Iceberg

"Shall we begin? Who will be first to challenge my memory?"

Sir Eric Marks stood." 'Should the guardian friend or mother-' Try that one for an introduction, Oskar."

Rondheim nodded. " 'Tell the woes of wilful waste, Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother; You can hang or drown at last!' " He paused for effect. " 'One and Twenty' by Samuel Johnson."

Marks bowed in acknowledgment. "Absolutely correct."

F. James Kelly rose next. "Finish this one if you can and name the author. 'Now all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams-' " Rondheim hardly skipped a beat.

" 'Are where thy grey eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams!' 'The tine in Paradise' and it was written by Edgar Allan Poe."

"My compliments. Oskar." Kelly was visibly impressed. "You rate an A plus."

Rondheim looked about the room, a smile slowly spreading across his chiseled face as a familiar figure rose in the back. "Do you wish to try your luck, Major Pitt?"

Pitt looked at Rondheim somberly. "I can only offer you three words."

"I accept the challenge," Rondheim said confidently. "Please state them."

" 'God save thee,' " Pitt said very slowly, almost as if he were skeptical of any additional tines.

Rondheim laughed. "Elementary, Major. You've done me the kindness of allowing me to quote from my favorite verse." The contempt in Rondheim's voice was there; everyone in the room could feel it." 'God save thee, ancient Mariner, From the fiends, that plague thee thus. Why look'st thou so? With my crossbow I shot the albitross. The sun now rose upon the right. Out on the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left went cioN,n into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for lo-,mid or Dlay Came to the mariners' hollo. And I had done a hellish time, And it would work 'em woe. For all averred I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow.' " Then suddenly Rondheim stopped, looking at Pitt curiously. "There's little need to continue. It's obvious to all present that you have asked me to quote 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge."

Pitt began to breathe a little easier. The light suddenly became brighter at the end of the tu

A satisfied smile touched his lips. "Thank you, Mr. Rondheim. Your memory serves you well."

There was something about Pitts tone that made Rondheim uneasy. "The pleasure is mine, Major." He didn't like the smile on Pitt's face-he didn't like it at all.

Chapter 14

Pitt suffered for another half hour as rondheim continued to awe the audience with his vast repertoire of verse. At last the program was over. The doors were opened and the crowded room drained into the main salon, the women escorted onto the terrace to engage in small talk and sip a sweet alcoholic concoction passed about by the servants, the men directed to the trophy room for cigars and one hundred-year-old Rouche brandy.

The cigars were carried into the room within a sterling silver case and presented for everyone's selection except Pitt. He was blithely ignored. After the lighting ritual, each man holding his cigar over a candle, warming it to the desired temperature, the servants passed around the Rouche brandy, the heavy, yellowbrown fluid in exotically designed snifter glasses. Again Pitt was left empty-handed.

Apart from himself and Oskar Rondheim, Pitt counted thirty-two men gathered around the flames crackling in the immense fireplace at the end of the trophy room. The reaction to Pitts presence, as expressed by the faces, was interesting. No one even noticed him.

For a fleeting moment he pictured himself a ghost with no substance that had just walked through the wall and was waiting for a sance to begin so that he could put a spiritual appearance. Or so he thought. He could have imagined all sorts of strange scenes, but there was no imagining the blunt, circular gun barrel that was pressing into his spine.

He didn't bother to see whose hand held the gun.

It would have made little difference. Rondheim answered any doubt.

"Kirsti!" Rondheim stared behind Pitt. "You are early. I didn't expect you for another twenty minutes."

Von Hummel produced a handkerchief, mopped a brow that soaked the monogrammed linen and asked: "The girl he arrived with, has she been readied?"

"Miss Royal has been made quite comfortable," Kirsti said, staring right through Pitt. There was something in her tone that left him with a feeling of doubt.

Rondheim came over and took the gun from her hand as though he was a concerned parent. "Guns and beauty do not go together," he scolded. "You must allow a man to guard the major."

"Oh, I rather enjoyed it," she said in a throaty tone. "It's been so long since I've held one."

"I see no reason to delay any further,"$ Jack Boyle said. "Our timing is complex. We must proceed at once."

"There is time," Rondheim said tersely.

A Russian, a short, stocky man with thi

Rondheim studied the man before him, then set down his glass and pushed the button on a telephone.

He didn't lift the receiver or talk into it, only picked up his glass and sipped at the remaining contents.

"Before your questions are answered, Comrade Tamareztov, I suggest you look behind you."

The Russian called Tamaretov swung around.

Everyone swung around and looked to their rear. Not Pitt, he didn't have to. He kept his eyes straight ahead at a mirror that betrayed several,bar-looking, expressionless men in black coveralls, who suddenly materialized at the opposite end of the room, all-17 automatic rifles braced in the firing position.

A round-shouldered, heavy character in his middle seventies, with blue knifing eyes deep set in a wizened face, grasped F. James Kelly by the arm. "You invited me to join you tonight, James. I think you know what this is all about."

"Yes, I do." When Kelly spoke, the pained look in his eyes was plainly visible. Then he turned away.

Slowly, very slowly, almost u

"I'm waiting, James," the old blue-eyed man said, his voice commanding.

Kelly hedged, looked rather sadly at Von Hummel and Marks. He waited expectantly. They finally nodded back, assuring him of their approval.

"Have any of you heard of Hermit Limited?"

The silence in the room became intense. Nobody spoke, nobody answered. Pitt was coolly calculating the chances of escape. He gave up, unable to bring the odds of success below fifty to one.