As they were ascending the steps, Turrin muttered to Giliamo, "Now don't forget and call 'im Arnie."

Giliamo nodded and stepped forward with a big smile. "Glad to see you, Mr. Castiglione," he called out. "Christ, things have been going to h.e.l.l over here. I'm sure glad to see you." Then the smile faded, and Danno pulled on a shocked face. Nick Trigger was standing there beside the great man, and he also was wearing a dumbfounded look.

Castiglione was giving Giliamo a thoughtful glare. He said, "I'm glad to see you too, Danno. Nick's been telling me all about your f.u.c.kin' head getting blown off."

Giliamo said, "Christ, I thought the same about him! For Christ's sake, Nick, how'd you get out of that?"

Nick smiled pastily and glanced at Arnie Farmer. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I think I got my brains rattled a little."

"I think somebody's got something rattled, Castiglione growled. "Let's talk about it inside. This's the lousiest weather I ever saw, Danno. Is it always like this over here?"

Turrin recognized the weather-talk as a subtle shift of favor from Nick Trigger to Danno.

Giliamo had picked it up also. He replied, "It's been pretty bad. They got a pollution problem, I think, but then who hasn't. And it mixes with the d.a.m.ned fog I guess, and you gotta wear warmer clothes than that, Mr. Castiglione, that'll never do over here, you'll catch your death o' cold."

They went on past Leo Turrin with only a glance and a nod of the head from Arnie Farmer. Turrin nodded back and watched them go inside, and he was thinking that Danno was a Mafia politician to watch. Disarmingly frank and open, all smiles-and all the while probably, a switchblade concealed in his fist.

The man who had been driving the Castiglione vehicle came slowly up the steps and stood beside Turrin. Leo gave him a cigarette and they both lit up. The driver exhaled and said disgustedly, "Big f.u.c.kin' deal."

Turrin grinned and told him, "Maybe you'll be Capo some day, Wheeler."

"No way," the wheelman replied. "Not if I gotta act like that. That turns my stomach, Leo."

Toby Wheeler was a member of Turrin's crew from Pittsfield. The name was obviously a Mafia monicker, but Leo had never heard any other used on the man. The story went that Wheeler had once been a racing car driver and twice had narrowly missed qualifying for the big one at Indianapolis. Now he was a valuable chauffeur, a wheelman par excellence par excellence. He sucked again on the cigarette and told his boss, "I got to take that Caddie back to the U-Drive, Leo. It's pulling a little to the left in the turns. They shouldn't check out faulty equipment like that."

Turrin nodded and said, "Okay, I'll tell you when. Right now I want a report. What was Arnie talking about on the way in?"

"This'n that, mostly that. Buncha s.h.i.t, really. All about what he's going to do to this Bolan b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And that other guy... what's his name?"

"Nick Trigger."

"Yeah, that Nick Trigger... did you see his face when he spotted Danno? He was out at the airport on his own, to meet the planes. Do you know what he was talking about most of the way in here? He was telling Arnie the Pig all about how Danno had f.u.c.ked up everything over here, just everything, and about how Danno wound up walking into a Bolan trap and getting hisself splattered all over some street."

Turrin smiled and commented, "So that's what it was."

"Yeah, and did you hear the first thing Danno says to Nick? He says for Christ's sake, how'd Nick get out of that. How did Nick Nick get out. And Nick had been telling Arnie the Pig that he wouldn't go with Danno because he knew Danno was all f.u.c.ked up. He told him that flat out, I heard it." get out. And Nick had been telling Arnie the Pig that he wouldn't go with Danno because he knew Danno was all f.u.c.ked up. He told him that flat out, I heard it."

"You better go easy on that Arnie the Pig stuff," Turrin advised quietly.

"With all due respect to the good bosses, Leo, that's what he is. But you're right, I better go easy on it. I hear he took a territory away from a boy once just because the guy forgot to call him mister mister. Imagine that. Next he'll be wanting to be called Don Don Castiglione. Castiglione.

Listen, Leo, I'd rather not wheel for Arnie if you can get someone else."

Turrin chuckled. "Don't worry, Arnie will be rolling with his own wheelman from here on. You was just a courtesy. Say, is that all you got to tell me?"

"Naw, you were right, they're planning something. They were talking careful because they know I'm with you. And I couldn't put my finger on any one thing they said, but I know s.h.i.t when I hear it. Take my word, Leo, they're planning something."

"Okay thanks, Wheeler." Turrin squeezed the man's arm and went on inside to join the others. Leo knew d.a.m.n well they were planning something. But that was okay. Leo knew how to make plans too.

It seemed that the park at Russell Square was being used as a marshalling point for the police. Bolan could hear the sharp commands and sound of running feet as the squads split off into their search areas. He had agreed that Ann would pilot the car; she slid in behind the wheel as Bolan put his things in and dived into the back seat.

A uniformed policeman ran into view and cried, "Hold on there!"-but the car had already begun to move and was picking up momentum in a quick plunge down the alley.

Whistles were sounding back there, and a sudden swirl of blue suits in the area they had just vacated revealed to Bolan the narrowness of their escape. And they were not all that clear yet.

The little car swerved into the street below Russell Square and skidded off into an easterly run. Bolan threw a leg over and fought his way into the front seat as a tootling wail of sirens rose up to plague their rear. He asked the girl, "Do you know where you're going?"

"Not just yet," she gasped. "Never worry, they'll not catch us."

Bolan could believe it. She was an expert driver, and she was pushing the car to the limit of the terrain, zig-zagging through the London maze in a way that would make downstream interceptions very unlikely. After several minutes of this it became evident that they had gotten away. The sounds of pursuit became fainter and more confused, and Bolan told her, "You're some wheelman."

"It's my first time," she admitted, the dark eyes flashing with excitement. "I mean, very nearly."

They were running easy now, angling toward the Thames and slowly working into a westward swing. The town seemed fully awakened, and the streets were becoming choked with buses and private vehicles as the off-to-work crowd descended on the inner city.

The girl told Bolan, "I believe I've decided where we shall go."

"And where is that?"

"Soho Psyche, for now. We'll spend a few hours there, until things cool off a bit, then we'll be off to Brighton. I've a cottage there. And it will be a perfectly smashing place."

Never mind smashing Brighton, Bolan's mind was still hung up on that first place. His eyes narrowed somewhat and he echoed, "Soho Psyche?"

"Yes, there'll be n.o.body about but the cleaning personnel-and surely no one would think to look for you there. Then the cottage in Brighton will make an ideal layover. We'll keep you concealed there until we can find a way to smuggle you out of the country."

"Wait just a minute," he growled. "What's the deal on Soho Psyche? I don't know that I-"

She interrupted with a peal of nervous laughter.

"How rotten of me, I a.s.sumed you knew. The Psyche is my place, at least half of it is."

"Who owns the other half?" he asked darkly.

"Major Stone is my partner. But never worry, if you're still thinking of your dreadful suspicions. The Major rarely visits the place, he's what you would term a silent partner."

The whole idea was a bit too overpowering for Bolan to a.s.similate immediately. He mulled the thing through his mind, finally growling, "Okay, we'll try it."

She smiled. "I have a flat there. We shall be quite comfortable."

"It seems that you have flats all over London," he replied drily.

She tossed her head and said, "Not really. The place back at Queen's House is merely a convenience for me. You'll never realize what a luxury absolute privacy can be until you've lived my life of the past few years. Sometimes I simply must get away from all of it. Queen's House is my getaway place."

"Yes, you mentioned that," he said, still watching her narrowly.

"The flat at the club is another convenience, a business one though, I a.s.sure you. Frequently I'm there until all hours. It's nice to have a place to refresh one's self from time to time."

"Uh-huh." Bolan was not enjoying the thoughts that were crowding his mind. "And, of course, you share another place with Major Stone."

"Yes." She looked at him and smiled. "Cheer up. I just sleep there, and even that as seldom as possible. It's a matter of family, actually. I grew up in that house."

"And then there's Brighton."

"Yes, well, that's my weekender. Brighton is on the sea, you know. A very nice resort, really. I love it there, by the sea."

They drove in silence for several minutes, during which time Bolan was attempting to organize his mind. They swung past Piccadilly and began angling into Soho. The big house with the iron gate slid past. Bolan noted that the vehicles had returned. He asked Ann, "Who's place is that?" He wouldn't have been surprised to hear her identify it as the old family home.

She had sensed his hostility, and her own mood had suffered a marked deterioration also. Coolly, she replied, "It once belonged to the Earl of-"

"I mean now. Who lives there now?"

She shook her head and told him, "I haven't the foggiest."

He almost grinned and said, "You're sure of that?"

A smile hovered just beneath the surface of her lips. She murmured, "Whatever is the matter with you? Honestly, you're the bloodiest, most suspicious person I have ever known."

He sighed and told her, "It keeps me breathing, kiddo."

"Well, please don't start to get edgy with me. I've plans for you this beautiful morning."

"What sort of plans?"

One hand dropped away from the steering wheel and found Bolan's in a warm grip. "I'm going to ask you to prove something to me."

"And what's that?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"It's high time I discovered whether or not I'm a natural woman. Don't you think so?"

Bolan thought so. He murmured, "Just so you know exactly what you're doing, Ann."

"But I'm leaving all that to you," she said, with what he was sure was a forced smile. She was an open gal, yeah, but she wasn't bra.s.sy. "I intend to place myself entirely into your hands."

Bolan was looking at her and visualizing all that entirely in his hands. Either he was the most fortunate man in London or the biggest sucker. He sighed and said, "Wrong."

"What?"

"It's the other way around, m'lady. I have placed myself entirely in your your hands." hands."

She understood his meaning. She shivered slightly and said, "Trust me, Mack."

"I guess I have to," he said solemnly. But not entirely. Bodies like that one had launched armadas, sure. They had also brought down Samsons and Caesars. No. Bolan would never be entirely entirely in her hands. Or so he thought at the time. in her hands. Or so he thought at the time.

Chapter Sixteen.

PROOFS AND SYMBOLS.

Ann Franklin's "plans" for Bolan's morning seemed headed for a readjustment the moment they entered the club. There was a sizeable crowd in the bar, there was considerable churning about, and voices raised in loud argument were spilling into the entrance lobby. Several girls stood idly just outside the doorway to the bar, and these reacted to Ann's appearance there with noticeable good humor.

"Thank heaven you've arrived, Miss Franklin," said a tall beauty in tight pants. "Perhaps you could go in there and set that ruddy Donovan straight over our rest periods."

Apparently they had walked in on a heated labor-management dispute.

"Some cleaning personnel," Bolan remarked to Ann Franklin, looking the girls over in an overtly masculine appraisal. He knew better. The tight seated one who had addressed Ann was the blonde tube girl Bolan had seen the night before. He was wondering if Ann "staged" the entertainment here, too. She murmured an excuse to Bolan and pushed into the bar with the girls. The blond hung back at the door to send Bolan an over-the-shoulder examination, then she smiled and went on.

Bolan lit a cigarette and paced about the lobby, wondering what the h.e.l.l was he doing there. Ann reappeared, looking fl.u.s.tered, and pressed a key into his hand. She pecked his cheek and told him, "You may as well go on up. I'll be along as soon as possible. I've some trouble here."

Bolan asked, "Go on up where?"

She pointed out a drapery-concealed stairway at the end of the lobby, kissed his chin, and hurried back into the bar.

Bolan went up, with misgivings, and found a stunningly luxurious apartment. Here was no masculine austerity such as he had found at Queen's House. Persian carpets and oriental tapestries put him more in tune with the motif of the harem room at Museum de Sade Museum de Sade, and the incidental decorations did little to refute that image.

Life-sized nudes, both s.e.xes, dominated the walls and complemented a scattering of figurines and bronze castings of couples coupled in a variety of positions. Bolan whistled softly and went on through.

It was a single large room with a bed-in-the-round platform at dead center, raised several smooth steps above the rest of the place; like a stage, Bolan couldn't help thinking; and an Arabian Nights sunken bath just below with circular marble steps going down into a bubbling-fountain pool which could cheerfully accommodate a fairsized guest list all at once. It was filled with water and some sort of rotating light arrangement set into the fountain was sending sparkling psychedelic patterns all around.

A small kitchenette was thrown in, almost as an afterthought, and completing the arrangement were a well stocked bar and a tiny secretary shoved casually off to the side.

Yeah, Bolan decided, it would be a perfect spot to refresh one's self from time to time-any time. One half of his mind saw Ann Franklin fitting beautifully into the place; the other half saw her more naturally in Queen's House, at least a full world apart from the screamingly overt s.e.xuality of this unbelievable pad. A virgin, eh?

So what could it all add up to, what could it possibly mean?

Bolan found a telephone at the center of the outrageous bed. He bounced gingerly on the soft fluff, then pulled the phone across by the cord and dialed the number Leo Turrin had given him.

It rang three times before a cautious voice responded with, "Yeah?"

"Leo the p.u.s.s.y," Bolan growled.

"Just a minute."

Bolan waited more than a minute. Then he heard the click of an extension phone coming off the hook and Turrin's voice asked, "Who's this?"

"You ast me to call you when you come in."

"Oh. This th' iron man?"

"Right."

"Say I can't talk to you right now, kid. We got a meeting going on."

Bolan grinned into the mouthpiece. "Well it's your show. But you better know, I don't have a lotta time. I'm about to get tied up on something myself."