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"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.
