"What are you going to do?"

"Respond, naturally. If it means sacrificing another assassin, so be it I can afford it at this point, and I have to discover whether he is being careless or has something special in mind."

"Which agent will you employ this time?"

"I feel it should be a strong one. Perhaps Max, that C Twenty-four brain in the armored vehicle. Or even Timyin Tin—though I would like to hold him in reserve, should everyone else fail. It would be best to hit hard now. Perhaps Archie. Yes..."

"I wish ..."

"What?"

"I wish it were possible for us to go back and witness

the event. Have you no desire to be present when your old enemy is brought low?" "I will, of course, receive a full report, with photos."

"Still.'.."

"Yes I see your point. Naturally, it has occurred to me. But I have no way of knowing which one will be the hit. My intention is simply to wait until the event has occurred and then go back and witness it. I'll locate some sideroad. I will get there to see it, eventually. I just want to be certain that it has taken place first In fact I intend to witness it many, many times."

"It sounds rather complicated. I would be happy to go back and serve as your personal witness the first time

around."

"Perhaps something might be arranged—later."

"But later may be too late."

"It is never too late. Right now we have a chess game to complete, and then there are some manuscripts I want you to take a look at."

The marquis sighed.

"You really know how to hurt a man."

Chadwick grinned and lit an orange tube. A tortoise, its shell inlaid with gold and precious gems, wandered by. He reached down and patted its head.

"A' time for everything, and everything in its time," he said.

One

Red had sent for trays of food—great racks of beef, whole chickens and hogs—and he sat gorging himself and swaying, rising occasionally to pace, to pause, panting, beside the barred window. The night was cool. An unrisen moon paled the east. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and strange noises rose in his throat

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for half a minute. Then he stared at his hands for a long while. The light seemed to be growing brighter, but he knew this was not the case. He tore off the rest of his clothing and returned to eating, pausing only to wipe the perspiration from his eyes.

The lights began to dance. Reality seemed to phase in and out in colored flashes. The heat was oppressive ...

He felt the change begin.

He threw himself back upon the bed and lay unmoving, waiting.

There came a sound like wind through a wheatfield and everything seemed to be spinning.

Two

He moved to the base of the tower, dark, darker than the moonlit night itself, silent.

For long seconds he stared upward. Then he reached out and touched the wall. He drew back his hands, clenched them, pumped them. The claws came forth.

With but the slightest of scratching sounds, he began to climb, shadow over shadow, sliding up the face of the building. His breathing was not strained. Beneath the darkness, he wore no expression. This was the place. The car that had brought him was parked in the lot below. There was absolutely no hurry. The night was young. The driver would wait.

He avoided windows, though most of them were already dark. He paused below the balcony of the first high landing, listening.

Nothing.

He raised his head and scanned the area.

Vacant.

He climbed past on the left, a gentle wind caressing him as he went. A frightened bird emitted a single cry and departed a nesting place far in the rear, vanishing into the night behind him.

Continuing on, he slowed as he neared the second landing, where he repeated the performance. He had

studied a map of the tower; he knew the room's location, he also knew that the windows were grilled. It would be simpler and faster to spring the door with a single kick, entering with as much surprise as possible...

He paused to listen below the third landing, moved to regard it, then raised himself and mounted the rail. As he did, a figure moved out of the stairwell to his right, took a single puff on a freshly lit cigarette. dropped it and stepped on it. Crouched, owl-like, on the rail, he saw that the small, now motionless figure was also watching him. A single spring, a single movement of his hands and it would not matter...

"Archie," said a soft voice, "good evening."

He restrained himself. He placed his right hand upon the rail to his side.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," his hoarse voice responded.

"True, we've never met. I have seen your picture, however, along with those of a number of our fellow employees. I thought that perhaps you might have seen mine under somewhat similar circumstances."

A match flared. Archie regarded the face.

"Familiar, yes," he stated. "The name, however, escapes me."

"I am called Timyin Tin."

"Well, I take it we are here for the same purpose, You can go home now, I don't need any help."

"We are not here for the same purpose."

"I don't understand."

"I look upon this job as my own. Your presence, through no fault of your own, offends me. Therefore, I must bid you depart and leave this matter in my hands."

Archie chuckled.

"It's silly to argue over who kills him."

"I am glad you think so. I will bid you good night, then, and be about the thing."

"That is not what I meant."

"What, then?"

"I have my orders. I have even been conditioned to hate the man. No, the job is mine. You go your way. It will be done."

"Alas I cannot. With me, it is a matter of honor." "Do you think you are the only one who might feel

that way?"

"Not any longer."

Archie shifted slightly on the railing. Timyin Tin turned toward his right.

"You do not wish to give up on this?"

"No. And you will not?"

"True."

Archie flexed his fingers, twitching his claws.

"Then it is too late for you," he said, and sprang

forward.

Timyin Tin moved backward and turned, dropping into a bent-kneed position, hands open, fingers spread, palms faring forward at shoulder level. Archie spun, his right hand crossing his chest, fingers hooked outward, left hand extended, fingers forward, thumb cocked, his weight shifted to his left leg, right leg flexed. Timyin Tin turned sideways, his right hand retreating to the vicinity of his left shoulder, his left crossing his body to the front, fingers moving into a new position.

Archie feinted with his foot, slashed twice with his right hand, dropped immediately into a cross-armed defensive posture. Timyin Tin had moved back, arms parallel and extended forward, hands rotating. Archie's blows had fallen short as he assessed his opponent. Now he assumed a new position—head back, arms cocked, right leg extended. Timyin Tin made a basket of his arms before him and leaned slightly forward, turning. ''Almost had me there," Archie said. The small man smiled as his left fingers assumed a new configuration and his shoulder dropped two and a

quarter inches. Archie hastily changed the position of his left arm and moved his rear foot to produce a new stance.

Timyin Tin fanned his face slowly with his right hand while lowering his left, fingers curving upward. Archie did a backward somersault and moved forward, kicking. Timyin Tin parried the kick with a scooping movement of his left arm that threw Archie into a cartwheeling motion, which the larger man continued until he was out of range, coming up into a defensive crouch from which he rose with his hands moving rapidly. He circled to the left now, shuffling, jerking through dozens of positions with blinding speed. Timyin Tin's body flowed to follow him, his hands seeming to move more slowly but always falling into the proper attitudes.