conditioning, boss?' Craig did it for him.
CHAPTER 13
They lay together in the coolness of the room, and she could sense his relaxation in the tenderness of his hands as he embraced her, the sigh of content when he lit a cigarette after they had made love. In the darkness her fingers explored the scars on his body.
'There was a time when I thought you were the most hateful man in the world,' she said.
'You had a remarkable way of showing it.'
She dug an elbow into his stomach and he grunted with pain.
'It was partly cracks like that that made me think it,' she said. 'But now I know you're only Little League stuff —compared with Kaplan, Daniel, Asimov. You're just an amateur.'
'I was never in Volochanka,' he said.
'You've had things done to you-'
'And I've hit back.'
'Sure—at your enemies. Not people who haven't harmed you. And you didn't betray—like Kaplan.' She put an arm round his chest. 'I hate that man,' she said. 'Liar. Betrayer. And now he's happy—just as you said—because somebody else is as bad as he is. What a credit to my people. He's like a cartoon Jew in a Nazi comic strip.'
'He's what other people made him,' said Craig.
'He could have done so much.'
'He will.'
Suddenly the girl's body moved away from his. He put out his hand, felt the tender weight of a breast, then his fingers moved up her throat to her face. She was crying.
'I say, look here. Dash it, old girl. What?' he said.
She giggled for a moment, but her tears continued. He gathered her into his arms and held her gently, whispering to her as the tears spilled on to his shoulder. She was weeping for a world of illusions wrecked, of values destroyed, and for Kaplan too. Soon and late, Miriam would shed a lot of tears for Kaplan. Craig got up and dressed. It was his turn to keep watch.
As he entered the living room he knew at once that something was wrong. Omar sat in the chair, as he should —but he was too still, too relaxed. Craig went to him. The old man lay back in his chair, breathing in great snoring gasps. A bruise darkened the side of his head. The rifle was gone. Craig raced to Kaplan's bedroom, took the key from his pocket, unlocked the heavy door, and went in. Kaplan lay sleeping, and Craig raced back to Asimov's room. It was empty.
He roused Miriam and sent her to look after Omar, then went back to Kaplan, grateful for the solid doors in Angelos's house, and for the fact that he'd locked Kaplan in every night. He'd locked in Asimov, too, even though he'd looked so weak, and so defeated. But he'd found a way past the door. And now he was up in the mountains with a rifle. Craig woke up Kaplan and told him what had happened. The fear that was a part of his life came back to his face.
By the morning, Omar had recovered consciousness. His face looked gray, and very old, but his strength was astonishing. Craig marveled at the hardness of the old man's head, and the stamina that had brought him round.
'I was a fool, effendi. A bloody fool—and at my age too,' he said. 'He asked me if he could go to the toilet.' He put a hand to his head. 'My oath, he can hit.'
'It wasn't your fault,' Craig said.
'He'll be up in the mountains.' Craig nodded. 'With a rifle. But he won't use it, boss. Not with that shoulder the way it is.'
'Why not?'
'It'll kill him.'
'I don't suppose he cares,' said Craig, and made for the door.
Omar called out to him. 'Did he take my money, boss?' 'No,' Craig said. 'It's here.' He rummaged in a dressing-table drawer and produced the half bills, put them in Omar's hands.
'Thanks,' said Omar, and went to sleep holding his money.
Later that day a Land-Rover appeared on the path. Miriam was watching, and she called Craig at once. Joanna Benson was driving, and beside her Loomis sat, enormous, liquescent, and very angry.
Craig told Omar to stay out of sight, and left Miriam on watch, then he went into the kitchen, collected Kaplan, who was preparing lunch, and locked him in his room, warning him to stay away from the window. As Loomis waddled angrily to the open front door, Joanna following, Craig stood inside it, the Smith and Wesson in his hand. Loomis puffed past him without a word, and Craig let Joanna go by and took them into the kitchen. The smell of food made Loomis angrier than ever.
'All right,' he said. 'I accept your offer.'
Craig raised the Smith and Wesson.
'What the devil are you looking so coy about?' asked Loomis. 'And put that thing down.'
'I hardly know how to say this,' Craig said. 'Face the wall, please.'
'You really have gone potty,' Loomis yelled.
'Face the wall.' The gun, that had pointed between them, now concentrated on Loomis, and he obeyed.
'Handbag on the table, Miss Benson,' Craig said. She put it down. 'Now, turn around. Put your hands on the wall. Lean forward.'
In silence, they did as they were told. Joanna Benson's handbag yielded the .32 she had carried before; neither of them had weapons concealed on them.
''All right,' said Craig. 'You can turn around.'
'I bet you enjoyed that,' Joanna Benson said, and Loomis said only, 'There are limits, Craig. You've reached them.'
'It's a compliment, really,' said Craig. 'There's nothing you wouldn't try to do me down, and we both know it.' 'Balls,' said Loomis. 'I told you. I accept your offer,' 'Let's see the guarantee,' said Craig.
Loomis reached into his pocket and handed over a sheet of paper. It contained all that he had asked. 'The money,' said Craig.
'Ah,' Loomis said. 'We got conditions about the money. Kaplan goes to New York—the Yanks insist on delivery— and you take him. When you get there you get a hundred thousand quid in dollars—less fifty thousand dollars you pinched from the emergency fund.'
'Why doesn't the department take him?'
'I want my hundred thousand quid's worth,' said Loomis.
'I may need a bit of help.'
'Why?'
'The KGB want Kaplan too. Let me have Royce and Benson here.' 'All right.'
'She can take you back in the Land-Rover, then come back to pick us up. Royce too.'
'His foot's still bad,' said Loomis.
'He doesn't shoot with his foot. She can also get a man's white wig, a man's yellow wig, a Cyprus stamp on Miriam Loman's passport—and mine. And air tickets to New York.'
Loomis glowered at him once more.
'You like your pound of flesh, don't you?'
'That brings us to Omar,' Craig said. 'You'll have to smuggle him out or it's no deal. Well?'
'I'll find a feller to do it,' said Loomis.
'That's it, then,' Craig said. He stuck the gun in his waistband. 'You're a pleasure to do business with, Mr. Loomis.'
Loomis used three words. Craig had heard them all before. He put the .32 back in the handbag and gave it to Joanna Benson.
Miriam was delighted to be going home. Omar also was happy. He'd lost his boat—that was unfortunate—but instead he had a vast wad of hundred dollar bills. Craig found him a roll of transparent tape and Omar was happy. Kaplan alone made difficulties.
'I don't want to go to America,' he said. 'I was happy in Kutsk.'
'You can't go back there. Asimov will find you,' Miriam said. 'And anyway—what's wrong with going to
