bar at the end of the garden, the mood of sadness was still on him and
he didn't want to talk to Joe now.
So he was cut off from Debra at the moment when, with a flourish, a
procession of white-jacketed waiters came in through the iron gate of
the garden. Each of them carried a huge copper salver from which, even
in the warm sun, rose tendrils of steam, and the odour of meat and fish
and spices filled the garden. There were gasps and cries of
appreciation from the guests.
A way opened for them towards the high table on the raised terrace which
led to the kitchen doors and the house.
The procession of waiters passed close to David, and suddenly his
attention was drawn from the display of fine food to the face of the
second waiter in line. He was a man of medium height and ark
complexion, a mahogany face with a thickly drooping mustache.
He was sweating. That was what had drawn David's attention, his face
was shiny with sweat. Droplets clung in his mustache and slid down his
cheeks. The white jacket was sodden at the armpits as he lifted the
gigantic platter on high.
At the moment that he drew level with David their eyes met for an
instant. David realized that the man was in the grip of some deep
emotion, fear, perhaps, or exhilaration. Then the waiter seemed to
become aware of David's scrutiny and his eyes slid nervously away.
David felt suspicion begin to chill his arms as the three figures
climbed the stone stairs, and filed behind the table.
The waiter glanced again at David, saw that his gaze was still locked
upon his face, and then he said something out of the corner of his mouth
to one of his companions. He also glanced at David, and caught his
stare, and his expression was sufficient to send alarm flaring urgently
through David's chest and brain. Something was happening, something
dangerous and ugly, he was certain of it. . Wildly he looked about for
the guards. There were two of them on the terrace behind the line of
waiters, and one near David beside the gate.
David shoved his way desperately towards him, mindless of the outraged
comments of those in his way. He was watching the three waiters and so
he saw it begin to happen.
It had obviously been carefully rehearsed, for as the three waiters
placed the salvers upon the table to the laughter and applause of the
guests crowded in the garden below them, so they drew back the sheet's
of plastic on which a tin display of food had been arranged to cover the
deadly load that each copper salver carried.
The brown-faced waiter lifted a machine pistol from under the plastic
sheet, and turned swiftly to fire a traversing burst into the two
paratroopers behind him at point-blank range. The clattering thunder of
automatic fire was deafening in the walled garden, and the stream of
bullets slashed through the bellies of the two guards like a monstrous
cleaver, almost cutting them in half.
The waiter on David's left was a wizened monkeyfaced man, with bright
black berries for eyes. He, too, lifted a machine pistol from his
salver, and he crouched over it and fired a burst at the paratrooper by
the gate.
