"I figure it like this," Vance said, trying to sound confident. "We
take out the guy in charge, behead the dragon, and we've solved a large
part of the problem. He seems to like shooting people, even his own
men." He paused, then looked at her. "By the way, do you know who he
is? Could be a real help."
"I have no idea," Cally said, shaking her head. "Just that he's a
killer." She was straightening her clothes after climbing out of the
conduit and through the heat exchanger. "He murdered Chris for no
reason. Why would he do that?" Her voice began to choke, and she
stopped.
Vance reached over and patted her hand. She had been through a lot. "He
needs to scare you and everybody working for you. But try and hang on.
You'll be getting some professional reinforcements soon. A few friends
of mine known as ARM."
"ARM? Isn't that the security bunch that wired this facility in the
first place?" She stared at him, then made a face. "Some job."
"What can I say?" He winced. "They don't usually have these problems."
"And now these same guys are going to come back and save us? That's
really comforting."
"Try thinking positive." It was the best he could do.
She clearly viewed that response as inadequate, but she was too
exhausted to argue. "Well, at this point I don't have any better ideas.
But I'm worried about what may happen if there's a lot of shooting."
"Part of our job is to try and make sure nobody gets hurt. Keep the
friendlies out of harm's way."
"Great." Her spunk was coming back. "We're probably going to have to
keep them out of the way of your incompetent rescuers as well."
"Have faith. These guys've had plenty of experience. It won't be the
first time."
"And what about you?" She looked him over again. "How much experience
have you had?"
"You want an honest answer?"
"I take it that means none."
"Pretty close. So till they get here we just ad-lib." He settled under
a tree and leaned back against the trunk. "Now, how about describing
their leading man. I didn't get a very good look at him."
She was quiet for a moment, as though to collect her memories, and then
she produced a description so thorough it would have impressed a Mossad
intelligence officer. By the time she finished, Vance was grinning.
"Well, what do you know. He's alive after all. Looks like ARM is in for
some unfinished business."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you just described somebody who slipped past Pierre in Beirut
about five years ago. He's been in the terrorist game a long, long
time, but he hasn't been heard from since. Everybody started believing
he was dead. Or hoping."
"You know who he is?"
"It could only be one guy. Sabri Ramirez." He felt mixed emotions. This
would be a real prize for Pierre and the others, if they could get him.
The problem was getting him. Nobody had ever managed to come close.
"Who's that?"
Vance wondered if he really ought to tell her. Or shade the truth down
a bit.
"Let me put it like this. He's no ordinary criminal. He's probably
murdered a hundred people if you added up all the bombings. Mossad has
been trying to assassinate the bastard for fifteen years." Vance leaned
back, his mind churning, and touched his fingertips together. "This
puts things in a whole new perspective. I knew he was a pro, had to be,
but we're about to go up against the world's number-one terrorist. The
king." His blue eyes grew thoughtful. "I've got to warn Pierre ASAP.
The tactics may have to be changed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If Ramirez thinks he's trapped, he'll just lash out. Always happens.
He goes crazy and gets irrational when he's cornered, which means
negotiations are useless."
"Jesus." She shuddered, her eyes seeming to go momentarily blank. "I
didn't sign on for this."
"Makes two of us." He settled back in the grass, then yanked up a
handful, fresh and fragrant, and sniffed it. "I came for sun and sea.
Not to help re-kill a dead man."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She plopped down beside him under the
tree.
"Seems reasonable to guess he's been quote dead unquote for five years
because he wants to be. It's not a bad condition to be in. For one
thing, people stop looking for you. You can start reusing your old
hideaways. And then you can put together a really big score. The Hyena
returns."
"The Hyena?"
"That's what Mossad calls him. The story is he hates it, but it sort of
sums up his line of work. The Hyena. The world's number-one killer-for-
hire."
"God. I knew there was something about him, although in a way he seemed
so . . . the man in the Brooks Brothers suit. But when he gunned down
Chris in cold blood . . . still, this goes way beyond anything I could
ever have dreamed."
"Looks like SatCom just made the big time. Right up there with the OPEC
ministers he kidnapped in 1975, then auctioned off all over the Middle
East. This is even bigger. It's going to be the crown jewel of his
career." He stopped to muse. "What's it like to be famous and
officially dead at the same time?"
"Maybe the best thing would be if he were really dead."
"You read my mind."