one fact that was significant, and use it.
'So I sent the two of them here,' he said, 'and damn if you're not here too. How's Angelos?'
'Well,' said Craig.
'Up in that little place of his in the mountains?' asked Loomis. He chuckled. 'Nice people these Greek Cypriots, but the biggest bloody chatterboxes I ever came across. Still, it's useful. Benson here's a good listener. She's sensible, Craig. Wouldn't you say?'
'She is.'
'Then how the hell did she come to let you get away once she'd tied you up?'
'I'm afraid that's my secret,' Craig said.
Joanna Benson gave no sign of relief.
'But I did it the way Pascoe showed me,' she said. 'It's
impossible to- No, that's ridiculous, isn't it? You're
here, after all.'
'You'll have to show Pascoe that one,' said Loomis.
Craig shook his head. 'That's over,' he said.
Loomis turned to the other two. 'Go and take your coffee on the roof garden,' he said.
Royce left, still not looking at Craig, and limping heavily. The girl made no move to help him.
'He'd kill you for nothing,' said Loomis. 'You've beaten him twice. He hates you for it.'
'He hates too much. And he enjoys hurting people too much.'
'Yes. So I gather. And Benson?'
'She watched. I don't think she enjoyed it,'
'Tell me,' said Loomis. 'How d'you come to beat an upstanding young feller like Royce?'
'You made me angry. It was the best thing you could have done, Loomis. It gave me my skill back.'
'How on earth did I make you angry?'
'You used me for bait. All that stuff about how I had one more chance to prove myself. I had no chance at all. From the minute I got to New York I was the decoy, wasn't I? Money but no gun, no proper contacts—just a twit from the FO—and Royce and Benson ahead of me all the time. When I was picked up in New York I didn't have a chance.'
The fat man sat, impassive.
'Tell me about that,' he said.
'What do you care?' asked Craig. 'I got away and came back to London and you were too busy to see me. You weren't too busy to see Royce and Benson.'
'Ah,' said Loomis.
He struggled and wrestled with his own body to get a hand to an inside pocket. It came out holding a cigar. Loomis looked at it, sighed, and handed it to Craig, then wrestled himself again for another.
'Go on, son,' he said.
'You saw them that day. You didn't see me. And I knew why. Craig was out. Finished. If the KGB didn't get me, you would. So I got out of the country-'
'Your friend Candlish is a very resourceful feller.'
'—went back to the States and got hold of Miriam Loman.'
'Royce and Benson should have got on to her,' said Loomis. 'Youth has its drawbacks.'
'They're not mine. The Loman girl took me right to Kaplan and I've got him.'
'In your friend's house in the mountains. Suppose we take him from you?'
'You can't,' said Craig.
Loomis clipped his cigar, lit it as if he were cauterizing a wound.
'We're chums with the Cypriots now,' he said. 'We could tell them some yarn. They'd let us use force. There's a unit of the RAF Regiment not far from here.'
'Kaplan's no good to you dead. Or have you started subcontracting to the KGB?'
'I see,' said Loomis. 'You'd go that far, would you? But suppose I'd sent some of the boys along now—to pick him up while you and I were chatting?'
'He'd still be dead,' said Craig.
'Your friend Angelos? No. I don't think so. And not the Loman person. She's hardly appropriate for the role. Omar the terrible Turk, eh, Craig?'
'Never mind,' said Craig. 'Just believe what I told you. You only get Kaplan alive if you pay for him.'
'A hundred thousand,' said Loomis.
'And a written guarantee.'
'Even I can't give you that without authority.'
'Then get it. I have other offers, you know.'
For the first time since Craig had known him, Loomis became angry in silence. No purple face, no outraged bull frog swellings of the chest, no pounded tables.
He said softly, 'I think you'd be very unwise.'
'The other offers have guarantees, too,' said Craig.
'You'd still be unwise.'
Craig got up then and looked down at Loomis. The fat man was as still as a statue, and just about as hard.
'You know what we businessmen say,' said Craig. 'Buy now and avoid disappointment. Let me know when you've got your guarantee.'
He went down to the foyer and spoke to the desk clerk.
'Could you ring Miss Benson and Mr. Royce?' he said. 'They're up in the roof garden. Tell them that Mr. Loomis wants to see them in the restaurant.'
The clerk lifted a phone, spoke briefly, first in Greek, then in English, and turned to Craig.
'They're on their way, sir,' he said.
'Thanks,' said Craig.
At least now they wouldn't try to stop him reaching his car—and Loomis would have lots to say to them.
CHAPTER 12
He drove back to the mountains fast, alert for foEowing cars. There were none. When he turned off on to the track to Angelos's house, he was quite alone. Up to Loomis now, he thought, unless the Yanks come up with a better offer. He sounded his horn as he drew to a halt, then deliberately stood in the glare of the headlights, making himself visible before he switched them off and walked up the path. The door opened as he approached it, and Angelos stood in the light, the Webley massive in his fist.
'You forget things, too,' said Craig. 'Don't you know better than to make yourself a target?'
They moved toward the living room. From the kitchen there came a tinkle of glass, as Craig opened the living-room door. In the living room Miriam, Omar, and Kaplan sat waiting. Craig raced into the room, tipped up the heavy chair Kaplan sat in, pushed him behind it.
'Angelos,' he yelled. 'The lights. Get the fights.'
Angelos reached for the switch and a shot boomed out behind him. His body jerked to its impact, and he reeled into the room, took two stiff-legged strides and crashed down on to the floor. Craig fired into the hallway, and risked a look into the room. Omar had disappeared behind an upturned sofa, Miriam beside him. From the darkness behind the living room, a voice spoke.
'Mr. Craig,' it said, 'all we want is Kaplan.'
Beside him a rifle went off, an appalling explosion of noise in the confined space of the room, then Omar said softly, 'If I have to kill people—that's extra, effendi.'
The voice spoke again.
'It's no use, Mr. Craig. We've got all the advantages. Just send Kaplan out. That's all we want.'
Craig looked at Kaplan, who was whimpering with terror, then crouched lower behind the chair. The Russian was right. He had no chance at all, pinned down in the light. The chair and sofa they crouched behind were solid enough, but not solid enough to stop a heavy-caliber bullet. There was no chance of shooting out the lights, either: there were lamps all over the room, and he had no extra ammo . . . Something stirred by the door, and he looked at Angelos. The fat man, unseen in the angle of the door, had stirred. Blood soaked from a hole in his side on to the
