The Mercenaries | Page 7

Khouroglu was finishing the microfilm copies of Kato's ingeniously-concocted
pseudo-data. These copies were distributed at noon, while the Team was lunching, along
with carbons of the original type-script.
He was the first to leave the table, going directly to the basement, where Alex
Unpronounceable and the man who had got his alias from the works of P. G. Wodehouse
were listening in on the telephone calls going in and out through the Team-center
switch-board, and making recordings. For two hours, MacLeod remained with them. He
heard Suzanne Maillard and some woman who was talking from a number in the Army
married-officers' settlement making arrangements about a party. He heard Rudolf von
Heldenfeld make a date with some girl. He listened to a violent altercation between the
Team chef and somebody at Army Quartermaster's HQ about the quality of a lot of
dressed chicken. He listened to a call that came in for Adam Lowiewski, the
mathematician.
"This is Joe," the caller said. "I've got to go to town late this afternoon, but I was
wondering if you'd have time to meet me at the Recreation House at Oppenheimer
Village for a game of chess. I'm calling from there, now."
"Fine; I can make it," Lowiewski's voice replied. "I'm in the middle of a devil's own
mathematical problem; maybe a game of chess would clear my head. I have a new
queen's-knight gambit I want to try on you, anyhow."
Bertie Wooster looked up sharply. "Now there; that may be what we're--"

The telephone beside MacLeod rang. He scooped it up; named himself into it.
It was Ahmed Abd-el-Rahman. "Look, chief; I tail this guy to Oppenheimer Village," the
Arab, who had learned English from American movies, answered. "He goes into the
rec-joint. I slide in after him, an' he ain't in sight. I'm lookin' around for him, see, when he
comes bargin' outa the Don Ameche box. Then he grabs a table an' a beer. What next?"
"Stay there; keep an eye on him," MacLeod told him. "If I want you, I'll call."
MacLeod hung up and straightened, feeling under his packet for his .38-special.
"That's it, boys," he said. "Lowiewski. Come on."
"Hah!" Alex Unpronounceable had his gun out and was checking the cylinder. He spoke
briefly in description of the Polish mathematician's ancestry, physical characteristics, and
probable post-mortem destination. Then he put the gun away, and the three men left the
basement.
* * * * *
For minutes that seamed like hours, MacLeod and the Greek waited on the main floor,
where they could watch both the elevators and the stairway. Bertie Wooster had gone up
to alert Kato Sugihara and Karen. Then the door of one of the elevators opened and
Adam Lowiewski emerged, with Kato behind him, apparently lost in a bulky scientific
journal he was reading. The Greek moved in from one side, and MacLeod stepped in
front of the Pole.
"Hi, Adam," he greeted. "Have you looked into that batch of data yet?"
"Oh, yes. Yes." Lowiewski seemed barely able to keep his impatience within the bounds
of politeness. "Of course, it's out of my line, but the mathematics seems sound." He
started to move away.
"You're not going anywhere," MacLeod told him. "The chess game is over. The red
pawns are taken--the one at Oppenheimer Village, and the one here."
There was a split second in which Lowiewski struggled--almost successfully--to erase the
consternation from his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he began. His right hand started to slide under
his left coat lapel.
MacLeod's Colt was covering him before he could complete the movement. At the same
time, Kato Sugihara dropped the paper-bound periodical, revealing the thin-bladed knife
he had concealed under it. He stepped forward, pressing the point of the weapon against
the Pole's side. With the other hand, he reached across Lowiewski's chest and jerked the
pistol from his shoulder-holster. It was one of the elegant little .32 Beretta 1954 Model
automatics.

"Into the elevator," MacLeod ordered. An increasing pressure of Kato's knife emphasized
the order. "And watch him; don't let him get rid of anything," he added to the Greek.
"If you would explain this outrage--" Lowiewski began. "I assume it is your idea of a
joke--"
Without even replying, MacLeod slammed the doors and started the elevator upward,
letting it rise six floors to the living quarters. Karen Hilquist and the aristocratic
black-sheep who called himself Bertie Wooster were waiting when he opened the door.
The Englishman took one of Lowiewski's arms; MacLeod took the other. The rest fell in
behind as they hustled the captive down the hall and into the big sound-proofed dining
room. They kept Lowiewski standing, well away from any movable object in the room;
Alex Unpronounceable took his left arm as MacLeod