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  The possibility was sucking at him like an undertow, pulling everything he believed in, everything he'd worked for out from under him. He fought a drowning feeling, held afloat only by his own anger. Somebody he'd trusted could be as crooked as Yussuf had been. Somebody he and Channing thought was helping might be willing to kill them.

  And suddenly he knew this assignment had narrowed down to just the two of them. Him and Channing. Him and the woman he'd scorned as an amateur but had come to admire. She was his partner now, the only one he could trust. It had nothing to do with his attraction to her as a woman - - he'd be a fool to base judgment on that. It had to do with the fact she'd saved his tail tonight, and with what she was saying now, with her directness. They sat amid shards of glass, neither of them moving.

  "It sure as hell would explain a lot of things," he acknowledged. "How Ballieu knew to tear out the first bugs we planted. Why that other room Yussuf reserved is unoccupied. How the film disappeared in the first place. It all falls into place if the seller is one of us."

  He realized she might not know what he was talking about. The film had disappeared a while ago, back when Sam was alive. With a grimace he backtracked.

  "We were all in Washington when it happened. Me. Sam. Oliver. Max and Walker. Lots of other people - - all in to debrief a big case."

  Frowning, he looked back in time. Patterns that hadn't been apparent started to emerge.

  "We assumed that whoever initially stole the film did it by accident. That they thought the people moving it were moving money. Maybe we've been wrong from the first. Maybe whoever killed those couriers knew exactly what he was getting."

  Channing leaned against the frame of the shattered window behind her.

  "The people at your meeting knew when the film was moving?"

  "Not the time, especially. Just that it would move and that it would be that day. It wasn't a big thing - - had nothing to do with us - - just a comment one of the bigwigs made in passing. I guess the fact that the theft occurred practically under our noses made us all a little extra indignant."

  He reached for the handle of the door beside him and shoved it to release the anger building inside him.

  "Some of us, anyway," he said correcting himself.

  Someone he'd worked with was a traitor. And a killer.

  They met in front of the Jeep and fell into step together.

  "Ellery?" Her voice slipped into huskiness. As she looked up, he saw she had dirt and dried blood on the side of her face. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah. Me too," he said. "I thought I was working for a high-class outfit."

  He took her arm. It felt right. They walked through the night together.

  Ellery was aware of silence building until at last he spoke what was on his mind.

  "It'd be risky, trying to make Ballieu and whoever else we're up against think you're flimflamming us," he said.

  He didn't know how he could even consider it, except that, like taking her arm, it seemed right.

  "It's my world too," she said lightly. "I move around in it more than most people. You're not going to tell me I don't have to pay my dues because I'm a female, are you?"

  Ellery didn't answer.

  They could abort the whole mission, go to Oliver with their suspicions, and, because the odds were too clearly against Channing's switch, pull out. It would mean instant safety for the two of them, and they could still nab Ballieu - - maybe. Not a total loss. But if they were right about a traitor on their team, not playing things through could give that individual a chance to vanish back into the woodwork. He could stay with the department for years, impossible to smoke out and committing God knows what acts of treason in the years to come.

  Treason. Ellery's mind replayed the word. It was something out of law texts, not part of day-to-day life. Until now.

  They were nearing a door to the lodge. He looked at Channing. If State had a crooked agent, catching him was just as important as switching the film. Maybe more so. She understood that.

  The hell of it was, he couldn't think of anyone else he'd feel even halfway comfortable asking for help.

  He wanted to protect her, yet to do so would deny some vital part of her.

  "Better clean up," he said, stopping to survey her. "I'd rather give you credit for your rescue efforts, but if no one knows who bailed me out, you'll stand a better chance of peddling your story."

  "You want me to go in as if I've been strolling around the grounds or something?"

  "Right. I'll use another door and go up to the listening post. Meet me there and we'll play it the same."

  One sleeve of her gold jacket had split loose from the shoulder seam to hang raggedly. She took the jacket off and swung it over her shoulder.

  "Have a comb?" She began to remove the few pins left straggling from her hair.

  "Do I look like Max?" He grinned. "Never carry one."

  Licking the inside of his wrist, he reached out to wipe the worst of the smudges from her temple.

  "Cleaner than my hands," he said. "Don't worry. I've had all my shots."

  He felt linked to her, briefly light and sure of himself despite their situation. They were starting to click like a team, a very different team from the one he and Sam had been. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

  "You're damned good," he said. "I don't think I've ever told you that."

  She smiled.

  Ellery started to wonder how much attention he was likely to attract getting into the lodge and up the elevator. His shirt was torn and he wore groundin dust from collar to sneakers. His jacket was wrapped around his hand to hide the .38 he held in readiness.

  Over Channing's shoulder he surveyed the lobby. No sign of anyone who should put them immediately on their guard ...

  He stopped, irritation flaring and waning again, as he realized it probably wasn't her doing. Not any more than Serafin's stowing away. The woman in front of him simply inspired loyalties on a different level than most people did. He'd have to accept it.

  "One thing," he said slowly, amusement nudging against the tension inside him. "Could you at least spare me the white rabbits?"

  She frowned in puzzlement, then turned to follow his gaze. Ellery heard her teeth grind as she spotted the bent, hook-nosed form of her houseman.

  Eighteen

  Rundell unfolded his stooped frame from a lobby couch with amazing alacrity. By the time Channing heard the entry door whoosh shut behind her, he was tottering in a beeline toward her, his expression more puckered than usual, a critical glint in his eye. She felt, for some reason that mystified her, like a kid caught skipping school.

  "Rundell!" she said in a hiss. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Finding out what the hell you want with a card shaver, madam." His teeth snapped shut. He scowled. "When has a Stuart ever cheated at cards? When has a Stuart ever needed to mark cards for a trick- -"

  "I ought to can you!" Channing said, interrupting, almost as annoyed by his misjudgment of her as she was by his appearance here. "I need it to repair a piece of apparatus - - and I needed it this morning, dammit!"

  From the corner of her eye she could see Wilbur peering out the door to his office. No doubt Rundell had cut quite a figure inquiring for her. Serafin, his expression one of commiseration, scuttled past Wilbur and started toward them.

  "Rubbish," said Rundell. His teeth clicked again.

  At least he had the decency to keep his voice to a whisper, Channing thought. She held out her hand. With a sniff Rundell handed her the small envelope she knew to be the card shaver.

  Serafin scooted to a stop behind her elbow.

  "I tried to tell him everything was mellow, but he wouldn't leave," the boy said desperately.

  He and Rundell glared at each other.

  "I'm due a vacation, madam." Rundell's tone was truculent. "It's been eight years since- -"

  "Yes. Fine. Stay, by all means."

  The best way to deal with Rundell had always been to keep him off-balance.
Arguing would get her nowhere. Sobered by the knowledge of what she and Ellery were facing, and aware that she was losing time that could be vital, she pressed ahead.

  "Check in if you haven't already."

  There was always the chance Rundell could prove useful. He kept his head about things. She'd feel more certain of Serafin's safety with him around too. Crooking her arm through Rundell's, she started toward the elevators.

  "I want Serafin to stay with you tonight. Don't do anything or go anywhere without clearing it with me. And don't say anything about seeing one of the men who came to the house. It could cost him - - or me - - our lives. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly, madam." Rundell's hooked nose had raised majestically. He was practically smirking. "Why do you think I showed up here? Only a blithering idiot would believe that crap about a charity gig. I knew you were getting yourself into some sort of mess."

  * * *

  "I didn't hear a thing," Walker mumbled. "Had those earphones on - - is he going to be okay?"

  He was holding his head, the plump lines of his face like the underbelly of a thundercloud. Ellery knelt over Max's prostrate form, a cold washcloth pressed to the back of Max's head.

  "Yeah, looks like just the same as you got. I don't suppose you found anything in Ballieu's room?"

  Walker scowled.

  "Not diddly-squat. And no one showed up for a pickup, either."

  He sounded defensive.

  Ellery nodded. He'd found them both sprawled unconscious. It had taken several minutes to bring Walker around. Now there was a knock at the door. Muttering under his breath, Walker rose to check the peephole and let Channing enter.

  "How'd we do?" she asked almost gaily. "I stayed for a drink with somebody after the show. I thought it might look better than coming straight up. My God, you're filthy, Ellery! What did you get into out there?"

  Somehow the dishevelment of her hair seemed deliberate, Ellery marveled. She carried her jacket slung casually across her shoulder. Substantial as it had been, the ripped seam wasn't apparent. For half a second Ellery wondered if she'd switched the garment or turned it inside out or actually had some trick for restoring things. Then he recognized it must have something to do with the way she'd folded it, and her inherent showmanship.

  "Max and Walker both got beaned on the back of the head, and things didn't go much better for me." Ellery thought they played well together. He shared a look with her, wondering how much of what he'd found here was true. Beneath the outer brightness of her eyes he could see she was thinking the same.

  A groan gurgled out as Max began to come to.

  "Take it easy," Ellery said.

  Max's eyes fluttered open. He saw Ellery, squinted, then blinked in confusion.

  "What- -?"

  Once again Ellery felt his gaze being drawn to Channing's. Could either of the men in this room be acting?

  "Looks like we got ambushed all around," he said. "I was first prize in a shooting gallery out there."

  "I told you I should back you up," said Channing. The tone she adopted now was one shade short of cross. "How'd you get out?"

  "Some kid who'd been out taking his girl home." Ellery grinned. "Saw one too many movies, I guess. Heard a couple of shots and headed his truck right in to see the action."

  Infrared was good enough to pinpoint a vehicle but not to identify it beyond a vague shape. His story should hold.

  "A kid in a truck?" sputtered Walker.

  Max was pulling himself to a sitting position, a hand to the base of his skull. Channing pointed suddenly to the monitor showing the door to Ballieu's room.

  "Look!"

  His profile to them, Ballieu was unlocking the door. He went inside. Max was squinting again. He stared at the screen. His mouth was agape.

  "You trying to tell us Ballieu's on to us?" he asked.

  No eye contact, Ellery noted. He hated watching men he'd worked with as though they were criminals.

  "Looks like it," he said.

  "Then why would he come back?"

  "Because he's smart, man." Walker sounded irritable. "He can't get the film because it's locked up somewhere with a time bomb. He's waiting us out." Taking a fresh cigar, he stuffed the end into his mouth. "Ballieu figures even if he'd picked one of us off tonight, we'd leave him be until he led us to that film."

  "Crazy bastard," Max grunted, staggering to his feet. "Must have nerves of steel." He winced and gave Ellery a glum look. "Now what?"

  "I'd say we might as well sleep on it," said Ellery mildly. Too mildly? he wondered. Both men were staring at him. "I'll be in at four to take the graveyard shift."

  Channing shrugged as though concluding nothing of consequence was likely to happen and drifted out ahead of him. She deserved double credit, Ellery thought, first for what she'd done tonight and then for not having it recognized.

  "We'd better get rid of my car," she said when he'd closed the door and they started down the hall in step together. "If someone gets a good look at the shape it's in, they're likely to call the police."

  "I've already put in a call about it," he said. “While I was waiting for Walker to come around. Somebody will take it away and bring mine in."

  His mind was moving in other directions as he spoke. Ballieu must be feeling pressured to have sprung the ambush, and with time slipping by and the knowledge he was being watched, he might strike again.

  Ellery slanted a look at the woman beside him, hardening himself with a discipline he knew was necessary. He watched her eyes darken as he spoke.

  "Come get the gun."

  Nineteen

  They moved across the now nearly deserted terraces and down the path to Ellery's bungalow in silence. On a bench a pair of lovers were scanning the stars for the Big Dipper. Cool night air permeated the plants and shadows. The noisy resort had changed personalities, becoming soft and oasislike, and Channing felt the irony of knowing the world she and Ellery moved in was a world apart.

  Beside her Ellery moved at an easy, unhurried pace she sensed was deceiving. The wadded jacket was carried too casually in his hand. Despite her own sharpened alertness, she felt almost light. Oddly, the weariness that should be settling in after tonight's wear and tear had evaporated in a strange flow of energy. She stopped as Ellery motioned to her. His eyes analyzed every detail of the bungalow door before he opened it. For a moment she shivered, alone, while he slipped inside.

  Then lights came on and he beckoned to her, holding the door. He locked it behind them.

  "Receiver for a horning device we've got in Ballieu's car," he said, unlocking and opening an attaché case that sat on a table. "Reception's better out here than it is in the main building, and of course the initial idea was that I'd be out here guarding you."

  All those precautions for nothing, Channing thought. She met Ellery's eyes and, by the anger there, knew that as one they were facing an ugly truth.

  "Which one is it?" she asked. "Max or Walker?"

  He rested his hands on either side of the attaché case, leaning heavily on the table. His face looked tired.

  "I don't know. How could either of them knock the other out, drive to those rocks, and be back ahead of us? That had to be Ballieu out there – and he wasn't alone."

  "I'd have guessed a small army myself."

  He smiled, but only briefly.

  "At least two people, judging by the angle of the shots. They had night scopes."

  She ran fingers through her tangled hair.

  "Oliver?"

  "Could be."

  The admission stuck in Ellery's throat. Not Oliver. Oliver had given him his first field assignment. Oliver had sprung him from that hospital. Oliver had worried over him at times like a goddamn mother hen.

  But when he'd radioed in a little while ago to report the ambush and get the cars straightened out, Oliver hadn't been there. Out picking up sandwiches, someone had said.He tried to think on the basis of pure reason, untouched by emotion, and was grateful Channing gave him
the space, not speaking but waiting. Was there anything else to incriminate Oliver besides his absence at almost the same time Ellery had been dodging gunfire? Any minuscule slip that Ellery should have noted? Any change in behavior?

  Looked at that way, the whole operation was a deviation. It had been uncharacteristic of Oliver to bring in someone totally untrained and unknown, as Channing was. It was almost whimsical. Ditto the plan he'd hatched. But then Ballieu was behaving equally out of character if he had a helper, as Ellery believed now more than ever. Maybe breaking a pattern when stakes were high wasn't deviation so much as genius, the sort of thing that made a man on either side excel.

  "It could be somebody over Oliver too," said Ellery. "If a person knew who to sell it to, that film would bring enough to tempt anyone."

  There was the dilemma. It might be pointless going over Oliver's head, and he was no longer sure he could trust the man himself.

  "And everyone who's involved right now knew Yussuf had contacts?" Channing asked slowly.

  He nodded.

  "Walker's as tense as a tomcat and flaking out to make those phone calls to his daughter -- supposedly. Max's digestive upset could have been faked."

  Straightening, he went into the bathroom and began to wash grime from his face and hands. Channing followed to stand in the doorway.

  "Max and Walker don't know the whole story, but if it's Oliver or someone else up the line, then Ballieu knows exactly what you're planning," he said.

  "Then I'll do something else."

  Ellery was fighting a battle inside himself. Let her, or try to get her out of it? He'd thought his mind was made up when he'd asked her to help. Seeing her standing there with her growing determination made him waver.

  "What's the alternative?" she asked vigorously. "Give up the film? You don't know who you can trust, and you can't outmaneuver Ballieu all by yourself! That's why I'm here now, isn't it?"

  He brushed past her, avoiding her eyes. He could feel his throat contracting. They were just individuals. What they could accomplish was more important than either of them. And she understood that.