"Why don't you explain for a change?"

"Oh, it's very simple, Danielsi" scoffed McAdam.

"I suspect you are a New York lawyer. You look like one. And I think you very well may have a client going by the name of Leslie McAdam.-And I think," he concluded, 'that a return journey to London would be of enormous interest to you." He almost smiled.

"Do you sense my meaning? I'm going to send you to someone."

"Who?"

"A man named Whiteside. Peter Whiteside" Thomas frowned, trying to recall.

"Yes," McAdam answered to the unspoken question,

"I'm sure your Leslie mentioned him. Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Peter Whiteside placed Leslie with my late wife and me."

"Of course" said Thomas, remembering.

McAdam reached to a pad of paper on his desk. He scribbled a name and address on the paper and slid it across the desk.

The dogs lifted their heads quickly as Thomas rose. McAdam spoke to the animals soothingly. Thomas was allowed to step gingerly past them and retrieve the paper. He glanced at it quickly, saw a London address he didn't recognize, folded it, and placed it in his pocket.

"Does he ?"

McAdam's hand rose, the flat of his thick palm extended rudely toward Thomas.

"Absolutely not!" he snapped, shaking his head.

"I can't tell you another thing!"

There was silence. McAdam got to his feet, struggling slightly on the bad leg.

"Your questions will be answered in London as best they can be. Now, sir . He motioned to the door with his head.

Thomas remained seated, contemplating the man before him.

"One final question" he said quickly.

"It has nothing to do with Leslie."

McAdam eyed the younger man in silence.

Thomas spoke.

"Was it worth it? I'm just curious."

"Was what worth it?" McAdam asked defensively, "Your career," said Thomas.

"Here you are, a man in his final years. You hobble around from a twenty-year-old wound, you live alone with no one close to you, and you're so d.a.m.ned scared that someone's going to come and get you that you surround yourself with a brick wall and attack dogs. This is where all the

"For Queen and Country' stuff has gotten you. I was just wondering.

Was it worthwhile?"

"Daniels," he replied without changing his expression, you have fifteen seconds to be out of my sight. Thirty to be off my property.

After that, I unleash the dogs " Thomas was on his feet instantly. The heads of the dogs were upraised and the alert eyes and ears were pointed in his direction.

In twenty-two seconds Thomas was on the sidewalk outside the iron gate, closing the latch firmly behind him.

Chapter 13 British Airways Flight 012 from Geneva to London touched down on Runway 7 at two thirty, London time. The day was brisk and damp, but clear. Thomas enjoyed the long walk from the debarkation ramp to Immigration.

Thomas waited for his suitcase to reappear on the round conveyor belt bringing baggage in from the airplane. Then, with his bag in his hand, he waited for several minutes in the non-Commonwealth line through pa.s.sport control. It was not until he handed his pa.s.sport to the young uniformed immigration officer that Thomas sensed something amiss.

The young man studied the pa.s.sport for a moment.

"Your name?" he asked, loud enough to be heard by others nearby. He'd asked no one else that question.

"Thomas Daniels."

"Place and date of birth, sir." The young man's eyes glanced almost imperceptibly to the left.

"New York City. October 14, 1943." Now Thomas was aware of a thick, pudgy man in civilian clothes moving casually toward him.

The man was bearded, wore a bowler and an overcoat, and had a round, moon-shaped face on top of a thick ursine body. Two uniformed policemen walked behind him, cautiously and slowly, each looking every bit of six and a quarter feet tall. A show of force, obvious yet not excessive.

The young clerk whacked Thomas's pa.s.sport with an inked stamp.

"Enjoy your stay in the United Kingdom, sir," he said . The pa.s.sport was pushed back into Daniels's hands. He was moved along from the immigration booth.

"Mr. Daniels?" said the thick round man, moving directly alongside Thomas. The uniformed policemen stood directly behind them. They were far enough from other travelers so that they couldn't be heard.

"Yes," sad Thomas.

The man's thick squat hand disappeared quickly into his inside pocket.

Out came a small card and a badge.

"Rogers Hunter. Metropolitan Police Department."

"I'm innocent" said Thomas.

Hunter managed a forced smile.

"I'm here to accompany you to Mr. Peter Whiteside Distrusting, Thomas eyed Hunter quickly up and down. The two police in the background were watching him.

"I have his address" said Thomas.

"I think I can find him by myself."

Thomas started to step away but an incredibly powerful hand grabbed his rightarm just above the elbow. Hunter stopped Thomas in his tracks.