Jack Higgins – Wrath of the Lion 1964 The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. WILLIAM BLAKE

Slowly, painfully, Jacaud reached for the edge of the bar and pulled himself up. He hung there for a moment, then turned to Mallory, wiping blood from his face casually.

And then, incredibly, he charged, head down like a wounded bull, the great hands reaching out to destroy. Mal-lory judged his moment exactly, swerved to one side, allow-ing the Frenchman to plunge past, and slashed him acrossthe kidneys with akarate blow delivered with the edge of his hand.

Jacaud screamed and fell to the floor. For a little while he stayed there on his hands and knees, and when he got to his feet he was slobbering like an animal. He lurched forward and Mallory kicked his feet from under him. Jacaud crashed to the floor, rolled over and lay still.

In the silence which followed, de Beaumont came down the steps slowly. He dropped to one knee beside Jacaud, examined him and looked up. “You are a hard man, Colonel Mallory.”

“When I have to be,” Mallory said. “You could have done something to stop this. Why didn’t you?”

He turned without waiting for a reply and went back to the table. “I think that might do for one night. Shall we go?”

Hamish Grant’s face was pale, the nostrils flaring slightly as he got to his feet. “You know, I really think it’s about time I bought you a drink, Neil. I’ve got some rather special whis-key back at the house. So Irish that you can taste the peat. I’d like to have your opinion on it.”

Anne’s face was very white and she was trembling. Mal-lory squeezed her hand reassuringly and they all walked towards the door. De Beaumont moved to block the way.

“One moment, General. Perhaps I might be allowed to tender my apologies for this distressing affair. At the best of times Jacaud has a short temper. When he’s been drink-ing…”

I so need for that, de Beaumont,” Hamish Grant said coldly. “I think the matter has been handled quite adequately.”

De Beaumont stood there, his smile frozen into place, and then he turned away sharply and they moved outside.

Fiona got behind the wheel, Guyon beside her, and the General and Anne climbed into the back. Mallory slammed the door and leaned in at the open window.

“If you don’t mind, General, I’d like to take you up on that drink another time. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

As Anne’s head turned sharply towards him he turned quickly, giving them no time to argue, and went down the slope towards the jetty. A few moments later the engine coughed into life behind him and the station wagon moved away.

He turned right at the jetty, following a steeply shelving path which brought him down to a strip of sand, white in the moonlight, waves curling in across the shingle with a gentle sucking sound.

He sat on a boulder and lit a cigarette with fingers that trembled slightly. He inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke into his lungs and released it with a long sigh.

Behind him Anne Grant said, “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“What’s the point?” he said simply.

“We seem to have held this conversation before.”

When she whispered his name they came together nat-urally and easily. Her hands pulled his head down as her mouth sought his and her sweetness drove every other thought from his mind. He picked her up in his arms and laid her down gently in the soft sand.

CHAPTERELEVEN

IN A LONELY PLACE

thewind was freshening, lifting the waves into white-caps, and as the dinghy rounded the point water slopped over the gunwale. Guyon carefully eased his weight into the centre and started to bale. He wore a heavy sweater and reefer jacket against the cold. A pair of night-glasses hung around his neck and one of the aquamobiles lay in the prow behind him.

Mallory sat in the stern wearing a black rubber diving suit, the heavy aqualung already strapped into place on his back. As a cross-current started to turn the dinghy in towards the cliffs he opened the throttle on the outboard motor to compensate and glanced at the luminous dial of his watch.

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