Ryderbeit fitted a clip of ammunition into his M16, handing out two more to the others. ‘Just in case,’ he murmured. ‘From now on we’re on enemy territory.’ And together the three of them swung round. Silently and very quickly the door had opened and two men stepped in. One was an M.P., the other a civilian. The M.P. was an enormous man of about fifty, standing at least two inches taller than any of them, with a broad, blank, brutal face behind dark glasses with reflecting lenses. His voice was a slow Southern drawl, but with none of the Southern charm. ‘Ye men got yer Ah-Dee cards?’
None of them moved. They were all looking at the civilian. He nodded at each of them, with no smile. ‘Evening Mr Wilde — Mr Ryderbeit.’ He ignored No-Entry. ‘All got up for a nice fancy-dress party?’
Murray gave a tired smile. ‘It’s all right, Mr Conquest, we’ve got our I.D. cards.’
‘I’m sure you have. But I’m not interested in your identification, Mr Wilde. I know it too well already. I want to know what you three are doing in unauthorised premises impersonating members of the U.S. Armed Forces.’ As he spoke the M.P. laid a hand the size of a spade on the white flap of his .45 holster.
Murray nodded. ‘Good question, Maxwell.’ He looked down at the M.P.’s hand, then at Ryderbeit, both arms hanging loose at his sides, fingers flexed about eighteen inches below his loaded M16. Lastly he looked at No-Entry, whose carbine still lay on the table, his boxer’s hands resting on his hips. Three against two, he thought: but he still didn’t fancy the odds. If they tried shooting it out they’d alert the whole compound; on the other hand, Conquest had already proved himself in unarmed combat, and Murray doubted whether even No-Entry could make much impact on this huge M.P.
He decided to play for time — valuable, one-point-five billion dollars’ worth of time. At that moment the M.P. took a step forward and Murray caught his own twin reflection in the man’s dark lenses. ‘Better take ’em down to Security and have ’em checked out, Mr Conquest,’ the man said, moving only his lower lip; and Murray recognised the mute, dead-eyed authority of the big nation wielding the big stick — the nightstick and napalm, big boots on alien soil — of a simple man who still did not quite know the rules and was just waiting to stamp and swing.
But Maxwell Conquest was no such simple man, and although he did not always play by the rules, he at least knew them. And he would know that arresting three civilians — two of whom were not even Americans — on foreign territory could give rise to serious complications. Murray looked at him calmly and began to say, ‘Are you intending to arrest us, Mr Conquest?’ — when the telephone rang on the desk.
He reached it in one leap, before the M.P. could grab him. Jackie’s voice was clear and matter-of-fact: ‘Mr Wilde please?’
‘C’est moi, chérie.’ He looked dead into Conquest’s eyes as he listened.
‘The surprise party’s all arranged,’ she said, ‘Same time, same place.’
‘Merci. A tout à l’heure!’ He hung up, sighed, and gave a small smile. ‘This is a little embarrassing, Mr Conquest.’ He glanced at the menacing M.P. who had taken another step forward. ‘Perhaps we could have a word together in private?’
‘Private?’
Murray nodded at the phone. ‘That was your wife just now.’
‘My wife? What the hell! — why didn’t you let me speak to her?’
‘Because she wanted to speak to me, Mr Conquest. A little personal matter between the three of us.’ He nodded at Jones and Ryderbeit. ‘Now I’m sure you’d prefer to discuss it quietly, in private?’
Conquest gave a little wince and his jaw muscles tightened. In the sudden silence an aircraft began revving up engines outside. ‘Sergeant,’ Conquest said at last, without moving his eyes from Murray: ‘will you wait outside for a moment.’
The M.P. hesitated, then turned slowly, his hand still on his holster, and ambled back into the passage. ‘I think you’d better close the door,’ Murray said quietly; and Conquest glanced behind him to see the giant figure standing just outside. He shrugged, stepped over to the door, closed it and turned again. ‘Now what’s all this —?’ he began, and his eyes suddenly opened very wide.
What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, against the rising roar of the plane outside. Ryderbeit leant down as though to scratch his ankle, straightened up, and in one smooth motion stepped out to embrace Conquest. One hand went up over the man’s mouth, as Conquest drew back his lips to scream; the other went down round his waist, slipping the knife deep under the ribs into his spleen. For three full seconds they both stood transfixed. The engines roared to a crescendo as Conquest’s eyes took on a bright glassy look, his fingers twitching upwards. The noise outside dropped for a moment, and there came a long weird belching sound, a slackening of Conquest’s whole body as he began to lean towards Ryderbeit, his knees buckling, hands still clawing feebly upwards, while Ryderbeit said in an undertone: ‘Get the chair, No-Entry — wedge the door!’ — beginning to lower Conquest to the floor, supporting him now with his hand behind his neck, the other holding him up under the ribs with the knife. ‘Window!’ he said softly to Murray, as the Negro nimbly slid the chair under the door handle and spittle bubbled over Conquest’s rigid lips.
Murray turned and pushed up the window frame, dropping soundlessly to the ground outside. No-Entry followed a couple of seconds later.
