The Council Representative stared at the screen and shook his head. Sometimes the Ultimate Computer seemed frighteningly ignorant of the real world. That was his job. He rejected the list and tapped at his key board for a second.

COUREP PROBAB SUCCESS COVERT METH ODS.

1311670245 Z UCR COVERT METHODS PROBAB

SUCCESS 28% - 51%. SAKUDA MATSUJIRO AND

KIAZIM REFET AVAILABLE THRUSH EASTERN.

Q: PULL FILES.

Their files were projected on command from micro film chips, complete with photographs of the gentlemen concerned. The Japanese was just past fifty years old, and the Turk was scarcely five years younger, but the two of them had a record for dealing silent death unmatched and unapproached within Thrush. Refet was better than expert with every weapon known to man; he could hurl a bola, shoot pips out of playing cards, trim moustaches with a bullwhip, juggle a broad axe, spin a quarterstaff and throw tomahawks. His favorite personal weapon was a perfect reconstruction of the original Bowie knife, designed by Rezin and made famous by Jim. He had been seen to nail a flying beetle to a ceiling with it. He was second in rating to his partner.

Matsujiro had been with Thrush only three years. He had brought with him twenty years of training in the secret practices of Shin-Jitsu, and was the only Ninja ever to have deserted the Emperor's bodyguard and sold his traditions for gain. It was said that he could hide from an army in an acre of woods without even climbing a tree; he could kill a man with a blow from a single finger, and could so gauge the blow that his victim would remain unaware of serious injury for several days before the weakened wall of the heart gave way. There was no question in anyone's mind which of the team was the deadlier.

It would be almost noon in Japan. The Council Representative flipped through the tabbed notebook and punched up the satellite code for the Thrush Eastern office in Kiru.

1311670400 Z DE: CENTRAL TO: THRUSH EASTERN PRIORITY WHITE SAKUDA MATSUJIRO AND KIAZIM REFET ASSIGNED UTOPIA SOUTH AUS TRALIA. WAVERLY UNCLE 1/1 UNDER NAME OF LEON DODGSON PROBAB 81%. VERIFY IDENT AND KILL. MAINTAIN COMPLETE SECURITY. EASTERN ARRANGE COVERS ETC. DATA UTOPIA FOLLOWS ON TELEPRINTER. END.

Saturday, five days later, two new gardeners arrived at Utopia. They had been cleared through Park Security rapidly because of a sudden growth of ragweed and a need for moderately skilled help in the wilder sections of the Park. They rushed through Personnel the same afternoon, sat through Orientation Sunday, and were at work in the woods Monday morning.

The fact that they were there and unchallenged was a tribute to their own abilities and the efficiency of their organization. The Ultimate Computer was not quite literally able to move heaven and earth, but it could influence a goodly portion of the latter and occasionally did. Aware of the scheduled Sunday briefing and not wanting the available time before Waverly's departure reduced by a third, it had utilized deep-trance hypnosis to brief the two assassins, staggering numbers of bribes to establish their work record and qualifications, and a high-flying jet with its own legitimate job to drop specific growth-stimulating hormone concentrates over the Park's woodland. Sakuda and Kiazim had arrived in Sydney just as the call went out for experienced and certified help, and went on to answer it almost without stopping for lunch.

They were aware of Silverthorne's presence as a guest at the Park, and they had been told that the Total Security ordered by the Ultimate Computer specifically included him. At the moment, their work kept them away from areas he was likely to frequent, but eventually he might spot them and ask what they were doing here. It would not be unlike Thrush to send an important executive marked for execution to a plush resort for his last few weeks of life, and Silverthorne might understandably be uneasy.

For the moment they studied the situation and waited for a chance to check Mr. Dodgson's exact description against Waverly's. They also studied methods whereby a man might be killed neatly and safely, for they were not men to put such things off until the last moment. They had seen the UCR printout which estimated their maximum probability of success, once inside the Park, at 59%, and they had a personal interest in raising that figure to 100%.

Silverthorne was deeply involved in his War. Dodgson had initially played a cautious, defensive game, sending scouts into enemy territory while guarding his own. Silverthorne had made several successful thrusts already and was picking up a fair amount of strategic territory. One of Dodgson's better tricks had been removing forces from non-strategic areas as an invitation to attack; it hadn't worked.

Then in the second week of the war Dodgson had rallied and counter-attacked, gaining ground with such clear foreknowledge of his opponent's methods of combat that Silverthorne was driven to devise a wholly new style. He held most of his cavalry back from an encounter until the battle was well joined instead of using them in the massed charge. Dodgson halted his advance, pausing to study the change in tactics, and Silverthorne changed his artillery deployment and counter-attacked.

Now the third week had begun and they were temporarily stalemated. Silverthorne had ascertained that the Gamesmaster was unbribable, the Battle Results Computer untippable, and the soldiers themselves unapproachable. So much for the covert transactions of the game. Very well; he was willing to fight on whatever levels were open.

This was the state of his mind as he wandered, late of a Tuesday afternoon, through some of the wilder reaches of the Park towards the north along a network of color-coded trails. He was pacing himself to reach the Lodge with time for a drink before dinner when he came around a small grove of trees and found a sawhorse and notice saying DETOUR—MEN WORKING in several languages, including International Road Sign. With a moment's hesitation he turned to follow the blockaded trail.

He had gone no more than fifty feet when a man in canvas work clothes stepped from a clump of bushes ahead of him and said, "Sorry, sir, this area is temporarily closed to guests because of ragweed infestation."

"I was just interested in what was going on," Silverthorne said, continuing to approach. "What are you using to clear it out?"

He was fifteen feet away when his expression began to change. "Refet?" he said uncertainly.

The workman paused and said, "Yes, sir."

"Kiazim Refet? You worked for me in Noumea about a year and a half ago?"

"That is right, sir."

Silverthorne frowned and looked about him. They were alone. "You had a partner."

"Sakuda Matsujiro. He is here. We are on assignment, sir, and under Total Security." Refet saw Silverthorne's face beginning to register a not unfamiliar combination of unease and suspicion. "Our assignment has no relation to you, sir," he added with a slight smile.

"Certainly not," said Silverthorne, almost concealing his doubt. "But if you will report to me in Bungalow Twelve this evening, we may discuss the amazing mechanics of coincidence."

"We may discuss them only in the abstract, sir. I fear our orders were specific on that point. After all, you are on vacation."

"We shall see what fruit our discussion bears. Come at ten o'clock."

"If practical, sir."

Silverthorne started to correct him, then reconsidered. If they failed to appear, they could be found again. "Very well," he said. "You may return to your work."

He coolly turned his back on the Turkish assassin and strode back up the trail to the blockaded intersection. If his spine was tense, he gave no indication.