The ash-grey smudge on the photograph.

It was just a medium twin-prop short-haul commercial transport and all it had done was to come down in the desert but the nearest anyone had got to it was sixty-five thousand feet and nobody else had dared to go any closer.

So I wanted to.

And they'd known I would.

'What's the timing on this?'

Tilson raked for a folder.

'Immediate.'

'You mean when I'm ready.'

'That's right.' He was opening the folder. 'So long as you're ready immediately.'

'Fill me in, will you?'

He looked up patiently. 'I'm afraid I can't, old horse. All I know is they want you to go and take a look at that thing you saw at the Air Ministry. Loman will spell it all out for you when you reach Tunis.'

'How long have I got for clearance?'

'There's a plane at 13.50 so you'll just have to do everything as quick as you can.'

On my way through the building to Credentials I passed Napier, one of our Admin. types.

'Hallo, Quiller, I thought you were in Tokyo.'

'So did I.'

'We're leaving your cover name as Charles Warnford Gage but there's a change in the cover itself. Excuse me.'

While she answered the phone I checked the papers.

C. W. Gage, geophysical consultant attached to Societe Petrocombine's South 4 drilling-camp in the Tunisian complex. specific contract, exploration and preliminary assay, until October, optionally renewable, previous contracts with platinum-prospecting consortia, UK and Belgium. Returning from month's routine leave.

When she'd got off the phone I asked who'd designed this one.

'Mr Egerton.'

'When?'

'It came through late last night.'

They'd been so bloody sure of me.

'It's a new camp, is it?'