Jim said, "That man once said he could make a working microphone out of three carpenter's nails, a foot of copper wire, and a power cell.

I bet he couldn't. I lost. " He laughed.

"He even made his own power cell from a stack of pennies and nickels, a piece of blotting paper and some vinegar."

"He seems a good man."

"The best," said Jim, and added casually, "Ex-CIA."

I looked longingly at the packet of cigarettes on the bench. I had run out and I knew Jim did not smoke.

"I'll be back in a minute," I said. I remembered there was a stand in the lobby of the Cunningham Building which sold cigarettes among other things, so I went down in the elevator to street level.

There was a short line waiting for service but I bought two packets of cigarettes within minutes. As I tur ned, opening one of them, I bumped heavily into a man.

"Watch it, buster!" he said nastily, and walked past me.

I shrugged and headed towards the elevator. In a climate like that of Houston anyone was entitled to be short- tempered. I stood waiting for the elevator and looked at the half-opened packet in my hand while absently rubbing my thigh. The health warning on the side of the packet shimmered strangely.

"You okay, mister?" The elevator starter was looking at me oddly.

I said distinctly, "I'm perfectly all right ' " Hey! " He grabbed my arm as I swayed. Everything was swimming and my legs felt like putty. Slowly and majestically I toppled forward like a falling tree, and yelled " Timber! " at the top of my voice. Oddly enough, not a sound passed my lips.

The next thing I knew was that I was being turned over. I looked at the ceiling and heard someone say, "Just fell down right there. " Someone else said, "A drunk, I guess. " And again:

"At this time of day!"

I tried to speak. My brain worked all right in a somewhat crazy manner but there seemed to be interference with the connection to my voice box. I experimented with "Mary had a little lamb', but nothing came through. It was weird.

From a distance a man said, "I'm a doctor let me through." He bent over me and I stared up at him, past a big nose and into his eyes, yellow flecks in green irises. He felt my pulse then put his hand over my heart.

"This man is having a heart attack," he said.

"He must be taken to hospital immediately." He looked up.

"Someone help me my car is outside."

I was lifted bodily and carried to the entrance, shouting loudly that this was no bloody heart attack and this was no bloody doctor, either. My brain told me I was shouting loudly but not a sound did I hear from my lips, and neither could I move a muscle. They put me on the back seat of a limousine and off we went. The man in the front passenger seat twisted around and took my limp arm. I saw the flash of glass and felt the prick of a needle, and soon the bright world began to go grey.

Just before I passed out I reflected that all the Cunninghams' organization and the painstaking work of Ramon Rodriguez was going for nothing. The kidnappers had jumped the gun. i43 14* It was dark when I woke up. I was lying on my back and staring into blackness and feeling no pain, at least not much. When I stirred I found that I was naked lying on a bed and covered by a thin sheet and my left thigh ached a little. I turned my head and saw a rectangular patch of dim light which, when I propped myself up on one elbow, appeared to be a window.

I tossed aside the sheet, swung my legs out of bed, and tentatively stood up. I seemed to be in no immediate danger of falling so I took a step towards the window, and then another. The window was covered with a coarse-fib red cloth which I drew aside. There was nothing much to see outside, just the darker patches of trees silhouetted against a dark sky. From the west came the faint loom of the setting moon.

There were noises, though; the chirping of cicadas and the distant, deeper croaking of bullfrogs.

There were bars on the window.

The breeze which blew through the unglazed window was warm and smelled of damp and rotting vegetation. Even so, I shivered as I made my way back to the bed, and I was glad to lie down again. That brief journey had taken the strength out of me; maybe I could have lasted two seconds with Mohammed All, but I doubted it. I pulled the sheet over my body and went back to sleep.

When next I woke I felt better. Perhaps it was because of the sunlight slanting through the room, making a yellow patch at the bottom of the bed. The window was now uncurtained and next to the bed a tray was laid on a table which contained a pitcher of orange juice, an empty glass, a pile of thick-cut bread slices, a pot of butter and a crude wooden spatula with which to spread it.

The orange juice went down well and my spirits rose when I saw the pot of honey which had been hidden behind the pitcher. I breakfasted stickily, sitting on the edge of the bed with the sheet draped around me, and doing an inventory of the room. Against one wall was another table holding a basin and a water jug together with a piece of kitchen soap. And there was a chair with clothing draped over it not mine. And that, apart from the bed and the bedside table, was all.

After breakfast I washed, but first looked through the uncurtained window. There was nothing much to see just trees baking under a hot sun. The air was humid and dank and smelled of vegetable corruption.

After washing I turned to the clothing a pair of jeans, a tee-shirt with the words HOUSTON COUGARS emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of dirty white sneakers. As I was putting on the jeans I examined the bruise on the outside of my thigh; it was livid and there seemed to be a small pin hole in the middle of it. It did not hurt much so I put on the jeans, then the shirt, and sat on the bed to put on the shoes. And there I was dressed and almost in my right mind.

I might have hammered on the door then, demanding in highfalutin terms to be released, and what the devil is the meaning of this, sir?

I refrained. My captors would see me in their own time and I needed to think. There is a manoeuvre in rugby football known as 'selling the dummy', a feint in which the ball goes in an unexpected direction. The Cunningham family had been sold the dummy and I would bet that Billy Cunningham would be spitting bullets.

I mentally reviewed the contents of the first and second ransom letters. The object of the first was to get me to Houston. The second was so detailed and elaborate that no one thought it would be the dummy we were being sold. It was a fake all the way through.

One thing was certain: the Cunninghams would be incensed beyond measure. To kidnap a Cunningham was bad enough, but to add a double-cross was to add insult to injury. Right at that moment the Cunningham Building i45 I would be like a nest of disturbed rattlesnakes; all hell would be breaking loose and, perhaps, this time they would bring in the police. Not that it would help me, I thought glumly, or Debbie.

Which brought me to Debbie. Was she here or not? And where the devil was here? There was a frustrating lack of information. I went to the window again and looked out through the bars and again saw nothing but trees. I tested the bars; steel set firmly in concrete, and immoveable.

I turned at a metallic noise at the door. The first man to enter held a shotgun pointing at my belly. He was dressed in jeans and a checkered shirt open almost to the waist, and had a lined grim face.

He took one pace inside the room and then stepped sideways, keeping the gun on me.

"On the bed." The barrel of the gun jerked fractionally.

I backed away and sidled sideways like a crab to the bed. The muzzle of that gun looked like an army cannon.

Another man came into the room and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a lightweight business suit and could have been anybody.