our entire European operation without a word of explanation.'
'To whom do I owe explanations?' Horn rasped.
.Well ... to no one, of course. But Alfred'certain people might get
angry if we don't resume operations very soon.
We have commitments.'
A faint smile touched Horn's lips. 'Yes,' he said softly.
'I'm curious, Robert, this gold that is scheduled to anive day after
tomorrow. Why is it coming by ship? Normally those deliveries are made
by air.'
This question surprised Stanton, but he recovered quickly.
'The final leg will still be made by air,' he said. 'By helicopter. I
don't know why, Alfred. Perhaps the currency export restrictions were
tightened at Colombia's airports.
Perhaps it was easier to take the gold out by ship. Who knows?'
'Indeed.' Horn glanced at the thin face of Pieter Smuts.
'Tell me, Robert, do you miss England? You've been with us a month
now.'
Stanton took a huge swallow of his Bloody Mary. 'Glad to be away from
the bloody place. It's winter there, isn't it?
Though I must admit I'd like to get down to Jo'burg for a weekend.
Not much female companionship to choose from here. I don't have the
fancy for dark meat Smuts has. I suppose it's an acquired taste.'
Stanton grinned. 'There's always the pretty new Fraulein, of course,
our own Aryan princess.
Horn's solitary eye burned into Stanton's face. 'You will keep your
distance from Frau Apfel, Robert,' he said sharply. 'Is that absolutely
clear?'
'Wouldn't dream of it, old boy. Not my type at all.' The young
Englishman tried to look nonchalant, but he could not remain cool under
the smoking gaze of Horn's security chief. 'Would you mind terribly not
doing that, Smuts?' he said irritably. 'Gives me the galloping
creeps.'
Smuts continued to stare like a wolf at the edge of a dying fire.
After several moments, Horn said, 'It won't be long now, Robert, and
everything will be back to normal. I have some business to take care of
first, that is all. It's a matter of security.'
Security, Stanton thought contemptuously. In two days you're going to
find out about bloody security. He slipped on a pair of Wayfarer
sunglasses to hide his eyes while he considered his remarkable position.
Three months ago, two very powerful people had decided they wanted
Alfred Horn dead.
One was a ruthless Colombian drug baron who wanted access to Phoenix's
European drug markets. His motivegreed-Stanton clearly understood. The
other was a rather terrifying gentleman from London named Sir Neville
Shaw.
Stanton knew nothing about his motive. All he knew was that both Shaw
and the Colombian had asked him to assassinate Alfred Horn. With his
own hands! Stanton had refused, of course. He didn't want to murder
the old man.
Horn had made him rich-something his worthless title had never done. But
the terrible pressure to kill the old man had not relented. The
Colombian had threatened Stanton's life, a threat Stanton could afford
to ignore as long as he lived under Horn's protection. Sir Neville Shaw
had also begun with threats. I'll bury your title under a mountain of
dirt and blood, he'd said. Stanton had laughed. He didn't give two
shits about his title. Even as a child he had sensed that the name
Granville was held in quiet, profound contempt among most of the British
peerage. That was one reason he'd turned to the life he had, and also
why, upon his father's death, he had accepted the aid and protection of
Alfred Horn.
But then Shaw had changed tactics. Kill Horn, he'd said, and the Crown
will allow you to keep the companies you own and operate under Horn's
supervision. Stanton had paused at,that. Because the time was long
past for Alfred Horn to pass on his empire to a younger man. For five
years Stanton had been the majority stockholder of Phoenix AG, yet not
one decision regarding the administration of the giant conglomerate had
been made by him. His father had played a similar role before him, but
his father had been allowed to make decisions-his father had been
trusted. Robert was a mere figurehead, almost a joke. Yes, the time
for change had come. Yet Stanton could not do the dirty work himself;
even if he succeeded in killing Horn, Pieter Smuts would tear him limb
from bloody limb. No, the old man would have to be killed in such a way
that Smuts and his security force died with him. Stanton had pondered
this problem for a week, after which time he had hit upon a rather
brilliant plan. He would simply bring together the two parties who
shared a common goal. On a day trip to London he had communicated his
plan to Shaw, then left the devious mI-5 chief to work out the details.
Thus the present plan; thus the ship. All that remained now was the
execution.
'Drunk already, are you?' Smuts goaded in his flat voice.
For once Stanton looked the Afrikaner dead in the eye.
'Just thinking,' he said. 'You should try it sometime, old
sport.'
Ilse Apfel stood on a gentle swell of grass and stared across the vast
high-veld. She had fled Horn House after the nightmare in the X-ray
room, running as far and as fast as she could. No one had stopped her,
but Linah had followed at a respectful distance, pausing whenever Ilse
did, keeping pace like a distant shadow. After Ilse's panic had carried
her nearly two miles from the house, she'd calmed smoothed out a place
in the rough grass to rest.
Alfred Horn had spoken the truth at dinner, si On this empty plateau
there was simply nowhere to. Not without a map, a gun, and a good
supply Far to her left, scrawny, humped cattle grazed. Beyond them a
pair of reddish horses pranced in the sun. A black haze hung low in the
distance, touching the brown horizo& Though Ilse did not know it, the
black smoke rose from the coal-fueled cookstoves of a small native
kraal, or village.
Such smoke marked most native dwellings from Capetown to the Bantustan
of Venda. In winter it was worse. Then the dark palls hung perpetually
