April Dancer leapt from the horse, gripped the fourth man, slashed twice at his gun arm, then pivoted to throw him bodily against the shattered taxi. Kazan and Lars made short work of the first two men, then Kazan ran to Colamina's side. She was gently easing out the knife.

"Mon Dieu! This is terrible! Hold on to me, ma cherie."

"Why should I?" said Colamina calmly. "I am not hurt. But I am too hot!" She flung off the heavy hat. Perspiration made a crown around her glossy hair and dewed her forehead and nose. "I shall stifle if I do not take off this..." She scratched her ribs. "Yoy! It is worse than a corset in this weather!"

"Go among the trees and strip off," said April. "Those safety vests aren't usually so hot, but that's one of the early models." She gripped Colamina's arm. "But you were real cool. Now leave this to us."

Lars said: "I get their truck — ya?"

April nodded. "Pronto, Lars, pronto."

Kazan gazed after Colamina. "She is wonderful, is she not?"

"Cheval must be a top cog to be able to lay this on so fast," said April.

"You are not sorry you took the chance?" Kazan asked.

"No regrets." April walked to the taxi driver. "Did you bring a kit?"

Kazan went to the basket, pulled out the emergency medical kit. "You did not tell me, but I am the good thinker."

"I assumed you were properly trained. Bring it, quickly — his arm is very bad. Collect their guns and go through their pockets while I tend him. Get the darts if you can. No need to advertise our secret weapons."

Colamina's riding gear fitted April as well as the lime-green dress fitted Colamina.

"That feels better," said Colamina, stowing the bullet proof vest in the basket. "Such a lovely dress, April!"

"Keep it," said April. "I'll swop you for that flame and orange island-weave of yours when we get back to the hotel."

"Poor Ysana!" Colamina gazed down at the taxi driver. "Is he badly hurt?"

"Not as bad as it looked." April completed the bandaging. "Poor Ysana my foot — he was willing to lead you to a coshing, or knifing, or worse!"

"Not me — you."

April shrugged. "He's a pawn for profit. I have no pity for pawns. Who would have paid him? Is this a normal sort of service on the island?"

"Not normal, but not unusual since the Palagas obtained a stranglehold on the economy. They teach people lessons — if you know what I mean? One or two are beaten up, left on the hills, miss the boat, have time to reconsider their position — or are kept away from Palaga long enough for certain matters to be adjusted. Yes, I suppose you could call it a service."

"You think they would have killed me?"

"I do not think so. They would teach you a lesson, make you miss maybe two boats, keep you out of circulation. Everyone here would be very kind. We are not violent people. We are very nice, happy-go-lucky people. That is why we do not see what is going on until it is too late and the Palagas use us more or less as they please." Colamina pointed to the four sleeping men. "They are paid by the warehouse company. Hired thugs posing as Customs men. They are changed about every three months."

Lars came with the truck. The wounded taxi driver and the four men were loaded into it. Lars also had collected the scooters.

"Lars, take the truck back along the road. You'll see a track — it winds among the trees. Hide the truck, climb on your scooter and finish the grand tour of the hills before you return to the boat. Try to act a little drunk, as if you'd taken a couple of bottles with you, so you won't have to speak, then you can reach the launch without giving away your accent."

"Forget the deposit on the scooter," said Kazan. "I overpaid for the hire of all of them. What about Colamina?" he asked as Lars backed the truck on to the road.

"She comes with me on the horse," said April. "We'll double back to the old man's place."

"Tarancita," said Colamina. "You must have charmed him into lending you his horse."

April frowned. "Tarancita? That's his name? He speaks perfect English."

"We call him Tarancita. It means, he who hides — or, more literally, the shy vegetable. Tara means a fern — a special green plant, very hard to find here. Tarancita lives with his goats and olive trees, and does not bother anyone."

"And has a telescopic radio mast buried in his garden, and a powerful radio camouflaged by an old-fashioned dresser," said April. "I have an eye for such things — it's part of my job — though I guess the casual caller would miss them."

Colamina shrugged. "I did not know. That is true, April."

"But you know him?"

"Of course."

"He reminds me of someone," said April thoughtfully. "All that white hair and big white beard still doesn't stop me being reminded. He's just a harmless old recluse, I suppose? Came here to die — but has radio as a secret hobby. Would that be right?"

"I do not think he is near dying, and the radio is a big surprise to me — but perhaps it should not be."

"Why not?"

"He is the father of Chas. He has been here many years. Chas always visits him, brings him supplies. Perhaps the radio belongs to Chas?"

"That Chas!" April exclaimed. "Didn't you include his father in your section of the research report?"

"Yes, of course I did. But only that he lived alone on the island and was an old man."

April nodded slowly. "What else could you say? And we wouldn't probe it too hard. The English research reported the father as 'retired to live abroad — believed dead — no contact with known relatives'." She smiled. "Our Chas becomes more and more interesting!" She looked at Kazan. "What the hell are you dozing around here for?"

Kazan, one leg hitched over the scooter saddle, was staring hard, but unseeingly, at a parade of red ants passing by.

His head jerked up. "I am struggling with my inferiority complex."

"Couldn't you struggle as you rode? What bee is buzzing in that tiny noble head of yours?"

Kazan sighed. "I cannot become used to working under the authority of a woman. It makes me nervous. To a woman, I like always to be right. If I tell you and I am wrong, I shall lose my dignity."

"Oh, good heavens! You're worse than a woman, Kazan! Do your job, that's all. If there is something I have to know — tell me."

"Very well. It is Cheval. I have seen him before, but not very close in person, and he looks different in photographs, but I am sure it is he. It is — oh, more than two years since I heard of him."

"In France?"

"In Europe. He is from Alsace, though I think he was born in Brussels. He also is of Switzerland, and some time in Germany. But not Cheval. Andre is right, I think. Andre Charival — or Chamival. I forget which."

"Who is he?"

Kazan smiled. "Like Chas's father — a mystery man. Very shy. He is a scientist — a famous bacteriologist. I go now."

CHAPTER SIX: SEEK, FIND, DESTROY

APRIL slipped aboard Island Traveller as misty dusk purpled the harbour, and reached her cabin without seeing anyone or herself being seen. The ship was very quiet, with no passengers and only a skeleton crew on duty.

She opened her cabin door, closed it softly and moved to black out the porthole before switching on the light. As she trod cautiously to reach the switch, she heard a sound of heavy breathing from the bunk. Instead of using the bunk-side switch, she moved to the door, clicked on the light and tensed for trouble.