Kinsman went on, "except that you . . . weli, you seem like someone I can trust."

"But only so far."

"Believe me, I've told you more than anyone else. But please don't push it any father ... I mean, farther."

"All right."

"I'd like your word on that."

The eyebrows shot up again. "My word? You mean there's a gentleman left in this world who'll take a man's word and a handshake on something bigger than a five-dollar bet?"

Smiling despite himself, Kinsman answered, "I don't even need the handshake. Your word is good enough for me."

"Well, I'll be . . ." Durban turned slightly on the bench and looked toward the front of the pub. "Looks like a couple more fugitives from the ceremonies just slinked in."

Kinsman glanced toward the pub's front entrance and saw Frank Colt, in his sharply creased Air Force blues, looking slightly uncomfortable next to a lanky, sandy-haired Russian in the tan and red uniform of the Soviet Cosmonaut Corps.

Durban stuck his head out from the booth and called, "Piotr . . . over here."

"Ahah! An underground meeting," the Russian boomed out in a voice three times his size.

The two men came over and slid into the booth: the Russian next to Durban and Colt beside Kinsman.

Durban said, "Chet, may I introduce Major Piotr Leo- nov, Cosmonaut First Class. And a fine basso, if you ever want to get up an operatic quartet."

"We have already met," the Russian said, taking Kins- man's extended hand in a friendly but not overly strong grip.

"We have?"

"At your base near Aristarchus. I piloted the craft that brought medical aid for your renegade Jesuit."

Comprehension began to light in Kinsman's mind.

"You were quite asleep at the time," Leonov went on, in English that had a slight British accent. "Apparently, you had gone through a strenuous time, rescuing the priest."

Kinsman nodded. "Well, it's good to meet you when my eyes are open."

Leonov laughed.

"This is Captain Frank Colt," Kinsman said to Durban. "Top flier in the Vandenberg crew. I don't know how well he sings but he's a damned good man to work with in orbit."

"I've got a natural sense of rhythm," Colt said, straight- faced, testing Durban.

"I've heard about you," Durban said. "Aren't you the one who saved that cee-cubed satellite when its final stage misfired and it looked like the whole damned thing was going to splash in the Pacific?"

With a nod, "I got a replacement thruster mated to the bird, yeah."

"And damned near fried his ass off," Kinsman added.