Hamp shook his head. "No. Your story is that I had something interesting to tell you and wanted to relay it to Brandenburg himself. And I'll have the most powerful weapon in the world to take into that fort."
"What? I tell you, they search you all ways from Tuesday, both electronically and physically."
"My weapon comes in a checkbook. Come on, let's get out of here. Wayland will be at the airport by the time we arrive."
The pilot checked their identities with care, obviously somewhat taken aback by this assignment. However, there was nothing to fault them. He handed back the International Credit Cards, saying with a frown to Hamp, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
"I doubt it," Hamp said laconically. "I've never been there."
"Yes, sir," Wayland said, touching the visor of his cap in an informal salute. "What are your orders, aside from the stop-over in New York?"
"Fly to the airport nearest to Vaduz, in Liechtenstein."
"Yes, sir. That'll probably be in Austria."
"And while we're on the way, call ahead and have a vehicle waiting for us, with any clearance that might be required to enter Liechtenstein."
"Yes, sir. I'll check that out. Gentlemen, shall we go aboard?"
To Frank Pinell's absolute surprise, the black seemed to drink himself sober on the flight across the Atlantic. The bar on the huge aircraft was more elaborate than any Frank had seen anywhere and was presided over by a uniformed bartender and two stewards to serve. Hamp kept them earning their pay.
Frank found himself a stateroom and slept almost all of the way to Austria. He had a suspicion that he was going to need all the rest he could get. He didn't like the prospects for the morrow. When he rejoined his companion, it was to find him sitting in the same chair in the main lounge. Whether or not he had gotten any sleep at all, Frank couldn't tell. If anything, he looked less under the influence of the liquor he had been drinking than he had back in the room at the Drake. There was a new shift of bartender and waiters waiting on him.
Even as Frank seated himself, the chief steward entered and said respectfully, "We shall be landing within the hour, gentlemen."
Hamp looked down at himself. "I suppose I ought to have a change of clothing," he said. He was dressed in a cheap suit, just above prole quality.
The chief steward said, "But, sir, we didn't pick up any luggage for you. The other gentleman, yes. But you came aboard without any bags at all."
The black came to his feet. He said sourly, "I suspect that Mr. Auburn's things will fit me."
The steward goggled. "Mr. Auburn's things?"
Hamp eyed him. "Weren't your orders to take my instructions as though they were those of your employer himself?"
"Why… yes, sir."
"Wizard. I'll go and check out his clothes." Hamp started for the corridor which led down to the aircraft's staterooms.
The chief steward, still looking distressed, called after him, "The master suite is at the far end of…"
"Yeah, yeah," Hamp muttered.
At Feldkirch it was found that there were no difficulties involved in driving the sports hover-car that was waiting to take them into the tiny principality. They took off, Frank driving, Hamp next to him with brandy bottle in hand, taking an occasional nip from it.
When they reached Vaduz and began driving out the road to the Wolfschloss which loomed before them on the mountain top, Hamp said, "You'd better call ahead and tell them we're coming. From what I've heard about this place, you run a chance of getting your ass shot off if you approach unannounced."
"Don't you know it," Frank told him, bringing out his transceiver. He went through the routine of dialing the special number Peter Windsor had given him.
When the Englishman's easygoing face appeared on the tiny screen, it was to express surprise. "Frank!" he said. "I say, this isn't an overseas call. Where are you?"
"Coming up on the schloss," Frank told him.
"Then… well, you completed your mission?"
"In a way," Frank said. "I've got Hampton with me."
That made Peter Windsor blink.
Frank redirected the transceiver so that the face of Hamp was shown to Windsor. He said dryly, "Peter Windsor, meet Horace Hampton." And then, before either of the others could speak, "I'm coming down the road toward the cable car terminal, Peter. Do you want to clear me through?"
"Of course, dear boy. Come immediately to my office in the keep. Be seeing you, old chap. Cheers." His face faded, still expressing bewilderment.
"First hurdle," Hamp muttered. He put the half-empty bottle in the glove compartment. "Reserve supply," he said. "We might need it later."
"If there is a later," Frank said glumly. They were approaching the first roadblock, a concrete pillbox with three armed men before it. Frank began to pull up but they smiled and waved him on.
Hamp said, "This inner circle you mentioned that you're now being admitted to: who's in it besides the Graf and Windsor?"
"The only one I've met, if there are any others, is Margit Krebs, the Graf's secretary and data bank."
Hamp looked over at him.
Frank said, "She's got complete recall and keeps most of his secrets in her head."
"Nobody else is in this inner circle?"
"Not that I know of. When they're having a conference, the butler, Sepp, is sometimes around and they don't seem to care. He told me my father once saved his life—and warned me about all three of them."
"Sounds like quite a chummy crew," Hamp said. "How long before we start talking to the Graf?"
"If they see us right on through, possibly twenty minutes or so."
"Wizard," the black said and reached into his jacket. He brought forth a container which looked something like a cigarette case, opened it, and took out a hypodermic while Frank looked at him in dismay. Wordlessly, Hamp rolled up his left sleeve and expertly took the contents of the hypodermic into his arm. He then threw the syringe out the window.
Frank said bitterly, "Fer chrissakes, Hampton, isn't all that guzzle enough?"
"Thanks for reminding me," the other told him and opened the glove compartment for a pull at the bottle there.
They pulled up before the cable car terminal and got out of the vehicle, met immediately by a smiling officer.
He saluted and said, "Welcome back to the Wolfschloss, Mr. Pinell. I'm Lieutenant Lugos. Mr. Windsor has instructed me to see you to the donjon.'' He looked Hamp up and down.
Frank said, "This is Mr. Hampton. My luggage is in the back. There's a gun in it."
"Yes, sir. We'll take care of it." The lieutenant turned and led the way.
Horace Hampton seemed only mildly interested in the routine of being admitted to the Wolfschloss, the identity checks, the searches, the cable car ride. And didn't even seem particularly interested when they entered the enceinte in the direction of the towering keep.
Lieutenant Lugos was walking ahead and Frank said, from the side of his mouth, "You act as though you've been here before."
The other shook his head. "No, but I had some of my agents check it out once. They got good video sequences."
"Even inside the keep?"
"On the lower floors. Not up in the living quarters of the Graf. One tried and didn't make it."
The younger man stared, "What happened to him?"
"Peter Windsor happened to him. He was caught, tortured, put under scopolamine and, of course, spilled his guts."
"How do you know?"
"Windsor dropped a hint to me the next time I saw him. Happily, the others had gotten away before the captured one could inform on them. Our chum-pal, Peter, evidently was more amused by my curiosity than anything else. I suppose the Wolfschloss has been infiltrated before."