'They '11 pay a visit to thee.

Nahia and Hauness safe? Lars gave her a quick and grateful smile for that concern. They were holding clinics in Ironwood, he waved his hand to the north, at the time of your disappearance. The City, Gartertown, and the Port took the brunt of search and seizure. And Security then used your disappearance as an excuse to take known dissidents in protective custody. How many are? In protective custody? My dear Guildmember, such figures are never made public. An informed guess? Suicide is one form of social protest, the size of the p.c. population another one. Lars shook his head. Hauness might be able to find out, and Lars resumed his head shaking, but I wouldnt risk getting in touch with him right now. Killashandra stared at Lars Dahl for a lone moment, a sinking sensation that had nothing to do with hunger cramping her guts. And I have made you as vulnerable as any of those already in p.c., havent I? Lars shrugged and grinned. If you hadnt named me your rescuer, Id be tucked away in a rehab cubicle right now spinning out my brains. After Ive gone? Lars shrugged again, then gave her an impudent wink. All I need is a half-days start on em. And once Ive made the islands, there isnt an S & S team that can find me if I dont wish to be found. He sounded so confident that, for a moment, Killashandra almost believed him. As if he sensed her doubt, he leaned over her in the chair, his eyes more brilliantly blue than ever, his lips upturned in a provocative half smile. Beloved Sunny, if it wouldnt sound mawkish, Id say that meeting you has been the high point of my life so far. And confounding Elders Torkes and Ampris are adventures to lighten my darkest hour Which might yet be in a rehab booth! I know the risk, and its been worth it, Killa! He kissed her then, a light brief touch of his lips to hers but it set her blood ringing as quickly as crystal. Speaking of Elders, she began in an attempt to shake off her anxiety, we begin to bracket crystal today. She rose from the chair with a determined effort, then saw his expression. All right I grant you, learning to bracket and tune crystal wont advance you in the Elders files, but those are useful skills anywhere else in the FSP. Lars laughed. Had we but worlds how to sell digital cameras enough and time Killashandra let out a great guffaw. Malaprop! But outrageous humor made a better start to a tricky day than gloom. Lars was every bit as quick to learn and adept in the use of his strong hands as Killashandra had thought hed be. To set the white crystal in the brackets, she asked Thyrol the height of the stroke of the padded hammers. They already had six in place by the time Elder Ampris appeared in the loft, Thyrol hovering anxiously behind him in the open door. Killashandra noticed, first, the breath of sweet fresh air and she flicked a quick glance at the intruders as they stood there. Lars was holding the crystal dead still. Youll feel just the slightest surface tension and a slippery, almost electric, tension when the clamps are tight enough. Tell me when you do. She tightened the brackets, keeping both little fingers under the crystal so that she could sense that surface tension. Now! Lars said. Right on! She struck the crystal with the tone hammer, and the rich deep note spun through the air, drifting out and causing the two door guards to risk a quick peer into the loft. A muted and discordant response came from the covered tubs of crystal shard. Then she straightened up and turned to the observers. And thats how its done, Elder Ampris. Ampriss bright brown eyes glittered as he arranged his mouth in a smile which she took to mean approbation. The lower octave is always easier, for some reason, to set and pitch, Killashandra went on affably. Were making excellent progress. And? Killashandra heard a curious vibration in that single word. Elder Ampris was overly eager to have this installation completed and it could not be simply to allow performers practice time. He also exhibited an uncharacteristic nervousness; his fingers rubbed against his thumb. I think well have the entire manual finished by tomorrow evening. Set the next pair of brackets, will you, Lars Dahl, while I watch. Killashandra stepped away from the cabinet, stood next to Elder Ampris. Hes quick and deft and once Im sure hes doing it right, well work both ends against the middle. Ampris regarded her with a blink, his mind evidently jumping to another application of that phrase. His stiff and pleased smile forewarned her. You will then perhaps be delighted to have trained assistance. Trained? Killashandra glanced at Lars who had also suspended motion, catching the

Sunk chill on my brow--

half-dozen smaller islands. Killashandra had had a long look at the charts and the compass; they were taking a long arcing route, her island being the farthest point of their journey to the southwest. The waters were studded with islands, large, small, and medium. All showed the devastation of the storm, and on most the polly trees were still bent over from their struggle with the hurricane: on some of the smaller islands, the trees had been uprooted. As no one made a comment on this waste, Killashandra could not ask how soon polly would reestablish itself. In answer to a faint emergency call, they eventually sailed into the harbor of a medium-size island that had lost its communications masts and had been unable to make contact with Angel. Lars and Tanny went ashore there, leaving Killashandra in conspicuous sight while Erutown and Theach remained below. Some of the urgently needed items could be supplied from the extras on board and Lars contacted Angel for the rest. As they finally lifted anchor and sailed onward, Tannys rising excitement was communicated to Killashandra. She could recognize nothing, but if they were indeed near the island of her incarceration, she had swum away from nearby help. As they approached the next landfall, she didnt need Tannys shout of relief to know they had reached her island; the huge polly tree in the center was a distinctive landmark. Not only had the tree survived but also its siblings or offspring, and the little hut she had made in their shelter. Lars had to restrain Tanny from diving into the breakers and swimming ashore in his eagerness to reassure himself. I dont see anyone! Tanny cried as the Pearl motored toward the beach. Surely she could hear the engine! Is this where you want to dump us? Erutown growled, surveying the uprooted polly, the wind-depressed trunks of more, and the storm debris on the once white sands. Oh, youll be luxuriously situated, I assure you. Lars said. Killashandra had decided that Lars and Erutown were in basic disagreement on too many counts. Lars was delighted to deposit the man out of the way for a while. Weve solar-power units for Theachs equipment, all sorts of emergency camp gear, and plenty of food should you tire of the stuff the island and the sea provide. And a hatchet, a knife, and a book of instructions? Killashandra asked she was not above priming her surprise. There speaks the polly planter. Grinning, Lars flipped the toggle to release the anchor, cut off the engine, and gestured Tanny overboard. He was halfway up digital camera portable storage the heights to the shelter before the others had made the beach. Theres no one here, Lars. Ye gods, what shall we do? Theres no one here! Tanny screamed. Consternation smoothed Larss features and he set off up the slope at speed. Killashandra followed at a more leisurely pace, wondering whether she would ease their fears. One look at the terror and hopelessness of Tannys face, and a second one at the shock on Larss eroded her need for revenge. Erutown and Theach were on the beach, out of hearing. You dont know very much about crystal singers, do you, Lars He swung around, stared at her, trying to assimilate her words. Tanny reached his conclusion first and sat heavily down among the storm-strewn polly fronds, his expression incredulous. If you thought Id just sit here until it suited you to retrieve me. Chapter 14 Any discussion of that would have to be postponed. Theach and Erutown reached the height, looking about them for their fellow exile. Unable to look in Killashandras direction, Tanny shot one horrified glance at Lars as the latter smoothly invented a note that she had been removed from the island by a passing vessel. He even flourished a piece of paper from his pocket as he commented that he was glad she was safe. That tears it, Erutown said gloomily. Well all be in trouble. I doubt it. A very good friend of ours skippered that ship, Lars replied without a blink She cant go anywhere without my knowledge. Tanny made a strangled sound and Killashandra grinned, choking on her laughter. Theres nothing you could safely do without jeopardizing yourself at this point, Erutown. It isnt as if youll be out of touch, and Lars handed the man a small but powerful handset. The frequency to use for any contact is 103.4 megahertz. All right? You can listen in on any of the other channels but communicate only on the 103.4. Erutown agreed with ill grace, hefting the set doubtfully. With a sideways grin at Killashandra, Lars handed over hatchet, knife, and polly book. There now, youre completely equipped, Killashandra said cheerfully. Youll find that a polly island is quite restful. She glanced maliciously at Tanny and Lars. Everything you require polly for food, fish in the lagoon for sport and a change of diet, and

To shoot at the fat fallow-deer.

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they "O here is my hand," the stranger reply'd, imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

? then into fury the stranger he grew,

would be blind for life, the sight centre must have been completely destroyed. I reached for his pulse: racing, faint, erratic to a degree. The thought came to me, a thought compounded as much of cowardice as of regret, that in all likelihood the possibility of my having to operate on him was remote, very remote. If he were to survive the inevitably rough handling that would be needed to get him out of that aircraft and then the journey back to the cabin through that ice-laden sub-zero gale, it would be a miracle indeed. It seemed unlikely that he would ever wake again. But he might, he just conceivably might, so I broached the morphia kit. Then we eased his head and neck into a more comfortable position, covered him with a blanket and left him. Immediately behind the radio compartment was a long narrow room which extended across two-thirds of the width of the plane. A quick glance at the two chairs and collapsible bunk was enough to show that this must be the crew's rest room, and someone had been resting there at the moment of the crash. That crumpled shirt-sleeved figure on the floor must have been taken completely unawares, before he had the slightest knowledge of what was happening: and he would never know now. We found the stewardess in the pantry, lying on her left side on the floor, the outspread black hair fallen forward over her face. She was moaning softly to herself, but it wasn't the moan of one in pain. Her pulse was steady enough, but fast. Jackstraw stooped down beside me. "Shall we lift her, Dr Mason?" "No." I shook my head. "She's coming to, I think, and she can tell us far quicker than we can find out whether there's anything broken. Another blanket, and we'll let her be. Almost certainly someone much more in need of our attention." The door leading into the main passenger compartment was locked. At least, it appeared to be, but I was pretty certain it would never be locked under normal circumstances. Perhaps it had been warped by the impact of landing. It was no time for half measures. Together, we took a step back, then flung all the weight of our shoulders against it. It gave suddenly, three or four inches, and at the same time we heard a sharp exclamation of pain from the other side. "Careful!" I warned, but Jackstraw had already eased his weight. I raised my voice. "Get back from that door, will you? We want to come in." We heard a meaningless mutter from the other side, followed by a low groan and the slipping sony cybershot dsc-t700 touchscreen digital camera shuffle of someone trying to haul himself to his feet. Then the door opened and we passed quickly inside. The blast of hot air struck me in the face like an almost physical biow. I gasped, fought off a passing moment of weakness when my legs threatened to give under me, then recovered sufficiently to bang the door shut behind me. With the motors dead and the arctic chill striking through the thin steel of the fuselage this warmth, no matter how efficient the cabin insulation, wouldn't last long: but while it did, it might be the saving of all those who still lived. A thought struck me and, ignoring the man who stood swaying before me, one hand clutching a seat grip for support, the other rubbing at a blood-masked forehead, I turned to Jackstraw. "Carry the stewardess in here. We'll take a chanceand it's not all that much of a chance either. There's a damned sight more hope for her in here with a( broken leg than out there with only a bump on the head. Throw her blanket over the wireless operator -but whatever you do don't touch him." Jackstraw nodded and went out, closing the door quickly behind him. I turned to the man who still stood shakily in the aisle, still dazedly rubbing his hand, a big brown square hand matted on the back with black hair, across a bleeding forehead. He looked at me for a moment, then stared down uncomprehendingly at the blood dripping on to the bright red tie and blue shirt that contrasted so oddly with the light grey gaberdine suit. He closed his eyes tightly, then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry to ask the inevitable question." The voice was quiet, deep, well under control. "Butwhat happened?" "You crashed," I said shortly. "What do you remember?" "Nothing. Well, that is, just a bump, then a loud screeching tearing noise" "Then you hit the door." I gestured at the bloodstains behind me. "Sit down for a moment. You'll be all right." I'd lost interest in him and was staring down the length of the cabin. I'd expected to see most of the seats wrenched off their bases, but instead they were all there exactly as they should have been, three wide to the left of me, two to the right, the seats in the front half facing aft, those to the rear facing forward. More than that, I had expected to see people, injured, broken and moaning people, flung all over the seats and aisles: but the big passenger compartment seemed almost

Then all the whole train the grove did refrain,

the bunk, strapped up to the wall in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with fatigue. Strong emotion is as exhausting as cutting crystal, she thought. She released the bunk and stretched herself out. She exhaled on a long shuddering sob and tried to relax her taut muscles. The hum of the ships crystal drive was a counterpoint to the resonance between her ears, and both sounds traveled in waves up and down her bones. At first her mind did a descant, weaving an independent melody through the bass and alto, but the rhythm suggested a three-syllable word Lan-zec-ki so she changed to an idiot two-note dissonance and eventually fell asleep. Once she got over the initial buoyancy of self-sacrifice aboard the Pink Tulip Sparrow, Killashandra vacillated between fury at Trag and wallowing in despair at her Loss. Until she concluded that her misery was caused by Lanzecki after all, if he hadnt made such a determined play for her affections, he wouldnt have become so attached to her, nor she to him, and she wouldnt be on a stinking tub of a freighter. Well, yes, she probably would. If all Trag had told her about the Optherian assignment was true. In no mood to be civil to either the crew or the other passengers, she stayed in her cabin the entire trip. At Rappahoe Transfer Point, she boarded a second freighter, newer and less unpleasant than the Pink Tulip Sparrow, with a lounge for the ten passengers it carried. Eight were male and each of them, including the only attached man, stood quickly at her entrance. Plainly they were aware that she was a crystal singer. Equally apparent was the fact that they were willing to put scruples aside to discover the truth of the space flot about singers. Three of them desisted after their first hour of propinquity. Two more during the first evenings meal. To have ones hair constantly standing on end seems like a little thing but so is a drop of water patiently wearing away a stone. The bald Argulian was the most persistent. He actually grabbed her in the narrow companionway, pressing her close to his body in an ardent embrace. She didnt have to struggle for release. He dropped his arms and slid away, flushing and trembling. Youre shocking. He scrubbed his arms and brushed urgently at those portions of his body which had been in contact with her. Thats not a nice thing to do to a friendly fellow like me. He looked aggrieved. It was all your idea. Killashandra continued on to her quarters. And another singer legend is spawned! The female captain of the third freighter, which she top compact digital cameras boarded at Melorica, bluntly informed her that, under no circumstances, would she tolerate any short-term disruption of the pairing in her all-female crew. Thats quite all right, captain. Ive taken a vow of celibacy. What for? the captain demanded, raking Killashandra with an appraising scrutiny. Religious or professional? Neither. I shall be true to one man till I die. Killashandra was pleased with the infinitesimal tremor of pathos in her voice. No mans worth that, honey! The captains disgust was genuine. With a sad sigh, Killashandra asked if the ships library had much in the way of programs for single players and retired to her quarters, which had been getting smaller with each ship. Fortunately this was the shortest leg of her space hike to Bernards World. By the time Killashandra reached the Bernards World Transfer Satellite, she entertained doubts about Trags candor. The journey seemed incredibly long for a modern space voyage, even allowing for the fact that freighters are generally slower than cruisers or liners. Shed logged five weeks of interstellar travel and must somehow endure another five before she reached the Optherian system. Could Trag have done a subtle job recruiting her because no other singer would consider the assignment? No, the fee was too good besides. Borella, Concera, and Gobbain had been trying for it. In the orbital position of a small moon, the Transfer Satellite inscribed a graceful forty-eight-hour path about the brilliant blue-and-green jewel of a planet. The satellite was a marvel of modern engineering, with docking and repair facilities capable of handling FSC cruisers and the compound ships of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps, felicitously sited at the intersection of nine major space routes. Fresh fruit and vegetables were grown in its extensive gardens, and high quality protein was manufactured in its catering division: sufficient in quantity and diversity to please the most exacting clients. Stores of the basic nutrients were available for five other star-roving species. Additional nodules accommodated small industries and a thriving medical research laboratory and hospital. In the transient quadrant, there were playing fields, free-ball and free-fall courts, spacious gardens, and a zoo housing a selection of the smaller life forms from nine nearby star systems. As Killashandra perused the directory in

Then Robin took hold of the Bishops horse,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they And ty'd him fast to a tree; imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

Miller moaned. "And on the way back, don't forget to give Panayis a hand up the steeper bits." Miller's reply was luckily lost in a sudden flurry of snow-laden wind. That wind was rising steadily now, a bitter wind that whipped the heavy snow into their bent faces and stung the tears from their blinking eyes. A heavy, wet snow that melted as it touched, and trickled down through every gap and chink in their clothing until they were wet and chilled and thoroughly miserable. A clammy, sticky snow that built up layer after energy-sapping layer under their leaden-footed boots, until they stumbled along inches above the - ground, leg muscles aching from the sheer accumulated weight of snow. There was no visibility worthy of the name, not even of a matter of feet, they were blanketed, swallowed up by an impenetrable cocoon of swirling grey and white, unchanging, featureless: Louki strode on diagonally upwards across the slope with the untroubled certainty of a man walking up his own garden path. Louki seemed as agile as a mountain goat, and as tireless. Nor was his tongue less nimble, less unwearied than his legs. He talked incessantly, a man overjoyed to be in action again, no matter what action so long, as it was against the enemy. He told Mallory of the last three attacks on the island and how they had so bloodily failedthe Germans had been somehow forewarned of the seaborne assault, had been waiting for the Special Boat Service and the Commandos with everything they had and had cut them to pieces, while the two airborne groups had had the most evil luck, been delivered up to the enemy by misjudgment, by a series of unforeseeable coincidences; or how Panayis and himself had on both occasions narrowly escaped with their livesPanayis had actually been captured the last time, had killed both his guards and escaped unrecognised; of the disposition of the German troops and check-points throughout the island, the location of the road blocks on the only two roads; and, finally, of what little he himself knew of the layout of the fortress of Navarone itself. Panayis, the dark one, could tell him more of that, Louki said: twice Panayis had been inside the fortress, once for an entire night: the guns, the control rooms, the barracks, the officers' quarters, the magazine, the turbo rooms, the sentry pointshe knew where each one lay, to the inch. Mallory whistled softly to himself. This was more than he had ever dared hope for. They had still to escape canon digital camera 3 the net of searchers, still to reach the fortress, still to get inside it. But once insideand Panayis must know how to get inside. . . . Unconsciously Mallory lengthened his stride, bent his back to the slope. "Your friend Panayis must be quite something," he said slowly. "Tell me more about him, Louki." "What can I tell 'you?" Louki shook his head in a little flurry of snowflakes. "What do I know of Panayis? What does anyone know of Panayis? That he has the luck of the devil, the courage of a madman and that sooner the lion will lie down with the lamb, the starving wolf spare the flock, than Panayis breathe the same air as the Germans? We all know that, and we know nothing of Panayis. All I know is that I thank God I am no German, with Panayis on the island. He strikes by stealth, by night, by knife and in the back." Louki crossed himself. "His hands are full of blood." Mallory shivered involuntarily. The dark, sombre figure of Panayis, the memory of the expressionless face, the hooded eyes, were beginning to fascinate him. "There's more to him- than that, surely," Mallory argued. "After all, you are both Navaronians" "Yes, yes, that is so." "This is a small island, you've lived together all your lives" "Ah, but that is where the Major is wrong!" Mallory's promotion in rank was entirely Louki's own idea: despite Mallory's protests and explanations he seemed determined to stick to it. "I, Louki, was for many years in foreign lands, helping Monsieur Viachos. Monsieur Viachos," Louki said with pride, - "is a very important Government official." "I know," Mallory nodded. "A consul. I've met him. He is a very fine man." "You have met him! Monsieur Vlachos?" There was no mistaking the gladness, the delight in Louki's voice. "That is good! That is wonderful! Later you must tell me more. He is a great man. Did I ever tell you" "We were speaking about Panayis," Mallory reminded him gently. "Ah, yes, Panayis. As I was saying, I was away for a long time. When I came back, Panayis was gone. His father had died, his mother had married again and Panayis had gone to live with his stepfather and two little stepsisters in Crete. His stepfather, half-fisherman, halffarmer, was killed in fighting the Germans near, Candiathis was in the beginning. Panayis took

"- In behint yon auld fail dyke

that rasped in great gulping inhalations into his starving lungs. Deliberately he forced his mind away from the pains that racked his body, from its insistent demands for rest, and listened again to the ringing of steel against rock, louder this time, carrying clearly even in the gale. . . . He would have to tell Andrea to be more careful on the remaining twenty feet or so that separated them from the top. At least, Mallory thought wryly, no one would have to tell him to be quiet. He couldn't have made any noise with his feet if he'd triednot with only a pair of torn socks as cover for his bruised and bleeding feet. He'd hardly covered the first twenty feet of the climb when he discovered that his climbing boots were quite useless, had robbed his feet of all sensitivity, the ability to locate and engage the tiny toe-holds which afforded the only sources of purchase. He had removed them with great difficulty, tied them to his belt by the lacesand lost them, had them torn off, when forcing his way under a projecting spur of rock. The climb itself had been a nightmare, a brutal, gasping agony in the wind and the rain and the darkness, an agony that had eventually dulled the danger and masked the suicidal risks in climbing that sheer unknown face, an interminable agony of hanging on by fingertips and toes, of driving in a hundred spikes, of securing ropes, then inching on again up into the darkness. It was a climb such as he had not ever made before, such as he knew he would not ever make again, for this was insanity. It was a climb that had extended him to the utmost of his great skill, his courage and his strength, and then far beyond that again, and he had not known that such reserves, such limitless resources, lay within him or any man. Nor did he know the well-spring, the source of that power that had driven him to where he was, within easy climbing reach of the top. The challenge to a mountaineer, personal danger, pride in the fact that he was probably the only man in southern Europe who could have made the climb, even the sure knowledge that time was running out for the men on Kherosit was none of these things, he knew that: in the last twenty minutes it had taken him to negotiate that overhang beneath his feet his mind had been drained of all thought and all emotion, and he had climbed only as a machine. Hand over hand up the rope, easily, powerfully, Andrea hauled himself over the smoothly swelling convexity of the overhang, legs dangling in midair. He was festooned with heavy coils of rope, girdled with spikes digital cameras in cincinnati ohio that protruded from his belt at every angle and lent him the incongruous appearance of a comic-opera Corsican bandit. Quickly he hauled himself up beside Mallory, wedged himself in the chimney and mopped his sweating forehead. As always, he was grinning hugely. Mallory looked at him, smiled back. Andrea, he reflected, had no right to be there. It was Stevens's place, but Stevens had still been suffering from shock, had lost much blood: besides, it required a first-class climber to bring up the rear, to coil up the ropes as he came and to remove the spikesthere must be no trace left of the ascent: or so Mallory had told him, and Stevens had reluctantly agreed, although the hurt in his face had been easy to see. More than ever now Mallory was glad he had resisted the quiet plea in Stevens's face: Stevens was undoubtedly a fine climber, but what Mallory had required that night was not another mountaineer but a human ladder. Time and time again during the ascent he had stood on Andrea's back, his shoulders, his upturned palm and oncefor at least ten seconds and while he was still wearing his steel-shod bootson his head. And not once had Andrea protested or stumbled or yielded an inch. The man was indestructible, as tough and enduring as the rock on which he stood. Since dusk had fallen that evening, Andrea had laboured unceasingly, done enough work to kill two ordinary men, and, looking at him then, Mallory realised, almost with despair, that even now he didn't look particularly tired. Mallory gestured at the rock chimney, then upwards at its shadowy mouth limned in blurred rectangular outline against the pale glimmer of the sky. He leant forward, mouth close to Andrea's ear. "Twenty feet, Andrea," he said softly. His breath was still coming in painful gasps. "It'll be no botherit's fissured on my side and the chances are that it goes up to the top." Andrea looked up the chimney speculatively, nodded in silence. "Better with your boots off," Mallory went on. "And any spikes we use we'll work in by hand." "Even on a night like thishigh winds and rain, cold and black as a pig's insideand on a cliff like this?" There was neither doubt nor question in Andrea's voice: rather it was acquiescence, unspoken confirmation of an unspoken thought. They had been so long together, had reached such a depth of understanding that words between them were largely superfluous. Mallory

Some name arrests the passer-by;

exposure. Maybe the plane had ripped open or broken in half, catapulting the survivors out on to the ice-capif there were any survivors: for them, either immediate death as the heart failed in the near impossible task of adjusting the body to an instantaneous change of over 100 F, or death by exposure within five minutes. Or maybe they were all trapped inside slowly freezing. How to get at them? How to transport them all back to the cabin? But only the first few to be taken could have any hope. And even if we did get them all back, how to feed themfor our own supplies were already dangerously low? And where, in heaven's name, were we going to put them all? Jackstraw's shout checked me so suddenly that I stumbled and all but fell. I turned back, and Joss came running up. "The end of the line?" I asked. He nodded, flashed a torch in my face. "Your nose and cheek -both gone. They look bad." Gloves off, I kneaded my face vigorously with my mittened hands until I felt the blood pounding painfully back, then took the old jersey which Jackstraw dug out from a gunny sack and wrapped it round my face. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. We struck off to the north, with the wind on our right cheeks -1 had no option but to gamble on the hope that the wind had neither backed nor veeredour torches probing the ground in front of us, stopping every fifteen or twenty feet to drive a pointed bamboo marker into the frozen ground. We had covered fifty yards without sighting anything, and I was just beginning to become convinced that we must still be well to the west of the plane's touchdown point and wondering what in the world we should do next when we almost literally stumbled into an eighteen inch deep, ten foot wide depression in the snow-crust of the ice-cap. This was it, no question about that. By a one in a hundred chance we had hit on the very spot where the plane had touched downor crashed down, if the size of the depression in that frozen snow were anything to go by. To the left, the west, the ground was virginal, unmarkedten feet to that side and we should have missed it altogether. To the east, the deep depression shelved rapidly upwards, its smooth convexity now marred by two large gouge marks, one in the centre and one to the right of the track, as if a pair of gigantic ploughs had furrowed through the ground: part of the under fuselage must have been ripped open by the impact -it would have been a wonder had it not been. Some way farther to the east, and well to the right of panasonic camera digital dmc-tz2 instruction manual the main track, two other grooves, parallel and of a shallow bowl shape, had been torn in the snow. The gouge marks, plainly, of the still-racing propellers: the plane must have tilted over on its right wing just after the moment of landing. To see all this took no longer than to sweep a torch through a swift semi-circle. I shouted to Joss to take another bundle of canes and prop up the Homing spool line that led back to the antenna- if this weren't done it would drift over and be lost to sight in ten minutes- and then rejoin us: then I turned and ran after Jackstraw who had already urged his team forwards and eastwards along the track of the crashed plane. The wind was worse than ever, the drift an almost solid wall that reduced our speed to a lurching stumble and forced us to lean far into it to maintain our balance. Two hundred yards, three hundred, and then, almost a quarter of a mile from where it had touched down we found the airliner simply by walking straight into it. It had slewed almost 90 degrees as it had come to a halt, and was lying square across its own path, still resting on even keel. In the feeble light of my torch the airliner, even although its fuselage rested on the ground, seemed immensely high and to stretch away for a vast distance on either side, but for all its great size there was something peculiarly pathetic and forlorn about it. But this, of course, was purely subjective, the knowledge in my own mind that this crippled giant would never leave here again. I could hear no movement, see no movement. High above my head a faint blue light seemed to glow behind some of the cabin windows but apart from that there was no sign of life at all. CHAPTER TWOMonday 1 A.M.2 A.M. My greatest fear had already proved groundlessthere was no sign of fire anywhere, no flickering red to see, no hidden crackling to hear. It was still possible that some small tongue of flame was creeping along inside the fuselage or wings looking for the petrol or oil that would help it blaze into destructive lifeand with that wind to fan the flames, destruction would have been complete -but it hardly seemed worth worrying about: and it was unlikely that any pilot cool-headed enough to turn off the ignition would have forgotten to shut down the petrol lines. Already Jackstraw had plugged our searchlight into the dry battery and handed me the lamp. I pressed the switch, and it worked: a

"O what have they done?" said bold Robin Hood,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they "I pray thee tell to me:" imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

Vpon the ground did lye.

incredulously. "Did you say" "I did." Jensen grinned. "A mere bagatelle, I assure you, compared to the vast hordes of spies that circulate freely among our noble hosts in Cairo and Alexandria." He was suddenly serious again. "Anyway, our information is accurate. An armada of caiques will sail from the Piraeus on Thursday at dawn and island-hop across the Cyclades, holing up in the islands at night." He smiled. "An intriguing situation, don't you think? We daren't move in the Aegean in the daytime or we'd be bombed out of the water. The Germans don't dare move at night. Droves of our destroyers and M.T.B.s and gunboats move into the Aegean at dusk: the destroyers retire to the South before dawn, the small boats usually lie up in isolated islands creeks. But we can't stop them from getting across. They'll be there Saturday or Sundayand synchronise their landings with the first of the airborne troops: they've scores of Junkers 52s waiting just outside Athens. Kheros won't last a couple of days." No one could have listened to Jensen's carefully casual voice, his abnormal matter-of-factness and not have believed him. Mallory believed him. For almost a minute he stared down at the sheen of the sea, at the faery tracery of the stars shimmering across its darkly placid surface. Suddenly he swung around on Jensen. "But the Navy, sir! Evacuation! Surely the Navy" "The Navy," Jensen interrupted heavily, "is not keen. The Navy is sick and tired of the Eastern Med. and the Aegean, sick and tired of sticking out its long-suffering neck and having it regularly chopped offand all for sweet damn all. We've had two battleships wrecked, eight cruisers out of commissionfour of them sunk and over a dozen destroyers gone. . . . I couldn't even start to count the number of smaller vessels we've lost. And for what? I've told youfor sweet damn all! Just so's our High Command can play round-and-round- the-rugged-rocks and who's the-king-of-the-castle with their opposite numbers in Berlin. Great fun for all concernedexcept, of course, for the thousand or so sailors who've been drowned in the course of the game, the ten thousand or so Tommies and Anzacs and Indians who suffered and died on these same islandsand died without knowing why." Jensen's hands were white-knuckled on the wheel, his mouth tight-drawn and bitter. Mallory was surprised, shocked almost, by the vehemence, the depth of feeling; it was so completely out of character. . . . Or drivers for jvc digital video camera perhaps it was in character, perhaps Jensen knew a very great deal indeed about what went on on the inside. "Twelve hundred men, you said, sir?" Mallory asked quietly. "You said there were twelve hundred men on Kheros?" Jensen flickered a glance at him, looked away again. "Yes. Twelve hundred men." Jensen sighed. "You're right, laddie, of course, you're right. I'm just talking off the top of my head. Of course we can't leave them there. The Navy will do its damnedest. What's two or three more destroyerssorry, boy, sorry, there I go again. . . . Now listen, and listen carefully. "Taking 'em off will have to be a night operation. There isn't a ghost of a chance in the daytimenot with two-three hundred Stukas just begging for a glimpse of a Royal Naval destroyer. It'll have to be destroyers transports and tenders are too slow by half. And they can't possibly go northabout the northern tip of the Leradesthey'd never get back to safety before daylight. It's too long a trip by hours." "But the Lerades is a pretty long string of Islands," Mallory ventured. "Couldn't the destroyers go through" "Between a couple of them? Impossible." Jensen shook his head. "Mined to hell and back again. Every single channel. You couldn't take a dinghy through." "And the Maidos-Navarone channel. Stiff with mines also, I suppose?" "No, that's a clear channel. Deep wateryou can't moor mines in deep water." "So that's the route you've got to take, isn't it, sir? I mean, they're Turkish territorial waters on the other side and we" "We'd go through Turkish territorial waters to-morrow, and in broad daylight, if it would do any good," Jensen said flatly. "The Turks know it and so do the Germans. But all other things being equal, the Western channel is the one we're taking. It's a clearer channel, a shorter routeand it doesn't involve any unnecessary international complications." "All other things being equal?" "The guns of Navarone." Jensen paused for a long time, then repeated the words, slowly, expressionlessly, as one would repeat the name of some feared and ancient enemy. "The guns of Navarone. They make everything equaL They cover the northern entrances to both channels. We could take the twelve hundred men off Kheros to-nightif we could silence the guns of Navarone." Mallory