Australia and New Zealand to join the UnituI States of the Americas. The computers conclude that, if invited, they will join. Perhaps Great Britain and Ireland will be next. In all four countries there are few minorities, so the anti- racists are no difficulty. However, offering membership to still other nations poses a problem. Suppose India is approached. If the Anti-Racist League were to infiltrate and influence India, her votes would swamp the new United States of the World.'
'What has all this got to do with Horace Hampton?'
'He is one of the more intelligent and aggressive members of the League. Sheila Duff-Roberts has given us a contract on this mystery man. I strongly suspect that the National Data Banks have been corrupted to the point of his dossier being a fake.'
Margit said musingly, 'It isn't the easiest thing in the world to infiltrate the American National Data Banks.'
'No, it bloody well isn't,' Peter said. 'And it seems unlikely that an organization as short of funds as this League could do it.'
The Graf said, 'So we have a contract on the man. Very well, have it executed.'
Peter looked at him. 'Chief, it occurs to me that we might send young Pinell to deal with this beggar.'
The older man's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'
'Because the boy's inexperienced. You've obviously got plans for him. Very well, he handled himself well on the Rivas assignment, to the extent that he was needed at all. But it would seem to me that he needs a bit more blooding. No particular hurry, but it will give him an opportunity to learn something about the organization. He'd have to work through our local representatives in the States, of course.'
'I'll consider the matter,' said the Graf. 'Very well, if that's all, I'll see you tonight at dinner.'
Dismissed, Margit Krebs and Peter Windsor came to their feet and headed for the door.
In the corridor, as they headed for their own offices, Margit looked up at the rangy Englishman. She said, softly, 'You didn't mention to Lothar that this Horace Hampton is considered the most efficient field man in the Anti-Racist League and very dangerous as compared to our Frank.'
He said, 'If you thought so, why didn't you say something to the Chief to that effect?'
'Possibly, just to find out what you're up to, Peter, dear.' She eyed him mockingly. 'You couldn't be getting second thoughts about Buck PinelFs son, could you, Peter? For years now, you've been second man in Mercenaries, Incorporated. Undoubtedly, you've expected to take over when the Graf either retires or dies.'
'Who's better suited to take over the reins? But Lothar's in a position to turn over the whole organization to this stripling. If he did, an outfit that has taken half a century to build could go down the spout overnight. Then where would you and I be, Margit, old thing?'
She reached the door of her office and stood there for a moment, considering it.
'How do you stand?' he demanded.
'I don't know,' she said evasively .^'Perhaps you're overestimating Lothar's acceptance of Frank.'
'Perhaps,' he grunted and went on.
She looked after him and thought to herself,
Dinner that night was another revelation to Frank Pinell, in a day that had been full of them. The baronial hall in which it was held was one flight up in the keep from the offices and suites. The whole floor was evidently devoted to the Grafs living quarters.
Frank had entered the palatial living room attired in the dark suit which Helmut, his newly appointed valet, had laid out for him. There hadn't been much of a choice. He had bought two suits in Paris, on Nat Fraser's suggestion, and several pairs of shoes. All the clothing he had brought with him from America he had discarded, also at Fraser's suggestion. But now he realized that he had made a mistake. The Graf, Peter Windsor, and Margit Krebs were all in evening wear. Margit looked stunning and ten years younger in a simple black silk affair that brought out the pale perfection of her Scandinavian skin. She wore but one item of jewelry, a matched string of pearls whose deep pink luster was obvious from across the room.
The three were seated about a cocktail table, sipping drinks and chatting, as Frank came in. The Graf looked up and frowned but then said, 'Please give us the pleasure of your company, Franklin. Sit down.' The Graf added smoothly, 'We always dress for dinner, Franklin, but I assume your travel clothing is limited.'
Frank said, 'I've never worn so much as a tuxedo, not to speak of tails. You don't when you're on GAS, you know.'
'Forgive me. It skipped my mind that you didn't inherit your father's fortune. Yes, Sepp?'
The butler leaned forward slightly and spoke to his master in German.
'Ah,' the mercenary grunted. 'Dinner is served. Margit?' With his secretary on his arm, followed by Peter Windsor and Frank, he passed through the double doors into the dining room.
Compared to the refurbishing of the rest of the keep, the dining hall had hardly been touched by the genius of an interior decorator. Frank could well imagine the old days when some long-dead duke, princeling, or archbishop had held forth here. His closest henchmen would be present with their women, wassailing about a huge round table, while minstrels and clowns provided medieval entertainment, as scurrying servants brought on heaping platters of food, and huge mugs with foaming beer, mulled wine, or subtle mead.
The table, however, was considerably smaller than that which must have prevailed in the old days. It would have seated eight at most. The setting was on the awesome side, so far as Frank was concerned. He had never eaten with more cutlery than knife, fork, and spoon, never eaten by candlelight, and most certainly had never eaten off gold.
The Graf sat at one end of the table, Margit at the other, and Peter and Frank across from each other. It came to Frank that Peter Windsor was a changed man in evening dress, after his informal sports garb of the day. Now he looked as though he had been bom to wear formal evening attire; a matinee idol couldn't have been more at ease in it.
Sepp presided with two footmen, also in livery, behind each chair. No more than two sips were taken from a wine glass before it was instantly refilled. It was all on the thick side so far as Frank Pinell was concerned.
It got thicker as the meal progressed. He recognized exactly two of the dishes presented, or at least the ingredients. One was a potato dish which would have been hard to miss, and one a delightful scallop-based fish course. He made the mistake of commenting on the scallops.
'Ah,' the Graf said, pleased. 'You mean the Coquilles Saint Jacques Parisienne? It is one of Albert's specialities. He will be overjoyed to know you approve.'
Peter said, after sipping at his Chablis, 'Albert is one of the three best chefs in Common Europe, Frank. It's a privilege to eat from his kitchen, I should think.'
Frank said, 'You mean to tell me that one of the best three cooks in Europe works here for just the three of you? I'd think he could get a job in any restaurant in the world.'
'The four of us now,' his host said magnanimously. 'Fortunately, Albert is in no position to tender his resignation.'
Margit said dryly, 'Liechtenstein is somewhat like Tang-ier, in that there are no extradition laws; and since Albert made the mistake of killing his wife, he sees fit to remain as Lothar's chef.'
'Poisoned her, to be exact,' Peter said blandly.
Frank looked down at the morsel of scallop on his fork and closed his eyes in sorrow.
There were eight courses in all, with eight wines, winding up with a dessert which Margit told him was Nesselrode Pudding with Sabayon Fruit, served with a slightly chilled sauterne.
Largely, the dinner conversation consisted of the Graf expounding on his dreams and turning on what small charm he boasted in order to win the younger man over. Both Margit and Peter seemed surprised at the extent to which he revealed top secrets of the innermost circle of Mercenaries, Incorporated. It would seem that Lothar von Brandenburg was most certainly now considering Frank to be a member of that circle, in which case, it was the most rapid promotion the organization had ever seen.
All of the servants save Sepp spoke nothing but German, and the table conversation was in English.
The Graf had said, 'You are acquainted with the World Club, Franklin,' while still on the oxtail soup.
'Just slightly,' Frank said. 'Isn't it an organization of economists, philanthropists, and international do-gooders seeking solutions to worldwide problems?'
