Our man in Camelot

'And they're both mine?' Audley pointed to Mosby.

'Hey! What is this?' exclaimed Mosby.

'They are yours until midday tomorrow.' Sir Frederick turned to Mosby. 'As of this moment, Captain Sheldon, you and your wife are in the absolute charge of Dr Audley. What he says, you will listen to.

What he orders, you will do.'

'Like hell I will!'

'I agree, though I would place the emphasis differently: like hell you will.' Sir Frederick's tone was still conversational, as though he was clarifying a minor point of semantics. But that figured easily enough, because big dragons like Sir Frederick Clinton didn't have to breathe fire to get their own way; with them a glance was as good as a roasting.

'That sounds like a threat.'

'A threat? My dear Sheldon, I don't need to threaten you. The situation you are in threatens you. You maintain that you don't know what is happening, that you are innocent… and as it happens I do not believe you—I believe you are a most absolute and accomplished liar… but your innocence or guilt are now completely irrelevant—'

'Well, it damn well isn't to me! You can't—'

Sir Frederick raised his hand. 'Please hear me out, Captain. It is for your own good, I do assure you…

You see, if you are a CIA operative you are in very great trouble at this moment—the biggest you are Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

ever likely to be in this side of the Iron Curtain. But if you are what you claim to be you are almost certainly in even greater trouble, both you and your wife.'

Mosby stared at him. 'Greater—? I don't understand.'

'David will explain to you. And then he will require your co-operation.' Sir Frederick paused to let the words sink in. 'And I want you to give him that co-operation as though your life and your liberty depended on it. Because they do, Captain—yours and your wife's.'

'Our lives?'

'If you are innocent.' Sir Frederick nodded. 'And your liberty if you are guilty.'

'Guilty of what, for God's sake?'

'That again David will tell you. But look at it this way, if you like, Captain: you approached him two days ago and asked him to help you. And that's just what he's going to do… And a few minutes ago you offered Squadron Leader Roskill a deal—a gentleman's agreement. So now if David offers you another deal… my advice to you is take it. Because you'll never get a better offer.'

Mosby felt his cheek muscles tighten uncontrollably. Maybe that passage between the two of them a few moments before had been for his sole benefit— the Government wouldn't wear it … it would blow us to kingdom come—as part of the psychological process of scaring the bejasus out of him. But now he had a gut feeling that it hadn't been at all, and that Clinton was here not so much to see him as for an emergency briefing with Audley, his Number Four top trouble-shooter. Which meant that beneath the Ivy League urbanity the British were running even more shit-scared and desperate than the Americans.

Jesus! And what made that worse was that the British knew why they were running—

Sir Frederick's eyes were on him—the Big Dragon's eyes that burned little dragons into crisps.

'Well, Sheldon?'

He could almost feel the heat.

'Okay. Whatever you want. Just so you protect my wife.'

'We shall try to protect you both… By that I take it you still deny any connection with your CIA people?'

No choice. Even with Shirley at risk, no choice.

'It's the truth. But since you all think I'm a liar I guess there's not much point saying so.'

'Not all of us.' Sir Frederick stood up. 'David over there believes you, for one.'

'David?' Mosby looked at Audley in surprise. 'Well—that's great.'

Great like a gift-wrapped time-bomb.

'Convenient, certainly.' Sir Frederick nodded to Audley before turning finally back to Mosby as he began to move towards the door. 'Make the most of it, Sheldon, that's all. Good afternoon to you.'

Mosby watched the door close. For the second time in one day he'd been badly frightened, but each time he'd been too busy—or too stupid—to realise the extent of the danger until it had passed.

'Phew!' he breathed out gratefully. There was nothing to be gained from trying to hide what must be pretty damn obvious.

Audley settled himself more comfortably in his chair. 'He had you rattled, then?'

'You can say that again.' Mosby studied the big Englishman. It was almost like he too was relieved to see Clinton's back, though that could hardly be due to fear—more likely he just had no taste for playing second fiddle. 'Top brass always makes me rattle… And he's your boss, eh?'

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

'You could say so.'

'And that makes you—' Mosby clamped his mouth shut as though he'd thought better of what he'd been about