Our man in Camelot

AN IMMENSE MARBLE fireplace, surmounted by an equally huge carved coat-of-arms, dominated the drawing room. But neither of the two men who stood in front of it were dwarfed by their setting: Audley, exuding his Ozymandias aura, looked as though he owned the place, and the man beside him, though half a head shorter, looked as though he owned Audley.

Mosby's eyes strayed back for a second to the coat-of-arms, which was held aloft by two winged dragons breathing heraldic fire. So that made four dragons all told, he reckoned dispassionately. Four dragons versus one dentist.

Roskill appeared at his shoulder.

Five dragons. Even Sir Lancelot might have baulked at those odds. And on an empty stomach too.

'Good afternoon, Captain Sheldon,' said Audley's owner politely. 'My name's Clinton…'

The empty stomach caved in on itself: the Number One Dragon himself.

'Mr Clinton,' Mosby was aware that he sounded nervous, but this was one time when the dentist and the CIA man were in perfect accord. 'Hullo, David.'

'Sir Frederick Clinton,' murmured Roskill in his ear.

'Sir Frederick…' Mosby repeated the name mechanically.

'Sit down, Captain.' Sir Frederick waved towards the settee. 'Make yourself comfortable. Then we can discuss what we're going to do with you.'

Mosby sank on to the cushions. The softness caught him by surprise: he sank and sank until he felt he was being engulfed, while the three Englishmen settled themselves into wing-chairs from which they could look down on him. If this was an example of British psychological warfare it was plain that they were dirty fighters.

'Good…' Sir Frederick interlaced his fingers across his stomach. 'Now tell me, Captain—just for the record—are you or are you not an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency?'

'Am I— what!' Mosby struggled to raise himself from the settee's embrace.

'Are you CIA?' asked Audley in a tone only a little less mild than Sir Frederick's.

With an effort Mosby levered himself to the edge of the cushion. Even though this had the effect of bringing his knees up awkwardly under his chin it was a slightly less demoralising posture nevertheless.

'You have to be crazy. Why the hell should I be CIA?'

'Meaning, I take it, that you're not?' Sir Frederick nodded. 'Which is in accord with what the CIA itself says.'

'The CIA?' Mosby blinked with bewilderment.

'Which is what they would say under the circumstances, of course,' said Roskill in his bored voice.

'You called the CIA—about me?' Mosby said in a strangled voice. 'Just like that? Oh, brother!'

'Don't distress yourself, Captain—at least, not on their account,' said Sir Frederick. 'They gave you a clean bill of health.'

'Oh, sure. I'll be clean all the way back to the States when my commanding officer hears about this.'

Mosby gave Roskill a bitter look. 'Some gentleman's agreement.'

Sir Frederick looked at Roskill questioningly. 'What gentleman's ageement?'

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

'He seems more worried about his C.O. than about us, sir,' explained Roskill. 'He likes it here, apparently.'

'Correction— liked' said Mosby. 'And I'm beginning to get tired of being pushed around for no reason.'

'When you haven't done anything wrong?'

'That's dead right.' Mosby looked from one to the other. 'Look, so I was searching for the site of Badon Hill—I admit it. But it isn't any crime. You can't hold me for just looking.'

'I wouldn't bet on that,' said Roskill. 'We've a lot of old laws you never heard of, not to mention the new anti- terrorist regulations.'

'Anti-terrorist? I'm not a goddamn terrorist.'

'Of course you aren't,' said Sir Frederick soothingly. 'You were simply looking for Badon and your search led you to Billy Bullitt.'

'That's… right,' Mosby's suspicion that Bullitt was the cause of his difficulties hardened. He pointed towards Audley. 'It was David found him though. Until yesterday afternoon I'd never even heard of him.'

'Indeed?'

'Sure. Though now I come to think of it, it was Sir Thomas Gracey told us about him. Wasn't that so, David?'

Audley regarded him impassively.

'Strange you'd never heard of him, when you were both looking for Mons Badonicus,' said Sir Frederick. 'Did Major Davies never mention him, then?'

Mosby frowned. 'Huh?'

'Obviously not. And by the same token I presume he never mentioned the Novgorod Bede?'

Jesus! Was there anything they didn't know? thought Mosby despairingly. The