"No," Simms said, pulling out a bottom drawer and casually resting a highly polished shoe on it. "Actually I'd like to put you back in harness."

Shaw was stunned. What in hell lwas going on? He was amazed to feel a wave of excitement course through him. "I can't believe the service is so hard up it has to recall decrepit old agents from the rubbish heap."

"You're too hard on yourself, Mr. Shaw. You were perhaps the best the service ever recruited. You became something of a legend in your own time."

"A canker that led to my forced retirement."

"Be that as it may, I have an assignment that fits your talents like a glove. It requires a mature man with brains. There will be no call for physical agility or bloodletting. It's purely a case for investigative skill and wits. Despite your qualms about age, I have little question that a man of your experience can bring it off."

Shaw's mind was whirling. He was finding it difficult to make sense of Simms' statements. "Why me? There must be an army of other agents who are better qualified. And the Russians. They never throw out their files. The KGB will have me pegged an hour after I resurface."

"This is the era of electronic brains, Mr. Shaw. Section heads no longer sit in stuffy old offices and make opinionated decisions. All data on current assignments are now fed into computers. We leave it to their memory banks to tell us which agent is best suited to send out. Apparently they took a dim view of our present crop. So we programmed a list of retirees. Your name popped out at the top. As to the Russians, you are not to worry. You won't be dealing with them."

"Can you tell me what it is I'm so ideally suited for?"

"A watchdog job."

"If not the Russians, then who?"

"The Americans."

Shaw sat silent, not sure he heard right. Finally he said, "Sorry, Brigadier, but your robots made a mistake. Granted, I've never thought the Americans as civilized as the British, but they're a good people. During my years in the service I formed many warm relationships with them. I've worked closely with men in the CIA. I refuse to spy on them. I think you better find someone else."

Simms' face reddened. "You're overreacting. Listen to the facts, Mr. Shaw. I'm not asking you to steal classified information from the Yanks; only keep an eye on them for a few weeks. Not to sound maudlin, but this is a matter which could very well threaten Her Majesty's government."

"I stand rebuked," said Shaw. "Please continue."

"Thank you," Simms replied haughtily. "All right, then. Routine investigation into something called the North American Treaty. A rusty can of worms the Americans have dug up. You're to learn what they know and if they intend to do anything about it."

"Sounds vague. What exactly is this treaty business?"

"I think it best if you weren't privy to its ramifications just yet," Simms said without elaboration.

"I understand."

"No, you don't, but that's neither here nor there. Care to give it a go?"

Shaw was torn momentarily by indecision. His reflexes had faded, his strength was half what it once had been. He could not read without glasses. He could still bring down a grouse at fifty yards with a shotgun, but he had not fired a pistol in twenty years. Shaw did not dodge the fact that he was an aging man.

"My farm…...?"

"Run by a professor of agronomy in your absence." Simms smiled. "You'll find us more liberal with our purse strings than during your day. I might add that the eighty acres you've been dickering for that border your farm will be purchased in your name, courtesy of the service, when you finish the assignment."

Times had changed, but the section's efficiency, had not. Shaw was never aware he was under surveillance. He was indeed getting old. "You make it extremely difficult to say no, Brigadier."

"Then say yes."

The old line "In for a penny, in for a pound" ran through Shaw's mind. Then he shrugged and spoke with the old selfassurance. "I'll give it a try."

Simms rapped the desk with his fist. "Jolly good." He pulled open a drawer and threw an envelope in front of Shaw. "Your airline tickets, traveler's checks and hotel reservations. You'll go under your new identity, of course. Is your passport in order?"

"Yes," replied Shaw. "It will take me a fortnight to clean up my affairs."

Simms waved a hand airily. "Your plane leaves in two days. Everything will be taken care of. Good hunting."

Shaw's face tensed. "You were pretty damned sure of me."

Simms' lips spread into a toothy smile. "I was betting on an old warhorse who yearns for one more battle."

It was Shaw's turn to smile. He wasn't going to exit looking insipid.

"Then why the clandestine crap?"

Simms stiffened. His face took on a cornered look. He said nothing.

"The masquerade," snapped Shaw. "This building hasn't been used for years. We could have just as easily met on a park bench."

"It was that obvious?" Simms said in a quiet voice.

"You might as well have posted a sign."

Simms shrugged. "Perhaps I went to extremes, but the Americans have an uncanny way of knowing what goes on in British intelligence circles. Besides, it was necessary to see if you still possessed your powers of perception."

"A test."

"Call it what you will." Simms rose to his feet and walked around the desk. He offered his hand to Shaw. "I am sincerely sorry to have mucked up your schedule. I do not relish depending on someone who is out of his prime, but I am a blind man in a fog and you are my only hope to guide me out."

Ten minutes later, Brigadier Simms and his secretary stood side by side in the lift as it rattled down to the lobby. She was adjusting a rain cap on her head while Simms seemed deep in thought. "He was a strange one," she said.

Sims looked up. "I'm sorry."

"Mr. Shaw. He moves like a cat. Gave me a fright the way he sneaked up behind me when I was expecting him to step out of the lift."

"He came up the stairs?"

"From the ninth floor," she said. "I could tell from the pause in the indicator."

"I rather hoped he'd do that," said Simms. "Makes it comforting to know he hasn't lost his devious touch."

"He seemed a friendly old fellow."

Simms smiled. "That friendly old fellow has killed over twenty men."

"Would have fooled me."

"He'll need to fool a lot of people," Simms muttered. The lift door clanked open. "He has no idea of the massive stakes riding on his shoulders. It may well be we have thrown the poor bastard to the sharks."

An officer in a Royal Navy uniform stepped forward as Brian Shaw cleared airport customs. "Mr. Shaw?"

"Yes, I'm Shaw."

"Lieutenant Burton-Angus, British embassy. Sorry about not seeing you through customs; I was held up in traffic. Welcome to Washington."

As they shook hands, Shaw cast a disapproving eye at the uniform. "A bit open, aren't we?"

"Not at all." Burton-Angus smiled. "If I suddenly showed up at the airport in mufti, someone might think I was playing cloak and dagger. Better to appear routine."

"Which way to the luggage claim?"

"Not necessary. Actually, I'm afraid your stay in the capital city has been cut rather short."