around him!'
Luhr wiped a sheen of perspiration from his forehead.
'But,' Horn went on in a softer tone, 'my security chief seems to think
I should give you a second chance. He speaks highly of your work in
Berlin.'
Luhr raised his chin proudly.
'Frau Apfel will be joining us soon, Herr Oberleutnant.
When she arrives at table, you will issue an immediate apology.
Then the matter will be closed.. Clear?'
'Absolutely,' Luhr said solemnly. He had never balked at licking the
proper pair of boots.
While Linah poured coffee for Luhr, the sound of someone talking softly
drifted around the corner of the house.
Shortly Lord Granville appeared, wearing dark sunglasses and muttering
to himself. A huge white square of gauze was taped high on the left
side of his head, but it did little to conceal the massive purple bruise
that extended from behind his ear to his left eye.
'My God!' Smuts exclaimed, as the Englishman wobbled to the table.
'What have you done now, Robert?' Horn asked wearily.
'Got pissed again. Literally. Took a fall in the loo last night that
would have killed a bloody wildebeest. Didn't break the skin, though,
thank God. I'd have bled to death on the spot.' He pulled a silver
flask from his pocket and poured two jiggers of brandy into his coffee.
'King and country,' he toasted, and drained the mixture.
Smuts glared. Such conduct by anyone else in the old man's presence
would be unthinkable, yet Stanton made it rule.
'Robert,' Horn said, 'when will our next payment from the Colombians
arrive?'
Stanton tried in vain to mask his surprise at this question 'What?
Oh. It's coming in by ship next week, remember?
Brazilian gold this time. Supposedly it's never even seen the inside of
a bank.'
Horn leaned his head back and smiled. His good eye looked past Stanton
and settled on a fragrant eucalyptus tree.
'And how will our gold get from this mysterious ship to here?'
'By helicopter,' the Englishman said, frowning now. 'I told you that
yesterday.'
Pieter Smuts looked quizzically at his master.
'Yes,' Horn said, 'yes that's right. You did.'
Everyone looked up at the sound of the garden gate. Ilse stood there,
her blond hair uncombed, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep.
'Guten Morgen, ' Horn called. 'Please join us.'
Ilse edged toward the table, her wary eyes on Stanton.
With an effort that stunned all present, Alfred Horn struggled from his
wheelchair and stood until Ifse had seated herself in the wrought-iron
chair Smuts offered her. Jiirgen Luhr rose immediately to deliver the
apology demanded by Horn, but before he could speak, Lord Granville slid
his chair away from the table.
'If the company will excuse me,' he mumbled. 'My apologies.'
While everyone stared, Stanton rose and left the garden by way of a
glass door leading into the main house.
Inside Horn House, Stanton hurried to Alfred Horn's study and I locked
the door. He felt surprisingly calm, considering what he was about to
do. He lifted the telephone receiver and dialed a London number that he
had committed to memory.
'Shaw,' growled a tired voice.
'This is Granville.'
'Where are you?' Sir Neville Shaw asked sharply.
'Where do you think?'
'Good Christ, are you mad?'
'Shut up and listen,' Stanton snapped, feeling his pulse start to race.
'I had to call from here. They won't let me go anywhere else.
Look, you've got to call it off.'
' What? '
'He knows, I'm telling you. Horn knows about Casilda.
I don't know how, but he does.'
'He can't know.'
'He does!'
There was a long pause. 'There's no stopping it now,' Shaw said
finally. 'And your information on Horn's defenses had better turn out
to be,good, Granville, or you'll answer to me. Don't call again.'
The line went dead. Stanton felt sweat running down the small of his
back. The die was cast. Somewhere off the coast of Mozambique, a man
named Burton waited to change his life forever. Perhaps Alfred was
merely toying with me, Stanton thought hopefully. Smuts had evinced no
more suspicion than was usual. Yet Stanton had but one choice in any
case-hold firm. If he could do that for eight hours, Horn's days of
power would end, and he would be free. London would be satisfied, and
one of the largest conglomerates in the world would become the property
of Robert Stanton, Lord Granville in fact, as well as in name.
For a brief moment, Stanton worried that Ilse might betray his advances
of last night, but he dismissed the thought. If she had intended to do
that, she would have done it already.
Unlocking the study door, he set out for the garden in better spirits
than he had been in for some time. All he had to do now was find a way
into the basement complex before the attack came. He had never entered
it before, but he would today.
He could hardly wait.
11:00 A.M. MV Casilda: Madagascar Channel, Off Mozambique The laden
helicopters lifted off the deck of the ship like pregnant birds, but
they lifted. Juan Diaz, the pilot of the lead chopper, looked over to
see that his compadre flying the second ship had taken off safely.
He had. Diaz turned to the tanned Englishman sitting in the seat beside
him.
'They're up, English. Where we going?'
Alan Burton tossed a folded sheet of paper into the Cuban's lap.
A mineral suey map of Southern Africa. 'Fl stop, Mozambique,' he said.
'Just follow the lines on the map, sport.'
Burton turned and looked back at the two rows of Colombians who sat
