That courtiers thrive at latter Lammas day,

corner. "With that Jackstraw can hit a three-inch target at a hundred yards. A man's head at fifty yards is six times that size. First he gets Corazzini, who's probably driving, and when Smallwood sticks his head out the back as he certainly willwell that's it." "But, good God, man, you can't do that!" Hillcrest was horrified. "Without a chance, without warning? It's murder, simple murder!" "Want me to go over the number of people they've murdered?" I shook my head. "You just don't begin to know those two, Hillcrest." "But" He broke off, turned to Jackstraw. "It's you he's asking to do it. What do you say?" "It will be a pleasure," Jackstraw said very softly. Hillcrest stared at us both, baffled incomprehension in his eyes. I suppose he thought he knew both of us well. And he did. But he didn't know what we had been through, words couldn't even begin to make him understand. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, tense even, and I was grateful for Joss's sudden calm words. "0943, Captain Hillcrest. Three minutes to go." "Good." He was, I could see, as glad of the interruption as I was. "Barclay"this to the cook, the only other of Hillcrest's men there, the other three were in the big driving cabin to make room for us'three Wessex rockets. Line them up on the and stand wait for the word. I'll go myself with the flare, two for safety. Give a beep on the horn, Joss, when it's time to set 'em off." I went with him to watch and the whole thing went off without a hitch. Dead on time, just seconds after the third rocket had been fired to curve upwards and explode into incandescent light in the star-dusted darkness above, we heard the high-pitched whine approaching out of the south-west, and in an incredibly short space of time a vague dark blur, carrying no navigation lights, screamed by five hundred feet overhead, banked in the distance, came at us again at much reduced speed, banked a second time and then, with a crescendoing banshee shriek of the jet engine, had vanished again into the vaguely lightening darkness to the south-east before we had realised that the pilot had made his drop. It was a measure of his complete self-confidence that he didn't even trouble to check the accuracy of his drop: but for a man skilled in landing on the handkerchief-sized flight deck of a carrier in the middle of the night this must have been a childishly simple exercise. There were two packages, not one, attached not to parachutes but to my journal digital camera insignificant little drogues that seemed to let them fall much too fast for safety: they landed almost together not forty yards from the magnesium flares and with such force that I was sure that their contents must be smashed. But I had underestimated the Fleet Air Arm's skill and experience in these matters, the contents were so beautifully packed and cushioned that everything was completely intact. The packages were duplicated: two ampoules of insulin and three hypodermic syringes in each package: whoever had packed these had been taking no chances. But gratitude was the last thought in my mind at that moment: I just tucked the boxes under my arm and made for the tractor at a dead run. For close on two hours Hillcrest's driver pushed the big Sno-Cat along at its maximum speed, and despite the inherent stability afforded by its four wide caterpillars, the tractor swayed and lurched in terrifying fashion. This was bad country, this was crevasse country, and we had been forced to make a wide detour that had carried us more than three miles away from the Kangalak glacier. And once again Jackstraw's big Siberian wolf proved how invaluable he was: running tirelessly ahead, he repeatedly guided the Sno-Cat away from dangerous territory, but even so our route was a necessarily devious and twisted one, though the picking out of a path became considerably easier after the pale grey light of the arctic noon spread across the ice-cap. For all of us it was a time of tension, of an ever-mounting anxiety that reached intolerable proportions. For the first half-hour or so I was busy enough in broaching the tractor's first-aid kit and doing what doctoring I could to Mahlera Mahler whose dyspnoea was already dramatically easingMarie LeGarde, Helene, Jackstraw and, above all, to Zagero's shattered hands. Then I myself submitted to Hillcrest's rough and ready ministrations, but after that there was nothing for me to do, nothing for any of us to do except try to avoid the bitterness of thinking what must happen if the Citroen reached the tongue of the glacier before us. Suddenly, exactly on noon, the tractor stopped abruptly. We jumped out to see what the matter was, and it became apparent soon enough the driver was awaiting instructions. We had abruptly rounded the humpback of the last ice ridge that had lain between us and the glacier itself. Even in the half-light of the arctic day the panorama suddenly