s island, behind this mist, unknown to millions of people so
close to it, was something that did not belong in the 20th century, or
in any other century Parker could imagine.

His back felt cold. In him, somewhere, was gnawing anger. This island,
this place, was real. Back in his past a horrible wrong had been done, a
wrong that now could never be corrected. He put the thought out of his
mind.

The ledge turned into the cliff and became a tunnel that had been carved
into solid stone. The walls of the tunnel were as smooth as polished
marble. What tools could men have used in the old days to cut a tunnel
with walls so smooth that they looked like glass? Modern equipment could
not have done the job so well.

Niches in the wall of the tunnel admitted light and gave them glimpses
of the island.

"Where the hell will we find--Oh, Pedro!" Retch spoke. The Indian
messenger of the night before had appeared in the tunnel. He beckoned to
them. They followed him into a large room cut out of solid stone.

It was one of the cleanest and most simply furnished rooms Parker had
ever seen. It contained hand-made chairs along the wall and a big table,
also hand-made. Light from a wall slit flowed into the room.

Seated behind the table, illumined by the light flowing in from the wall
slit behind them, were Rozeno and Ulnar. Rozeno had a thin nose, the
narrow face of the typical high bred Spaniard. Ulnar was short and
squat, his cheeks were flat, his nose hooked. Both had black eyes that
were utterly fathomless.

The faces were old, wrinkled, and kind. Parker took one look at this
priest, and instantly liked him. As he glanced at Rozeno, saw the
kindness on that face, he also saw, out of the corners of his eyes,
Retch drawing a gun.

In that split second he knew why Retch had laughed so violently the
night before, when Retch had said that he would go with them to see
Rozeno and Ulnar.

Retch intended to kill both of them; to shoot them as they sat there at
that table, unarmed and defenseless; shoot them like dogs!

The gun was already in Retch's hand. Parker's fist went out, up,
connected with Retch's jaw, a blow that had all the pilot's strength
behind it.

Retch's head was twisted to one side. He reeled away from Parker's blow.
The snarl that came from his lips was the snarl of a wild animal. Metal
thudded as the gun hit the floor. The room echoed with sound--Mercedes
screaming. Parker followed Retch, followed him as a dog