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Ed McGrath could not recall having seen fog this thick He sniffed the air, trying to identify the strange aro everywhere, and finally wrote it off as a co bark He paused, cocking one ear

It was not the baying of a hound in chase or the frightened yelps of aalert to an unfamiliar presence

Not too far away, judging by the volume Seventy-five, maybe a hundred, yards beyond the security perimeter, McGrath estimated

A potential assassin would have to be sick or brain dae countryside in weather such as this Already, McGrath had tripped and fallen doalked into an unseen tree branch and scratched his cheek, found hiot hiuard post before he could radio his approach

The barking stopped abruptly, and McGrath figured a cat or so off He reached a faraveled path and made his way toward the riverbank below the yacht He spoke into his lapel microphone

"Post eight, co up on you"

There was no reply

McGrath stopped in his tracks "Brock, this is McGrath, co up on you"

Still nothing

"Brock, do you’ read me?"

Post nuan to feel uneasy Moving very slowly, one step at a tiuard area He called faintly through the nified by the heavy dampness Silence was his only reply

"Control, this is Cutty Sark"

"Go ahead, Cutty Sark," came back Blackowl's tired voice

"We're ht"

Blackowl's tone sharpened considerably "No sign of him?"