The Loo Sanction

"No sweat," said Yank, "they know where they're going. Everything's real George."

"That's wonderful. Now, why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"No can do. The Guv will lay it on you when we get there. You'll like the Guv. He's old school and all that, but he's no square from Delaware. He's hip to the scene."

The Bentley turned in at a roadside i

"Well, what do you think of it?" Yank asked as Jonathan stepped out and was flanked by The Sergeant and Henry. "Nice pad, eh?"

Jonathan sca

"This way, sir." Henry's accent had the chewed diphthongs of the working class. They conducted Jonathan around to the front of the i

"Is this the 'special' you've got with you?" she asked, giving Jonathan a head-to-toe look meant to be sultry.

"That's right," Yank said. "He's to see the Guv straight off."

"The Guv's down to the church. Evening service. Will he be staying long?"

Jonathan resented being spoken of in the third person. "No, I won't be staying long, duck."

"A few days," Yank said.

"Then I'll put him in 14," the bird said. "You and The Sergeant can have the rooms on either side. How's that?"

Yank took the key and led the way as they climbed a narrow, ornately carved staircase to the second floor where, after passing through a maze of dark broken corridors with irregular floors that squeaked under carpeting, they stopped before a door. The Sergeant opened it and gestured Jonathan in with a flick of the thumb.

The room was large, uncomfortable, and cold, as befitted its period. The first thing that caught Jonathan's eye was the open wardrobe in which the clothes he had had brought to the hotel were hung.

"We were expecting you," Yank said, openly proud of his organization's efficiency.

Jonathan crossed the room and looked out over the vista. Beneath his window was a neat garden, scruffy now with autumn brow

"The bars help to keep out the draft," The Sergeant said with a heavy chuckle.

Jonathan glanced at him wearily, then spoke to Yank. "They're all your people, I suppose. Hotel perso

"That's right. Loo owns the whole shooting match. By the way," he said with a knowing ogle, "what did you think of the girl at the desk? Slick chick, eh? Lucky bugger!"

Jonathan wasn't sure, but he assumed the bird did tricks for the special guests. "When do I meet the head crapper?"

"Who?"

"Mr. Loo. The Guv."

"Soon," Yank said, obviously a

The Sergeant broke in. "So if you have to go potty, mate, just rap on the wall, and I'll take you down by the hand. Got it?"

Jonathan regarded The Sergeant languidly as he asked Yank, "Does he have to stay around? Don't you have a ke

The Sergeant rankled. "I hope I'm not going to have any trouble from you, mate!"

"Hope's cheap, anus. Indulge yourself." He turned to Yank. "What about Miss Coyne, the young lady you picked up with me? There's no reason to hold her. She's nothing to me."

"Don't worry about her. She'll be all right. Now why don't you wash up and grab a few Zs before your chat with the Guv."

Left alone in the room, Jonathan stood by the window, feeling off-balance and angry. His sense of deja vu was total. These people with their ornately staged machinations, this feeling of the ring closing in on him, the vulgar Sergeant for whom murder and mayhem would be an exercise, the veneered Americanism of Yank-everything here was a British analogue of the CII. And if this "Guv" was true to form, he would be urbane, hale, friendly, and ruthless.

He lay back on the bed, his fingers pressed lightly together and his eyes set in infinity focus on the wall before him, and he began deliberately to empty his mind, image by image, until he had achieved a state of neutrality and balance. The muscles of his body softened and relaxed, last of all his stomach and forehead.

When they knocked at his door twenty minutes later, he was ready. The machinery of his mind and body was ru

With the threatening presence of The Sergeant close behind him, Yank and Jonathan walked some two hundred yards down the road from the Olde Worlde I

As they stepped into the vestibule, the teetering tonal imbalance of amateur singers making a joyful noise unto the Lord a

"No doubt you will recall," the voice was a rumbling bass with the nasal and lazy vowels of the well-educated Englishman, "we have begun to examine the meaning of the sacraments. And this evening I should like to take a look at baptism-the one sacrament that, for most of us, is an involuntary act."

The decor of the church fascinated Jonathan without pleasing him. Mother-of-pearl and pewter were inlaid into the ornate floral carving; tubercular angels, their long-waisted bodies curved in limp S-forms, their fragile-fingered hands pressed lightly together in prayer, looked down on the congregation with large, heavy-lidded eyes; exotic, short-lived flowers drooped from slender stems up the stained glass windows; and above the altar a glistening effeminate Christ in polished pewter trampled the head of a snake with ruby eyes.

The service continued through communion, and everyone but Jonathan went up to receive the Host Jonathan watched Yank return from the rail, his palms pressed together, his eyes lowered, Christ melting in his mouth.

At a signal from Yank, Jonathan remained seated as the rest of the faithful filed out after a last vigorous attack on Song. Then Yank conducted him to the vestry where the Vicar was finishing off the last of the communion bread.