The Major’s helicopter rose gently from the North Sea island that now contained only a tank and a man. Even in the borrowed greatcoat, Eroica’s gold hair gleamed visibly in the afternoon twilight next to the precise steel bulk of the machine.

That man!

Major von dem Eberbach growled under his breath, then stopped himself when Agent B glanced back at him, shivering with cold, from the front of the vehicle. B had seen that man, and the Major knew better than to give B information on anything he didn’t want him to think about. In fact, a distraction might be in order. He jerked his head at B before the agent could turn frontwise.

"Sir?" asked B, shivering but obedient.

The word wasn’t really audible in the wash of ’copter noise and the Major raised his own voice to a practised bellow: "Radio ahead for a cargo ’copter to be ready at...is Bremen closest?"

Mr. B nodded, mouthing, "Yes, sir."

"Then have one there, fueled to go back immediately. My tank is stranded back there!"

"The new Leopard, sir?"

The Major nodded, scowling, and B returned to his radio handset while Mr. A piloted them through the rushing North Sea winds.

Eroica. What a disgusting name. That man had stolen an Eberbach painting, and then kidnapped someone the Major was responsible for, all with audacious wit and a total lack of shame. The Major disliked being out manoeuvred.

Eberbach glanced down at the slight, pale figure draped limply over the other seat and his lap. At least he’d got the boy back. With, in a parody of co-operation, the Earl’s—Eroica’s—blessing.

The Earl had quite literally shoved the boy into his arms.

He’d only done that as an excuse to force his way there himself. Damned pervert. The Earl of Gloria had all but propositioned the Major at first sight.

Was it that obvious? To him? To anyone?

Surely not. The Earl’s appearance and behavior declared his deviant preferences openly, to everyone. By the information in his dossier, he acted like that all the time, for any audience. It was not a deliberate attack on Klaus Eberbach.

The Major hoped he could believe that.

The helicopter banked, and Caesar Gabriel stirred and made a sound too faint to be interpreted under the ongoing noise. Perhaps the Earl was truly concerned about Caesar’s health. That would be a relief. The Major tightened his hold on a thin shoulder to keep the sleeping boy secure. He was very pale but breathing easily; he should do well enough. Probably he was no more psychic than Eberbach was, and probably he’d be sent back to England as soon as he’d been evaluated by Reinevalt’s group. Back to where the Earl could find him.

In the little circle of cabin light, Caesar moved again and opened his eyes. Deep, clear blue eyes, startling with the fair coloring, looked up into the Major’s. Eyes like spring violets.

Klaus snorted at the fanciful thought. No doubt the Earl found this boy attractive, eyes and all. No doubt he’d taken this pale weakling in his arms and...was this what the Earl liked? This milky, flower-eyed child?

Wire ropes, indeed.

Caesar continued to gaze up at him and the Major shied back from the penetrating eyes. What if the boy could sense more than eyes alone would tell him?

Klaus broke into a sweat, there in the chilly helicopter cabin. Only his thoughts could convict him, but if his thoughts were open to someone...

Oh, God. Merciful God. Merciless God. Klaus couldn’t help thinking about it.

Wire ropes...was an uncomfortably accurate description, and lust could have hellish strength. Whatever the Earl liked in his bed, Klaus knew what he liked. He could feel it this instant in his mind, hating the knowledge but unable to repress it: wiry strength under his hands, wiry tightness slick with... The Major swallowed. How long had it been since the last one? Six months? Eight? Long enough that the guilty shame and fear of discovery were past, except that they never ended; not so long that he doubted it had been real or doubted such a thing was possible.

Oh, yes, it was possible to feel erotic fire and have it blaze and feed and be satisfied in another’s body...a slim body hard with muscle and giving off the bitter smell of male arousal.... No, one didn’t forget the call of lust.

Any temporary peace he’d won from such desires was lost with the Earl of Gloria’s blithe insistence on thrusting himself into Klaus’ arms, on Caesar Gabriel’s behalf. Klaus remembered the heat and strength of him. Damn the man and his careless obscenity. He was obscene merely by existing.

Klaus Eberbach, who feared nothing else on Earth, knew coldly that his perverted desires could ruin his career. He’d given up confessing the sin to God: the shocked priests never understood, and no atonement made the desire go away. And Klaus was not sure he could trust them to keep his secret. He’d found a lifework in Intelligence, where nothing was sacred except the fight to maintain NATO and keep Western Europe free from the looming threat of Communism. Losing that would make his life meaningless, since his soul was meaningless already.

Caesar still stared fixedly into Klaus’ eyes. His mouth shaped words, and the Major, terrified, leaned close to hear them.

"...want the Earl. Take me back to the Earl. Will he come to see me? I thought we’d be together..." The violet-blue eyes swam with tears of loss.

But there was nothing else. No hidden knowledge. If this boy was psychic the word needed a new definition. Klaus sat up and let himself stroke the tangled pale hair, soothing the half-conscious distress. A knack for languages and an eye for painted detail did not constitute a sixth sense.

Caesar tried to struggle upright, more aware now. "...uh... I was..."

"Are you awake? We’re getting near the hospital." The Bremen-Hamburg corridor twinkled before them in the early dusk, promising a new chase soon, to arrest the thief Eroica and recover the Major’s tank.

Caesar might not have heard him in the ’copter’s throbbing din, as he peered about the tiny cabin. "Earl! Where’s the Earl!"

Even this frail youngster, who looked scarcely old enough to be told of such things, was besotted by the Earl. It was clearly too late to protect his innocence; his calendar age wasn’t much below the age at which Klaus had first learned that lust was not an abstraction. Reluctantly, Klaus said, "He couldn’t get on the ’copter. He’s waiting on the island."

Huge blue eyes went out of focus, and alarm was plain on the young face. "Please! Go back there! The Earl is going away!"

It was a hysterical boy crying for his lover. "Don’t be ridiculous! He’s staying..." The Earl had been waiting for backup. Of unspecified strength. "...on that island with my tank," finished the Major, and the words sounded ominous in his ears.

That filthy pervert had laid hands on Klaus’ new Leopard tank once, and somehow Klaus hadn’t killed him for it; but if he stole the thing altogether, what would be left? The Major snapped out orders that sent the helicopter wheeling back toward the North Sea. Caesar Gabriel, huddled in the seat beside him, wept quietly, hopelessly. It was no more than Klaus would have expected from an unbalanced homosexual genius.

The island, when they reached it, was deserted. A far-off tanker told where the fugitive Earl and his booty had gone. It was beyond the helicopter’s range, beyond reach. The Major ground his teeth and cursed, uncaring of what Mr. B would hear: it was a clean, pure rage that need not be hidden or explained. It was a form of relief.

So, Klaus thought, when some measure of calm returned, they two were enemies. That was best. Safest.

Caesar was no threat, and Caesar was in no danger from the Major or his investigation. But the Earl of Gloria... who could know what he wanted? He’d abandoned the boy.

The Major would hunt him down.

END