Derry derry down And fifteen winters old,

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 Robin Hood he was a proper young man, 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

They hangd the proud sheriff on that,

deep-throated rumbling as thousands of tons of rock toppled majestically into the harbourthousands of tons of rock and then the two great guns of Navarone. The rumbling was still in their ears, the echoes fading away far out across the Aegean, when the clouds parted and the moon broke through, a full moon silvering the darkly-rippling waters to starboard, shining iridescently through the spun phosphorescence of the Sirdar's boiling wake. And dead ahead, bathed in the white moonlight, mysterious, remote, the island of Kheros lay sleeping on the surface of the sea. 2 Chapter 1 Winters on Ballybran were generally mild, so the fury of the first spring storms as they howled across the land was ever unexpected. This first one of the new season swept ferociously across the Milekey Ranges, bearing before its westward course the fleeing sleds of crystal singers like so much jetsam. Those laggard singers who had tarried too long at their claims were barely able to hold their bucking sleds on course as they bolted for the safety of the Heptite Guild Complex. Inside the gigantic Hangar, its baffles raised against the mach winds, ordered confusion reigned. Crystal singers lurched from their sleds, half deafened by windscream, exhausted by their turbulent flights. The Hangar crew, apparently possessed of eyes in the backs of their heads, miraculously avoided injury as they concentrated on the primary task of moving incoming sleds off the Hangar floor and into storage racks, clearing the way for the erratic landings of the stream of incoming vehicles. The crash claxon pierced even storm howl as two sleds collided, one to dip over the baffle and land nose down on the plascrete while the other veered out of control like a flat rock skipping across water, coming to a crumpling halt against the far wall. A tractor zipped in to fasten grapples on the upside-down sled, removing it only seconds before another sled skimmed over the baffle. That sled almost repeated the nose dive, pulling up at the last second and skidding across the Hangar floor to stop just inches away from the line of handlers carrying the precious cartons of crystal in to Sorting. Only a near miss, the incident was disregarded even by those who had barely escaped injury. Killashandra Ree emerged from the sled, taking as a good omen the fact that her sled had skidded to a halt so close to the Sorting Sheds. She caught the arm of the next handler to pass her and firmly diverted him to her cargo door, which she flung open. She didnt have much crystal, so digital slr camera 2 lens every speck she had cut was precious to her. If she didnt earn enough credit to get off-planet this time Killashandra ground her teeth as she hurried her carton into the Sorting Shed. As the man she had pressed into her service quite properly put her carton down at the Hangar end of a line of ranked containers, Killashandras patience evaporated. No, over here! she shouted. Not there! Itll take all day to be sorted. Here. She waited until he had deposited her carton in the indicated row before adding her own. Then she strode back to her sled for a second load, commandeering two more unencumbered handlers on the way. Only after eight cartons were unloaded did she permit herself to pause briefly, coping with the multiple fatigues that assailed her. She had worked nonstop for two days, desperate to cut enough crystal to get off Ballybran. Crystal pulsed in her blood and bones, denying her rest in sleep, surcease by day, no matter how she tried to tire her body. Her only respite was immersion in the radiant fluid bath. But no one cut crystal from a bathcube! She had to get off-planet to ease the disturbing thrum. For over a year and a half, ever since the Passover storms had shattered Keborgens old claim, she had searched unremittingly for a workable site Killashandra was realist enough to admit to herself that the probability of finding a new claim as important and valuable as Keborgens black crystal was very low. Still, she had every right to expect to find some useful, and reasonably lucrative, crystal in Ballybrans Ranges. And, with each fruitless trip into the Ranges, the credit balance she had amassed from her original cutting of Keborgens site and from the Trundomoux black crystal installation had eroded beneath the continuous charges the Heptite Guild exacted for even the most minor services rendered a crystal singer. By fall, when everyone else she knew Rimbol, Jezerey and Mistra had managed to get off-planet, she had labored on, unable to make a worthwhile claim in any color. During the mild winter, she had doggedly hunted in the Ranges, returning to the Complex only long enough to replenish food packs and steep her crystal-weary body in the radiant fluid. You really ought to take a week or two up at Shanganagh Base, Lanzecki had said, intercepting her on one of her brief visits. What good would that really do? she had replied, almost snarling at him in her frustration. Id still feel crystal

'T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

nutritious diet on the Selkite freighter and the stodge supplied by the Trundomoux cruiser. She did have to consider her palate and digestive system. Sadly, no deferential shopkeeper tapped her on the arm to tell her of an urgent call from the Guild Master. In fact, people seemed to keep their distance from her. A chance glimpse of her gaunt, harrowed face in a mirror provided one explanation shed have needed no cosmetic aids to play the part of any one of a number of harried, despairing, insane heroines. At that point her humor briefly reasserted itself. She had often thought that the make-up recommended for, say, Lucia, or Lady Macbeth, or Testuka and Isolde was totally exaggerated. Now, at last having had personal experiences with the phenomenon of losing ones great love through selfless sacrifice, she could appreciate the effect which grief could have on ones outward appearance. She looked awful! So she purchased two brilliant multihued floating kaftans of Beluga spider-silk, and hastily added their fingerlength cases to her bulging carisak, then a travel-case of fashionable cosmetics. Shed nine days to travel on the first freighter and it would only be civil to remedy her appearance. Then the boarding call for the Pink Tulip Sparrow was broadcast and she had no option but to proceed to the loading bay. In an effort to delay the inevitable, she walked at a funereal pace down the access ramp. Singer, weve got to get moving! Now, please, hurry along. She made an appearance of haste but when the Mate tried to take her arm and hurry her into the lock, her body arched in resistance. Abruptly he let go, staring at her with an expression of puzzled shock his arms were bare, and the hairs on them stood erect. Im awaiting purchases from Stores. Killashandra was so desperate for a last-minute reprieve that any delay seemed reasonable. There! The Mate conveyed frustrated disgust and impatience as he pointed to a stack of odd-size parcels littering the passageway. The crystals? Cartons all racked and tacked in the special cargo hold. He made a move as if to grab her arm and yank her aboard, but jingled his hands with frustration instead. Weve got to make way. Shanganagh Authority imposes heavy fines for missed departure windows. And dont tell me, Crystal Singer, that youve got enough credit to pay em. Abruptly she abandoned all hope that Lanzecki, like the legendary heroes of yore, would rescue her at the last moment from her act of boundless digital atc video camera self-sacrifice. She stepped aboard the freighter. The airlock closed with such speed that the heavy external hatch brushed against her heels. The ship was moving from the docking bay before the Mate could lead her out of the lock and close the secondary iris behind them. Killashandra experienced an almost overpowering urge to wrench open the airlock and leap into the blessed oblivion of space. But as she had deplored such extravagant and melodramatic actions in performances of historical tragedy, integrity prevented suicide despite the extreme anguish which tormented her. Besides, she had no excuse for causing the death of the Mate who seemed not to be suffering at all. Take me to my cabin, please. She turned too quickly, stumbled over the many packages in the passageway and had to grab the Mates shoulder, to regain her balance. Ordinarily she would have cursed her clumsiness, and apologized but cursing was undignified and inappropriate to her mood. From the pile, she chose two packages with the victualers logo, and waved negligently at the remainder. The rest may be brought to my cabin whenever convenient. The Mate wended a careful passage through the tumbled parcels as he passed her to lead the way. She noticed that the hair on his neck, indeed the dark body hairs that escaped the sleeveless top he wore, were piercing the thin stuff, all at right angles to his body. This was no longer an amusing manifestation. Just another fascinating aspect of crystal singing that you dont hear about in that allegedly Complete Disclosure! It should be renamed A Short Introduction to whats really in store for you! One day, no doubt, she would be in the appropriately damaged state to give All the Facts. The Mate had stopped, flattening himself against the bulkhead, and gestured toward an open door. Your quarters, Crystal Singer. Your thumbprint will secure the door. He touched his fingers to a spot above his right eye and disappeared around the corner as if chased by Galormis. Killashandra pressed her thumb hard into the door lock. She was pleasantly surprised by the size of the cabin. Not as big as any accommodation she had enjoyed on Ballybran but larger than her student room at Fuerte and much more spacious than that closet on the Trundomoux cruiser. She slid the door shut, locked it, and put the packages down on the narrow writing ledge. She looked at the bunk, strapped up to the wall in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance to begin a diversion. "Come on, let's cache this stuff and get out of here. We'll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover 'em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we'll have no time to start undoing packs when we get back here." Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance. "This can't be the pack," he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. "Here, wait a minute, though." "What's up, Dusty?" Miller didn't answer immediately. For a few seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened. "The slow-burnin' fuse, boss." His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. "It's gone!" "What!" Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. "It can't be, Dusty, it just can't! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!" "Sure I did, boss," Miller grated. "And then some crawlin' bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again." "Impossible!" Mallory protested. "It's just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksackI saw you do it in the grove this morningand Louki has had it all the time since then. And I'd trust Louki with my life." "So would I, boss." "Maybe we're both wrong," Mallory went on quietly. "Maybe you did miss it out. We're both helluva tired, Dusty." Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. "It's my own fault, boss, my own gawddamned fault." "What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above man, I was there when . . ." Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence. Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygosthey should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn't be down there. Mallory's instructions to him had been explicitto hide the remainder of the T.N.T. blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a digital camera from walmart trap, maybe, a ruse. But what kind of trap? The sudden, off-beat stammering of a heavy machine-gun stilled his thoughts, and for a moment or two he was all eyes and straining ears. And then another, and lighter machine-gun cut in, just for a few seconds: as abruptly as they had started, both guns died away, together. Mallory waited no longer. "Get the stuff together again," he whispered urgently. "We're taking it with us. Something's gone wrong." Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way. Bent almost double, careful to make no noise whatsoever, they ran across the roof-tops towards the old house where they had hidden earlier in the evening, where they were now to rendezvous with Louki. Still running, they were only feet away from the house when they saw his shadowy figure rise up, only it wasn't Louki, Mallory realised at once, it was far too tall for Louki, and without breaking step he catapulted the horizontal driving weight of his 180 pounds at the unknown figure in a homicidal tackle, his shoulder catching the man just below the breast-bone, emptying every last particle of air from the man's lungs with an explosive, agonised whoosh. A second later both of Miller's sinewy hands were clamped round the man's neck, slowly choking him to death. And he would have choked to death, neither of the two men were in any mind for half-measures, had not Mallory, prompted by some fugitive intuition, stooped low over the contorted face, the staring, protruding eyes, choked back a cry of sudden horror. "Dusty!" he whispered hoarsely. "For God's sake, stop! Let him go! It's Panayis!" Miller didn't hear him. In the gloom his face was like stone, his head sunk farther and farther between hunching shoulders as he tightened his grip, strangling the Greek in a weird and savage silence. "It's Panayis, you bloody fool, Panayis!" Mallory's mouth was at the American's ear, his hands clamped round the other's wrists as he tried to drag him off Panayis's throat. He could hear the muffled drumming of Panayis's heels on the turf of the roof, tore at Miller's wrists with all his strength: twice before he had heard that sound as a man had died under Andrea's great hands, and he knew with sudden certainty that Panayis would go the same way, and soon, if he didn't make Miller understand. But all at once Miller understood, relaxed

Too deeply to tell.

faint! Take him away before he falls on top of us!" Mallory had one fleeting glimpse of the two guards hurrying forwards, of the incredulous contempt on Louki's face, then he ificked a glance at Miller and Brown, caught the lazy droop of the American's eyelid in return, the millimetric inclination of Brown's head. Even as the two guards came up behind Andrea and lifted the flaccid arms across their shoulders, Mallory glanced half-left, saw the nearest sentry less than four feet away now, absorbed in the spectacle of the toppling giant. Easy, dead easythe gun dangling by his side: he could bit him between wind and water before he knew what was happening. . . . Fascinated, Mallory watched Andrea's forearms slipping nervelessly down the shoulders of the supporting guards till his wrists rested loosely beside their necks, palms facing inwards. And then there was the sudden leap of the great shoulder muscles and Mallory had hurled himself convulsively sidewards and back, his shoulder socketing with vicious force into the guard's stomach, inches below the breast-bone: an explosive ouf! of agony, the crash against the wooden walls of the room and Mallory knew the guard would be out of action for some time to come. Even as he dived, Mallory had heard the sickening thud of heads being swept together. Now, as he twisted round on his side, he had a fleeting glimpse of another guard thrashing feebly on the floor under the combined weights of Miller and Brown, and then of Andrea tearing an automatic rifle from the guard who had been standing at his right shoulder: the Schmeisser was cradled in his great hands, lined up on Skoda's chest even before the unconscious man had hit the floor. For one second, maybe two, all movement in the room ceased, every sound sheared off by a knife edge: the silence was abrupt, absolute-and infinitely more clamorous than the clamour that had gone before. No one moved, no one spoke, no one even breathed: the shock, the utter unexpectedness of what had happened held them all in thrall. And then the silence erupted in a staccato crashing of sound, deafening in that confined space. Once, twice, three times, wordlessly, and with great care, Andrea shot Hauptmann Skoda through the heart. The blast of the shells lifted the little man off his feet, smashed him against the wall of the hut, pinned him there for one incredible second, arms outfiung as though nailed against the rough planks in spreadeagle crucifixion; and then he eollapsed, fell limply to the ground, a grotesque and broken camera digital memory much doll that struck its heedless head against the edge of the bench before coming to rest on its back on the floor. The eyes were still wide open, as cold, as dark, as empty in death as they had been in life. His Schmeisser waving in a gentle arc that covered Turzig and the sergeant, Andrea picked up Skoda's sheath knife, sliced through the ropes that bound Mallory's wrists. "Can you hold this gun, my Captain?" Mallory flexed his stiffened hands once or twice, nodded, took the gun in silence. In three steps Andrea was behind the blind side of the door leading to the anteroom, pressed to the wall, waiting, gesturing to Mallory to move as far back as possible out of the line of sight. Suddenly the door was flung open. Andrea could just see the tip of the rifle barrel projecting beyond it. "Oberleutnant Turzig! Was ist los? Wer schoss . . ." The voice broke off in a coughing grunt of agony as Andrea smashed the sole of his foot against the door. He was round the outside of the door in a moment, caught the man as he fell, pulled him clear of the doorway and peered into the adjacent hut. A brief inspection, then he closed the door, bolted it from the inside. "Nobody else there, my Captain," Andrea reported. "Just the one gaoler, it seems." "Fine! Cut the others loose, will you, Andrea?" He wheeled round towards Louki, smiled at the comical expression on the little man's face, the tentative, spreading, finally ear-to-ear grin that cut through the baffled incredulity. "Where do the men sleep, Loukithe soldiers, I mean?" "In a hut in the middle of the compound, Major. This is the officers' quarters." "Compound? You mean?" "Barbed wire," Louki said succinctly. "Ten feet highand all the way round." "Exits?" "One and one only. Two guards." "Good! Andreaeverybody into the side room. No, not you, Lieutenant. You sit down here." He gestured to the chair behind the big desk. "Somebody's bound to come. Tell him you killed one of ustrying to escape. Then send for the guards at the gate." For a moment Turzig didn't answer. He watched unseeingly as Andrea walked past him, dragging two unconscious soldiers by their collars. Then he smiled. It was a wry sort of smile. "I am sorry to

You've passed your youth not so unpleasantly,

snow-mask could hide the horror in his voice. "He'll kill himself. He'll kill all of them. The hummocks" "I know." The land to the north-east was broken and uneven, the ice raised up by some quirk of nature into a series of tiny hillocks, ten, twenty feet high, tiny but the only ones within a hundred miles. "But he's going to do it, all the same. A belly landing with the wheels up. That's why he reversed his circle. He wants to land upwind to give himself the minimum stalling ground speed." "He could land to the south, into the wind." Joss sounded almost desperate. "It's a billiard table there." "He could, but he won't." I had to shout the words to make myself heard above the wind. "He's nobody's fool. He knows if he lands to windward of us, even a hundred yards to windward, the chances of finding our lights, our cabin, in this weather just don't exist. He's got to land upwind. He's just got to." There was a long silence as we staggered forward, head and shoulders bent almost to waist ievel against the wind and ice-filled drift, then Joss moved close again. "Maybe he'll see the hummocks in time. Maybe he can" "He'll never see them," I said flatly. "Flying into this stuff he can't possibly see a hundred yards in front of him." The radio antenna, rime-coated now to almost fifty times its normal size, sagging deeply and swaying pendulum-like in the wind between each pair of fourteen-foot poles that supported it, stretched away almost 250 feet to the north. We were following the line of this, groping our way blindly from pole to pole and almost at the end of the line, when the roar of the aircraft engines, for the last few seconds no more than a subdued murmur in the night as the wind carried the sound from us, suddenly swelled and increased to a deafening crescendo as I shouted a warning to the others and flung myself flat on the ground: the huge dark shape of the airliner swept directly over us even as I fell. I would have sworn, at the time, that I could have reached out and touched it with my hand, but it must have cleared us by at least ten feetthe antenna poles, we later discovered, were undamaged. Like a fool, I immediately leapt to my feet to try to get a bearing on the vanishing plane and was literally blown head over heels by the tremendous slipstream from the four great propellers, slid helplessly across the frozen crust of the snow and fetched up on my back almost twenty feet from where I had been standing. Cursing, bruised and not a little dazed, I got to olympus stylus 1030sw digital camera my feet again, started off in the direction where I could hear the dogs barking and howling in a paroxysm of fear and excitement, then stopped abruptly and stood quite still. The engines had died, all four of them had died in an instant, and that could mean only one thing: the airliner was about to touch down. Even with the realisation a jarring vibration, of a power and intensity far beyond anything I had expected, reached my feet through the frozen crust of the ice-cap. No ordinary touchdown that, I knew, not even for a belly landing: the pilot must have overestimated his height and set his ship down with force enough to crumple the fuselage, to wreck the plane on the spot. But he hadn't. I was prone to the frozen snow again, ear pressed hard against it, and I could half hear, half feel, a kind of hissing tremor which could only have come from the fuselage, no doubt already splintered and ripped, sliding over the ice, gouging a furrowed path through it. How long this sound continued, I couldn't be suresix seconds, perhaps eight. And then, all at once, came another earth tremor, severer by far than the first, and I heard clearly, even above the gale, the sudden sharp sound of the crash, the grinding tearing scream of metal being twisted and tortured out of shape. And then, abruptly, silencea silence deep and still and ominous, and the sound of the wind in the darkness was no sound at all. Shakily, I rose to my feet. It was then I realised for the first time that I had lost my snow-maskit must have ripped off as I had rolled along the ground. I brought out my torch from under my parkait was always kept there as even a dry battery could freeze and give no light at all if the temperature fell low enoughand probed around in the darkness. But there was no sign of it, the wind could have carried it a hundred yards away by this time. A bad business, indeed, but there was no help for it. I didn't like to think what my face would be like by the time I arrived back at the cabin. Joss and Jackstraw were still trying to quieten the dogs when I rejoined them. "You all right, sir?" Joss asked. He took a step closer. "Good lord, you've lost your mask!" "I know. It doesn't matter." It did matter, for already I could feel the burning sensation in my throat and lungs every time I breathed. "Did you get a bearing on that plane?" "Roughly. Due east, I should

In fighting, hath tumbid me in."

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 "He shall not go scot-free," the others 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

For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,

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 bards burn what they call their 'midnight taper', 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

Thy spirit deceive.

we had lost all sight and sound of it. The pilot must have made a figure of eight turn out in the darkness, had reversed his approach circle, and was flying from east to west less than two hundred feet up, undercarriage still retracted, it passed within a couple of hundred yards of us like some monstrous bird. Both headlights were now dipped, the twin beams a glitter of kaleidoscopic light in the ice-filled darkness of the sky, the twin oval pools of light interlocking now and very bright, racing neck and neck across the snow. And then these pools, increasing as rapidly in size as they diminished in strength, slipped away to the left as the plane banked sharply to the right and came curving round clockwise to the north. I knew now what the pilot was intending and my hands clenched helplessly inside mittens and gloves. But there was nothing I could do about this. "The antenna!" I shouted. "Follow out the line of the antenna." I stooped and gave the sledge its initial shove as Jackstraw shouted at Balto. Joss was by my side, head close to mine. "What's happening? Why are we" "He's coming down this time. I'm sure of it. To the north." "The north?" Not even the snow-mask could hide the horror in his voice. "He'll kill himself. He'll kill all of them. The hummocks" "I know." The land to the north-east was broken and uneven, the ice raised up by some quirk of nature into a series of tiny hillocks, ten, twenty feet high, tiny but the only ones within a hundred miles. "But he's going to do it, all the same. A belly landing with the wheels up. That's why he reversed his circle. He wants to land upwind to give himself the minimum stalling ground speed." "He could land to the south, into the wind." Joss sounded almost desperate. "It's a billiard table there." "He could, but he won't." I had to shout the words to make myself heard above the wind. "He's nobody's fool. He knows if he lands to windward of us, even a hundred yards to windward, the chances of finding our lights, our cabin, in this weather just don't exist. He's got to land upwind. He's just got to." There was a long silence as we staggered forward, head and shoulders bent almost to waist ievel against the wind and ice-filled drift, then Joss moved close again. "Maybe he'll see the hummocks in time. Maybe he can" "He'll never see them," I said flatly. "Flying into this stuff he can't possibly see a hundred yards in front of panasonic digital camera manual him." The radio antenna, rime-coated now to almost fifty times its normal size, sagging deeply and swaying pendulum-like in the wind between each pair of fourteen-foot poles that supported it, stretched away almost 250 feet to the north. We were following the line of this, groping our way blindly from pole to pole and almost at the end of the line, when the roar of the aircraft engines, for the last few seconds no more than a subdued murmur in the night as the wind carried the sound from us, suddenly swelled and increased to a deafening crescendo as I shouted a warning to the others and flung myself flat on the ground: the huge dark shape of the airliner swept directly over us even as I fell. I would have sworn, at the time, that I could have reached out and touched it with my hand, but it must have cleared us by at least ten feetthe antenna poles, we later discovered, were undamaged. Like a fool, I immediately leapt to my feet to try to get a bearing on the vanishing plane and was literally blown head over heels by the tremendous slipstream from the four great propellers, slid helplessly across the frozen crust of the snow and fetched up on my back almost twenty feet from where I had been standing. Cursing, bruised and not a little dazed, I got to my feet again, started off in the direction where I could hear the dogs barking and howling in a paroxysm of fear and excitement, then stopped abruptly and stood quite still. The engines had died, all four of them had died in an instant, and that could mean only one thing: the airliner was about to touch down. Even with the realisation a jarring vibration, of a power and intensity far beyond anything I had expected, reached my feet through the frozen crust of the ice-cap. No ordinary touchdown that, I knew, not even for a belly landing: the pilot must have overestimated his height and set his ship down with force enough to crumple the fuselage, to wreck the plane on the spot. But he hadn't. I was prone to the frozen snow again, ear pressed hard against it, and I could half hear, half feel, a kind of hissing tremor which could only have come from the fuselage, no doubt already splintered and ripped, sliding over the ice, gouging a furrowed path through it. How long this sound continued, I couldn't be suresix seconds, perhaps eight. And then, all at once, came another earth tremor, severer by far than the first, and I heard clearly, even above the gale, the sudden sharp

Lapped in a scented linen sheet,

sureness and inevitabifity about the American, an utter immobility of hand and eye that somehow precluded even the thought, far less the possibility of escape. "The prisoner has nothin' to say." Miller sounded very tired. "I suppose I should say somethin'. I suppose I should give out with a long spiel about me bein' the judge, the jury and the executioner, but I don't think I'll bother myself. Dead men make poor witnesses. . . . Mebbe it's not your fault, Panayis, mebbe there's an awful good reason why you came to be what you are. Gawd only knows. I don't, and I don't much care. There are too many dead men. I'm goin' to kill you, Panayis, and I'm goin' to kill you now." Miller dropped his cigarette, ground it into the floor of the hut. "Nothin' at all to say?" And he had nothing at all to say, the hate, the malignity of the black eyes said it all for him and Miller nodded, just once, as if in secret understanding. Carefully, accurately, he shot Panayis through the heart, twice, blew out the candles, turned his back and was half-way towards the door before the man had crashed to the ground. "I am afraid I cannot do it, Andrea." Louki sat back wearily, shook his head in despair. "I am very sorry, Andrea. The knots are too tight." "No matter." Andrea rolled over from his side to a sitting position, tried to ease his tightly-bound legs and wrists. "They are cunning, these Germans, and wet cords can only be cut." Characteristically, he made no mention of the fact that only a couple of minutes previously he had twisted round to reach the cords on Louki's wrist and undone them with half a dozen tugs of his steel-trap fingers. "We will think of something else." He looked away from Louki, glanced across the room in the faint light of the smoking oil-lamp that stood by the grille door, a light so yellow, so dim that Casey Brown, trussed like a barnyard fowl and loosely secured, like himself, by a length of rope to the iron hooks suspended from the roof, was no more than a shapeless blur in the opposite corner of the stone-flagged room. Andrea smiled to himself, without mirth. Taken prisoner again, and for the second time that dayand with the same ease and surprise that gave no chance at all of resistance: Completely unsuspecting, they had been captured in an upper room, seconds after Casey had finished talking to Cairo. The patrol had known exactly where to find themand with their leader's assurance that it was all over, with his gloating explanation of the part Panayis had played, the unexpectedness, the success of the coup was edison chen samsung digital camera all too easy to understand. And it was difficult not to believe his assurance that neither Mallory nor Miller had a chance. But the thought of ultimate defeat never occurred to Andrea. His gaze left Casey Brown, wandered round the room, took in what he could see of the stone walls and floor, the hooks, the ventilation ducts, the heavy grille door. A dungeon, a torture dungeon, one would have thought, but Andrea had seen such places before. A castle, they called this place, but it was really only an old keep, no more than a manor house built round the crenelated towers. And the long-dead Franldsh nobles who had built these keeps had lived well. No dungeon this, Andrea knew, but simply the larder where they had hung their meat and game, and done without windows and light for the sake of . . . The light! Andrea twisted round, looked at the smoking oil lamp, his eyes narrowing. "Louki!" he called softly. The little Greek turned round to look at him. "Can you reach the lamp?" "I think so. . . . Yes, I can." "Take the glass off," Andrea whispered. "Use a clothit will be hot. Then wrap it in the cloth, hit it on the floorgently. The glass is thickyou can cut me loose in a minute or two." Louki stared at him for an uncomprehending moment, then nodded in understanding. He shuffled across the floorhis legs were still boundreached out, then halted his hand abruptly, only inches from the glass. The peremptory, metallic clang had been only feet away, and he raised his head slowly to see what had caused it. He could have stretched out his hand, touched the barrel of the Mauser that protruded threateningly through the bars of the grille door. Again the guard rattled the rifle angrily between the bars, shouted something he didn't understand. "Leave it alone, Louki," Andrea said quietly. His voice was tranquil, unshadowed by disappointment "Come back here. Our Mend outside is not too pleased." Obediently Louki moved back, heard the guttural voice again, rapid and alarmed this time, the rattle as the guard withdrew his rifle quickly from the bars of the door, the urgent pounding of his feet on the flagstones outside as he raced up the passage. "What's the matter with our little friend?" Casey Brown was as lugubrious, as weary as ever. "He seems upset." "He is upset."

Were patchd both beneath and aboon;

unburnt carbon deposits that had finally ground the big tractor to a halt. A couple of others had rigged up a makeshift distillation unita petrol drum, almost full, with a thin metal tube packed in ice leading from its top to an empty drum. Petrol, Hillcrest had explained, had a lower boiling point than sugar, and when the drum was heated the evaporating gas, which would cool in the ice-packed tube, should emerge as pure petrol. Such, at least, was the theory, although Hillcrest didn't seem absolutely sure of himself. He had asked if we had any suggestion, whether we could help him in any way at all, but I had said we couldn't. I was tragically, unforgivably wrong. I could have helped, for I knew something that no one else did, but, at the moment, I completely forgot it. And because I forgot, nothing could now avert the tragedy that was to come, or save the lives of those who were about to die. My thoughts were black and bitter as the tractor roared and lurched and clattered its way south-west by west under the deepening darkness of a sky that was slowly beginning to fill with cloud. A dark depression filled me, and a cold rage, and there was room in my mind for both. I had a strange fey sense of impending disaster, and though I was doctor enough to know that it was almost certainly a psychologically induced reaction to the cold, exhaustion, sleeplessness and hungerand a physical reaction to the blow on the headnevertheless I could not shake it off: and I was angry because I was helpless. I was helpless to do anything to protect any of the innocent people with me, the people who had entrusted themselves to my care, the sick Mahler and Marie LeGarde, the quiet young German girl, the grave-faced Margaret Rossabove all, I had to admit to myself, Margaret Ross: I was helpless because I knew the murderers might strike at any time, for all I knew they might believe that Hillcrest had already told me all I needed to know ana that I was just waiting my chance to catch them completely off guard; on the other hand they, too, were almost certainly just biding their time, not knowing how much I knew, but just taking a calculated gamble, letting things ride as long as the tractor kept moving, kept heading in the right direction, but prepared to strike once and for all when the time came: and, above all, I was helpless because I still had no definite idea as to who the killers were. For the hundredth time I went over everything I could remember, everything that had happened, everything that had been said, trying to dredge up digital camera memory card guide from the depths of memory one single fact, one isolated word that would point the finger in one unmistakable direction. But I found nothing. Of the ten passengers Jackstraw and I had with us, six of them, I felt certain, were almost beyond suspicion. Margaret Ross and Marie LeGarde were completely beyond it. The only things that could be said against Mrs Dansby-Gregg and Helene was that I hadn't absolute proof of their innocence, but I was certain that such proof was quite unnecessary. United States senators, as recent bribery and corruption cases had lamentably shown, had as many human failingsespecially cupidityas the next man: but, even so, the idea of a senator getting mixed up with murder and criminal activities on this massive scale was too preposterous to bear further examination. As for Mahler, I was quite aware that being a diabetic didn't bar a man from criminal pursuits, and he could have been one of the guilty menjust possibly, he had thought they would force-land near some easily available insulin supplies. But that was just a little too far-fetched, and even if it weren't, I wasn't seriously interested in Mahler. I was concerned with killers who might kill again at any moment, and he most certainly wasn't included in that category: Mahler was a dying man. That left only Zagero, Solly Levin, Corazzini and the Rev. Smallwood, and the Rev. Smallwood was too good notto be true. The Bible was hardly ever out of his hands these days: there were certain lengths to which any impostor might reasonably be expected to go to convince us of his identity, but lengths such as these passed the bounds of the superfluous into the realms of the ridiculous. I had reason to suspect Corazzini. As a tractor specialist, he knew precious little about tractorsalthough I had to be fair and admit that Citroen and Global tractors were a quarter of a century different in time and a world different in design. But he had been the only person I had found on his feet when I had opened the door of the passenger cabin in the plane. It was he who, back in the IGY cabin, had questioned me so closely about Hillcrest's movements. It was he, I had learnt, who had helped Jackstraw and Zagero bring up the petrol from the tunnel and so had the opportunity to spike the stuff left behind. Finally, I believed he could be utterly ruthless. But there was one great point in his favour: that still-bandaged hand, token of his

Elegy

sir. They all failed. This is the last." "He must go, then?" "There are over a thousand men on Kheros, sir." Vlachos bowed his head in silent acceptance, then smiled faintly at Mallory. "He calls me 'sir.' Me, a poor Greek hotel-keeper and Captain Jensen of the Royal Navy calls me 'sir.' It makes an old man feel good." He stopped, gazed off vacantly into space, the faded eyes and tired, lined face soft with memory. "An old man, Captain Mallory, an old man now, a poor man and a sad one. But I wasn't always, not always. Once I was just middle-aged, and rich and well content. Once I owned a lovely land, a hundred square miles of the most beautiful country God ever sent to delight the eyes of His creatures here below, and how well I loved that land!" He laughed self-consciously and ran a hand through his thick, greying hair. "Ah, well, as you people say, I suppose it's all in the eye of the beholder. 'A lovely land,' I say. 'That blasted rock,' as Captain Jensen has been heard to describe it out of my hearing." He smiled at Jensen's sudden discomfiture. "But we both give it the same nameNavarone." Startled, Mallory looked at Jensen. Jensen nodded. "The Vlachos family has owned Navarone for generations. We had to remove Monsieur Viachos in a great hurry eighteen months ago. The Germans didn't care overmuch for his kind of collaboration." "It washow do you saytouch and go," Vlachos nodded. "They had reserved three very special places for my two sons and myself in the dungeons in Navarone. . . . But enough of the Viachos family. I just wanted you to know, young man, that I spent forty years on Navarone and almost four days"he gestured to the table"on that map. My information and that map you can trust absolutely. Many things will have changed, of course, but some things never change. The mountains, the bays, the passes, the caves, the roads, the houses and, above all, the fortress itselfthese have remained unchanged for centuries, Captain Mallory." "I understand, sir." Mallory folded the map carefully, stowed it away in his tunic. "With this, there's always a chance. Thank you very much." "It is little enough, God knows." Viachos's fingers drummed on the table for a moment, then he looked up at Mallory. "Captain Jensen informs me that most of you speak Greek fluently, that you will be dressed as Greek peasants dmc-lz4s digital camera silver arrives panasonic and will carry forged papers. That is well. You will bewhat is the word?self-contained, will operate on your own." He paused, then went on very earnestly. "Please do not try to enlist the help of the people of Navarone. At all costs you must avoid that. The Germans are ruthless. I know. If a man helps you and is found out, they will destroy not only that man but his entire villagemen, women and children. It has happened before. It will happen again." "It happened in Crete," Mallory agreed quietly. "I've seen it for myself." "Exactly." Vlachos nodded. "And the people of Navarone have neither the skifi nor the experience for suecessful guerrilla operations. They have not had the chanceGerman surveillance has been especially severe in our island." "I promise you, sir" Mallory began. Vlachos held up his hand. "Just a moment. If your need is desperate, really desperate, there are two men to whom you may turn. Under the first plane tree in the village square of Margarithaat the mouth of the valley about three miles south of the fortressyou will find a man called Louki. He has been the steward of our family for many years. Louki has been of help to the British beforeCaptain Jensen will confirm thatand you can trust him with your life. He has a friend, Panayis: he, too, has been useful in the past." "Thank you, sir. I'll remember. Louki and Panayis and Margarithathe first plane tree in the square." "And you will refuse all other aid, Captain?" Vlachos asked anxiously. "Louki and Panayisonly these two," he pleaded. "You have my word, sir. Besides, the fewer the safer for us as well as your people." Mallory was surprised at the old man's intensity. "I hope so, I hope so." Viachos sighed heavily. Mallory stood up, stretched out his hand to take his leave. "You're worrying about nothing, sir. They'll never see us," he promised confidently. "Nobody will see usand we'll see nobody. We're after only one thingthe guns." "Ay, the gunsthose terrible guns." Vlachos shook his head. "But just suppose" "Please. It will be all right," Mallory insisted quietly. "We will bring harm to noneand least of all to your islanders." "God go with you to-night," the old man whispered. "God go