Soldier No More

were still so confident he could achieve all this. But Stocker would surely tell him that before long; and, more than that, any minute now he'd be offering back-up, with this sort of opposition.

'Yes, sir,' said Roche.

'I'll get down to you as soon as I can. Not tomorrow ... I have things to do up here . . . but maybe the day after. Galles will look after you, anyway.'

That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting—Stocker the day after tomorrow . . . and what use was Galles? He wasn't even sure that the Frenchman was still trustworthy, never mind capable.

But Clinton had said he had been very carefully chosen, and oddly enough that was easier to believe now than it had ever been before: quite simply, d'Auberon's 'material' was too important to be allowed to slip through their hands if there was the slightest chance of getting it—it was worth risking someone good in fact.

'There's just one thing, sir.' There was no way now that he could ask those questions and get a useful answer. But there was another question which could be answered. 'You said dummy5

you've got 'good reason' to rely on Audley—that he can obtain d'Auberon's . . . material. How d'you know that?'

Stocker was silent for a moment. 'Mmm . . . 'how'—I'm sorry, Roche, the 'how' is off limits to you. All you need to know is that he's our man. But if you want to know why he is, I can give you that— because I was about to give it to you anyway.'

The fine distinctions of the answer seemed almost indistinguishable to Roche.

'Can't you guess, man?' Stocker teased him. 'I should have thought it was obvious enough, in all conscience.'

Obvious enough?

All the emphasis was on Audley, not d'Auberon. It had been Audley, Audley, Audley. . . and then not d'Auberon, but

'd'Auberon's material'— Audley, Audley, Audley—and d'Auberon's material—and 'good reason', and 'he can get it', and 'he's our man', and in the end certainty?

'He's got it already—is that it?' The question had answered itself before he had whispered it into the mouthpiece: it would never have been enough for d'Auberon to hide away his can of beans in some safe deposit to which he had access, because Bureau 24 had ways of making people give such things up—ways the Gestapo had taught the French, plus all the refinements of cruelty Indo-China and Algeria had added. So the can would have to be at one remove from the owner, out of his hands and to be handed over only under certain controlled conditions of safety, back to him and no dummy5

one else. That was what he, Roche, would do in the same dangerous position— nothing else would combine self-preservation with security.

'Bravo!' exclaimed Stocker.

But the catch was, thought Roche bleakly, you needed a friend you could trust, willing to shoulder the risk for you.

'So now you know,' said Stocker encouragingly.

Now he knew.

He knew that d'Auberon had such a friend, and that it was his job to engineer the betrayal of that friendship to save his own skin.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'It's not going to be easy.'

It wasn't going to be easy, even though Sir Eustace Avery had chosen better than he knew—had chosen a real expert on betrayal, with a more urgent incentive than mere promotion to spur him on.

'I'll think of a way though,' he murmured.

That was, Genghis Khan would think of a way, he thought grimly.

SKIRMISHING:

The Orgy in the Tower

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XIII

'BARBARIANS,' SAID AUDLEY, perching himself on the stool.

'But Steffy's not here yet,' said Lexy. 'We can't start without her. And what about 'Tienne?'

'Lexy doesn't want to start at all,' murmured Jilly. 'She's playing for time.'

'Lexy's just saying that Steffy isn't here,' said Lexy. 'But if Jilly doesn't shut up Lexy will say something nasty.'

'Etienne won't be coming. But I agree Steffy isn't here,' said Audley. 'So our guest will take her place.' He raised his glass towards Roche. 'You are hereby summoned to this orgy, Captain Roche. Your attendance is requested and required, no longer as a mere onlooker, but as a participant, with all the rights and privileges and duties appertaining thereto.

Ave, Roche!'

Until that moment Roche had been in two minds about the soft light diffused by the paraffin lamp on the low table between them, for it veiled his expression no less than everyone else's. But now he wished that he could distinguish more of Audley than the man's voice and words revealed to him.