to him over the scrambler phone. Craig was getting past it. The fists loosened, became hands again.
'Can I get you something?' he said. 'A drink?'
Craig looked at his watch.
'I'm not quite that far gone,' he said. 'Eleven o'clock in the morning is a shade too early, even for old dipsos like me. Where are all the pupils?'
'At a lecture,' Pascoe said. 'They won't know you've been here.'
'Can I see them?' Craig asked.
'Of course,' said Pascoe. 'They're watched all the time.' He took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the back of a television set, and switched on. As its picture formed Craig saw five men and two women listening to a doctor. He was explaining how to set a broken arm. Craig thought he had never seen such an intensity of concentration.
'No one-way glass?' he asked.
'Certainly—if you'd prefer it,' Pascoe said.
He took the key from the set, then led the way toward the lecture room. Set in one wall of it was a mirror, and behind it Craig stood. From his side the mirror became a window, and he looked at the seven faces, the set of their bodies, the way they used their hands. After the lecture they went to the target range, and again Craig watched, unseen. Then it was unarmed combat, and he watched them on the dojo mat. Lunch then, with Pascoe presiding, the meal conducted with the formal stiffness of an embassy reception, butler and footman wary for mistakes with glasses, forks, knives, as Craig spied on them. After lunch Pascoe held his class in situations. You have to get information out of a man, but you must make no noise. What do you do? . . . You pretend to speak no Russian, and the KGB have trapped you into showing a knowledge of Russian. What do you do? . . . You have a message that must be delivered; a live drop. The courier who turns up seems impeccable—and yet you are not quite sure. What do you do? . . . Craig eavesdropped, and ate sandwiches.
By the end of the class he had made his choice. He went to Pascoe's office, and Pascoe joined him.
'They're in the language lab for half an hour,' he said. 'After that I really should turn them loose for a bit or they'll start to wonder.'
'The one you called David,' said Craig. 'David Branch. I'd like a copy of his file. And the fair lad—Andrew Royce.' He paused, and Pascoe said:
'You were asked to pick three.'
At last Craig said, 'The rest of the men were pretty average.'
'And the girls?'
Slowly, reluctantly, Craig said, 'The tall one had possibilities.'
'Joanna Benson? I quite agree,' said Pascoe. 'They're the three I'd have picked myself.'
He went to a cabinet and took out three files. Craig signed for them.
'How do you propose to organize these tests?'
'You tell these three they've graduated. I'll take David first, then Joanna, then Andrew. Loomis will see them at the department—and give them their first briefing. For them it'll be the real thing. That way we'll know what they'd really be like—if and when.'
They walked back to the hall, and then on to the sun-warmed steps. At once the dogs appeared, then waited as Pascoe walked with Craig and saw him to his car. Craig slammed the door and Pascoe whistled; the dogs clustered round him.
'I'll keep them here till the gates close,' Pascoe said.
Craig switched on and the engine exploded with life, then muted at once to murmured power.
'I hope you won't hurt my students too much,' Pascoe said.
'I hope they won't hurt me,' said Craig.
CHAPTER 3
Loomis gave the American lunch at his club. Years ago Loomis had decided that that was what Americans liked: the secret places of the Establishment, the byways that led to the corridors of power, the shabby leather of libraries, the mahogany bar, and pink gins before lunch with a man who had once been an admiral on the China Station. Then a traditional lunch—smoked salmon, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, gooseberry fool, washed down with draught bitter. The American was a gourmet, and the food at Loomis's club was appalling, but Loomis had allowed for this. It made the American defensive. He had come to ask a favor after all. Loomis ordered the beef underdone, then asked for an extra portion of sprouts. Even the waiter was awed by this: the sprouts at Loomis's club were notorious.
Throughout the meal they talked of horses. Loomis had once served in a cavalry regiment and had hunted at Melton Mowbray; the American owned a ranch in Arizona and bred quarter horses. Their talk was detailed, impassioned, and very boring to others, as it was meant to be, and the American was grateful for it. It helped distract his mind from the appalling food. When they had finished the meal, Loomis said, 'If I were you I wouldn't try the coffee here. It isn't all that good,' and to the end of his days the American couldn't decide if he were serious.
'Tell you what,' said Loomis. 'Come into the little library. I got a picture of Jumbo there. Horse I rode with the Quorn in '33. Seventeen hands and jumped stone walls.'
The American said carefully, 'If you're sure it's all right?'
'It's perfect,' said Loomis. 'Nobody can disturb us there.'
They got up, and the headwaiter bowed as they left.
'I hope you enjoyed your meal, sir,' he said.
'Amazing,' the American said. 'Absolutely amazing.'
'You don't get grub like that in the States,' said Loomis. The American shuddered.
The little library was drab and oppressively hot. It was also safe. Loomis began talking at once.
'We got your request,' he said, 'and I've been looking around. You want some pretty talented lads.'
'We do,' the American said.
'I thought you had some,' said Loomis. 'The ones I met seemed to know what they were doing.'
'We've had trouble in the Middle East,' the American said. 'Big trouble. There's a leak somewhere and we haven't plugged it yet. Anybody we sent could get blown.'
'We've had trouble too,' said Loomis. 'We've fixed it for now, but we can't use anybody that's known there. It would have to be a new face.'
'That's perfectly okay,' the American said. 'Provided it's somebody you have faith in.'
'I have faith in them all,' said Loomis. 'I made them. But I made them my way. Trouble is they don't understand your system. As a matter of fact, neither do I.'
The American hesitated. What he had to say now was painful to him, but it was an order. It had to be said.
'We would take it as a favor if your department would handle the whole operation,' he said at last.
'Ah now, wait a minute. This is a biggish exercise,' said Loomis, 'and I'm a bit short-handed, d'you see.'
They began to bargain and the American discovered that Loomis had the ethical standards of a horse trader.
At last he said, 'Sir, I realize that we're asking you to mount a big operation, but what you're asking is far too much. After all, you can't give us any guarantee of success, now can you?'
'I think I can,' said Loomis. 'You can pay for the whole bag of tricks COD.'
'Would you care to amplify that, sir?'
Loomis said genially, 'Ah, I forgot. You used to be a lawyer, didn't you? Put it this way. If we fail, you give me nothing. If we succeed, you give me the lot. That do you?'
'You guarantee success?'
'I guarantee it,' said Loomis. 'You want to draw up a contract?'
'Your word is acceptable,' the American said. 'So's yours,' said Loomis. 'When d'you want us to start?'
'Just as soon as you can. This one's urgent.'
'It'll take a week or two. I'm running some tests. I got to find the right operators.'
'You think you'll need more than one?'
'Bound to,' Loomis said. 'I gave you a guarantee, didn't I? You got stuff I need, son. I got to have it. That means using a decoy.'
