Kermode came over, politely waited for me to finish the last of the brandy, and then tied my hands behind me at the wrists tightly with thin cord.

  Thinking it might interest me, he said, ‘It’s a piece of Corolene Dacron braided spinning line.’

  ‘It cuts like hell,’ I said.

  ‘It’s meant to.’

  I looked at O’Dowda who was helping himself to another brandy.

  ‘If I hand the parcel over to you – you know what will happen to Julia?’

  ‘As the night follows the day. General Gonwalla can be a very mean-minded man.’

  ‘And you don’t care a damn?’

  ‘She’s not my true daughter, and anyway she has now formally severed all relationship with me. I have no responsibility for her. That’s not to say that she isn’t a nice-looking girl and it will be a sad thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a soft spot for her. All this puts you in an awkward situation, but it is of no interest to me. Just hand the parcel to me, however, and I’ll try and make Gonwalla see sense – though I can’t guarantee anything.’

  ‘If I do, then Interpol will rub me out.’

  ‘Yes, I think they would do that. That’s why I’m sure that I shall have to use some method to make you tell me where the parcel is. I couldn’t expect you to do so willingly.’

  Kermode looked towards O’Dowda. ‘What do you think, sir. Let it get a bit lighter?’

  O’Dowda nodded. ‘I think so. Won’t be as much fun then as a big sea-trout in the dark, but we mustn’t expect too much. What rod do you think?’

  ‘Salmon?’

  ‘We’ll try the A. H. E. Wood.’ He turned to me. ‘Of course you could save yourself all this by just telling me where the parcel is.’

  ‘I destroyed it.’

  He grinned. ‘Not you, boyo. If you gave me an affidavit signed by St Peter I wouldn’t believe that one.’

  ‘What about St Patrick?’

  ‘Less so. No, you’ve got it somewhere safe and I’m having it. Come to think of it, I’d rather force it from you. You need some of the spunk taken out of you. I wouldn’t say that your manner towards a man of my standing is deferential enough. And even if I did, there’s a well-developed sadistic streak in me that says go ahead and have fun. God, it’s hot in here.’

  He stripped off his Harris tweed jacket. Over by the cupboard Kermode was fixing up the salmon rod with a reel. I had a fair idea of what they might be going to do, but I couldn’t believe it. I tried to remember what I could about the breaking strain of lines, and then I recalled reading somewhere that a good rod and line had stopped a really strong swimmer dead after he’d done about thirty yards. I stopped thinking about it. O’Dowda was right. It was hot in the room. The lake would make an unpleasant contrast in temperature.

  Then I thought about the parcel. What the hell was I to do? The whole thing had me properly confused. Give it to O’Dowda and lose Julia? Give it to Najib and save Julia – but put myself in the soup? Give it to Interpol and save myself and lose Julia, and then have Najib and O’Dowda gunning for me out of sheer political and economic spite? If there’d been time of course I could have written to some lonely hearts column and got advice. ‘In the circumstances I think this is a problem where you must squarely face your own conscience…’ Trouble was there was no sign of my conscience being around at this moment. It was that kind of conscience, never there when you really wanted it.

  I sat and sweated. O’Dowda had a little snooze. Kermode – he was the type – kept busy, tinkering away at some metalwork job at a bench down the far end of the room. Now and again he went to the window and looked out to see how the light was coming along.

  After a couple of hours he came over to me and strapped a leather dog-collar affair around my neck. There was a steel ring fitted into it just under my chin and attached to the ring was a three-yard length of line.

  ‘It’s a wire gimp,’ he said. ‘So you can’t bite through. Some big pike have been known to – but you’ve got to have real teeth for a job like that.’ Then he looked at O’Dowda and, believe it or not, there was a touch of gentleness on his craggy face. ‘Pity to wake him. He needs his sleep, does the boss. Drives himself hard. Always on the go. Don’t pay any attention to that sadistic talk. Heart of a lamb he’s got really. If you just coughed up now, he’d call it a day. Probably hand you a bonus on your pay. What do you say?’

  I said, ‘He looks far too much overweight. The exercise will do him good – or give him a stroke. Want me to tell you which I’m cheering for?’

  He went and woke O’Dowda, shaking him gently by the shoulder, and then holding his jacket for him.

  And that was the beginning of the entertainment. They led me through a side door, Kermode carrying their equipment, into the boathouse.

  We got into a rowing boat and Kermode took the oars and we pulled out on to the lake. It was a beautiful morning; no sun yet, but the hint of it, and the sky pearly grey with a rosy flush in the East. Not a cloud in the sky and a few late stars still flickering in protest against the coming day. Some duck got up from the weed beds near the boathouse.

  ‘Pochards and a few garganey,’ said O’Dowda. ‘We tried to keep goldeneye here, but they wouldn’t stay.’ As he spoke he leaned forward making the end of the reel line fast to the loose end of the wire gimp.

  ‘Make sure the knot’s good,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, boyo,’ he said warmly, ‘I’ve had my tackle broken but I’ve never lost a fish yet through a sloppy knot. All you have to do when you’ve had enough is just to shout. Don’t leave it too long so that you’re too weak to shout.’

  I drove upwards with my right knee, trying to get him in the face before he could fix the knot, but he was too quick for me. One of his big hands grabbed my leg and held it. From behind me Kermode leaned forward and hauled me back, and O’Dowda straddled my legs and finished tying the knot.

  From that position they didn’t take any more chances with me. They took off my shoes and I was lifted and flung overboard.

  I went under, and I thought I would go out with the sudden shock of the cold; and while I was still under I felt the strain come firmly on the collar round my neck. When I came up the boat was twenty yards away. O’Dowda was standing up, two-handing the salmon rod, and taking the strain nicely on me. Kermode was at the oars, not rowing, just holding the boat evenly.

  I trod water and felt my shirt and shorts ballooning around me. The cold began to cut into me. O’Dowda increased the pressure through the line and my head name forward until my face was underwater. I was forced to kick out with my legs and swim towards the boat to get my face up into the air. I heard the reel take up the slack, and the pressure came on again as I stopped swimming. Again my face was dragged under. This time, I turned in the water, and kicked away strongly from the direction of the boat, knowing that the pull of the line would at least keep my head back and my face clear of the water. It did, and damned nearly choked me. I swam against it for as long as I could, and then the line pressure stopped me, rolled me over and I went down about two feet. If I’d been a salmon I would have come up in a great silver, curving leap, hoping to catch O’Dowda unawares and break line or rod tip. I came up like a sack of wet horse-hair, gasping and choking for breath, to hear O’Dowda shout, ‘Come on, boyo, put some life into it. I’ve known a two-pound tench do better.’

  I tried again. Not to please him, but in the hope of reaching the bank about fifty yards away. I swam towards the boat but at an oblique angle, hoping to gain a little ground towards shallow water. If I could once get my feet down and stand, I might have enough strength in my shoulder and neck muscles to hold them until I could turn round a couple of times, winding the line around my body and getting a grasp of it with my free fingers.

  Kermode called, ‘Watch him, sir. He’s making for the weeds. Ah, he’s a cunning one.’

  The boat altered position and my face went under as O’Dowda tightened the line. I fought against it, jack-knifing my legs forward to bring my head up and then leaning back against the pressure of the line, taking the full power on my neck. O’Dowda held me like it for a few moments. I saw the arc of the rod bend more and I couldn’t fight the power of the line and split bamboo rod. My face went under again and I had to kick forward fast to take off the full power of the line strain to get my mouth above water. I gulped in air, but before I’d had my fill, the boat moved away from me and the strain came in again. For five minutes O’Dowda played me, letting me have just enough air and respite to keep me going, but all the while I was getting weaker and more desperate, knowing that I was slowly being drowned. O’Dowda could have made a fast job of it, but he was taking his time. Now and again as I got my head up I saw them in the boat, and heard them laughing. I made a last, kicking thrust for shallow water, but I was stopped dead. Then the strain went off and I was allowed to breathe.

  O’Dowda shouted, ‘Well, where is it?’

  He had me. There wasn’t any question about it. Another five minutes of this and I wouldn’t care what happened to me. But at that moment I was just conscious enough to care about the future. Quite frankly I didn’t want to die, and I wasn’t in any mood to make sacrifices for anybody. I wanted to stay alive. It’s a powerful instinct and there’s no arguing with it.

  I opened my mouth to shout, but Kermode gave a couple of strokes on the oars and O’Dowda put more strain on the line and my face was under again. For a moment or two I blanked out from intelligent thought, just sinking into blackness, and stupidly telling myself that it was enough to put a man off fishing for life…

  They must have seen I was all in and ready to talk, because the strain went off the line. I surfaced slowly and lay in the water on my back, facing the gold and silver morning sky, seeing a flight of starlings skeined right across it. I lay there gulping in the lovely air.

  The strain was right off the line now and I heard the boat coming towards me, the reel singing as O’Dowda took up the slack line.

  O’Dowda’s voice called, ‘Ready to talk?’

  I rolled over and faced them. The boat was about four yards away. I trod water feebly and nodded my head.

  O’Dowda said, ‘Good. Where is it?’

  ‘I’ll have to go and get it. I posted it to myself,’ I said.

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘Not long. It’s poste restante at—’

  Several things happened then to make me break off. There was the sound of a shot, O’Dowda ducked, raising the tip of the rod, and the strain came sharply back on to the line, choking the rest of my words silent.

  Feebly I kicked to take the strain off. There was another shot from somewhere to my left. I slewed my head round to see three figures standing on the far bank. One of them plunged into the water and headed for me. At the same time one of the others raised a hand and I heard another shot. O’Dowda and Kermode went down flat in the boat and the strain was off me completely.

  I made a few weak, token kicks towards whoever was coming out to me.

  A few seconds later a familiar voice said, ‘Hold on, honey-chile, while I get the hook out of your mouth. Yum-yum, fish for supper.’

  It was Panda Bubakar, heading for me at speed, a grin all over her face, a knife between her teeth.

  She came threshing up to me, grabbed the wire gimp, worked her hand up to the line and slashed it with the knife. Then she turned me over on my back, grabbed the slack of my shirt and began to tow me ashore, while the two on the bank cracked off an occasional shot to keep O’Dowda and Kermode low in the boat.

  When we reached the bank, Panda pulled me out and helped me to my feet and went round behind to cut my hands free.

  ‘Brother,’ she said, ‘have you got a thing for water! Your old lady must have been a mermaid.’

  Standing higher up the bank were Najib and Jimbo Alakwe, both with guns in their hands. Najib, neat and tidy in a dark grey suit, beaming at me; and Jimbo in red jeans and a loose yellow sweatshirt with a man’s head printed on it in black, a shaggy-headed, craggy-faced man with the word Beethoven under it. He beamed at me, too, but only briefly, turning away to give the row-boat another shot.

  My hands free, Panda gave me a wet smack on the bottom and said, ‘Start running, handsome. Mamma show the way.’

  She moved off up the bank. I followed, stumbling along, clumsy from loss of circulation, but now with enough interest in life to give more than a dull data-recording glance at her long, heavy-breasted figure clad only in briefs and brassière. At the top of the bank she stooped and jerked up a track suit and kept running.

  ‘Be with you soonest,’ said Jimbo as we went by.

  ‘Sooner,’ said Najib, and, nodding at me, added, ‘Good morning, Mr Carver.’

  Panda took me through the trees, along a small path and finally out on to the open space behind the cottage. Parked short of the Rolls-Royce was their Thunderbird.

  At the car she jerked the rear door open and reached inside for a couple of rugs.

  ‘Come on, honey,’ she said. ‘Get that wet stuff off and wrap up in these. And, boy,’ she warned, ‘no tricks. No jerking any torch out of your pants and slugging me. Jeez, was that something disappointing to a girl for a man to produce.’

  She half turned from me and began to slip out of her pants and bra and then slid into her track suit. I stripped, too, and wrapped myself in the blankets and she bundled me into the car just as Najib and Jimbo appeared, running.

  As they went by the Rolls, Jimbo put a shot in each of the back tyres.

  Five seconds later we were streaking down the château drive towards the main road and my teeth were chattering in my head like an electric typewriter going at speed.

  Najib, next to Jimbo, who was driving, handed a flask back to Panda.

  With a wink, she said, ‘Ladies first – which almost means me.’ She took a good swig and then handed the flask over.

  I took a deep pull, and she said, ‘Keep sucking, baby. We’ll soon have you in a nice hot bath and Mamma will give you a friction rub afterwards. Whoof! Whoof!’ She put her long arm around my shoulder and gave me a great she-bear hug.

  Driving, Jimbo said, ‘That millionaire man sure has a thing about fishing. Only time I ever did it was with hand grenades in the river at home. Remember that, Najib?’

  If Najib did, he didn’t consider it worth recording. He turned back to me and said, ‘Did you tell them anything?’

  I said, ‘Another two seconds and I would have done. I wouldn’t have believed water could be so cold.’

  ‘Healthy, though,’ said Panda. ‘Early morning swim, wham, gets the old corpuscles stirring and ready for mischief.’

  She leaned forward and tucked the blankets round my legs. She found her cigarettes and lit one for me, sticking it into my mouth and giving me a fat, almost motherly kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Nice. Yum-yum,’ she said, and to Najib added, ‘Can I have him after you’ve finished?’

  Najib said, ‘Panda, for God’s sake, throttle down.’

  ‘She always like this?’ I asked.

  ‘Even in her sleep,’ said Jimbo and chuckled to himself.

  ‘I sure am,’ said Panda unabashed. ‘I’ve got over five hundred witnesses that’ll testify.’

  And from there, right to Geneva and Jimbo’s flat she kept it up, ignored by the two in front. Her talk didn’t trouble me too much. I had a lot to think about. But I had to fight off her long arms and hands occasionally as she checked now and then to see that I was comfortable inside the blankets and nicely-warming up.

  Nobody paid any attention to me as I went through the lobby to the lifts wrapped in blankets; Geneva is a cosmopolitan city.

  Panda ran me a bath, suggested we should share it, yelped like a disappointed puppy when I managed to lock her out, but was happier when I had to shout for a towel and there was no way of escaping the friction rub.

  They found me a suit of Najib’s, navy blue, and a white shirt and other odds and ends, but the only spare shoes were a pair of ginger suedes.

  Back in the sitting room, I said, ‘Why always these suede jobs?’

  ‘We get them wholesale from Panda,’ said Jimbo. ‘She has a small factory in Liechtenstein.’

  Panda, coming in with coffee, said, ‘Well, a girl has to do something with her profits. It’s for my old age. When I retire from the entertainment business, round about eighty, I guess.’

  She put the coffee tray down in front of me and the top half of her nearly fell out of the low-cut yellow dress into which she had changed.

  Najib said, ‘You two get off. You know where. I want to talk to Mr Carver.’

  Panda winked at me, ‘You want I give her your love, honey-chile? She’s a peach. I’ll hand you that – but she’ll never have the touch I have with a towel.’

  ‘Out,’ said Najib.

  Jimbo said, ‘That O’Dowda might come along here.’

  ‘Let him,’ said Najib. ‘And he can bring his fishing rod, too – but it won’t do him any good.’

  They went and I leaned back and sipped my coffee. I was feeling all right now, physically. Mentally, I was as scrambled up as ever over the problem of the parcel, except now I was beginning to feel bloody-minded, in fact, more bloody-minded than ever, towards O’Dowda. The man didn’t care a damn for anyone but himself. Julia could go, I could go, everyone could go, just so long as he got his hands on what he wanted. With me, that just strengthened the desire I had to make sure that he never did get it. Just for once somebody was going to spit in his eye.

  ‘How did you know I was out there?’ I asked Najib.

  ‘Jimbo saw them jump you from the flat window. The Facel Vega is still down there. But that’s the past. You know what you’re going to do, don’t you?’

  He was a different man, serious, calm, no patter, and it was easy to see him in his real role, an army officer seconded to an Intelligence position in Gonwalla’s service.