times nor Caesar's dangers; the duty was boring, the guard given to openly smoked cigarettes, yawns and aimless wandering. The man would not be a problem.
But getting across the stretch of lawn to the shadows of the drive on the right side of the house might well be. He would have to walk briefly in the glare of the floodlights that shot down from the roof.
A hatless man in a dark sweater and trousers doing such a thing would be ordered to stop. But a guard dressed in a visored cap and a heavy jacket with a holster at bis side would not cause so much concern. And if repri- manded, that guard could always return to his post; it was important to bear that in mind.
Taleniekov crawled through the underbrush, elbows and knees working on the hard ground, pausing with every snap of a branch, blending what noise he made into the sounds of the night forest. He was within five feet, a spray of juniper between himself and the guard. The bored man reached into his jacket pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes.
It was the moment to move. Now.
Vasili sprang up, his left hand clutching the guard's throat, his left heel dug into the earth to provide backward leverage. In one motion, he pulled the man off his feet, arching him down into the juniper bush, crashing the guard's skull into the ground, his fingers clawing the windpipe, tightening around it. The shock of the assault combined with the blow to the head and the choking of air, rendered the man unconscious. There was a time when Taleniekov would have finished the job, killing the guard because it was the most practical thing to do; that time was past. This was no soldier of the Matarese; there was no point in his death. He removed the man's jacket and visored hat, put them on quickly and buckled the holster around his waist.
He dragged the guard further into the woods, angled the head into the dirt, removed his own small weapon and smashed the handle down above the man's right car. He would remain unconscious for hours.
Vasili crept back to the edge of the lawn, stood up, breathed deeply, and started across the grass. He had watched the guard walk-a slight casual swagger, the neck settled, the head angled back, and he imitated the mem- ory. With each step he expected a rebuke or an order or an inquiry; if any were shouted he would shrug and return to the man's post. None came.
He reached the drive and the shadows. Fifty yards down the pavement there was a light streaming out of an open door and the figure of a woman opening a garbage can, two paper bags at her feet. Vasili walked faster, his de- cision made. He approached the woman; she was in the white uniform of a maid.
"Excuse me, the captain ordered me to bring a message to Herr Verachten." "Who the hell are you?" asked the stocky woman.
"I'm new. Here, let me help you." Taleniekov picked up the bags.
"You are new. It's Helga this, Helga that. What do they care? What's the message. I'll bring it to him." "I wish I could give it to you. I've never met the old man and I don't want to, but that's what I was told to do." "They're all farts down there. Kommandos! A bunch of beer-soaked ruffians, I say. But you're better looking than most of them." "Herr Verachten, please? I was told to hurry." "Everything's hurry this and hurry that. It's ten o'clock. The old fool's wife is in her rooms and he's in his chapel, of course." "Where?
"Oh, all right. Come on in, I'll show you.... You are better looking, more polite, too. Stay that way." Helga led him through a corridor that ended at a door opening into a large entrance hall. Here the walls were covered with numerous Renaissance oil paintings, the colors vivid and dramatic under pinpoint spotlights. "ey extended up a wide circular staircase, the steps of Italian marble. Branching off the hall were several larger rooms, and the brief glimpses Taleniekov had of them confirmed Heinrich Kassel's description of a house filled with priceless antiques. But the glimpses were brief; the maid turned the comer beyond the staircase and they approached a thick mahogany door filled with ornate biblical carvings. She opened it and they descended steps carpeted in scarlet until they reached some kind of anteroom,