over him because it's my honour that's at stake more than his. So if David's right about the way he thinks he has no choice in the matter.'
Shirley stared at him unbelievingly. 'But Mose—if David's also right about the KGB—' She stopped.
'Then you get shot.' Frances Fitzgibbon had no scruples about completing the sentence. 'And if Bullitt's right about the CIA you also get shot.'
'But he isn't right. So then David can scoop up their hit man—in that open country it shouldn't be too difficult.' Mosby nodded at Audley. 'He was probably fixing to try that anyway, and I can make it nice and easy for him by being just where he wants me to be. And then Billy Bullitt can see for himself who's really gunning for him, which is going to make him think twice about blowing the whistle on us.'
'But you'll still be shot,' Frances was frowning now, as perplexed as Shirley.
Mosby continued to look at Audley. 'Well—do I get my challenge delivered or not?'
For a moment Audley said nothing. Then he nodded slowly. 'You realise that he won't be bluffed? That he'll take you at your face value?'
'Of course. It won't work any other way.'
Again Audley was silent for a second or two. 'And you realise I can't guarantee to cover you? If I keep my men away from the hill so as not to scare them off they'll be bound to get a clear shot—you realise that?'
'Sure.' Mosby nodded. 'I'm counting on it.'
'Very well. You've got yourself a deal, Captain Sheldon.' Audley's voice was almost non-committal, but Anthony Price - Our man in camelot
he watched Mosby shrewdly. 'What else do you want?'
'He wants his head examining,' said Shirley sharply. She squared up to Mosby. 'Mosby Sheldon, have you gone entirely out of your mind? What in hell's name are you playing at?'
It was nice to be noticed at last, thought Mosby—even when being noticed didn't matter any more.
'I'm not playing, honey. Or maybe I am at that: it's an old Arthurian game, carrying someone else's shield in to battle. Malory's full of knights doing that in good causes, on the level.'
She shook her head helplessly. 'Mosby—you can't. You just can't.' She put her hand on his arm.
'I can.' He smiled at her happily. 'Don't fret, honey. Good knights aren't allowed to get killed in good causes. The book says so. Leastways, not if they remember to put on their magic armour.'
Anthony Price - Our man in camelot
XIII
BUT OF COURSE they did get killed, Mosby thought for the hundredth time as he opened the car door.
Good causes, bad causes, they were all the same to bullets.
And Bullitts?
That was one symptom: irritatingly inconsequential thoughts and an even more annoying inability to concentrate on those important matters which still concerned him.
Not that there were many of them now—that was another of the mental symptoms. What had once seemed important was now no longer important. Or perhaps just in abeyance. What was still in the future mattered little when the future was a matter of very considerable doubt.
Matters, mattered, matter. All ugly words.
'Are you all right?' asked the camera man.
If he was a camera man. He certainly had a camera, so that made him a camera man whether he was or not. Making a movie entitled
They that take the sword… Except that wasn't strictly correct. They that take the Mothers' Union banner, that was correct.
'Sure. It's just this goddamn bullet-proof vest. I just can't bend so good.'
The best vest money could buy, as recommended by the British Army in Northern Ireland. And not really a patrol vest, either, but a custom-built job for look-outs in exposed positions favoured by IRA snipers. The last word in safety first, but with disadvantages, the man said—
'It's made for a direct hit. Anything short of an anti-tank shell, and you've got a chance—a very good chance. Though we can never be sure, naturally—'
Great!
'And, of course, we're only protecting your chest plus the upper abdomen. We could do more, but you'd hardly be able to move, and I gather you've got to do some walking.'
Mosby looked up the hillside. Walking was right.
'What you've got to pray for is a professional—a natural marksman who's prepared to take that extra second if he needs to. Sometimes the amateurs try for the head-shot. Or they squeeze off in a panic and miss altogether —'
Can a miss altogether be bad?
'Which can be very serious with some of these very high velocity weapons. Tear your bloody arm off without even hitting you, they can. Just a near miss is enough.'
Yes, a miss altogether can be bad.
'But you'll probably have a professional—'
