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“Why don’t you go and…” Snook broke off as his mind was flooded with a vivid image of a chain of low islands, each virtually covered with one complex multi-use building rising to a single roof peak in the centre. The images of the island-dwellings were reflected in calm grey seas, creating a series of diamond-shapes, elongated horizontally. One in particular was distinguished by a curious double-span arch, too large to be entirely functional, which perhaps united two natural summits. For a moment the vision was so clear that he could see the darker rectangles of windows, the doors whose sills were lapped by a tideless ocean, the small boats nodding gently at anchor…

“This is getting us nowhere.” A note of impatience was appearing in Ambrose’s voice.

“My feelings precisely.” Prudence rose to her feet and directed an imperious stare at Murphy. “I suppose there’s an eating place in the village?”

Murphy looked doubtful. “The only place open at this time would be Cullinan House, but I don’t think you should go there.”

“I’m quite capable of making that sort of decision for myself.”

Murphy shrugged and turned away as Snook joined in. “George is right—you shouldn’t go there alone.”

“Thank you for the show of concern, but I’m also capable of looking after myself.” Prudence spun on her heel and left the room. A moment later they heard the front door slamming.

Snook turned to Ambrose. “Boyce, I think you should stop her.”

“What’s it got to do with me?” Ambrose demanded irritably. “I didn’t ask her to attach herself to this group.”

“No, but you…” Snook decided that a reference to the couple having shared the one bed would reveal too much about his own feelings. “You didn’t turn her away.”

“Gil, in case you haven’t noticed it, Prudence Devonald is an extremely tough, emancipated young woman, and I quite believe her when she says she can look after herself in any company. For Christ’s sake /’ Exasperation pushed Ambrose’s voice into the higher ranges. “We’ve some of the most important scientific work of the century in front of us and all we can do is argue about chaperoning a piece of skirt who wasn’t even supposed to be here. Do you think we could at least go through this tape a couple of times? Huh?”

“I’ve got quite a good shot of the Avernian roof structure here,” Quig said placatingly.

Ambrose took the photograph and examined it with determined interest. “Thank you—this will be extremely useful. Now, let’s play the tape again and make notes of any questions that occur to us.” He activated the tiny machine and sat with one ear turned to it in an exaggerated show of concentration.

Snook prowled around the room, drinking coffee and trying to focus his attention on the strange-sounding tones of his own voice issuing from the recorder. Finally, after about ten minutes, he set his cup down.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “I’m going to eat.”

Ambrose blinked at him in surprise. “We can have a meal later, Gil.”

“I’m hungry now.”

Murphy turned away from the window. “I haven’t much to do here -1 think I’ll join you.”

“Bon appetit,” Ambrose said sarcastically, returning his attention to his notes.

Snook nodded and went outside. He and Murphy walked slowly down the hill, ostensibly enjoying the moderate warmth of the air and the flaming colours of the bougainvillaeas, neither man talking very much. They turned into the main street, with its dwindling series of product and agency signs. The quietness and lack of people created a Sunday morning atmosphere. They walked to the corner of the sidestreet in which Cullinan House was situated. As Snook had almost expected, there was a jeep parked outside the building. He exchanged glances with Murphy and, trying not to shed their air of casualness, they began to walk faster. They reached the dusty shade of the entrance and found a young Asian, who was wearing a barman’s white apron, sitting on a beer keg and smoking a cheroot.

“Where’s the girl?” Snook said.

“In there.” The youth spoke nervously, indicating a doorway on the left. “But you better not go in.”

Snook pushed the door open and there was an instant of heightened perception in which his eyes took in every detail of the scene inside. The square room had a bar along the innermost wall and the rest of the floor area was taken up by small circular tables and cane chairs. Two soldiers were leaning on the counter holding beer glasses, their Uzi submachine guns beside them on bar stools. One of the tables had been laid for breakfast and Prudence was standing at it, her arms pinned behind her by a third soldier, a corporal. Lieutenant Curt Freeborn was standing close to the girl, and he froze for a moment—in the act of opening the central knot which held her blouse together—as Snook walked into the room with Murphy close behind him.

“Prudence!” Snook’s voice was gently reproachful. “You’ve started without us.”

He kept walking towards the table, aware that the soldiers at the bar were picking up their weapons, but relying on the mildness of his manner to prevent them from taking any hasty action. Freeborn glanced at the door and windows, and his face relaxed into a smile as he realised Snook and Murphy were alone. He returned his attention to Prudence and, with deliberate slowness, finished undoing the silken knot. The material slid aside to reveal her breasts, cupped in chocolate-coloured lace. Prudence’s face was pale, immobile.

“Your friend and I have met before,” Freeborn said to Prudence. “He likes the funny remarks.” His voice was abstracted, like that of a dentist who is making conversation to soothe a patient. He put his hands to Prudence’s shoulders and began stripping the blouse downwards, his eyes intent, cool and professional.

Snook examined the breakfast table and saw that nothing on it even remotely resembled a weapon—even the knives and forks were plastic. He moved closer to the table, wishing Prudence could have been spared the degradation she was undergoing.

“Lieutenant,” he said unemotionally, “I won’t allow you to do this.”

“The remarks get funnier.” Freeborn took a brassiere strap between forefinger and thumb and drew it down over the curve of Prudence’s shoulder. The corporal holding her smiled in anticipation.

Murphy took a step forward. “Your uncle won’t see anything funny in this.”

Freeborn’s gaze flicked sideways at him. “I’ll deal with you later, trash.”

During the moment of distraction Snook leapt forward, driving himself high into the air, looped his left arm around Freeborn’s neck, and when he hit the floor again he had the Lieutenant doubled over in a secure headlock. The soldiers at the bar started forward, both priming their guns. Snook reached sideways with his right hand, took a fork from the table and rammed its blunt tines into the side of Freeborn’s startled, upturned eye. He pushed it far enough into the eye socket to cause pain without inflicting severe injury. Freeborn gave a powerful upward surge, trying to lift him off the floor.

“Don’t struggle, Lieutenant,” Snook warned, “or I’ll take your eye out like a scoop of ice cream.”

Freeborn gave a cry of mingled pain and outrage as Snook reinforced his words with extra pressure on the fork. The corporal pushed Prudence to one side and the soldiers began kicking tables out of their way as they advanced.

“And tell your gooks to lay down their guns and back off,” Snook commanded.

One of the soldiers, his eyes bulging whitely, raised his gun and carefully sighted at Snook’s head. Snook twisted the fork a little and felt the warmth of blood on his fingers,

“Stay back, you fools!” Freeborn’s voice was hysterical with panic. “Do as he says!”