“Several things. First, you have taken some land in Wyoming from me. I want it back.”

The Chairman waved a pudgy hand at so trivial a matter.

“And I shall require that your subsidiaries stop all strip-mining in a radius of three hundred miles from my land.”

Mrs. Perkins’s jaw worked with controlled anger, her cold eyes fixed on Hel. Then she blinked twice and said, “All right.”

“Second, there is money of mine taken from my Swiss account.”

“Of course. Of course. Is that all?”

“No. I recognize that you could undo any of these actions at will. So I shall have to leave this leverage information on line for an indefinite period. If you offend me in any way, the button will be released.”

“I see. Fat Boy informs me that this Gnome person is in poor health.”

“I have heard that rumor.”

“You realize that if he should die, your protection is gone?”

“Not exactly, Mrs. Perkins. Not only would he have to die, but your people would have to be sure he was dead. And I happen to know that you have never located him and don’t have even an idea of his physical appearance. I suspect that you will intensify your search for the Gnome, but I’m gambling that he is hidden away where you will never find him.”

“We shall see. You have no further demands upon us?”

“I have further demands. Your people destroyed my home. It may not be possible to repair it, as there no longer are craftsmen of the quality that built it. But I intend to try.”

“How much?”

“Four million.”

“No house is worth four million dollars!”

“It’s now five million.”

“My dear boy, I started my professional career with less than a quarter of that, and if you think—”

“Six million.”

Mrs. Perkins’s mouth snapped shut. There was absolute silence, as Mr. Able nervously directed his glance away from the pair looking at one another across the tea table, one with a cold fixed stare, the other with lids half-lowered over smiling green eyes.

Mrs. Perkins drew a slow, calming breath. “Very well. But that, I suggest, had better be the last of your demands.”

“In point of fact, it is not.”

“Your price has reached its market maximum. There is a limit to the degree to which what is good for the Mother Company is good for America.”

“I believe, Mrs. Perkins, that you’ll be pleased by my last demand. If your Mr. Diamond had done his work competently, if he had not allowed personal enmity for me to interfere with his judgment, you would not now be facing this predicament. My last demand is this: I want Diamond. And I want the CIA gunny named Starr, and that PLO goatherd you call Mr. Haman. Don’t think of it as additional payment. I am rendering you a service—meting out punishment for incompetence.”

“And that is your last demand?”

“That is my last demand.”

The Chairman turned to Mr. Able. “How have your people taken the death of the Septembrists in that plane accident?”

“Thus far, they believe it was just that, an accident. We have not informed them that it was an assassination. We were awaiting your instructions, Ma.”

“I see. This Mr. Haman… he is related to the leader of the PLO movement, I believe.”

“That is true, Ma.”

“How will his death go down?”

Mr. Able considered this for a moment. “We may have to make concessions again. But I believe it can be handled.”

Mrs. Perkins turned again to Hel. She stared at him for several seconds. “Done.”

He nodded. “Here is how it will be set up. You will show Diamond the information now in your hands concerning the Kennedy assassination. You will tell him you have a line on the Gnome, and you can trust no one but him to kill the Gnome and secure the originals. He will realize how dangerous it would be to have other eyes than his see this material. You will instruct Diamond to go to the Spanish Basque village of Oñate. He will be contacted by a guide who will take them into the mountains, where they will find the Gnome. I shall take it from there. One other thing… and this is most important. I want all three of them to be well armed when they go into the mountains.”

“Did you get that?” she asked Mr. Able, her eyes never leaving Hel’s face.

“Yes, Ma.”

She nodded. Then her stern expression dissolved and she smiled, wagging a finger at Hel. “You’re quite a fellow, young man. A real horse trader. You would have gone a long way in the commercial world. You’ve got the makings of a real fine businessman.”

“I’ll overlook that insult.”

Mrs. Perkins laughed, her wattles jiggling. “I’d love to have a good long gabfest with you, son, but there are folks waiting for me in another office. We’ve got a problem with some kids demonstrating against one of our atomic-power plants. Young people just aren’t what they used to be, but I love them all the same, the little devils.” She pushed herself out of the rocker. “Lord, isn’t it true what they say: woman’s work is never done.”

Gouffre Field/Col. Pierre St. Martin

In addition to being exasperated and physically worn, Diamond was stung with the feeling that he looked foolish, stumbling through this blinding fog, clinging obediently to a length of rope tied to the waist of his guide whose ghostly figure he could only occasionally make out, not ten feet ahead. A rope around Diamond’s waist strung back into the brilliant mist, where its knotted end was grasped by Starr; and the Texan in turn was linked to the PLO trainee Haman, who complained each time they rested for a moment, sitting on the damp boulders of the high col. The Arab was not used to hours of heavy exercise; his new climbing boots were chafing his ankles, and the muscles of his forearm were throbbing with the strain of his white-knuckled grip on the line that linked him to the others, terrified of losing contact and being alone and blind in this barren terrain. This was not at all what he had had in mind when he had postured before the mirror of his room in Oñate two days earlier, cutting a romantic figure with his mountain clothes and boots, a heavy Magnum in the holster at his side. He had even practiced drawing the weapon as quickly as he could, admiring the hard-eyed professional in the mirror. He recalled how excited he had been in that mountain meadow a month before, emptying his gun into the jerking body of that Jewess after Starr had killed her.

As annoying as any physical discomfort to Diamond was the wiry old guide’s constant humming and singing as he led them slowly along, skirting the rims of countless deep pits filled with dense vapor, the danger of which the guide had made evident through extravagant mime not untouched with gallows humor as he opened his mouth and eyes wide and nailed his arms about in imitation of a man falling to his death, then pressed his palms together in prayer and rolled his impish eyes upward. Not only did the nasal whine of the Basque songs erode Diamond’s patience, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, because of the peculiar underwater effect of a whiteout.

Diamond had tried to ask the guide how much longer they would be groping through this soup, how much farther it was to where the Gnome was hiding out. But the only response was a grin and a nod. When they were turned over to the guide in the mountains by a Spanish Basque who had contacted them in the village, Diamond had asked if he could speak English, and the little old man had grinned and said, “A lee-tle bit.” When, some time later, Diamond had asked how long it would be before they arrived at their destination, the guide had answered, “A lee-tle bit.” That was an odd-enough response to cause Diamond to ask the guide his name. “A lee-tle bit.”

Oh, fine! Just wonderful!

Diamond understood why the Chairman had sent him to deal with this matter personally. Trusting him with information so inflammable as this was a mark of special confidence, and particularly welcome after a certain coolness in Ma’s communications after those Septembrists had died in that midair explosion. But they had been two days in the mountains now, linked up like children playing blind man’s bluff, bungling forward through this blinding whiteout that filled their eyes with stinging light. They had passed a cold and uncomfortable night sleeping on the stony ground after a supper of hard bread, a greasy sausage that burned the mouth, and harsh wine from some kind of squirt bag that Diamond could not manage. How much longer could it be before they got to the Gnome’s hiding place? If only this stupid peasant would stop his chanting!