"Yeah, that Nick Trigger… did you see his face when he spotted Danno? He was out at the airport on his own, to meet the planes. Do you know what he was talking about most of the way in here? He was telling Arnie the Pig all about how Danno had fucked up everything over here, just everything, and about how Danno wound up walking into a Bolan trap and getting hisself splattered all over some street."

Turrin smiled and commented, "So that's what it was."

"Yeah, and did you hear the first thing Danno says to Nick? He says for Christ's sake, how'd Nick get out of that. How did Nickget out. And Nick had been telling Arnie the Pig that he wouldn't go with Danno because he knew Danno was all fucked up. He told him that flat out, I heard it."

"You better go easy on that Arnie the Pig stuff," Turrin advised quietly.

"With all due respect to the good bosses, Leo, that's what he is. But you're right, I better go easy on it. I hear he took a territory away from a boy once just because the guy forgot to call him mister. Imagine that. Next he'll be wanting to be called DonCastiglione.

Listen, Leo, I'd rather not wheel for Arnie if you can get someone else."

Turrin chuckled. "Don't worry, Arnie will be rolling with his own wheelman from here on. You was just a courtesy. Say, is that all you got to tell me?"

"Naw, you were right, they're planning something. They were talking careful because they know I'm with you. And I couldn't put my finger on any one thing they said, but I know shit when I hear it. Take my word, Leo, they're planning something."

"Okay thanks, Wheeler." Turrin squeezed the man's arm and went on inside to join the others. Leo knew damn well they were planning something. But that was okay. Leo knew how to make plans too.

It seemed that the park at Russell Square was being used as a marshalling point for the police. Bolan could hear the sharp commands and sound of running feet as the squads split off into their search areas. He had agreed that Ann would pilot the car; she slid in behind the wheel as Bolan put his things in and dived into the back seat.

A uniformed policeman ran into view and cried, "Hold on there!"—but the car had already begun to move and was picking up momentum in a quick plunge down the alley.

Whistles were sounding back there, and a sudden swirl of blue suits in the area they had just vacated revealed to Bolan the narrowness of their escape. And they were not all that clear yet.

The little car swerved into the street below Russell Square and skidded off into an easterly run. Bolan threw a leg over and fought his way into the front seat as a tootling wail of sirens rose up to plague fheir rear. He asked the girl, "Do you know where you're going?"

"Not just yet," she gasped. "Never worry, they'll not catch us."

Bolan could believe it. She was an expert driver, and she was pushing the car to the limit of the terrain, zig-zagging through the London maze in a way that would make downstream interceptions very unlikely. After several minutes of this it became evident that they had gotten away. The sounds of pursuit became fainter and more confused, and Bolan told her, "You're some wheelman."

"It's my first time," she admitted, the dark eyes flashing with excitement. "I mean, very nearly."

They were running easy now, angling toward the Thames and slowly working into a westward swing. The town seemed fully awakened, and the streets were becoming choked with buses and private vehicles as the off-to-work crowd descended on the inner city.

The girl told Bolan, "I believe I've decided where we shall go."

"And where is that?"

"Soho Psyche, for now. We'll spend a few hours there, until things cool off a bit, then we'll be off to Brighton. I've a cottage there. And it will be a perfectly smashing place."

Never mind smashing Brighton, Bolan's mind was still hung up on that first place. His eyes narrowed somewhat and he echoed, "Soho Psyche?"

"Yes, there'll be nobody about but the cleaning personnel—and surely no one would think to look for you there. Then the cottage in Brighton will make an ideal layover. We'll keep you concealed there until we can find a way to smuggle you out of the country."

"Wait just a minute," he growled. "What's the deal on Soho Psyche? I don't know that I—"

She interrupted with a peal of nervous laughter.

"How rotten of me, I assumed you knew. The Psyche is my place, at least half of it is."

"Who owns the other half?" he asked darkly.

"Major Stone is my partner. But never worry, if you're still thinking of your dreadful suspicions. The Major rarely visits the place, he's what you would term a silent partner."

The whole idea was a bit too overpowering for Bolan to assimilate immediately. He mulled the thing through his mind, finally growling, "Okay, we'll try it."

She smiled. "I have a flat there. We shall be quite comfortable."

"It seems that you have flats all over London," he replied drily.

She tossed her head and said, "Not really. The place back at Queen's House is merely a convenience for me. You'll never realize what a luxury absolute privacy can be until you've lived my life of the past few years. Sometimes I simply must get away from all of it. Queen's House is my getaway place."

"Yes, you mentioned that," he said, still watching her narrowly.

"The flat at the club is another convenience, a business one though, I assure you. Frequently I'm there until all hours. It's nice to have a place to refresh one's self from time to time."

"Uh-huh." Bolan was not enjoying the thoughts that were crowding his mind. "And, of course, you share another place with Major Stone."

"Yes." She looked at him and smiled. "Cheer up. I just sleep there, and even that as seldom as possible. It's a matter of family, actually. I grew up in that house."

"And then there's Brighton."

"Yes, well, that's my weekender. Brighton is on the sea, you know. A very nice resort, really. I love it there, by the sea."

They drove in silence for several minutes, during which time Bolan was attempting to organize his mind. They swung past Piccadilly and began angling into Soho. The big house with the iron gate slid past. Bolan noted that the vehicles had returned. He asked Ann, "Who's place is that?" He wouldn't have been surprised to hear her identify it as the old family home.

She had sensed his hostility, and her own mood had suffered a marked deterioration also. Coolly, she replied, "It once belonged to the Earl of—"

"I mean now. Who lives there now?"

She shook her head and told him, "I haven't the foggiest."

He almost grinned and said, "You're sure of that?"

A smile hovered just beneath the surface of her lips. She murmured, "Whatever is the matter with you? Honestly, you're the bloodiest, most suspicious person I have ever known."

He sighed and told her, "It keeps me breathing, kiddo."

"Well, please don't start to get edgy with me. I've plans for you this beautiful morning."

"What sort of plans?"

One hand dropped away from the steering wheel and found Bolan's in a warm grip. "I'm going to ask you to prove something to me."

"And what's that?" he asked, though he already suspected the aswer.

"It's high time I discovered whether or not I'm a natural woman. Don't you think so?"

Bolan thought so. He murmured, "Just so you know exactly what you're doing, Ann."

"But I'm leaving all that to you," she said, with what he was sure was a forced smile. She was an open gal, yeah, but she wasn't brassy. "I intend to place myself entirely into your hands."

Bolan was looking at her and visualizing all that entirely in his hands. Either he was the most fortunate man in London or the biggest sucker. He sighed and said, "Wrong."

"What?"

"It's the other way around, m'lady. I have placed myself entirely in yourhands."