Instead Richard Blade tried to ignore him. He already knew everything he needed to know about the place. It would be nearly perfect for him, and it would also cost much more than he could afford. The initial cost wouldn't be outrageous for a house, outbuildings, and thirteen acres of land. It was making the place fit to live in that would break him. The house was built around 1760, and it had never really been modernized. Even worse, the last two owners hadn't bothered to keep the place up properly. Blade wasn't about to bankrupt himself doing all the work they'd left undone over the last fifty years.

The agent was still talking. Blade listened briefly, decided he still wasn't saying anything important, and started doing mental arithmetic. He wanted the house so badly he could taste it. He also wanted to find some flaw in his previous calculations which would let him make an offer. All his training and experience warned him against this sort of wishful thinking, but this time he wasn't facing a KGB agent or some monster in Dimension X. This was his private life, and he was damned well going to do some wishful thinking if he felt like it.

Unfortunately all Blade's desire for the house couldn't make the figures come out in his favor. He would still be a good fifteen thousand pounds short. He was about to cut off the agent's humming when a thought struck him. «Are you allowed to sell an option on this house?» he asked.

The agent looked at him for a moment as if «option» were a word in Chinese. Then an unmistakable look of eagerness passed over his thin face, and he nodded.

By the time they'd finished sketching out the terms for an option agreement, the rain was coming down in sheets. Blade hoped none of the low spots in the dirt lane back to the highway would flood. The idea of being marooned here all night with no better company than the real-estate agent was unappealing.

For three thousand pounds, half of it refundable, Blade could buy an exclusive option on the house for six months. That would give him time for the next trip into Dimension X, no matter how long it took to fix the KALI capsule. His broken jaw was completely healed, and he himself was fit and ready to go.

The option would also give him time to try bargaining with the real-estate firm on the price of the house. From the agent's eagerness over the option, his firm hadn't had a decent offer on the house for years. They might be willing to bargain, particularly if Blade didn't need a mortgage. He hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions about where his cash came from.

Apart from its condition, the location of the house made it suitable only for someone who wanted to be fairly close to London, but otherwise wanted as much solitude as he could get in southern England. That was a perfect description of Blade. He'd always been a man who preferred to walk alone, like a cat. Otherwise he'd never have gone into intelligence work and then into Project Dimension X. As time went by, his experiences in Dimension X set him more and more apart from everyone else in the world. He'd long since stopped caring about the London party circuit, with its light chatter, light minds, and light women who could give him a night's pleasure but not a minute's real companionship.

Then he came home from the forest of Binaark with the semi-intelligent hunting cat, Lorma. He wasn't going to let her spend the rest of her life in the hands of the Project's veterinarians, and their curiosity be damned! As soon as he was out of the hospital after his trip to Kaldak, he started looking for a country house. Now he'd found one, if he could only get the price down!

Blade climbed into the Rover and turned on the headlights and engine. Then he put the car in gear and started his slow creep back down the lane. Behind him the house was now completely invisible in the rain and the gathering twilight.

Blade didn't drive back to London that night. He checked into a hotel in Basingstoke, ate a good if overpriced dinner with plenty of whiskey and soda, then called his home for any recorded messages. As soon as he'd heard what J left, he called the number J used when Blade or a select handful of other people weren't using a scrambled phone.

As usual, nobody answered. Blade sipped at his drink, then said, «Record. J, this is Richard, returning your call. I'm at the Golden Keys in Basingstoke,» and gave the hotel's telephone and his own room number. «I'll come straight to the branch office. I should be there by ten A.M.

«I certainly think we ought to discuss this matter with His Excellency.[1] But I think we should put it in the form of a question-does he have any new investment plans? That should also conceal the sources of our information. End recording.»

Blade suspected that telling J to be tactful with Lord Leighton was like teaching his grandmother to suck eggs. But you couldn't be too careful in dealing with Lord Leighton, with his improbably brilliant mind and impossibly short temper. Also, J sometimes behaved toward Blade like a mother hen with one chick. Blade knew why J did this, and also knew it could sometimes cause more problems than the Project could tolerate.

Whatever J said to Leighton, Blade hoped he'd say it before Leighton discovered that his secret scheme wasn't a secret anymore. Otherwise there wouldn't be much chance of avoiding a bloody awful scene. Blade shuddered at the thought, considered having another drink, then decided against it. He was going to be getting up early if he wanted to be in London by ten tomorrow morning. He did a quick one hundred and fifty push-ups; then with his pajamas and towel over his arm, he walked into the bathroom.

Chapter 3

Unfortunately, Leighton worked faster and better than either J or Blade expected. He not only discovered that the cat was out of the bag but who'd let it out. When J learned everything the scientist had done to discover the secrets, he was impressed. He even told Leighton, «You might have had quite a career in intelligence work, if you'd wanted it.»

By then Leighton and J were on speaking terms again, so the scientist didn't tell J what he could do with intelligence work and intelligence agents. He merely grunted and raised his bushy white eyebrows higher than usual.

The morning Blade came to Complex Two, however, things were different. It wasn't at all certain that the two older men would ever be on speaking terms again. Blade suspected that Project Dimension X came closer to being wrecked that morning than it had since the affair of the KALI computer.

He walked into Leighton's office just before ten. The cordon of guards and secretaries outside were trying very hard to pretend there was nothing wrong. Blade knew that look and what it might mean, and sighed. He'd rather fight a tiger bare-handed than walk into what probably lay beyond that soundproof door, but there were no tigers around.

He opened the door to hear tight, controlled «accusation is not only ridiculous, it's adding insult to injury,» from Leighton. Blade shut the door as J replied. His voice was not as controlled as Leighton's, and his face was the color of a ripe strawberry.

«Do you think you've been injured?»

«I know I've been injured,» replied Leighton. «Spied on in my own office, at my own work, over matters which have nothing to do with Project security. What are you trying to do, find something you can use to blackmail me?»

J's face got even redder at that charge, but he fortunately couldn't find his voice. That gave Blade his chance. He'd have liked to wait until he knew a little more about what had really happened, but didn't think he had time. The two men needed a peacemaker right now.

«I think that's a rather wild accusation itself, if you don't mind my saying so,» said Blade. He looked at Leighton in a way which clearly showed he didn't care if Leighton minded or not. This got Leighton's attention long enough for J to catch his breath and recover his voice.