'Pinpointed?"

'As the man with his finger on the pulse. Someone we could do business with." Steve watched the Herald closely. 'Intelligent, imaginative, resourceful. ambitious."

The last word had the most impact, but it was quickly erased.

Aware that he had lost the initiative, Toshiro fixed Steve with his expressionless eyes and waited.

Steve stared back, neither challenging nor fearful.

'You don't seem surprised."

'I try to avoid surprises,' replied Toshiro. 'You are the envoy of a powerful nation. However, I am curious to know why you didn't disclose this knowledge before."

Steve responded with a calculating smile. 'Have you put all your cards on the table? Despite the gulf between our two societies you and I are - with all due respect, sire - two of a kind."

Toshiro conceded the point with a burst of suppressed laughter.

'Brickman, despite your total lack of sensitivity, I'm sure you are aware there have been several occasions when I've been itching to kill you - and I could cheerfully do so now." He slammed the half-drawn sword back into its scabbard. 'One day, perhaps, I may have that pleasure."

'Not if I see you first."

His spirited reply caused the Herald to slap his thigh.

'Well said! Now - ' he lowered his voice again ' - how do you plan to escape?"

'We're going to take three of the flying horses,' whispered Steve.

Toshiro frowned. 'But the western border is nearly 1,000 leagues from here. Can these machines travel that far?"

'One day they will - but not now." Steve fed him the false lead.

'Once we're across the Hudson, we fly south-west to a rendezvous point near Scranton. The place you call Skaratana."

'Ahh, so..."

'Our own people are flying in to pick us up from there.

We'll be back home before nightfall."

Toshiro tried hard not to look impressed. 'What about the woman?

Where and when do you want her delivered?"

'Don't worry about it. The Consul-General will be bringing her."

The news took Toshiro's breath away. 'You've arranged this?"

'Not yet. I was planning to do that tonight. The Consul-General is dining with Lord Min-Orota, and won't be back until tomorrow morning."

Steve had learned of this from a conversation Cadillac had overheard.

'But of course, you already know that."

The Herald did, and had already made plans to take advantage of Toh-Shiba's absence. But how did Brickman know - and what did his words imply? 'You * . . astound me."

'Don't see why,' replied Steve. 'Just doing my job."

'But ' 'There is one thing you could help me with." Steve had taken the Herald's warning seriously, but sensed that, for the moment, he had him on the ropes. He c.o.c.ked a finger at him. 'Did you bring your horse?"

'Yes ' 'Terrific. I'm glad we had this opportunity to talk, but it's put me behind schedule. What are the chances of hitching a ride over to Two Island Lake?"

Despite the tempting offer of another round of bodily delights, Steve did not linger in Clearwater's arms once the last crucial details had been ironed out. To return to the Heron Pool meant a long swim to the western side of the lake followed by a three-mile run. With the onset of autumn, the nights had become noticeably chill, and while the water was relatively warm, the surface was shrouded in a thick layer of pale grey mist.

The mist had seeped up the steep sides of the lake, cloaking the tangle of boulders, bushes, fallen branches and rotting vegetation that formed a swamp-like mora.s.s at the water's edge. It was difficult to negotiate in daylight; with an almost naked body in almost total darkness, it had been both hazardous and painful.

In swimming towards the island, he had aimed for the pale yellow point of light emanating from the lantern which they had agreed Clearwater would hang in her window if she was alone - and unlikely to be disturbed by her fat friend.

To help guide him back, Steve had hung two lanterns in line with the direction he wanted to go: yellow in front, pink behind. The lake-house was perched among trees on the highest point of the island, so by porpoising out of the water he was able to see the lights through the wraith-like top layer of the mist. As long as he could see only the yellow light, he knew he was on the correct heading and not swimming round in circles.

Halfway across, Steve encountered a narrow mist-free channel. He turned over and switched to a back stroke.

It was noisier than the breast stroke, but just as powerful. And it meant he could swim and keep an eye on the lights at the same time.

Even if he had been facing the right way, it was doubtful if he would have been quick enough to avoid the coa.r.s.e fishing net that was suddenly drawn out of the water a yard or so beyond the end of the clear channel.

The ends of the net were held by six shadowy figures.

They were standing in two long, low-hulled boats, but these were hidden beneath the surrounding layer of mist.

With the swift, practised movements that only came from years of fishing the waters, the net was brought over and under Steve and hauled tight. The boats came together, meeting first at the bows before gently colliding sideways on. One man in each boat mounted the bows and lifted their struggling catch clear of the water. Before Steve was fully able to grasp what was happening, he was dumped in the bottom of the left-hand boat and knocked unconscious with a swift, well-aimed blow on the back of the head.

When he returned to his senses, Steve found that he was dry, but still naked. Two figures dressed in black stood over him. As his eyes fluttered open, they hauled him into a kneeling position. It took a few seconds for him to realise what kind of trouble he was in. His arms had been raised to shoulder height and roped to a short pole which went over the back of his neck and under his bent elbows, leaving his fingers brushing his ears.

It was already causing a certain amount of discomfort, and when cramp set in would soon become painful. But not as painful as the thin cord that had been looped around his p.e.n.i.s and s.c.r.o.t.u.m and pulled taut before the other end had been tied round his neck. A neat trick. The only way to ease the tension was to lean forward. If he tried to straighten his back he would yank his b.a.l.l.s off.

Terrific...

Facing him was a third man. He was also dressed in black, but his lined, skull-like face was uncovered. With deep-set slitted eyes, a square jaw, and a mouth like a joint between two steel plates, he looked like bad news.

A lantern hung from the top of a short angled pole stuck into the ground to Steve's right. His brown worksuit, which he had left stashed under a fallen tree, lay neatly folded beside it. The back of his head throbbed painfully. He moved it gingerly from side to side to try and ease the stiffness in his neck, and it was only then that he realised he was inside a black tent.

Skull-Face filled a small cup with sake from a leather-covered flask and held it out to the guard on Steve's right. 'Drink up. It may help you collect your thoughts."

The guard held the cup to Steve's lips. With the cord round his neck and his privates, he had to lean even further forward in order to get his mouth at the right angle.

'Feeling better?"

'Yes. Thank you."