Soldier No More

'Won't 'Honour' do?' Audley cocked his head at her.

'No,' said Stein.

'The Vandals are much more interesting. King Gaiseric is right up your street, Stein—'

'And it isn't the money,' said Lexy. 'We've established that—

it's poor, old Mike there who needs the cash, not David—'

Gaiseric,' said Audley. 'King of the Vandals—'

Oh, do shut up, David!' said Lexy. 'We're on to something interesting now—really interesting. I've always wanted to know what makes you tick.' She rested her elbow on the table, and then her chin on her fist, and gazed at Audley fixedly. ' Not honour . . . and not money . . . and it isn't as if he'd get a pretty uniform to wear, like he used to in Daddy's old regiment... so why this sudden rush of patriotism to the head, then? That's what we have to find out.'

'Not the power and the glory,' said Stein drily.

'No?'

Lexy swivelled her chin on her fist. 'Why not, Davey?'

“Precious little power. The Russians and the Yanks have all of that between them. The British are losers now—he said so himself.' Stein folded his arms. 'And no glory, because it dummy5

isn't that sort of game. Not like rugger.'

'Not like rugger?'

Stein nodded. 'You win in private, but you lose in public when things go wrong. And he doesn't like losing.' He grinned wickedly at Audley. 'Of course, you could try the KGB again, David. At least you'd have a better chance of winning with them.'

'Gosh, no, Davey darling!' exclaimed Lexy. 'He wouldn't like them— they wear frightful blue suits, all shapeless and bulgy, with brown shoes. Daddy pointed out two of them to me at a reception we were at. They were awful!'

'Okay . . .' The Israeli shrugged. 'Maybe Mike can fix up an introduction to the CIA. They wear better suits . . . Mike?'

Bradford stirred uneasily.

'I knew a lovely boy in the CIA,' said Lexy. 'At least, I think he was in the CIA.'

'I'm told they're always looking for volunteers in England,'

said Stein. 'It's part of the 'special relationship', I suppose.'

'He was in something incredibly secret, anyway,' said Lexy dreamily. Then she sighed. 'But Daddy didn't like him.'

'Daddy didn't like his particular idea of the special relationship, you mean,' murmured Stein. 'Well, Mike?'

'Yeah.' Bradford cleared his throat. 'I know a couple of guys . . .' He eyed Audley for a moment. 'I could give you names and addresses. You just give me Antonia Palfrey's name—real name—in return. And her address, huh?'

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'Oh, Mike!' Lexy rounded on the American. 'Why must you keep harping on Antonia Palfrey? He's told you he doesn't know her.'

'And I've told him I don't believe him.'

'But why! Not just because of what ... of what Professor Archie Whatnot says, Mike?'

Bradford shook his head. 'Forbes just pointed me at the facts.'

'What facts?'

'Honey. . . ' Bradford continued to stare at Audley '. . .that goddamn woman is an expert in a very small field. UCLA says so, and Forbes says so, and I know so—because I've checked the field out. And there's no one fills the bill, just no one.'

'So what?'

'So ... so maybe she isn't an expert. Maybe she's gotten herself a tame expert—someone who knows the difference between an Ostrogoth and a Visigoth and a Vandal, all about 5th century Christians and heretics and pagans. And also someone who knows about fighting, the way Miss Antonia Palfrey seems to know about it—'

'That doesn't follow, Mike,' said Jilly quickly. 'Stephen Crane in The Red Badge of Courage—'

' Crap! She's picked somebody's brains, honey. Somebody who knows about being scared and about . . . barbarians.'

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Bradford paused. 'You know anyone here fills that bill, huh?'

Roche watched Audley, aware that everyone was doing the same.

'Fills the bill?' Audley sighted the American down his nose.

'Dr Bodger, of Rylands College, Cambridge, fills the bill, for a start, old boy.'

'More crap. Bodger never fired a shot in his life, old buddy.