Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee.

friend on the bench there, eh, Lieutenant?" He did not wait for an answer. "What rank are you, Mallory?" "Captain," Mallory answered briefly. "Captain Mallory, eh? Captain Keith Mallory, the greatest mountaineer of our time, the idol of pre-war Europe, the conqueror of the world's most impossible climbs." Skoda shook his head sadly. "And to think that it should all end like this. . . .I doubt whether posterity will rank your last climb as among your greatest: there are only ten steps leading to the gallows in the fortress of Navarone." Skoda smiled. "Hardly a cheerful thought, is it, Captain Mallory?" "I wasn't even thinking about it," the New Zealander answered pleasantly. "What worries me is your face." He frowned. "Somewhere or other I'm sure I've seen it or something like it before." His voice trailed off into silence. "Indeed?" Skoda was interested. "In the Bernese Alps, perhaps? Often before the war" "I have it now!" Mallory's face cleared. He knew the risk he was taking, but anything that concentrated attention on himself to the exclusion of Andrea was justified. He beamed at Skoda. "Three months ago, it was, in the zoo in Cairo. A plains buzzard that had been captured in the Sudan. A rather old and mangy buzzard, I'm afraid," MallQry went on apologetically, "but exactly the same scrawny neck, the same beaky face and bald head" Mallory broke off abruptly, swayed back out of reach as Skoda, his face livid and gleaming teeth bared in rage, swung at him with his fist. The blow carried with it all Skoda's wiry strength, but anger blurred his timing and the fist swung harmlessly by: he stumbled, recovered, then fell to the floor with a shout of pain as Mallory's heavy boot caught him flush on the thigh, just above the knee. He had barely touched the floor when he was up like a cat, took a pace forward and coliapsed heavily again as his injured leg gave under him. There was a moment's shocked stillness throughout the room, then Skoda rose painfully, supporting himself on the edge of the heavy table. He was breathing quickly, the thin mouth a hard, white line, the great sabre scar flaming redly in the sallow face drained now of all colour. He looked neither at Mallory nor anyone else, but slowly, deliberately, in an almost frightening silence, began to work his way round to the back of the table, the scuffing of his sliding palms on the leather top rasping edgily across over-tautened nerves. Mallory stood quite still, watching him micro digital camera software driver with expressionless face, cursing himself for his folly. He had overplayed his hands There was no doubt in his mindthere could be no doubt in the mind of anyone in that roomthat Skoda meant to kill him; and he, Mallory, would not die. Only Skoda and Andrea would die: Skoda from Andrea's throwing knifeAndrea was rubbing blood from his face with the inside of his sleeve, fingertips only inches from the sheathand Andrea front the guns of the guards, for the knife was all he had. You fool, you fool, you bloody stupid fool, Mallory repeated to himself over and over again. He turned his head slightly and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the sentry nearest him. Nearest himbut still six or seven feet away. The sentry would get him, Mallory knew, the blast of the slugs from that Schmeisser would tear him in half before he could cover the distance. But he would try. He must try. It was the least he owed to Andrea. Skoda reached the back of the table, opened a drawer and lifted out a gun. An automatic, Mallory noted with detachmenta little, blue-metal, snub-nosed toybut a murderous toy, the kind of gun he would have expected Skoda to have. Unhurriedly Skoda pressed the release button, checked the magazine, snapped it home with the palm of his hand, ificked off the safety catch and looked up at Mallory. The eyes hadn't altered in the slightestthey were cold, dark and empty as ever. Mallory ificked a glance at Andrea and tensed himself for one convulsive fling backwards. Here it comes, he thought savagely, this is how bloody fools like Keith Mallory dieand then all of a sudden, and unknowingly, he relaxed, for his eyes were still on Andrea and he had seen Andrea doing the same, the huge hand slipping down unconcernedly from the neck, empty of any sign of knife. There was a scuffle at the table and Mallory was just in time to see Turzig pin Skoda's gun-hand to the tabletop. "Not that, sir!" Turzig begged. "For God's sake, not that way!" "Take your hands away," Skoda whispered. The staring, empty eyes never left Mallory's face. "Take your hands away, I sayunless you -want to go the same way as Captain Mallory." "You can't kill him, sir!" Turzig persisted doggedly. "You just can't. Herr Kommandant's orders were very clear, Hauptmann Skoda. The leader must be brought to him alive." "He was shot while trying to escape," Skoda said thickly. "It's no good."