"A solicitor and his secretary. The secretary is very beautiful. The solicitor has a limp." "Benson and Royce," Craig said. "They say the senior partner is flying out today." "Who are they saying it to?"
"Anyone who'll listen. They want the word to get around, it seems." Craig thought hard for a minute. "Where are they staying?" "The Esperia Tower."
"I want you to sit here for a while," Craig said. "Keep an eye on my guests." "Very well."
Craig hesitated, then took out the Smith and Wesson, offered it to the other. "Are they such reluctant guests?" Angelos asked. "They have enemies," said Craig.
"And so have you, no doubt. I have a gun, John. It's in the car."
"I won't be gone long," Craig said. "You shouldn't have any trouble."
He called for Omar then and gave him precise instructions. When the old man agreed, Craig took out ten more hundred-dollar bills, tore them in half and gave one half to him. That left Miriam. He called her into the kitchen.
"Department K's caught up with us," he said.
"But how could they?"
"By knowing their job," said Craig. "I told you they're good. They're offering a deal."
"What kind of a deal?"
"That's what I've got to go and find out."
"Go to them? That's crazy."
"No," he said. "It's sane enough. I've got Kaplan. They won't hurt me if I can hurt him." She winced. "This could be the end of it," he said. "You should be glad."
"I want my people to have him," Miriam said. "They're the ones who'll help him do what he should be doing."
"We'll listen to their offer too," said Craig.
Angelos walked back with him to his MGB, and took from the trunk an old Webley .45 revolver.
"Who are you going to shoot?" Craig asked. "Elephants?"
"I hope nothing," said Angelos. "But if I use this, I make sure the man I hit stays down."
"If you hit anything at all. That damn thing kicks like a mule."
"How much you forget," said Angelos. "In the old days I always used one of these. I didn't miss very often."
Craig drove the MGB back that night. It was fast, and he didn't have to use the mountain tracks. The new road from Troodos to Nicosia was finished now, a well-paved highway that seemed especially designed for testing out an MGB. It was an eager, thrusting little car, and Craig enjoyed it as he swung into the road's wide, planing curves, easing down at last as he came into Nicosia. The town was noisy with people promenading in the wisp of a breeze that sometimes stirred at evening. There were taxis and buses with vast overhangs and donkeys pulling carts, and pedestrians who walked as if the internal-combustion engine had yet to be invented. He was glad to thread his way through the town and get on to the highway to Famagusta.
This is a curious road. Once it had been a railway line, and when the railway was abandoned the track was pulled up, the road put in its place. It ran arrow-straight for almost all of its fifty miles, and the MGB liked this one too: rev-counter and speedometer climbed up and over in steady power. He kept going at speed till the last possible moment. If the senior partner of Royce's firm had arrived he would try anything, and the best way to combat him on a lonely highway was to keep moving fast. At last the lights of Famagusta grew bigger and brighter, and Craig eased off his speed and drove with finicking care through the old town to Varosha suburb. He drove past the hotel and found space to park. This seemed to be one of the few places left in the world where you could still find space to park, Craig thought.
He went into the lobby and asked for Mr. Royce. He was in the bar, the desk clerk said, with his secretary and another gentleman.
"A fat man?" Craig asked. "Red face and white hair?"
The desk clerk said austerely, "Mr. Royce's friend is rather fat." Craig moved to the lift.
"Is your name Craig, sir?" the desk clerk asked. Craig said it was. "You're to go straight up. Mr. Royce and the others are expecting you. They've ordered dinner at nine, sir."
Whatever you did to Loomis he always bounced right back up, Craig thought. Dinner at nine, for instance. That was for his own benefit, not Craig's, designed to show Craig that he wasn't important enough to make Loomis miss his dinner.
He went into the bar. It was long and dark and cool, the air conditioning muted to a murmur. At the bar itself, a group of wealthy Cypriots drank Keo beer, deplored the price of oranges, and tried not to be caught looking at Joanna Benson's legs. She, Royce, and Loomis were sitting on low chairs round a table. A fourth chair waited for Craig. Loomis didn't look as if he were enjoying it much. He never did enjoy sitting on chairs that weren't specially made for him. Craig moved toward them. The girl's face was impassive. Royce's glance told him that Royce hated him. Loomis raised his massive head and gave him a two-inch nod.
"Ah, Craig," he said. "Good of you to look us up. What'll you have?"
"Same as you," said Craig.
"Ouzo," Loomis said, and they sat in silence till the barman brought it.
"Nice here?" Craig said at last.
"Too nice for you," said Loomis. "Where the hell d'you get your clothes these days?"
"Savile Row," said Craig.
"Have your suit cleaned, then. It's disgusting."
"One of the nice things about being retired is you don't have to worry about looking smart all the time," Craig said. As he spoke, he watched Royce's hands. The left one clasped his drink, the right one fiddled nervously with the lapel of his jacket. Craig turned to him. "Why bother?" he said. "You can't start anything here."
Loomis glowered at him. "Sit still," he snarled, then turned back to Craig. "He could start something if I told him to. And so could this Benson person."
"You're not that daft," said Craig.
"I want you, son," Loomis said. "I want your hide in strips."
"That's just self-indulgence," said Craig. "I've wanted to put you on a diet for years, but I know I'm never going to get the chance. Anyway, I heard I'd come into money. That's why I'm here."
"A bloke called John Adams has come into money," Loomis said.
"You didn't give my name?" Craig asked.
"No," said Loomis, and his voice was wistful. "Not yet."
"How much?"
"A hundred thousand pounds," said Loomis. "Any currency you want."
Craig said, "You're taking a risk, aren't you? Talking of sums like that in front of these impressionable young people?"
"No," said Loomis.
"You aren't afraid that one day they may follow my example?"
"No, cock, I'm not. They got more sense." "And I've got a hundred thousand pounds. It's not enough, Loomis." "How much, then?"
"Oh, the money'll do," Craig said, "but I want something else as well. Security."
Loomis laughed aloud, a roaring boom that seemed to bounce against the walls of the room.
"Oh, son," he said. "The things you say."
Craig waited as he wiped his eyes.
"You want our friend, don't you?" he asked. "That's the price. A hundred thousand quid I can enjoy in peace. Guaranteed."
"And how could I guarantee a thing like that? Dammit, man, can't you see it's impossible?"
"You could give me a statement of what you did—and what these two did. What your orders were, how they carried them out. You could sign it and they could witness it. I'd call that a guarantee."
"I'd call it bloody madness," said Loomis.
"That's the price," Craig said. He stood up.
"Wait," Loomis said. "Let's have dinner first."
They went into the dining room, Royce limping badly, and Craig enjoyed the food and wine; enjoyed even more Loomis's struggle to be polite. It had been so many years since Loomis had had to be polite to anyone. He spoke of Craig's abilities, and praised in particular the skill with which he'd outwitted Force Three.