The enemy was constantly in flux yet never-changing. At the heart of it, where Bolan lived and fought, his opposition was the same as it had been in Vietnam, in Pittsfield, from the early days of his impossible crusade against the Mafia. The enemy was evil man, the cannibal who preyed upon his gentle neighbors day by everlasting day.

And Bolan's answer to the human predators today, tomorrow and forever — was the cleansing fire, strategically applied, without a host of bureaucrats to second-guess his moves.

It was the only way to fight a war. The only way to final victory, if any such existed in the universe.

"And how long do you think you can last alone?"

Not long, perhaps. Until this afternoon, perhaps tomorrow.

Long enough to strike another blow against the cannibals.

But not in Washington.

He could feel the heat already, and the soldier didn't plan to be around when it intensified. Safe passage had been guaranteed, provided that he took advantage of it now.

The Executioner was finished with his work in Wonderland. His enemies were waiting for him elsewhere, everywhere, and he did not intend to keep them waiting long.