''I'm just a soldier, doing a job,'' David said. ''Just 'a dumb grunt on the ground', to coin a phrase.''

''No. You are an officer and you are obviously an intelligent man. Someone who pays heed to what is going on around him; someone who considers the bigger picture.''

''I'm flattered. But if I'm really so intelligent, how come I got myself and my men into a mess like this?''

''The trap was, if I say so myself, beautifully laid.''

''You had all the right radio codes.''

''Correct.''

''Which you got from the Horusites whose uniforms and weapons you took.''

''Correct again.''

''By torture?''

A twitch of the eyebrows: naturally.

''And,'' David went on, ''you then took those Horusites and had them embalmed and turned into mummies.''

''What else does one do with dead foes?'' said Wilkins. ''We have a base camp nearby, and a Mobile Mummification Suite parked there, complete with priest. It seemed expedient. Although 'mummies' isn't the accepted term for them nowadays, is it? It's regarded in polite circles as somewhat coarse and dismissive. What must we call them? 'Reanimates'. Is that the word?''

''I'm a traditionalist,'' said David. ''Mummies.''

''Well, either way, as we're discussing mummies, perhaps that's where we can start. I'd be interested to know how many you have stockpiled at your garrison on Cyprus.''

''And I'd be interested to know what your real name is. I don't want to keep thinking of you as Colonel Wilkins. Nice touch, by the way. Who'd be suspicious of a man with the same surname as the Pastor-President?''

''Indeed. If you must know — not that it's going to make any difference in the long run — I am Hasan Maradi, a captain in the Persian Tenth Infantry Brigade, Special Services Division.''