I think it may cause you to smile.

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 Bold Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen, 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

Hoping some praise, or fearing some disgrace.

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 We shall not argue saying "'Twas thus" or "Thus", imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

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

Gallowgate that were palaces compared to this." "Major Rutledge said it was running only yesterday," Mallory said mildly. "Anyway, come on ashore. Breakfast. Remind me we're to pick up a few heavy stones on the way back, will you?" "Stones!" Miller looked at him in horror. "Aboard that thing?" Mallory nodded, smiling. "But that gawddamned ship is sinkin' already!" Miller protested. "What do you want stones for?" "Wait and see." Three hours later Miller saw. The caique was chugging steadily north over a glassy, windless sea, less than a mile off the coast of Turkey, when he mournfully finished lashing his blue battledress into a tight ball and heaved it regretfully over the side. Weighted by the heavy stone he had carried aboard, it was gone from sight in a second. Morosely he surveyed himself in the mirror propped up against the for'ard end of the wheelhouse. Apart from a deep violet sash wrapped round his lean middle and a fancifully embroidered waistcoat with its former glory mercifully faded, be was dressed entirely in black. Black lacing jackboots, black baggy trousers, black shirt and black jacket: even his sandy hair had been dyed to the same colour. He shuddered and turned away. "Thank Gawd the boys back home can't see me now!" he said feelingly. He looked critically at the others, dressed, with some minor variations, like himself. "Waal, mebbe I ain't quite so bad after all. . . . Just what is all this quick-change business for, boss?" "They tell me you've been behind the German lines twice, once as a peasant, once as a mechanic." Mallory heaved his own ballasted uniform over the side. "Well, now you see what the well-dressed Navaronian wears." "The double change, I meant Once in the plane, and now." "Oh, I see. Army khaki and naval whites in Alex., blue battledress in Casteirosso and now Greek clothes? Could have beenalmost certainly weresnoopers in Alex. or Casteirosso or Major Rutledge's island. And we've changed from launch to plane to M.T.B. to caique. Covering our tracks, Corporal. We just can't take any chances." Miller nodded, looked down at the clothes sack at his feet, wrinkled his brows in puzzlement, stooped and dragged out the white clothing that had caught his eye. He held up the long, voluminous clothes for inspection. "To be drivers for hp 315 digital camera used when passing through the local cemeteries, I suppose." He was heavily ironic. "Disguised as ghosts." "Camouflage," Mallory explained succinctly. "Snowsmocks." "What!" "Snow. That white stuff. There are some pretty high mountains in Navarone, and we may have to take to them. Sosnowsmocks." Miller looked stunned. Wordlessly he stretched his length on the deck, pillowed his head and closed his eyes. Mallory grinned at Andrea. "Picture of a man getting his full quota of sunshine before battling with the Arctic wastes. . . . Not a bad idea. Maybe you should get some sleep, too. I'll keep watch for a couple of hours." For five hours the caique continued on its course parallel to the Turkish coast, slightly west of north and rarely more than two miles off-shore. Relaxed and warm in the still kindly November sun, Mallory sat wedged between the bulwarks of the blunt bows, his eyes ceaselessly quartering sky and horizon. Amidships, Andrea and Miller lay asleep. Casey Brown still defied all attempts to remove him from the engine-room. Occasionally very occasionallyhe came up for a breath of fresh air, but the intervals between his appearances steadily lengthened as he concentrated more and more on the aged Kelvin engine, regulating the erratic drip-fed lubrication, constantly adjusting the air intake: an engineer to his finger-tips, he was unhappy about that engine: he was drowsy, too, and headachythe narrow hatchway gave hardly any ventilation at all. Alone in the wheelhousean unusual feature in so tiny a caiqueLieutenant Andy Stevens watched the Turkish coast slide slowly by. Like Mallory's, his eyes moved ceaselessly, but not with the same controlled wandering. They shifted from the coast to the chart: from the chart to the islands up ahead off the port bow, islands whose position and relation to each other changed continually and deceptively, islands gradually lifting from the sea and hardening in definition through the haze of blue refraction: from the islands to the old alcohol compass swinging almost imperceptibly on rusted gimbals, and from the compass back to the coast again. Occasionally, he peered up into the sky, or swung a quick glance through a 180-degree sweep of the horizon. But one thing his eyes avoided all the time. The chipped, fly-blown mirror had been hung up in the wheelhouse again, but it was as if his eyes and the mirror were of opposite magnetic

"O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?

to sing. Lars cocked an eyebrow at her, still humoring what he felt was her excessive fascination with a minor ability. Everyone knows how to sing I dont mean just opening the mouth and shouting, Lars Dahl. I mean, projecting a voice, supporting it properly on the breath, phrasing the music, carrying the dynamic line forward. When did I do all that? When we did that impromptu duet. When you sang on the beach, when you did that magnificent duet from The Pearl Fishers. Of course. I studied voice for ten years. I She shut her mouth. Then why are you a crystal singer instead of one of these famous vocal artists? A surge of impotent fury, followed by a wave of regret, and then a totally incomprehensible loathing of Lars for reminding her so acutely of the interview with Maestro Valdi the moment that had changed her life rendered Killashandra speechless. Lars watched her, his mild curiosity turning to concern as he saw the emotions in her stormy eyes and face. He put a hand on her bare thigh. What did I say to distress you so? Nothing you said, Lars. She dismissed all that from consideration. It was over and done with. I had all the requirements to be a Stellar, except one. A voice. Ah, now. Lars pulled back in indignation. Im quite serious. Theres a flaw, a noticeable and unpleasant burr in the voice that would have limited me to secondary roles. Lars laughed now, his white teeth gleaming in his tanned faced, his eyes sparkling. And you, my beloved Sunny, he kissed her lightly, would never settle for being second in anything! Are you first among crystal singers, then? I dont do badly. Ive sung black crystal, which is the hardest to find and cut properly. In any event, there arent degrees among singers. One cuts to earn enough credit for the things one needs and wants. Now why wasnt she being totally honest with Lars? Why didnt she confess that the sole aim of most crystal singers was sufficient credit not to have to sing crystal to leave Ballybran for as long as possible? I wouldnt have thought crystal singers are so much like islanders, Lars surprised her by saying. Well, you cut for what you need and want, much as we fish or plant polly, but all we really need is available. Its not quite the same thing with crystal, Killashandra said slowly, glad she had been less than honest. fuji f10 digital camera Why disillusion Lars needlessly? On so many worlds, in so many minds, there were so many misconceptions about crystal singers, she had not realized how much a relief it was to find an unbiased world at least one unbiased with respect to her Guild. Cutting crystal seems more dangerous than fishing. He stroked her scarred hand. Or learning polly. Stick to fishing, Lars. Crystals hazardous to your health. Now, wed best apply ourselves to fulfill my Guild contract with these fardling fools. And maybe shake them out of their organic rut! They dressed and then Killashandra entered the number Mirbethan had given her. The woman seemed immensely relieved to accept the call and said that Thyrol would be with them directly. Dyou suppose he slept in the hall? Killashandra murmured to Lars as she answered the polite scratching on the hall door. Lars shook his head violently, then held up his hand while he deactivated the jammer and pocketed it. Good morning, Thyrol. Lead on. She gestured peremptorily, smiling at Thyrol before she noticed two burly men in security uniforms. I have no need of them! she said coldly. Ah they will not interfere, Guildmember. Ill make sure of that, Thyrol. I will need the duragloves Everything you requested before your unfortunate disappearance is in the organ loft. Oh, very well then. Its gathered dust long enough. Lead on! Once again the instinctive reaction to tiptoe and maintain silence affected Killashandra as they emerged onto the stage of the Festival auditorium. She glanced at Lars to see if he was similarly affected. He grimaced slightly and she noticed that his active stride perceptibly altered. She did not miss the almost covetous way he frowned at the covered organ console. And wondered what she could do about that! She had been entranced with the music he played on the twelve-stringed instrument, and she was eager to hear it with organ amplification. Or would that be too cruel an imposition? As Thyrol used his keys on the panel to the loft, Killashandra wondered if among them were the keys that would allow access to subliminal mechanisms. All three on that ring were apparently needed to open the loft door. Or would someone of Thyrols rank even know about such a refinement? She presumed it was limited to Elder rank

Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

gone through. Self-reproach is a hopeless word to describe the way I swore at myself for my folly, my utter stupidity and unforgivable blindness, above all for the brutality, the calculated cruelty with which I'd treated this poor, crumpled young girl by my side. Especially the cruelty in the past few minutes. Perhaps there had been excuse enough for my earlier suspicions, but there was none for my latest actions: if I hadn't been so consumed by anger, so utterly sure of myself so that the possibility of doubt never had a chance to enter my mind, if my mind hadn't been concentrated, to the exclusion of all else, on the exposure of her guilt, I should have known at least that it couldn't have been she who had jumped down from the control cabin half an hour ago when I had rushed up the aisle, for the simple but sufficient reason that she had been incapable of getting up there in the first place. Quite apart from her injury, I should have been doctor enough to know that the arms and shoulders I had seen while attending to her back that evening weren't built for the acrobatic performance necessary to swing oneself up and through the smashed windscreen. That had been no act she had put on when she had fallen back into the snow, I could see that clearly now; but 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 fuji fine pics digital camera 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?" "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

With humming strong liquor likewise;

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 lovd what was good; so, in the greenwood, 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

Where hat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"

you are." Indeed, thanks to his magnificent flair for self-publicity, half the Western world knew who this outspoken, bitterlybut fairlyanti-communist, near isolationist senator from the south-west was. "On a European tour?" "You might say that." He had the politician's gift for investing even the most insignificant words with a statesmanlike consideration. "As Chairman of one of our Appropriation committees, I -well, let's call it a fact-finding tour." "Wife and secretaries gone ahead by humble passenger steamer, I take it," Zagero said mildly. He shook his head. "That was a fearful stink your Congressional investigation boys raised recently about the expenses of US senators abroad." "That was quite unnecessary, young man," Brewster said coldly. "And insulting." "I believe it was," Zagero apologised. "Not really intended as such. Sorry, Senator." He meant it. What a bunch, I thought despairingly, what a crowd to be stuck with in the middle of the Greenland ice-plateau. A business executive, a musical comedy star, a minister of religion, a boxer with an uninhibited if cultured tongue, his zany manager, a London society playgirl and her young German maid, a Senator, a taciturn Jew and a near-hysterical hostessor one apparently so. And a gravely injured pilot who might live or die. But willy-nilly I was stuck with them, stuck with the responsibility of doing my damnedest to get these people to safety, and the prospect appalled me. How on earth was I even to start to go about it, go about it with people with no arctic clothing to ward off the razor-edged winds and inhuman cold, people lacking in all knowledge and experience of arctic travel, even lacking, with two or three exceptions, the endurance and sheer muscular strength to cope with the savagery of the Greenland ice-cap? I couldn't even begin to guess. But whatever else they were lacking in at that moment, it wasn't volubility: the life-giving warmth of the brandy had had the unfortunate side effect of loosening their tongues. Unfortunate, that is, from my point of view: they had a hundred and one questions to ask, and they seemed to think that I should have the answer to all of them. More accurately, they had only half a dozen questions to ask, with a hundred and one variations of these. How was it possible for a pilot to veer so many hundreds of miles off course? Could the compasses have gone wrong? Could the pilot have had a brain-storm? But then surely both co-pilot and second pilot would have known something fujifilm digital slr camera was wrong? Could the radio have been damaged? It had been a bitterly cold afternoon even when they had left Gander, was it possible that some of the naps and controls had iced up, forcing them off course? But if this were the case, why hadn't someone come to warn them of the possibility of the crash? I answered all of their questions as best I could but these answers were all to the same effect, that I didn't really know anything more about it than they did. "But you said some time ago that you did, perhaps, know one thing more than we did." It was Corazzini who put the question, and he was looking at me shrewdly. "What was that, Dr Mason?" "What? Ah, yes, I remember now." I hadn't forgotten, but the way things were shaping up in my mind I'd had second thoughts about mentioning it, and had time to think up a plausible alternative. "I need hardly tell you that it's nothing that I actually know, Mr Corazzinihow could I, / wasn't in the planejust a reasonably informed guess in the absence of all other solutions. It's based on the scientific observations made here and in other IGY stations in Greenland, some of them over the past eighteen months. "For over a year now, we have been experiencing a period of intense sun-spot activitythat's one of the main interests of the IGY yearthe most intense of this century. As you may know, sun-spots, or, rather, the emission of solar particles from these sun-spots, are directly responsible for the formation of the aurora borealis and magnetic storms, both of these being related to disturbances in the ionosphere. These disturbances can and, actually, almost invariably do interfere with radio transmission and reception, and when severe enough can completely disrupt all normal radio communications: and they can also produce temporary alterations of the earth's magnetism which knock magnetic compasses completely out of kilter." All of which was true enough as far as it went. "It would, of course, require extreme conditions to produce these effects: but we have been experiencing these lately, and I'm pretty sure that that's what happened with your plane. Where astral navigationby the stars, that isis impossible, as it was on a night like this, you are dependent on radio and compasses as your two main navigational aids: if these are knocked out, what have you left?" A fresh hubbub of talk arose at this, and though it was quite obvious that most of them had only a vague idea what I was

It stood full high on the crown:

certainty that no matter what effort we made to save Mahler it would be completely nullified when the time came, as it inevitably must come, that the killers showed their hand. For one wild moment I considered the idea of tying them all up, lashing them inside the tractor body so that they couldn't move, and had the conditions been right I believe I would have done just that. But the conditions couldn't have been more hopeless: a bound person wouldn't have lasted a couple of hours in that bitter cold. There were no objections. For the most part, I suppose, they were too cold, too tired, too hungry and too thirstyfor with the rapid evaporation of moisture from the warm, relatively humid body thirst was always a problem in dry, intensely cold airto raise any objections. To people unaccustomed to the Arctic, it must have seemed that they had reached the nadir of their sufferings, that things could get no worse than they were: I hoped as much time as possible would elapse before they found out how wrong they were. There were no objections, but there were two suggestions. Both came from Nick Corazzini. "Look, Doc, about this diet Mr Mahler must have. Maybe we can't balance it, but we can at least make sure that he gets a fair number of caloriesnot that I know how you count the damn' things. Why don't we double his rationsno, even that wouldn't keep a decent sparrow alive. What say each of the rest of us docks a quarter of his rations and hands them over? That way Mr Mahler would have about four times his normal" "No, no!" Mahler protested. "Thank you, Mr Corazzini, but I cannot permit" "An excellent idea," I interrupted. "I was thinking along the same lines myself." "Good," Corazzini grinned. "Carried unanimously. I also suggest we'd get along farther and faster if, say, Mr Zagero and I were to spell you two on the tractor." He held up a hand as if to forestall protest. "Either of us may be the man you want, in fact, we might be the two men you wantif it is two men. But if I'm one of the killers, and I know nothing about the Arctic, navigation, the maintenance of this damned Citroen and wouldn't as much as recognise a crevasse if I fell down one, it's as plain as the nose on your face that I'm not going to make a break for it until I'm within shouting distance of the coast. Agreed?" "Agreed," I said. Even as I spoke, there came a coughing clattering roar as Jackstraw coaxed the still-warm Citroen back into life, and I looked up at Corazzini. "All right," I went on. "Come on fujifilm digital camera 8.2 mp down. You can have your first driving lesson now." We left at half-past seven that morning, in driving conditions that were just about perfect. Not the slightest breath of air stirred. across the ice-cap and the deep blue-black vault of the sky was unmarred by even the tiniest wisp of cloud. The stars were strangely remote, pale and shimmering and unreal through the gossamer gauze of the glittering ice needles that filled the sky and sifted soundlessly down on the frozen snow, but even so visibility was all that could have been desired: the powerful headlights of the Citroen, striking a million sparkling diamond points of light off the ice spicules, reached a clear three hundred yards ahead into the darkness, leaving the ground to either side of the twin interlocking beams shrouded in impenetrable darkness. The cold was intense, and deepening by the hour: but the Citroen seemed to thrive on it that morning. Luck was with us almost right away. Within fifteen minutes of starting off, Balto, ranging free as always, appeared out of the darkness to the south-west and ran alongside the dog-sledge, barking to attract Jackstraw's attention. Jackstraw gave us the signal to stopa rapid flickering of the red and green lights on the tractor dashboardand in two or three minutes appeared out of the darkness, grinning, to tell us that Balto had picked up a standing trail flag. That was good news in itself, in that it meant that our navigation the previous night had been all that could have been wished for and that we were almost exactly on course: even more important, however, was the fact that if this flag was the first of a series we could dispense with the navigator on the dog-sledge and that Jackstraw and I could have some sleepif sleep were possible in that miserably cold and lurching tractor body. And, indeed, that flag proved to the first of an almost unbroken series that was to guide us all the length of that interminable day, so that from eight o'clock onwards Jackstraw, Zagero, Corazzini and I took it in turns to drive, with the Senator, the Reverend Smallwood or Solly Levin up front as lookout. Theirs was probably the coldest, certainly the most unwelcome job of all: but all three bore up uncomplainingly, even to the extent of thawing out in silent agony at the end of their hour on duty. Shortly after eight o'clock I left an obviously competent Corazzini to his own devices, dropped back to the shelter of the tractor body

Derry derry down And fifteen winters old,

called him in Crete. You will know he is here when he touches you on the shoulder." Miller shivered in a sudden icy gust of sleet. "I wish you people wouldn't creep around so much," he complained. He looked up as Brown came round the corner of a boulder, slow with the shambling, stumbling gait of an exhausted man. "Hi, there, Casey. How are things goin'?" "Not too bad." Brown murmured his thanks as Andrea took the box of explosives off his shoulder and lowered it easily to the ground. "This is the last of the gear. Captain sent me back with it. We heard voices some way along the cliff. He's staying behindto see what they say when they find Stevens gone." Wearily he sat down on top of the box. "Maybe he'll get some idea of what they're going to do next, if anything." "Seems to me he could have left you there and carried that damned box back himself," Miller growled. Disappointment in Mallory made him more outspoken than he'd meant to be. "He's much better off than you are right now, and I think it's a bit bloody much. . ." He broke off and gasped in pain as Andrea's fingers caught his arm like giant steel pincers. "It is not fair to talk like that, my friend," Andrea said reproachfully. "You forget, perhaps, that Brown here cannot talk or understand a word of German?" Miller rubbed his bruised arm tenderly, shaking his head in slow self-anger and condemnation. "Me and my big mouth," he said ruefully. "Always talkin' outa turn Miller, they call me. Your pardon, one and all.. . . And what is next on the agenda, gentlemen?" "Captain says we're to go straight on into the rocks and up the right shoulder of this bill here." Brown jerked a thumb in the direction of the vague mass, dark and strangely foreboding, that towered above and beyond them. "He'll catch us up within fifteen minutes or so." He grinned tiredly at Miller. "And we're to leave this box and a rucksack for him to carry." "Spare me," Miller pleaded. "I feel only six inches tall as it is." He looked down at Stevens lying quietly under the darkly gleaming wetness of the oilskins, then up at Andrea. "I'm afraid, Andrea" "Of course, of course!" Andrea stooped quickly, wrapped the oilskins round the unconscious boy and rose to his feet, as effortlessly as if the oilskins had been empty. "I'll lead the way," Miller volunteered. "Mebbe I can pick an easy path for you and young Stevens." He swung generator and rucksacks on to his shoulder, staggering under the sudden weight; he hadn't realised he was so weak. canon digital camera batteries "At first, that is," he amended. "Later on, you'll have to carry us both." Mallory had badly miscalculated the time it would require to overtake the others; over an hour had elapsed since Brown had left him, and still there were no signs of the others. And with seventy pounds on his back, he wasn't making such good time himself. It wasn't all his fault. The returning German patrol, after the first shock of discovery, had searched the clifftop again, methodically and with exasperating slowness. Mallory had waited tensely for someone to suggest descending and expmining the chimneythe gouge-marks of the spikes on the rock would have been a dead giveawaybut nobody even mentioned it. With the guard obviously fallen to his death, it would have been a pointless thing to do anyway. After an unrewarding search, they had debated for an unconscionable time as to what they should do next. Finally they had done nothing. A replacement guard was left, and the rest made off along the cliff, carrying their rescue equipment with them. The three men ahead had made surprisingly good time, although the conditions, admittedly, were now much easier. The heavy fall of boulders at the foot of the slope had petered out after another fifty yards, giving way to broken scree and rain-washed rubble. Possibly he had passed them, but it seemed unlikely: in the intervals between these driving sleet showersit was more like hail nowhe was able to scan the bare shoulder of the hill, and nothing moved. Besides, he knew that Andrea wouldn't stop until he reached what promised at least a bare minimum of shelter, and as yet these exposed, windswept slopes had offered nothing that even remotely approached that. In the end, Mallory almost literally stumbled upon both men and shelter. He was negotiating a narrow, longitudinal spine of rock, had just crossed its razor-back, when he heard the murmur of voices beneath him and saw a tiny glimmer of light behind the canvas stretching down from the overhang of the far wall of the tiny ravine at his feet. Miller started violently and swung round as he felt the hand on his shoulder: the automatic was half-way out of his pocket before he saw who it was and sunk back heavily on the rock behind him. "Come, come, now! Trigger-happy." Thankfully Mallory slid his burden from his aching shoulders and looked across at the softly laughing Andrea. "What's so funny?" "Our friend here." Andrea grinned again. "I told him

And chose him a staff of ground-oak;

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 cabin perspex was shattered and starred in a dozen places. For a long time Jensen stared at the holes and scars of the damaged machine, then shook his head and looked away. "Four hours' sleep, Captain Mallory," he said quietly. "Four hours. I'm beginning to think that you can count yourself damn' lucky to have had even that much." The interrogation room, harshly lit by two powerful, unshaded lights, was uncomfortable and airless. The furniture consisted of some battered wall-maps and charts, a score or so of equally scuffed chairs and an unvarnished deal table. The commodore, flanked by Jensen and Mallory, was sitting behind this when the door opened abruptly and the first of the flying crews entered, blinking rapidly in the fierceness of the unaccustomed light They were led by a dark-haired, thick-set pilot, trailing helmet and flying-suit in his left hand. He had an Anzac bush helmet crushed on the back of his head, and the word "Australia" emblazoned in white across each khaki shoulder. Scowling, wordlessly and without permission, he sat down in front of them, produced a pack of cigaottes and rasped a match across the surface of the table. Mallory looked furtively at the commodore. The commodore just looked resigned. He even sounded resigned. "Gentlemen, this is Squadron Leader Torrance. Squadron Leader Torrance," he added unnecessarily, "is buy digital camera in new york an Australian." Mallory had the impression that the commodore rather hoped this would explain some things, Squadron Leader Torrance among them. "He led tonight's attack on Navarone. Bill, these gentlemen hereCaptain Jensen of the Royal Navy, Captain Mallory of the Long Range Desert Grouphave a very special interest in Navarone. How did things go to-night?" Navarone! So that's why I'm here to-night, Mallory thought. Navarone. He knew it well, rather, knew of it. So did everyone who had served any time at all in the Eastern Mediterranean: a grim, impregnable iron fortress off the coast of Turkey, heavily defended byit was thoughta mixed garrison of Germans and Italians, one of the few Aegean islands on which the Allies had been unable to establish a mission, far less recapture, at some period of the war. . . . He realised that Torrance was speaking, the slow drawl heavy with controlied anger. "Bloody awful, sir. A fair cow, it was, a real suicide do." He broke off abruptly, stared moodily with compressed lips through his own drifting tobacco smoke. "But we'd like to go back again," he went on. "Me and the boys here. Just once. We were talking about it on the way home." Mallory caught the deep murmur of voices in the background, a growl of agreement. 'We'd like to take with us the joker who thought this one up and shove him out at ten thousand over Navarone, without benefit of parachute." "As bad as that, Bill?" "As bad as that, sir. We hadn't a chance. Straight up, we really hadn't. First off, the weather was against us the jokers in the Met. office were about as right as they usually are." "They gave you clear weather?" "Yeah. Clear weather. It was ten-tenths over the target," Torrance said bitterly. "We had to go down to fifteen hundred. Not that it made any difference. We would have to have gone down lower than that anywayabout three thousand feet below sea-level, then fly up the way: that cliff overhang shuts the target clean off. Might as well have dropped a shower of leaflets asking them to spike their own bloody guns. . . . Then they've got every second A.A. gun in the south of Europe concentrated along this narrow 50-degree vectorthe only way you can approach the target, or anywhere near the target. Russ and Conroy were belted good and proper on the way in. Didn't even get half-way

There was he were of fifteen forresters,

hours. If he resented her silence or interpreted it as an accusation, he gave no indication of regret, remorse, or penitence. She was too immersed in her obsession with the Outrageous circumstance of Larss betrayal to try to explain the complexities of her depression. By the time she and Trag had completed the long journey to Ballybrans surface, Killashandra was completely restored to physical health. She paused only long enough in her quarters to check, as she had begun to do toward the end of the trip, with galactic updates. There was no further word on the Optherian situation beyond the original bulletin announcing the arrival of Revision troops on the planet to correct legislative anomalies. She refused to consider what that statement might mean for Lars. Dumping her carisak, she changed into a shipsuit. Then she headed for the Fishermans bailiwick and, with a voice grown gruff from disuse, demanded her sonic cutter. While waiting for him to retrieve it from storage, she checked with Meterology and, with a twinge of satisfaction, learned that the forecast predicted a settled period of weather for the next nine days. She backed her sled out of its rack herself, though she could see the wild protesting signals of the duty officer trying to abort her precipitous departure. As soon as she was clear of the Hangar, she poured on the power and, in an undeviating line, fled for the Ranges. It was all part of the miserable web of ironic coincidence that she found black crystal again in the deep, sunless ravine in which she had hoped to bury herself and her grief for the reason and manner of her parting with Lars Dahl. EPILOGUE Stolidly Killashandra watched, arms folded across her breasts, as Enthor reverently unpacked the nine black crystal shafts. Interstellar, at the least, Killashandra, he said, blinking his eyes back to normal vision as he stepped back to sigh over the big crystals. And this is all from that vein you struck last year? Killashandra nodded. Not much moved her to words these days. Working the new claim, she had quickly recouped her losses on the Optherian contract; Heptite rules and regs had required her to part with a percentage of that fee to Trag. She accepted that as passively as she had accepted everything since that day in Court on Regulus. Not even Rimbol had been able to penetrate her apathy, though he and Antona continued their attempts. Lanzecki had spoken pleasantly to her after her first return from the Ranges, complimented her on the new black crystal vein but pc doesn't recognise digital camera their early relationship could never have been revived even if Lanzecki had persisted. She didnt see him. She saw no one but Lars, a laughing Lars, garland-wreathed, his blue eyes gleaming, teeth white in his tanned face, his bronzed body poised on the deck of the Pearl Fisher. She woke sometimes, sure she felt his hand on her hip, heard his voice in the whisper of the wind in the deep ravine, or in the tenor of warming crystal at noon, when the sun finally touched the cliff. She made two attempts to succumb to crystal thrall but each time the symbiont had somehow pulled her back. Not even that enchantment was powerful enough to break through her emotions, obsessed as she was by the guilty betrayal of her body in the witness chair on Regulus. She had kept informed of the situation on Optheria and often, on the nights brilliant with crystal song, she composed letters to Lars, asking to be forgiven that betrayal. She wrote imaginary letters to Nahia and Hauness, knowing that they would be compassionate, and intercede for her with Lars. In her better moments, common sense dictated that Lars would not have held that bizarre psychoanalysis against her for he, of them all, knew how much she treasured and admired him. But he had not heard her impassioned plea to the Court, and she doubted if I love you had been included in the hard copy of the hearing transcript. And he had other plans for the rest of his life. She frequently entertained the notion of returning to Optheria to see how he was getting on, even if she never made actual contact with him. He might have found another woman with whom he could share his life on Optheria. Sometimes she returned from the Ranges, full of determination to end her wretched half-life, one way or another. She had more than enough credit for a fiercely expensive galactic call: ironically through some of the black crystal she had herself cut. But would she reach Lars on Optheria? Maybe, once he had completed that disciplinary action and his subordination to the Federal investigation of Optheria, he had found another channel for his abilities and energies. Once he discovered his freedom to travel the stars, they might have won him from his love of the sea. At her most rational, she recognized all the ifs ands and buts as procrastinations. Yet, it was not exactly an unwillingness to chance her luck that restrained her: it was a deep and instinctive knowing that she must remain in this period of

He was, I must tell you, but seven foot high,

earth?" "Exhibit B." Miller didn't seem to hear him. He opened the detonator box, gingerly lifted a fuse from its felt and cotton-wool bed and examined it closely under his torch. Then he looked at Mallory again. "Fulminate of mercury, boss. Only seventy-seven grains, but enough to blow your fingers off. Unstable as hell, toothe little tap will set it off." He let it fall to the ground, and Mallory winced and drew back involuntarily as the American smashed a heavy heel down on top of it. But there was no explosion, nothing at all. "Ain't workin' so good either, is it, boss? A hundred to one the rest are all empty, too." He fished out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and watched the smoke eddy and swirl above the heat of the candles. He slid the cigarettes into his pocket. "There was a third thing you were going to show me," Mallory said quietly. "Yeah, I was goin' to show you somethin' else." The voice was very gentle, and Mallory felt suddenly cold. "I was goin' to show you a spy, a traitor, the most vicious, twistin', murderin', doublecrossin' bastard I've ever known." The American had his hand out of his pocket now, the silenced automatic sitting snugly against his palm, the muzzle trained over Panayis's heart. He went on, more gently than ever. "Judas Iscariot had nothin' on the boy-friend, here, boss. . . . Take your coat off, Panayis." "What the devil are you doing! Are you crazy?" Mallory started forward, half-angry, half-amazed, but brought up sharply against Miller's extended arm, rigid as a bar of iron. "What bloody nonsense is this? He doesn't understand English!" "Don't he, though? Then why was he out of the cave like a flash when Casey reported hearin' sounds outside . . . and why was he the first to leave the carob grove this afternoon if he didn't understand your order? Take your coat off, Judas, or I'll shoot you through the arm. I'll give you two seconds." Mallory made to throw his arms round Miller and bring him to the ground, but halted in mid-step as he caught the look on Panayis's faceteeth bared, murder glaring out from the coal-black eyes. Never before had Mallory seen such malignity in a human face, a malignity that yielded abruptly to shocked pain and disbelief as the .32 bullet smashed into his upper arm, just below the shoulder. "Two seconds and then the other arm," Miller said woodenly. But Panayis was already tearing off his jacket, the dark, bestial eyes never leaving Miller's face. Mallory looked at him, shivered involuntarily, looked at Miller. Indifference, he thought, that was speed flashes digital cameras the only word to describe the look on the American's face. Indifference. Unaccountably, Mallory felt colder than ever. "Turn round!" The automatic never wavered. Slowly Panayis turned round. Miller stepped forward, caught the black shirt by the collar, ripped it off his back with one convulsive jerk. "Waal, waal, now, whoever woulda thought it?" Miller drawled. "Surprise, surprise, surprise! Remember, boss, this was the character that was publicly flogged by the Germans in Crete, flogged until the white of his ribs showed through. His back's in a heliuva state, isn't it?" Mallory looked but said nothing. Completely off balance, his mind was in a kaleidoscopic whirl, his thoughts struggling to adjust themselves to a new set of circumstances, a complete reversal of all his previous thinking. Not a scar, not a single blemish, marked the dark smoothness of that skin. "Just a natural quick healer," Miller murmured. "Only a nasty, twisted mind like mine would think that he had been a German agent in Crete, became known to the Allies as a fifth columnist, lost his usefulness to the Germans and was shipped back to Navarone by fast motor-launch under cover of night. Floggin'! Islandhoppin' his. way back here in a rowboat! Just a lot of bloody eyewash!" Miller paused, and his mouth twisted. "I wonder how many pieces of silver he made in Crete before they got wise to him?" "But heavens above, man, you're not going to condemn someone just for shooting a line!" Mallory protested. Strangely, he didn't feel nearly as vehement as he sounded. "How many survivors would there be among the Allies if" "Not convinced yet, huh?" Miller waved his automatic negligently at Panayis. "Roll up the left trouser leg, Iscariot. Two seconds again." Panayis did as he was told. The black, venomous eyes never looked away from Miller's. He rolled the dark cloth up to the knee. "Farther yet? That's my little boy," Miller, encouraged him. "And now take that bandage offright off." A few seconds passed, then Miller shook his head sadly. "A ghastly wound, boss, a ghastly wound!" "I'm beginning to see your point," Mallory said thoughtfully. The dark sinewy leg wasn't even scratched. "But why on earth" "Simple. Four reasons at least. Junior here is a treacherous, slimy bastardno self -respectin' rattlesnake would come within a mile of himbut he's a clever bastard. He faked his leg so he could stay in the cave in