The store was large and spacious; he did not see Wright immediately. Walking among the aisles of equipment, he finally spotted him in the water sports department. Wright was gesturing with his hands, forming a shape in the air.

Graves walked over and stood beside him at the counter. To do so gave Graves an immediate burst of excitement. He had never been so close to his subject before. Wright was smaller than he had thought -several inches shorter than Graves himself. And much finer-boned. A delicate man in an English-cut suit, dapper as Phelps, but without the vanity that made Phelps unbearable.

The salesman said, `I'll be right with you, sir,' and Graves nodded.

Wright glanced over at him and smiled vaguely. There was no recognition in the glance. None at all: Graves was sure of it. They were just two customers at the same counter.

Graves bent over, peering down at the glass case, which contained depth gauges and underwater watches. He could see Wright's face reflected in the glass surface.

`Is this the one you mean, sir?' the salesman asked.

Graves glanced up and saw the salesman holding a small air tank, painted yellow.

`That's the one,' Wright said.

`Now, do you understand about this tank?' the salesman said. `It's not the standard seventy-two cubic foot model. This one only has twenty-five minutes of air at -'

`That's the one I want.' Wright said it quietly, but his voice cut the salesman off. Graves was impressed by the understated authority in the voice - and presumably in the man.

`Yes, sir. How many was that?'

`Three.'

`I think we have three in the storeroom,' the salesman said. He turned to Graves: `Was there anything in particular?'

It seemed to Graves that the salesman was much less deferential to him than he was to Wright. But perhaps he was being paranoid.

`I need a depth gauge,' Graves said.

`They're all down there,' the salesman said, pointing to the case. `Be with you in a minute. Three, was it, sir? I'll get them.'

The salesman walked off.

After a moment Graves said, `I don't know anything about this.'

There was a short, ambiguous pause. Finally Wright said, `Diving?'

`Yes. It's a present for my son.'

`He does a lot of diving?' Wright was being formal, polite, barely interested.

Wait until 1 put the handcuffs on, Graves thought. `Oh, he's a nut about it, but he doesn't really get much chance. Twice a year during school vacations we go down to Mexico. That's really all.'

Wright said, `That one there is a good one.' He pointed to a gauge in the case.

Graves nodded. `I really don't know anything about this,' he repeated.

`You don't dive yourself?'

`No,' Graves said. `It always seemed too dangerous to me.'

`There's a certain thrill in danger, though.'

`Not for me. Not at my age.'

`You prefer golf?'

`Poker,' Graves said, and looked directly at Wright for the first time.

Wright smiled. `Poker can be very challenging,' he said. `But it's like any other game. If you get too good, you're limited in your opponents.'

`Yes, I've found that.'

`You're good?' There was just the slightest taunt in the voice, the slightest goading.

`Yes, I'm good,' Graves found himself saying.

For a moment the two men exchanged a level, appraising look. Wright broke it; he looked down at the counter. `Still,' he said, `I admire the young, with their exuberance in physical sports. It raises the stakes. You can be hurt, you can be injured. You can even be killed.'

`But when you're young, you don't think of that. It doesn't matter.'

`Oh,' Wright said, `I think it always matters. Dying always matters.'

The salesman came back. `You're in luck, Mr Johnson,' he said cheerfully. `You got the last three tanks. Shall I have them put in your car?'

`That will be fine,' Wright said, smiling.

`You must be out of your mind,' Lewis said. They were back in the car, following the limousine.

`Not at all.'

`I suppose you went up and talked to him.'

`As a matter of fact, I did.'

Lewis smiled. `I know you've been doing this a long time, but still…'

`Look,' Graves said, `we're picking him up later today.'

`But you're teasing him, playing a game…'

`Of course,' Graves said.

The limousine went up Avenue D and pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel. A man came out, bent over the limo, and talked to Wright in the back seat. The conversation lasted several minutes. Finally the man turned and went inside. The limousine pulled away from the kerb.

Graves snatched up the microphone. `701 to 702.'

`702 here.'

`He's all yours from now on. Stick to him. Out.' Lewis looked stunned. `What the -'

Graves pointed to the figure of the man going back into the hotel. `Follow that man and see where he goes. His name is Timothy Drew.'

HOUR 8

`Hold out your hands.'

Peters held out his hands and waited while the supervisor ran the Geiger counter over them. It made a soft clicking sound in the cavernous warehouse garage.

`Stand still.'

He stood and watched as the counter probe was passed over his chest, his abdomen, his legs. It was a little like being frisked.

`Turn around.'

He turned. He heard the counter clicking as it was passed down his spine to his feet.

`Okay. Next.'

Peters stepped aside, and the driver moved forward. As the driver was being checked by the Geiger counter, the dispatcher said to Peters, `First run?'

`Yes,' Peters said.

`Ever done a DC before?'

Peters pointed to the counter. `Not like this.'

`What've you done, explosives?'

`Yes.'

`This is easier than explosives or flammables,' the dispatcher said. `We've got a regulation for two men in the cab, and another for staying under forty-five miles an hour. That's it. We can take all the roads, all the tunnels and bridges. Much easier than explosives.'

Peters nodded. `What exactly is it?'

The dispatcher consulted his clipboard. `Mostly hospital supplies. Cases of intravenous saline, twelve quarts to the case, thirty cases in all. Cases of pennicillin G, forty-eight ampoules to the case, fifteen cases in all. And two rad cartridges.'

`Rad cartridges?'

`Two bars of plutonium-238 oxide. That's a radioactive isotope. One thousand grammes each - they're packed in lead cylinders.'

`That's our dangerous cargo?' Peters asked.

`You bet,' the dispatcher said.

The driver finished his check and came over to join them. `What was that all about?'

`Insurance,' the dispatcher said. `You have to be cleared before exposure to the cargo., in order for our coverage to be effective. We should also do a blood test, but we don't bother.' He turned to Peters. `Reeves, this is your rider, Peters. Peters, Reeves.'

Reeves shook hands with Peters. As he did so he gave him a slightly surprised look, as if something were mildly wrong.

The dispatcher nodded across the warehouse. `Truck's over there,' he said. `Have a good trip.'

Peters blinked in the sun and put on his sunglasses. Beside him, Reeves sighed. `Bright day,' he said.

`Sure is.'

`You new at this?'

`Yeah.'

`What'd you do before?F

'Aeroplane tail assembly. Lockheed, in Palmdale.'

`Tail assembly, huh?' Reeves said, and laughed loudly.

`They laid me off.'

Reeves stopped laughing and nodded sympathetically. `Rough,' he said. And then after a moment, `Laid off the tail assembly.' And he chuckled some more.

Peters smiled. He felt confident about Reeves, who was fat and sloppy and casual - and fifteen years his senior. There wouldn't be any difficulty.