"That jets scheduled to take off in thirty-five minutes," said Poole. "I say we should be on it."

"Thirty-five minutes?" exclaimed Hawthorne.

"Thats only part of it. Their pa.s.senger is supposed to be Van Nostrand, destination the international airport in Charlotte, North Carolina; accommodations, diplomatic cover. Not much time for a leisurely dinner or a pleasant overnight stay, unless you consider a lye pit in the woods a nice place to rest."

"My G.o.d, it was timed down to minutes!"

"Lets soar up to that lovely, safe, wild blue yonder."

"Not yet, Jackson," persisted Tye. "There are answers here. Van Nostrand was Alfred Simons Mr. Neptune, and that puts him on a pa.s.senger list to the padrones island ... and that makes him central to Bajaratt."

"Youre sure you got it right?"

"I certainly am, Lieutenant. He admitted being Neptune, making it clear that the information wouldnt survive my execution."

"Wow!"

"A car came in when we were leaving," said Neilsen. "Could there be a connection with tonight?"

"Lets find out," said Tyrell.

"There are cottages all around the place, guesthouses probably, four or five at least," said Poole as he and Tyrell helped Catherine out the window. "I spotted em from the limo."

"There are no lights on anywhere," said Hawthorne, rounding the east end of the house, the expanse of lawn and foliage in darkness.

"There were before, I saw em only a few minutes ago."

"Hes right," said Cathy. "Over there, in that direction." She pointed southwest; again, there was only darkness.

"Maybe I should go back to the strip and tell the pilots everythings okay. Those fellas were nervous, and that was before the shooting."

"Good idea," agreed Tyrell. "Tell them Van Nostrand was showing off his gun collection, that hes got a private gallery in the house."

"n.o.body would buy that!" said Cathy.

"Theyll buy anything as long as its an explanation. They expect to be out of here in half an hour with a large paycheck, and thats all they care about.... As a matter of fact, seeing you will rea.s.sure them. Go with Jackson, will you?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Scout around. If you and Poole saw lights just a little while ago, why arent they there now? We can a.s.sume no one else is in the house except the cook-not considering what Van Nostrand planned for me-and he sure as h.e.l.l wasnt receiving other guests since he was flying out of here right away."

"Heres your gun," said the lieutenant, reaching into his belt and removing the automatic. "I took it from that b.a.s.t.a.r.ds pocket along with the Magnum in his hand. You can have that one too. I feel like an ammo depot cause I found two more on the limo driver."

"You gave one to me, Jackson," said Neilsen.

"Wont do you much good, Cath. By my count, youve got one sh.e.l.l left."

"Which I sincerely hope I never use-"

"You two get over to the airstrip. Make sure those pilots think that so far everythings on schedule, but if theres a delay, itll be short. Van Nostrands making calls to G.o.d and/or several ranking members of the administration whove got some explaining to do. Go on, hurry!"

"I had an idea, Tye," said Poole.

"What?"

"Both Cathy and I can fly that bird-"

"Forget it," Hawthorne interrupted. "I want those pilots to disappear. I dont want them here to be questioned when the bodies are found. My death was set up on a closed circuit; the only people who could identify us are the two drivers, and from what I gather, ones unconscious and the others dead. It gives us s.p.a.ce."

"Good thinking, Commander."

"Thats what I used to get paid for, Major. Go on now."

The air force officers walked rapidly across the lawn toward the airstrip while Tyrell studied the southwest terrain. There was a profusion of pine trees symmetrically positioned, as if to lend a degree of privacy to each guest cottage beyond, barely seen in the erratic moonlight. Two were vaguely visible across a narrow dirt road, separated by several hundred feet. One of them had had its lights on less than ten minutes ago; which one was it? Guessing would not help; getting closer might. And getting closer meant moving very carefully while studying the rushing cloud cover that intermittently blocked the brighter moonlight, then deciding when to crawl or when to scramble during those moments of comparative darkness. Once more, memories of his other life flashed across his inner screen. Incidents when an outwardly perfectly normal, dull, bureaucratic protocol officer became another person, running a.s.sets during night rendezvous, meeting men and women in fields and cathedrals, in alleyways and across border checkpoints that had been penetrated by unreconstructed rebels. Where a single foolish indiscretion could mean a bullet in the head from one side or the other. The enemy or ones own. Madness.

Hawthorne looked up at the sky; a large c.u.mulus was drifting south; it would intercept the light of the moon in a matter of seconds. The moment came and Tyrell raced across the road, diving to the gra.s.s. He pounded the earth on his hands and knees toward the nearer guesthouse on the right, stopping instantly as the cloud pa.s.sed. Lying motionless on the lawn, he gripped his automatic at his side.

Voices! Low, carried on the Virginia breezes as the winds high above carried the clouds. Two voices. They were similar but not the same, the pitches were different; one was only slightly deeper, perhaps harsher, yet both were excited, speaking rapidly-but not in English. What was it? Hawthorne slowly raised his head.... Silence. Then the two quiet voices were there again, but they did not come from the nearest cottage, they came from farther in the distance, from the guesthouse on the left, several hundred feet away.

A light! Small, tiny, no more than a spot, a penlight perhaps, but not a match, for it was steady, unflickering. Someone was moving around inside, the beam swinging rapidly back and forth-someone in a hurry, looking for something. Somehow, some way, they were involved! Then, as if to confirm his judgment, headlights suddenly appeared, rushing up the narrow dirt road that bisected the grounds between the main house and the cottages on the south side of the estate. It was another limousine, undoubtedly the one Poole and Neilsen had seen entering the gate as they were approaching it. The car was now returning to pick up its alarmed pa.s.sengers from barely a half hour ago; two people had heard gunshots; they were not seeking any explanation but, instead, getting away from Van Nostrands compound as quickly as possible!

The second Cadillac swung around a circle in the road, a U-turn that was the end of a quaint, countrified cul-de-sac, eliminating the need for reversing the vehicle on its way back to the front gate. It came to a sudden stop, the tires screeching as two figures raced out of the guesthouse, the larger one carrying two suitcases. Tye could not let them escape, he had to stop them.

He fired his automatic in the air. "Stay where you are!" he shouted, getting to his feet and rushing forward. "Dont get in that car!"

Out of the darkness there was a blinding spotlight centered on Hawthorne, its wash illuminating two men climbing into the limousine too briefly for him to see anything clearly.... Spotlights at night and racing figures were a part of his past; he stopped, spun to his right, then pivoted and lunged to his left, rolling violently over and over, out of the beams periphery, lurching behind a clump of shrubbery as a staccato volley of gunfire ripped up the dark lawn where he was presumed to have sought safety. The car sped away, its tires spinning crazily on the dirt road, swirls of dust hovering over the surface. Tye closed his eyes in fury and attacked the earth with the handle of his gun.

"Hawthorne, where are you?" It was Cathys voice, calling frantically as she ran across the road below his position.

"Jesus Christ, Cath, that was a regular fusillade!" joined in Poole, not far behind her. "Tye, say something! Oh, my G.o.d, he may have been shot-"

"No, no ...!"

"Im not sure," said Hawthorne, raising his voice, and slowly, painfully, getting to his feet, momentarily pausing, his hands on his knees.

"Where are you ...?"

"Over here," Tyrell answered, the rushing clouds in the sky permitting a few moments of the moon, its light revealing him as he walked haltingly around the shrubs.

"There he is!" cried Neilsen, racing ahead.

"Are you hurt?" the lieutenant asked as he and the major converged breathless on Hawthorne. "Are you?" pressed Poole, holding Tyes arm. "Hurt?"

"Not from the fire," Hawthorne answered, grimacing and arching his neck.

"What from?" asked Cathy. "Those were machine guns!"

"One weapon," Jackson broke in, "and by its lower register a MAC, not an Uzi."

"Can a MAC-10 be fired by a man driving a large car on a narrow dirt road?" posed Tyrell.

"Not too easily, I wouldnt think."

"Then I might be struck dead, but you could be wrong, Lieutenant."

"What G.o.dd.a.m.ned difference does it make?" protested Neilsen.

"None at all," admitted Hawthorne. "I was just pointing out the possible fallibility of the pope from Pontchartrain.... No, Im not wounded, only bruised by an evasive action I havent practiced lately. How are Van Nostrands pilots?"

"Only out of their minds," replied Cathy, "and Im sure its got something to do with Jacksons opinion that theyre not up for good-conduct medals. They want out of here!"

"You left them before this happened-the gunfire?"

"Three minutes ago, no more," said Neilsen.

"Then theres nothing to stop them, and maybe thats for the best."

"Oh, theres somethin to stop em, Commander."

"What are you talking about? They can just take off."

"You hear anything like a plane goin airborne?" Poole grinned. "Ah played a kids game with them. Its called Watch-the-Possum."

"Poole, I may just have you before a firing squad-"

"Oh, h.e.l.l, its a simple game and it always works-simple things usually do. While were standin around outside debatin with these two kinda hysterical vagrants, I pull back and look beyond the tail of the aircraft and sort of yell, 'Who the h.e.l.l is that? Naturally, they whip their heads around, probably expecting a group of vigilantes on motorcycles, so I lean inside the plane and take the door key out of the recessed shelf. Course they dont notice after I tell em its a stray deer; they just breathe deep and lower their blood pressure as I shut the only open door, which locks automatically.... Theyre not goin anywhere, Tye. And when they do, if they do, we can be with them."

"I was right about you, Lieutenant," Hawthorne observed, his eyes locked with Pooles. "Your instincts are terrific and your various capabilities match them-hows that for a service report?"

"Well, d.a.m.n, Commander. Ah thank you, sir!"

"Not so fast. Those same attributes could put us in a hairy mess."

"How?" asked Cathy defensively.

"Since that plane didnt take off, it depends on whats happening at the front gate after the guards heard the machine gun firing, and what will happen when the cook cant reach Van Nostrand or her husband. Theyll know were still here because the plane didnt take off."

"If I remember," said Neilsen, "her husband was our driver."

"And the limousine has a telephone," added Tyrell.

"Holy s.h.i.t, hes right!" exclaimed Poole. "Suppose the front gate tries the limo, then calls the police? Suppose theyve already called em? Theyll be here any minute, huntin for us!"

"My instincts tell me they wont," countered Hawthorne, "but then, I dont have the confidence I once had. Ive been away too long."

"It comes down to the gate," said Poole.

"Exactly," agreed Hawthorne. "If Im right, there should be cars or golf carts or at least men with flashlights racing down to this area of the compound, but theres nothing. Why not?"

"Maybe we should find out," said Jackson. "Maybe I should sort of stroll up there and see whats goin on."

"And get shot, you idiot?"

"Come on, Cathy, Im not carryin a drum and a bugle."

"Shes right," said Tyrell. "I may be an antique in some areas, but not this one. Ill go, and well meet at the plane."

"What happened here?" asked Neilsen. "What did you see?"

"Two men, one pretty tall and carrying suitcases, the other shorter and thinner and wearing a hat. They jumped into the car when the spotlight centered in on me.

"Who thinks about a hat at a time like that?" said Poole.

"Bald men, Jackson," answered Hawthorne. "Its a mark of identification. Standard procedure.... Take Cathy back to the plane and try to control the pilots-"

"He doesnt have to take me, Im perfectly capable of-"

"Oh, shut up, Cath," Poole interrupted. "He only means that if those two creeps decide to mutiny, its better I stop em than you shootin them. Okay."

"All right."

"And listen to me," continued Tyrell, his voice firm. "If I run into trouble, Ill fire three rapid shots. Thats your signal to fly out of here."

"And leave you behind?" asked Neilsen, astonished.

"Thats right, Major. I think I told you that Im no hero-I dont like heroes because too many die, and the prospect has no appeal for me. If theres trouble, Im better off getting out of here alone, without any baggage."

"Thanks a lot!"

"Its what I was trained for, paid for."

"Hey, suppose I went with you?" said Poole.

"You answered that yourself, Lieutenant. Suppose the pilots decide to revolt?"

"Come on, Cath!"

The pale gray Defense Department Buick was parked off the road, out of sight, branches from the surrounding trees covering its hood and the windshield. It stood diagonally across the half-mile wooded drive that led to Van Nostrands estate, the four men inside bored, irritated, and resentful that they had been given an after-hours a.s.signment without either the authority to take action or an explanation as to why they were there. They were simply to observe, and not, under any circ.u.mstances, to be observed.

"There it goes!" said the driver, instantly reaching for his cigarettes on top of the dashboard as a limousine emerged from Van Nostrands entrance and swung right. "If a stretch comes out of there after twenty-one hundred hours, were home free."

"Then lets go home," said a Defense security officer in the back seat. "This was bulls.h.i.t."

"Someone upstairs probably wanted to know who was humping who," added a second voice from the back.

"Pure bulls.h.i.t," the man beside the driver said, reaching for the vehicles radio. "Ill call it in, and lets get out of here. G.o.d love the pinstripe crowd."

Bajaratt sat back in the limousine, stunned, unable to formulate her thoughts. The man in the spotlight was Hawthorne! How could it be? It was impossible, yet he was there! Was it coincidence? Ridiculous. There had to be a pattern that permitted the impermissible-what was it? The padrone? Was that it? My G.o.d, it was.... The padrone, Mars and Neptune! The pa.s.sions of remembered flesh intertwined with a coequal pa.s.sion for power and supremacy. One taken from the other, killed by another. Oh, the G.o.dd.a.m.ned fool! Van Nostrand could not let it go; he had summoned Hawthorne in order to kill him-hes mine, no one elses-and the Baj would never hear from him again after tonight.