feminine element was missing. The wall decorations were of a military nature, including paintings of war scenes and a flag which was holed in various places by what looked suspiciously like gunfire, and including a submachine gun which was racked in the manner that sportsmen display their shotguns or rifles.
Behind a somewhat battered and littered desk sprawled a lanky man, a report of some kind in his hand. He wore tennis shoes without socks, khaki walking shorts, and a khaki shirt, its sleeves rolled up. Frank's first snap judgment was that the other couldn't be much older than himself, but later realized on seeing the wrinkles at the side of the eyes that Peter Windsor projected an air of youth that wasn't there. He was almost twice Frank's age.
Margit said briskly, 'This is Frank, Peter. I'll check with Lothar.' She turned and left. 'Sit down, dear boy,' Windsor said. And then, as Frank was doing so, 'Yes, I can see the resemblance. You could only be the son of Buck Pinell.'
Frank said, 'You knew my father?'
'Not too well, really. Saw him off and on for a few months, I'd imagine. I don't think that he really fancied me, if the truth be known.'
'I didn't know him much myself. I was too young and he was away most of the time. What was he like?'
The other thought about it, sending his lime-green eyes ceilingward. He murmured finally, slowly, 'A sort of dashing chap. He liked combat, I shouldn't wonder. Some men do, you know. They live for the excitement. He liked nothing so much as to find what he considered a just cause and then fight for it. He didn't mind making a profit at the same time, but for him, the enjoyment was in the combat. For myself, and for the Graf, I think, it has always been purely business. Buck fought for causes, we for money. He wasn't really cut out to be a soldier of fortune, you know.'
'How do you mean? From what I've come to understand, he was a mercenary.'
The Englishman nodded. 'He was a soldier but I fancy that the fortune part of it wasn't of uppermost interest.'
Frank didn't know if he quite understood that or not.
The other put down the report he'd been perusing, took up another, and rapidly scanned it. He said, 'And how did the Boris Rivas affair come off last night?'
'Exactly as you had it set up. Everybody close to the colonel had been bought—even the concierge at his hotel and his long-time bodyguard. Poor bastard never had a chance.'
Peter Windsor said coldly, 'Never give an opponent a chance if you can avoid it, Pinell. Take every opening you can, every advantage. In that manner you'll live longer. Rivas had his chance. He was a bloody fool for not coming in with us. There was no use mucking around with him when he refused.'
Frank said, 'I suppose that Senegelese sergeant of his will get a good position with Mercenaries, Incorporated now.'
Peter Windsor shook his head at him. 'No. He'll be paid the amount promised and sent on his way. If he'd betray Rivas, how can we be sure that he wouldn't betray us, given the opportunity? The Graf never welches on his commitments but, on the other hand, he demands loyalty.'
Frank said, very evenly, 'How did the ethical code apply to me? I was to be sent on an impossible mission. It's unlikely that I could have escaped.'
The Englishman shook his head again. 'At the time, dear boy, you weren't actually a member of the organization in the same sense that our exuberant Nat Fraser or Colonel Ram Panikkar are. However, you were offered a sizeable sum, a hundred thousand pseudo-dollars desposited to your account in the Bahamas, before you were to leave for Central Africa. Upon the success of your mission you were to make your escape and enjoy the amount in whatever manner you saw fit. Very well, where was the betrayal? If you accomplished your assignment, your pay was awaiting you.'
Frank said softly, 'The colonel told me there was to be a chopper available for me to escape in—not that I was to be on my own.'
Peter Windsor raised eyebrows and said, 'He did? He wasn't authorized to make such a pledge. I've always thought Panikkar a bit of a swine. I'll have to take this up with him. It wouldn't do for the chiefs reputation to have such items bandied about.'
There was a faint humming at one of the desk screens and Peter swung his feet down to the floor. 'That's the Graf now. Come along, Frank.'
Frank stood, and as he did so, his eyes came upon the racked submachine gun. 'A keepsake from the old days?' he said.
The Englishman said dryly, 'I haven't used it for some years, but it's still kept loaded.'
He led the way, strolling casually out a rear door and down a short, empty hallway to an elaborate double door. The screen on it picked him up and half the door opened. They entered.
The Grafs informal office was impressive. So was the Graf. He stood at the ceiling-to-floor window which framed the Rhine and its valley, his hands in the coat pockets of his immaculate business suit. He was staring out, his face characteristically expressionless. On their entry, the short-statured Graf turned, and, for a long moment, stared at Frank. Frank, feeling uncomfortable, came to a halt and simply remained on the spot.
The spry old soldier approached and looked him in the face with open candor. The American was taken aback by the smoky gray-flecked irises of the other's eyes and more so when Lothar von Brandenburg put his womanishly small hands on his shoulders.
The Graf sighed and said, 'Yes, you could only be Buck's son. You're Buck as I first knew him, many years ago when we were both, ah, callow youngsters.' He turned to one of the oversized couches and lowered himself, saying, 'Sit down, Franklin.'
Peter Windsor cleared his throat and slumped into one of the chairs, crossing long legs nonchalantly. He said, 'He does look like Buck, at that. I told him so.'
Frank found a place and joined them, still without the vaguest idea what he was doing here.
The Graf said, 'We were somewhat surprised when your arrival in Tangier was reported.'
There was no point in pussyfooting around. Frank had already decided there was no retreat. He said, 'I couldn't have been much of a surprise. It was already set up. I suspect that the two IABI men were in on it, possibly even Judge Worthington back in the States. Certainly the cab driver and the two muggers in the medina in Tangier. First came Nat Fraser, as implausible a knight in armor as ever came down the pike. He took me to your Colonel Panikkar, who lavished good will on me, supposedly putting me deeply into his debt. He gave me strong arguments for taking an assignment for you. I might look young and ah, callow, as you put it, but I'm not as much a fool as all that. It was a suicide project. Actually, I wouldn't have taken it, but Panikkar didn't know that. I played along, just to see what the hell was going on. But it was called off from your end, before I ever turned it down. What's got me wondering is why.'
The Graf remained silent through all that. Now he nodded.
Peter Windsor said, 'Because we discovered that you were the son of Buck Pinell, dear boy.'
Frank hadn't taken his eyes from the Graf. He said, 'Boris Rivas claimed you might have been the cause of the death of my father.'
The old man nodded again. ' 'Then, for once, Rivas spoke the truth. I was the cause of your father's death, Franklin.'
Frank stared at him.
The Graf said, 'It was my fault, but I did not kill him, Franklin. Your father died in my arms, after saving my life. He sacrificed himself to rescue me. He was my best friend, and I, his. I have not had many friends in this life, Franklin. His last words were to put your life in my care.'
The young American took long moments to assimilate that. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, 'You didn't seem to do much in the way of carrying out his request.'
The Graf said, 'It was taken out of my hands. Your mother was fanatically against me and all I stood for. She had been violently against your father's, ah, profession. When my representative approached her, she absolutely refused to allow me to participate in your raising. She refused to accept any of your father's extensive earnings, as she had always refused while he was still alive. The relationship between your father and mother was not a close one, Franklin. She was contemptuous of him. She only continued to allow him to visit occasionally because he was your father and you loved him. Your mother was a good and compassionate woman with whom Buck Pinell was deeply in love. She refused to marry him, though he wished it. Their affair ended when she discovered your father's
