"Not really." She sighed and her head drooped toward the windowpane. "I was simply shocked and frightened and confused. I could never have pulled that trigger. I'm in love with you, Mack."

Bolan said, "All right, maybe I feel something of the same for you. But it won't change a thing at the nitty-gritty level, Ann. I'm going to keep hacking at this thing, and the chips are going to lie where they fall."

Silent tears were oozing down the smooth cheeks as she turned to him and said, "Then let's make a pact."

"What sort of pact?" he asked gruffly.

"To love one another… 'til murder do us part."

He said, "Dammit, Ann," and moved to her and took her in his arms.

She gave way entirely then, the sobs racking her and the tears flowing unrestrained. Bolan held her and patted her and whispered, "Hey, hey, hey…"

She had her cry, and a tender kiss or two, and she was nuzzling contentedly at his shoulder when suddenly she stiffened and raised her head to gaze intently out the window.

"Mack!" she said, her voice tight with alarm. "You said you've been afoot… but… did a taxicab bring you here?"

He followed her gaze to the window and replied, "Yes, but I had him drop me up on Euston Road. What's going on out there?"

"Did I forget to… ? Charles warned me that the taxi companies were alerted to watch out for you. Now see what…"

Bolan grabbed the blinds and closed them with a jerk. Russell Square was beginning to crawl with bobbies. He flung himself away from the girl and snatched up the guncase and headed for the door.

Ann grabbed his suitcase and ran after him.

"You stay!" he commanded.

"I'll not stay," she replied firmly. "I've a rental car in the alley. Don't waste time arguing."

Bolan knew the wisdom of that last remark. He quickly doused the lights and grabbed Ann's elbow and hustled her through the doorway and along to the rear stairway.

With a lot of luck, they just might make it. "Listen," he said urgently, "if the cops start shooting, then that's it and it's the end of things. You hit the dirt and dammit don't move a muscle. And you tell 'em that I was holding a gun on you. Remember that, you were my prisoner—otherwise they'll throw the book at you."

"We'll escape," she said confidently. "Never worry, we'll get through."

She was plucky as hell and Bolan was proud of her and… yeah, he was more than just proud of her.

He hadn't really wanted to leave her behind. They'd made a pact. They were together until… Bolan was hoping for a long romance. But, under the circumstances, he was not counting on it.

Giliamo and Turrin were outside to greet the new arrivals as the glistening motorcade swept into the drive. Staccio had remained in the house, growling, "If Arnie Farmer wants to see me, let 'im look me up."

As the vehicles continued to pull in, Giliamo leaned back toward Turrin and remarked, "Christ, how many heads has he brought with him?"

Turrin grinned. "You ain't seen nothing. This is just his personal party. We made arrangements around town for the other crews."

The driver of the lead vehicle jumped out and snatched open the rear door. A loud command from inside resulted in the door being hastily closed again. The driver ran down the line of vehicles, thumping doors and issuing orders on the run. Men began erupting from the cars and milling about in confusion until crew leaders took over and turned the chaos into order. Two groups went to the street, broke up, and disappeared. Others began prowling the grounds and manning the fence. Another group filed solemnly past Giliamo and Turrin with hardly a glance at the reception committee and went inside, presumably to shake down the house.

Turrin had watched all this with a bemused smile. In a low aside to Giliamo, he remarked, "Talk about your palace guard. The President should have such a security thing, eh?"

Giliamo, though, was obviously impressed by the show of force. He said, "Look I don't blame 'im. I know. I been there."

"You been where?"

The Jerseyite flushed and replied, "Never mind, I know all about this Bolan and I gotta hand it to Arnie Farmer, he knows what he's doing."

Turrin chuckled and watched the proceedings without further comment. Presently a hard-looking man approached the Castiglione vehicle, quietly opened the door, and said something to the men inside in a hushed voice. Two bodyguards exited from the front seat, on the opposite side, and took up waiting positions there, looking nervously around. Another two came off the jumpseats in the rear and bracketed the doorway with their bodies. Then the man himself stepped out, followed quickly by a companion. The bodyguards fell in to form a tight circle and the party moved forward with Castiglione barely visible in the center.

As they were ascending the steps, Turrin muttered to Giliamo, "Now don't forget and call 'im Arnie."

Giliamo nodded and stepped forward with a big smile. "Glad to see you, Mr. Castiglione," he called out. "Christ, things have been going to hell over here. I'm sure glad to see you." Then the smile faded, and Danno pulled on a shocked face. Nick Trigger was standing there beside the great man, and he also was wearing a dumbfounded look.

Castiglione was giving Giliamo a thoughtful glare. He said, "I'm glad to see you too, Danno. Nick's been telling me all about your fuckin' head getting blown off."

Giliamo said, "Christ, I thought the same about him! For Christ's sake, Nick, how'd you get out of that?"

Nick smiled pastily and glanced at Arnie Farmer. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I think I got my brains rattled a little."

"I think somebody's got something rattled, Castiglione growled. "Let's talk about it inside. This's the lousiest weather I ever saw, Danno. Is it always like this over here?"

Turrin recognized the weather-talk as a subtle shift of favor from Nick Trigger to Danno.

Giliamo had picked it up also. He replied, "It's been pretty bad. They got a polution problem, I think, but then who hasn't. And it mixes with the damned fog I guess, and you gotta wear warmer clothes than that, Mr. Castiglione, that'll never do over here, you'll catch your death o' cold."

They went on past Leo Turrin with only a glance and a nod of the head from Arnie Farmer. Turrin nodded back and watched them go inside, and he was thinking that Danno was a Mafia politician to watch. Disarmingly frank and open, all smiles—and all the while probably, a switchblade concealed in his fist.

The man who had been driving the Castiglione vehicle came slowly up the steps and stood beside Turrin. Leo gave him a cigarette and they both lit up. The driver exhaled and said disgustedly, "Big fuckin' deal."

Turrin grinned and told him, "Maybe you'll be Capo some day, Wheeler."

"No way," the wheelman replied. "Not if I gotta act like that. That turns my stomach, Leo."

Toby Wheeler was a member of Turrin's crew from Pittsfield. The name was obviously a Mafia monicker, but Leo had never heard any other used on the man. The story went that Wheeler had once been a racing car driver and twice had narrowly missed qualifying for the big one at Indianapolis. Now he was a valuable chauffeur, a wheelman par excellence. He sucked again on the cigarette and told his boss, "I got to take that Caddie back to the U-Drive, Leo. It's pulling a little to the left in the turns. They shouldn't check out faulty equipment like that."

Turrin nodded and said, "Okay, I'll tell you when. Right now I want a report. What was Arnie talking about on the way in?"

"This'n that, mostly that. Buncha shit, really. All about what he's going to do to this Bolan bastard. And that other guy… what's his name?"

"Nick Trigger."