"Hey, the pants are off the rack at a discount place. Dont worry about any bill.... Just remember, lady, youre nice and Im nice, but I havent stopped digging."

" 'Digging what, signore? Dirt?"

"I dont touch dirt, Countess, I leave that to others. But earth thats been made toxic, thats something else."

"Then dig, please," said the Baj, glancing at the gold bracelet firmly in place around her right wrist, the point of a golden thorn red with blood, its tiny orifice dark ... open. "There will be nothing."

The Miami Herald

Reporter Killed in Accident

WEST PALM BEACH, Tuesday, Aug. 12-Pulitzer Prize winner Angelo Del Rossi, an outstanding reporter for this newspaper, was killed last night on Route 95 when his car swerved off the road and crashed into the concrete housing of an electrical relay station. It was presumed that Del Rossi fell asleep at the wheel. Several of his bereaved colleagues expressed not only sorrow but reluctant understanding. "He was a tiger, a real news-hound," said one. "Hed go for days without sleep for a story." Last evening Del Rossi was returning from a buffet dinner honoring the recently arrived barone-cadetto of Ravello, one Dante Paolo. The young baron-to-be expressed both shock and horror, saying through his interpreter that he had struck up an immediate friendship with the Italian-speaking Del Rossi, who had promised to teach him how to play golf.

Mr. Del Rossi is survived by his wife, Ruth, and two daughters.

II Progresso Ravello

(translated)

Baron on Mediterranean Cruise RAVELLO, 13 Aug.-Carlo Vittorio, of Ravello, the much-decorated baron, citing a recurrence of poor health, will embark on an extended cruise aboard his yacht, Il Nicolo, throughout the Mediterranean. "The islands of our great sea will restore me so I may return to my responsibilities," he said at a farewell party on the dock at Napoli.

13.

The early orange sun pulsated across-the blue-green waters as foraging birds whistled and cawed in the upper palms and the hanging tropical foliage. Tyrell snapped open his eyes, startled, unsure, then astonished to realize that his head was touching Cathys shoulder, her sleeping face only inches away from his. Slowly, he rolled away and got to his hands and knees, blinking at the brilliant light, suddenly whipping around at the popping sounds of a fire and the sight of a limping Poole dragging debris which he threw over the flames. The rising dark smoke was the only obstruction in a clear, cloudless sky.

"Whats that for?" asked Hawthorne, instantly repeating the question in a whisper as the lieutenant brought his index finger to his lips. "Whats it for?"

"I figured if the pilot of the aircraft got a wrong number in the coordinates, hed spot the fire. Just a backup, thats all."

"Youre walking ...?"

"I told you it wasnt more than a couple of bruises. I spent a half hour in the water soakin em and movin em; theyre tolerable now."

"Whens the plane due?"

"Six oclock, give or take, weather permitting," answered Catherine Neilsen, her eyes still closed. "And you can both stop whispering." The pilot raised herself on her elbows, pulled up the sleeve of her unzipped wet suit, and looked at her watch. "My G.o.d, its a quarter to!"

"So?" said Poole. "You got an appointment at the beauty parlor?"

"Not too distant a relative, Jackson. This girl has to head up into the vines and pull a contortionists act.... Speaking of which, would you two gentlemen please return to your suits? Two men in their shorts-one revealingly wet, I might add-and a lone female officer on a proverbial desert island isnt the image I want carried back to Patrick."

"To Patrick?" objected Hawthorne sharply. "Who said anything about your air force base?"

"Weve been over that, Tye, and if you dont remember, n.o.body can blame you. Three hours ago you were just about the most exhausted man Ive ever seen. You could still use a weeks sleep."

"Youre right, not about the sleep, but I remember. Regardless of the orders, Ill reach Stevens in D.C. and get off at Gorda."

"Wrong," protested Poole. "You dont get off at Gorda, we get off. You may have a score or six to settle, but we have one thats d.a.m.ned important to Cath and me. The names Charlie-you do remember him?"

"I do," said Tyrell, studying the lieutenant. "Well get off at Gorda."

"Theres the plane!" cried Cathy, jumping to her feet. "Ive got to hurry!"

"Believe me," said the lieutenant. "Theyll wait until you have your permanent."

"Get into your suits!" snapped the major, hurrying up the embankment and into the sh.o.r.eline woods.

"Ashkelon," whispered the voice in London.

"Forever," replied the Baj. "I may not be able to contact you at the a.s.signed times and telephones for the next several days. Were flying to New York and things will be hectic."

"It doesnt matter. Were doing splendidly. One of our people has just been hired for the security detail at Downing Streets transport pool."

"That is splendid."

"About you, Baj?"

"The same. The circles are widening, yet growing more selective. Vengeance will be ours, my friend."

"Ive never doubted it."

"Reach Paris and Jerusalem with my news, but tell them to adhere to our schedule of times and locations in case of an emergency."

"I spoke to Jerusalem this morning; the hot-headed b.a.s.t.a.r.ds ecstatic."

"How so?"

"He fell in with a group of senior staff officers from the I.D.F. at a restaurant in Tel Aviv. It was a drunken night and they loved his singing. Hes been invited to several parties."

"Tell him to be careful. His papers are as false as his uniform."

"Theres no one better under cover, Baj. Besides, he recognized two of the officers; suckling pigs of the butcher Sharon."

"Interesting," said Bajaratt after a moment of silence. "Sharon could be a welcome bonus."

"That was Jerusalems thinking."

"But not at the expense of the prize, tell him that."

"He understands."

"Anything new in Paris?"

"Well, you know shes sleeping with a ranking member of the Chamber of Deputies, a close friend of the President. Shes a foxy girl, very clever."

"It would be better if she were sleeping with the President."

"It could happen."

"Ashkelon," said the Baj, signing off the call.

"Forever," said the voice in London.

British Virgin Gorda was still asleep when the U.S. Air Force seaplane, cleared by Government House, glided into the water two miles south of the yacht club. Hawthorne had requested no a.s.sistance insofar as the aircrafts standard equipment included several PVC inflatable boats, and he wanted their entry to the island to be as secure as possible. When he had replaced the radio phone on the bulkhead cradle, Catherine Neilsen called out from a nearby seat, her voice loud enough to be heard over the outside engines.

"Just a minute, profound leader, havent you forgotten something?"

"What? I got us to Gorda, what else do you want?"

"Clothes, perhaps? Ours are on a British hovercraft a couple of hundred miles from here, and it strikes me that wed be noticed in these black Spider-Man outfits. If you think Im going to walk around in a bra and panties alongside two unshaven gorillas in white shorts, think again, Commander."

"I guess we gotta take wearin apparel out of your expertise, huh, Tye?" said Poole, grinning. " Course, you like greasy coveralls, but we come from a better cla.s.s of folk."

So Hawthorne got back on the phone and was patched into the yacht clubs switchboard. "Mr. Geoffrey Cooke, please." Tyrell waited while the incessant, erratic ringing went unanswered. Finally, the clerk came back on the line.

"Im sorry, sir, theres no answer."

"Try Monsieur Ardisonne, Jacques Ardisonne."

"Very well, sir." Again the ringing continued to no avail, and again the clerk returned to the phone. "Im afraid its the same, sir."

"Look, this is Tyrell Hawthorne and Ive got a problem-"

"Captain Hawthorne? I thought it sounded like you, but theres so much noise on your end."

"Whos this?"

"Beckwith, sir, the night clerk, mon. Did I sound reasonably English, sir?"

"Right out of Buckingham Palace," said Tye, relieved that he remembered the man. "Listen, Beck, Ive got to reach Roger, and I left his home number on my boat. Can you get it for me?"

"Dont have to, Capn. He fillin in for the day boy who got himself in jail for a fight. Ill connect you."

"Where you been all night, Tye-Boy?" Roger, the chickee bartender, said. "You lizard-scamp from one place to nother and dont tell n.o.body!"

"Where are Cooke and Ardisonne?" Hawthorne cut in.

"We all tried to call you in St. Martin-you disappeared, mon."

"Where are they?"

"Off-island, Tye-Boy. They got a call from Puerto Rico around ten-thirty, a very crazy call, mon, so crazy they reached Government House an all kinda crazy things happen! The police drive em to Sebastians Point, and the coast patrol take em out to a seaplane and a pilot whos gonna take em back to P.R., thats what they told me to tell you!"

"Thats all?"

"No, mon, I save the best for last ... I think. They said to tell you they had someone named Grimshaw-"

"Breakthrough!" shouted Hawthorne, his voice carrying through the fuselage of the plane.

"What happened?" cried Neilsen.

"What is it, Tye?" yelled Poole.

"Weve got one of them!... Anything else, Roge?"

"Not actually, cept those two white cocoruroos stuck me with a tab I already run up."

"Youll be paid off fifty times over, pal!"

"Just halfd be enough. I can steal the rest."

"One last thing, Roge. Im flying in with two friends, but we need some clothes...."

Chickee-Roge met them on the isolated east beach, a hundred-plus yards away from the yacht clubs docks, and pulled the heavy rubber boat up into the sand. "Its still too early for the tourists to come down, and the pot skippers cant see you, so follow me. I got an empty villa where you can change; the clothes are up there.... Wait a minute. What am I supposed to do with the inflatable? Thats a two-thousand-dollar piece of equipment."

"Deflate it and sell it," said Hawthorne. "Just make sure you block out the various initials. If you dont know how, Ill teach you. Lets get up to the villa."

The clothes were perfectly adequate, and in Major Neilsens case, more than acceptable.

"Hey, Cathy, you look gorgeous!" Poole gave a low whistle as the pilot emerged from a bedroom in a flowing muumuu embossed with hot tropical colors, all in the abstract patterns of peac.o.c.k and parrot feathers, and designed to emphasize the upper and lower swells of a womans form.

Girlishly, Cathy pivoted around. "Why, Lieutenant, Ive never heard you say anything like that.... Except maybe once, in a Miami strip joint."