“Good,” said Rune. “Now follow me.” He led Hovis on and the Inspectre beckoned the task-force to follow.

Rune’s Raiders skirted the wire fence. It towered above them menacingly; tiny blue sparkles of electrical energy fizzed and popped about its upper regions saying, “Just you try it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hovis growled as the field of static set the Inspectre’s whitened pelt on end.

Rune strode forcefully on ahead in case Hovis spotted the hopeless look on his face. If he couldn’t come up with a means of entry soon he was going to have to do a runner. The fence was endless, threatening. He plodded on, casting spells in every direction. Suddenly he halted in his tracks and a broad smile broke out upon his broad face. “There,” said he, in a hushed voice.

Hovis collided with Rune’s ample rear end. “What?” he asked.

“There.”

Hovis followed the direction of the mystic’s gaze. “Well now, Rune, I underestimated you.” Not five yards ahead a ragged opening gaped in the wire. “Congratulations,” said Inspectre Hovis. “This way, men, and hurry.”

Rune smiled and shrugged modestly. “I am a man of my word,” said he, “I am Rune whose power is infinite, whose knowledge absolute.” I wonder how that got there, he wondered.

The Hartnell Air Car dipped away from the stadium with inches to spare and hurtled off into the night sky.

“Now that was close.” Jim Pooley gripped the wheel, knuckles suitably white, face a likewise hue.

The Professor’s head appeared above the passenger seat. “Exactly how did you do that?” he asked.

“There was a spare ignition key taped under the dash,” said Jim. “That was handy, eh?”

“Handy is not the word I would use, Jim.”

“Do you ever feel, Professor …” Jim glanced back over his shoulder.

“That a power greater than ourselves is in control of our destinies?” the old man asked.

“Something like that.”

“It is a possibility the present circumstances might add weight to. You most definitely have a guardian angel, Jim.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” Jim settled himself back behind the wheel.

The ancient scholar leant back in his seat. The teleportation of the key from Norman’s ring to Pooley’s hand had been a relatively simple matter, but it wouldn’t do to tell the lad that. “Drive on, Jim,” he told the pilot. “Bring us about over the stadium.”

“I’ll do my very best.” Jim had never been much of a driver, but whatever skills he might possess as a pilot were presently untried. “Cor, look at that,” he said.

Beneath them the stadium spread, acre upon acre, huge beyond imagination. A thing to inspire wonder and awe, if not a good deal more. Enclosed by the concentric circles of the stands, seating for a million people, so it seemed, the arena lay beneath a vast dome which shimmered in the moonlight. Towards the five star-points, the Olympic villages rose like small towns. A futuristic sky-scape of tall towers, cylinders, domes and pyramids with raised walkways, practice-tracks, thoroughfares and stairways strung between them. The panorama was fantastic, beyond belief, beyond possibility. It beggared description.

“It’s a corker!” said Pooley, very much impressed. “Big Boda this one.”

“I have never seen the like,” said Professor Slocombe, staring with almost equal wonder, “and I have been there and back again, as the saying goes.”

Pooley nodded thoughtfully, as was often his way when lost for words. At length he asked, “What are those, Professor?”

The sage followed the direction of Pooley’s pointing finger. “Both hands on the wheel, please,” he said. “What ‘those’ do you mean?”

“Those thoses.” Jim’s attention had become drawn to the ranks of tall pylons surmounted by silvered discs which sprouted variously about the star-points like fields of high-tech mushrooms.

“The solar cells I should suppose, Jim. They absorb the sunlight and project it from similar pads beneath the stadium, to simulate sky, provide light and create the visual camouflage.”

“Thank you,” said Pooley. “And so where would you like me to park, as it were?” Professor Slocombe delved into his Gladstone bag and brought out a blueprint of the stadium. Jim glanced back over his shoulder. “And how did you come by that, might I ask?”

“I stole it,” said the Professor in all candour. “I was far from certain that the television images told the whole truth about the stadium. I had this lifted from the offices of a certain Covent Garden design studio.”

Pooley grinned and flew the car in sweeping circles above the stadium, humming gently to himself. His thoughts at present were unsettled as he had no idea what might lie ahead. That he was going to buy one of these cars when he came into the big money was a certainty. As for now, getting through the night was rather high on the list of priorities. Another confrontation with Kaleton was in the offing and Jim felt almost comforted by the prospect. That was, he supposed, because his life lacked direction. That he should become Kaleton’s Nemesis, even if he pegged out in the process, lent a temporary purpose to an otherwise pointless existence. You will pay, said Jim to himself.

I do hope so, thought Professor Slocombe as he studied the blueprint without aid of a torch. “We will go down,” he told Jim, “at the southern tip, above the river, camp of the home team. I think we will avoid the Russian and American sectors, don’t want an international incident now, do we?”

Jim took his bearings. “Ah yes,” he said. “The river, yes, I’ve got it, but where exactly — and how?” he added as an afterthought.

“Yes, how?” Professor Slocombe folded the blueprint and peered out of the rear window. “There are heliports I see, but they have been constructed for vertical descent. There are no runways, and there is the matter of what will happen when you switch off the engine.”

“Oh yes?”

“Well, we’ll float up into the air again, won’t we?”

“Oh yes, I think the Hartnell Air Car is going to require a few more weeks on the drawing-board. So what are we going to do, Professor, bale out?”

“I’m not keen. Let us go down as slowly as we can, steer it around this way.”

Jim did as he was bid. They cruised down towards the camp of the home team, passing amongst the towers and pyramids, pinnacles and obelisks. At closer quarters it all became even more fantastic and unbelievable, a science-fiction landscape.

“How slowly can we go?” asked the Professor.

Pooley changed down and applied the brakes. “Quite slowly, as it happens. It’s quite clever this really, isn’t it?”

“The shopkeeper certainly keeps us guessing. Take us in straight ahead.” The car dropped gently down from the sky and although it continued to wobble uncertainly, Jim did an admirable job in controlling it.

“I have an idea,” said the Professor. “Can you take it in there?” He pointed to where a broad walkway disappeared into the entrance hall of one of the curious buildings.

“I’m not Luke Skywalker,” said Jim, “but the force is with us, I suppose.”

“Oh yes, indubitably, Jim.”

“Right then.” Pooley eased back on the throttle and in fits and starts they approached the opening. “Please extinguish your cigarettes and fasten your seat-belts.”

“Now is hardly the moment for levity. As soon as we are into the entrance hall, switch off the engine.”

Jim was suddenly more doubtful than ever. “But we will float up again surely?”

“And lodge under the entrance arch.”

That, thought Jim, was as iffy a proposition as any he had yet known. “In for a penny then.” The car bumped down on to the walkway with a squeal of tyres, bounced up again uncontrollably, the engine faltered and made coughing sounds. Jim gripped the wheel. “We’re going to crash.”

“Hold on tight, Jim. Now!” Pooley slammed on the brakes, tore the key from the ignition and made his personal recommendations to his Maker. The car ground along a side wall raising a stream of sparks and mangling metal, swerved, stopped dead and almost at once began to rise. There was a sickening crunch as it struck the top of the entrance hall. And then, a blessed silence. “Bravo, Jim, you did it!”