12,790 rippled onto the screen. She regarded the total for a long moment, then tapped out the all-important query: how far away from Ballybran would that sum take her? The names of four systems were displayed. Her stomach rumbled. She shifted irritably in her chair and asked for details of the amenities in each system. The replies were not exciting. In each system the Terran-type planets were purely industrial or agricultural, having, at best, only conservative leisure facilities. From comments she had overheard, Killashandra gathered that because of their proximity the locals had seen quite enough of their neighbors from Ballybran and tended to be either credit crunchers or rude to the point of dueling offense. The only thing

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

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

And the two last have left me many a token

man beamed. He bowed, stretched out his hand. "Louki. At your service, sir." "And this, of course, is Panayis?" The tall man in the doorway, dark, saturnine, unsmiling, inclined his head briefly but said nothing. "You have us right!" The little man was beaming with delight. "Louki and Panayis. They know about us in Alexandria and Cairo, then?" he asked proudly. "Of course!" Mallory smothered a smile. "They spoke highly of you. You have been of great help to the Allies before." "And we will again," Louki said briskly. "Come, we are wasting time. The Germans are on the hills. What help can we give you?" "Food, Louki. We need foodwe need it badly." "We have it!" Proudly, Louki gestured at the rucksacks. "We were on our way up with it." "You were on your way. . . ." Mallory was astonished. "How did you know where we wereor even that we were on the island?" Louki waved a deprecating hand. "It was easy. Since first light German troops have been moving south through Margaritha up into the hills. All morning they combed the east col of Kostos. We knew someone must have landed, and that the Germans had blocked the cliff path on the south coast, at both ends. So you must have come over the west col. They would not expect thatyou fooled them. So we came to find you." - "But you would never have found us" "We would have found you." There was complete certainty in the voice. "Panayis and Iwe know every stone, every blade of grass in Navarone." Louki shivered suddenly, stared out bleakly through the swirling snow. "You couldn't have picked worse weather." "We couldn't have picked better," Mallory said grimly. "Last night, yes," Lould agreed. "No one would expect you in that wind and rain. No one would hear the aircraft or even dream that you would try to jump" "We came by sea," Miller interrupted. He waved a negligent hand. "We climbed the south cliff." "What? The south cliff!" Louki was frankly disbelieving. "No one could climb the south cliff. It is impossible!" "That's the way we felt when we were about half-way up," Mallory said candidly. "But Dusty, here, is right. That's how it was." Louki had taken a step back: digital camera low aperture his face was expressionless. "I say it is impossible," he repeated flatly. "He is telling the truth, Louki," Miller cut in quietly. "Do you never read newspapers?" "Of course I read newspapers!" Louki bristled with indignation. "Do you think I amhow you sayilliterate?" "Then think back to just before the war," Miller advised. "Think of mountaineerin'and the Himalayas. You must have seen his picture in the papersonce, twice, a hundred times." He- looked at Mallory consideringly. "Only he was a little prettier in those days. You must remember. This is Mallory, Keith Mallory of New Zealand." Mallory said nothing. He was watching Louki, the puzzlement, the ?omical screwing up of the eyes, head cocked to one side: then, all at once, something clicked in the little man's memory and his face lit up in a great, crinkling smile that swamped every last trace of suspicion. He stepped forward, hand outstretched in we!come. "By heaven, you are- right! Mallory! Of course I know Mallory!" He grabbed Mallory's hand, pumped it up and down with great enthusiasm. "It is indeed as the American says. You need a shave. . . . And you look older." "I feel older," Mallory said gloomily. He nodded at Miller. "This is Corporal Miller, an American citizen." "Another famous climber?" Louki asked eagerly. "Another tiger of the hills, yes?" "He climbed the south cliff as it has never been climbed before," Mallory answered truthfully. He glanced at his watch, then looked directly at Louki. "There are others up in the hifis. We need help, Louki. We need it badly and we need it at once. You know the danger if you are caught helping us?" "Danger?" Louki waved a contemptuous hand. "Danger to Louki and Panayis, the foxes of Navarone? Impossible! We are the ghosts of the night." He hitched his pack higher up on his shoulders. "Come. Let us take this food to your friends." "Just a minute." Mallory's restraining hand was on his arm. "There are two other things. We need heata stove and fuel, and we need" "Heat! A stove!" Louki was incredulous. "Your friends in the hifiswhat are they? A band of old women?" "And we also need bandages and medicine," Mallory went on patiently. "One of our friends has been terribly injured. We are not sure, but we do not think that he will live." "Panayis!" Louki barked. "Back to the village." Louki was speaking in Greek now. Rapidly he issued

Or with other men's wives have lain?"

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

"The first loud blast that he did blow,

heard what the boss saidit wasn't your fault." For a moment Louki stared at him in anger, then turned dejectedly away. He looked as if he were going to cry. Mallory, too, stared at the American, astonished at the sudden vehemence, so completely out of character. Now that he came to think of it, Dusty had been strangely taciturn and thoughtful during the past hour or soMallory couldn't recall his saying a word during all that time. But time enough to worry about that later on. . . . Casey Brown eased his injured leg, looking hopefully at Mallory. "Couldn't we stay here till it's darkreal darkthen make our way" "No good. The moon's almost full to-nightand not a cloud in the sky. They'd get us. Even more important, we have to get into the town between sunset and curfew to-night. Our last chance. Sorry, Casey, but it's no go." Fifteen seconds, half a minute passed, and passed in silence, then they all started abruptly as Andy Stevens spoke. "Louki was right, you know," he said pleasantly. The voice was weak, but filled with a calm certainty that jerked every eye towards him. He was propped up on one elbow, Louki's Bren cradled in his hands. It was a measure of their concentration on the problem on hand that no one had heard or seen him reach out for the machine-gun. "It's all very simple," Stevens went on quietly. "Just let's use our heads, that's all. . . . The gangrene's right up past the knee, isn't it, sir?" Mallory said nothing: he didn't know what to say, the complete unexpectedness had knocked him off balance. He was vaguely aware that Miller was looking at him, his eyes begging him to say "No." "Is it or isn't it?" There was patience, a curious understanding in the voice, and all of a sudden Mallory knew what to say. "Yes," he nodded. "It is." Miller was looking at him in horror. "Thank you, sir." Stevens was smiling in satisfaction. "Thank you very much indeed. There's no need to point out all the advantages of my staying here." There was an assurance in his voice no one had ever heard before. The unthinking authority of a man completely in charge of a situation. 'Tune I did something for my living anyway. No fond farewells, please. Just leave me a couple of boxes of ammo, two or three thirty-six grenades and away you go." "I'll be damned if we will!" Miller was on his feet, making for the boy, then brought up abruptly as the Bren centered on his chest. "One step nearer and I'll shoot you," Stevens said calmly. Miller looked at him in long silence, sank slowly home made digital camera adapter back to the ground. "I would, you know," Stevens assured him. "Well, good-bye, gentlemen. Thank you for all you'v? done for me." Twenty seconds, thirty, a whole minute passed In a queer, trance-like silence, then Miller heaved himself to his feet again, a tall, rangy figure with tattered clothes and a face curiously haggard in the gathering gloom. "So long kid. I guesswaal, mebbe I'm not so smart after all." He took Stevens's hand, looked down at the wasted face for a long moment, made to say something else, then changed his mind. "Be seein' you," he said abruptly, turned and walked off heavily down the valley. One by one the others followed him, wordlessly, except for Andrea who stopped and whispered in the boy's ear, a whisper that brought a smile and a nod of complete understanding, and then there was only Mallory left. Stevens grinned up at him. "Thank you, sir. Thanks for not letting me down. You and Andreayou understand. You always did understand." "You'llyou'll be all right, Andy?" God, Mallory thought, what a stupid, what an inane thing, to say. "Honest, sir, I'm O.K." Stevens smiled contentedly. "No pain leftI can't feel a thing. It's wonderful!" "Andy, I don't" "It's time you were gone, sir. The others will be waiting. Now if you'll just light me a gasper and fire a few random shots down that ravine." Within five minutes Mallory had overtaken the othera, and inside fifteen they had all reached the cave that led to the coast. For a moment they stood in the entrance, listening to the intermittent firing from the other end of the valley, then turned wordlessly and plunged into the cave. Back where they had left him, Andy Stevens was lying on his stomach, peering down into the now almost dark ravine. There was no pain left in his body, none at all. He drew deeply on a cupped cigarette, smiled as he pushed another clip home into the magazine of the Bren. For the first time in his life Andy Stevens was happy and content beyond his understanding, a man at last at peace with himself. He was no longer afraid. CHAPTER 13 Wednesday Evening 18001915 Exactly forty minutes later they were safely in the heart of the town of Navarone, within fifty yards of the great gates of the fortress itself. Mallory, gazing out at the gates and

Though the night was made for loving,

other and vastly more important things to talk about. But less than thirty seconds later we had forgotten all about it, even, I am sure, Mrs Dansby-Gregg herself. I was just handing Marie LeGarde a cup when someone screamed. It wasn't really loud, I suppose, but in that confined space it had a peculiarly piercing and startling quality. Marie LeGarde's arm jerked violently and the scalding contents of the coffee-cup were emptied over my bare hand. I hardly noticed the pain. It was Margaret Ross, the young stewardess, who had screamed, and she was now kneeling, half in and half out of her sleeping-bag, one rigidly spread-fingered hand stretched out at arm's length before her, the other clasped over her mouth as she stared down at the figure lying near her on the floor. I pushed her to one side and sank on to my own knees. In that bitter cold it was impossible to be any way sure, but I felt reasonably certain that the young pilot had been dead for several hours. I knelt there for a long time, just looking down at him, and when I finally rose to my feet I did so like an old man, a defeated old man, and I felt as cold, almost, as the dead man lying there. Everyone was wide awake now, everyone staring at me, the eyes of nearly all of them reflecting the superstitious horror which the presence of sudden and unexpected death brings to those who are unaccustomed to it. It was Johnny Zagero who broke the silence. "He's dead, isn't he, Dr Mason?" His low voice sounded a little husky. "That head injury" His voice trailed off. "Cerebral haemorrhage," I said quietly, "as far as I can tell." I lied to him. There was no shadow of doubt in my mind as to the cause of death. Murder. The young boy had been ruthlessly, cold-bloodedly murdered: lying there unconscious, gravely injured and with his hands strapped helplessly to his sides, he had been smothered as easily, as surely, as one might smother a very little child. We buried him out on the ice-cap, not fifty yards from the place where he had died. Bringing his stiffened body out of the hatch was a grisly job, but we managed it and laid him on the snow while we sawed out a shallow grave for him in the light of one of our torches. It was impossible to dig it out: that frozen ringing surface turned shovel blades as would a bar of iron: even at eighteen inches, the impacted ntvt of snow and ice defied the serrated spearpoints of our special snow saws. But it was deep enough and within a few hours the eternal ice-drift would fuji finepix 9500 digital camera have smoothed its blanket across the grave, and we would never be able to find it again. The Reverend Joseph Smallwood murmured some sort of burial service over the grave but his teeth chattered so violently in the cold and his voice was so low and indistinct and hurried that I could hardly catch a word of it. I thought wryly that heavenly forgiveness for this indecent haste was unlikely to be withheld: by all odds it must have been by far the coldest funeral service that Mr Smallwood had ever conducted. Back in the cabin, breakfast was a sketchy and silent affair. Even in the steadily rising warmth, the melancholy gloom was an almost palpable blanket under the dripping ceiling. Hardly anybody said anything, hardly anybody ate anything. Margaret Ross ate nothing, and when she finally set down her coffee-cup, the contents had scarcely been touched. You're overdoing it, my dear, I thought viciously, you're carrying the grief-stricken act just a little too far: a little longer, and even the others will start wonderingand they have no suspicions at all, you damned inhuman little murderess. For I had no suspicions eitheronly certainty. There was no doubt in my mind at all but that she had smothered the young pilot. She' was only slightly builtbut then it would have required only slight strength. Lashed to the cot as he had been, he wouldn't even have been able to drum his heels as he had died. I could feel my flesh crawl at the very thought. She had killed him, just as she had broken the radio and doped the passengers. He had been killed, obviously, to keep him from talkingabout what, I couldn't even begin to guess, any more than I could guess the reason for the destruction of the radio, except that she clearly did not want the news of the crash broadcast to the outer world. But why in the world destroy the radio in the first place, surely she must have known how essential it was for survival? But then, after all, how was she even to have guessed that: she might well have thought that we had big fast tractors that could have whipped them down to the coast in a matter of a couple of days. For that matter, she might have thought she was a great deal nearer the coast than we really were -it was impossible, surely, that she had genuinely imagined that we were in Iceland. Or was it? My thoughts were spinning now in an unbreakable circle. I knew I was getting nowhere, couldn't possibly get anywhere without some fresh

He loud began for to cry.

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