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. No response.
He pressed it again, this time held it longer.
No response.
He glanced at his subordinate.
"Bosk's inside, sir. He never leaves until after dark. But he'll be reluctant to answer the door. He's in debt. Local moneylender."
The leader raised an eyebrow. He pressed the button again, spoke into the intercom. "Bosk. You don't know me. I'm here on business. It could be worth your while to let me inside. I've got an offer to make you." Still no response.
The leader hit the button again. Leaning down to the intercom, he spoke two words clearly and distinctly. "Negative waves."
He stepped back, waited for as long as it might take a man to get up out of a chair, cross a small room.
There came a click on the lock of the entry door.
The leader and his subordinate entered, shut the door behind them. The leader again took a careful look around.
"You wait down here," he said.
His subordinate took up a position in a shadowy corner beneath the staircase. From here, he could see, but not be readily seen. Outside, the locals approached the car, backed off hurriedly when they saw the beam rifle.
Folding his arms across his chest, the subordinate settled himself to wait.
The leader began to climb nine flights of stairs.
CHAPTER 2
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain . . .
Sir Walter Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel
Bosk stood unsteadily by the door, staring at the intercom as if it could answer his questions
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