"Let me give you a little insight, buy it or not. The amazing thing is that I've discussed this situation with the really powerful men in this country, the ones with all the money. I gave a speech to the Socrates Club. I thought that they would be concerned. But what a surprise. They had the clout to move Congress, they wouldn't do it. And you could never in a million years guess the reason. I couldn't." He paused as if he expected Christian to guess.

His face grimaced in what could have been a smile or an expression of contempt. "The rich and powerful in this country can protect themselves.

They don't rely on the police or government agencies. They surround themselves with expensive security systems. They have private bodyguards.

They are sealed off from the criminal community. And the prudent ones don't get mixed up with the wild drug elements. They can sleep peacefully at night behind their electric walls."

Christian moved restlessly and took a sip of brandy. Then Kennedy went on.

"OK," he said. "The point is this. Let's say we pass laws to crush crime, we are then punishing the black criminals more than anyone else. And where are those ungifted, uneducated, unpowered people going to go? What other resource do they have against our society? If they have no outlet in crime they will turn to political action. They will become active radicals. And they will shift the political balance of this country. We may cease to be a capitalist democracy."

Christian said, "Do you really believe that?"

Kennedy sighed. "Jesus, who knows? But the people who run this country believe it. They figure, let the jackals feast on the helpless. What can they steal, a few billion dollars? A small price to pay. Thousands get raped, burglarized, murdered, mugged, it doesn't matter, it happens to unimportant people. Better that minor damage than a real political upheaval."

Christian said, "You're going too far."

"That may be," Kennedy said.

"And when it goes too far," Christian said, "you'll have all kinds of vigilante groups, fascism in an American form."

"But that's the kind of political action that can be controlled," Kennedy said. "That will actually help the people who run our society."

Then he smiled at Christian and picked up the computer report. "I'd like to keep this," he said. "Just to frame it and put up on the wall of my den as a relic of the days before Christian Klee became Attorney General and head of the FBI."

Now on the Monday after Easter, at seven in the morning, the members of

President Francis Kennedy's staff, his Cabinet and Vice President Helen Du Pray assembled in the Cabinet Room of the White House. And on this Monday morning they were fearful of what action he would take.

In the Cabinet Room, the CIA chief, Theodore Tappey, waited for a signal from Kennedy and then opened the session. "Let me say first that Theresa is OK,– he said. "No one has been injured. As yet no specific demands have been made. But demands will be made by evening, and we have been warned that they must be met immediately, without negotiation. But that's standard. The hijacker leader, Yabril, is a name famous in terrorist circles and indeed known in our files. He is a maverick and usually does his own operations with help from some of the organized terror groups, like the mythical One Hundred."

Klee cut in, "Why mythical, Theo?"

Tappey said, "It's not like Ali Baba and the forty thieves. Just liaison actions between terrorists of different countries."

Kennedy said curtly, "Go on."

Tappey consulted his notes. "There is no doubt that the Sultan of Sherhaben is cooperating with Yabril. His army is protecting the airfield to prevent any rescue attempt. Meanwhile the Sultan pretends to be our friend and volunteers his services as a negotiator. What his purpose is in this no one can guess, but it is to our interest. The Sultan is reasonable and vulnerable to pressure. Yabril is a wild card."

The CIA chief hesitated; then, at a nod from Kennedy, he went on reluctantly. "Yabril is trying to brainwash your daughter, Mr. President.

They have had several long conversations. He seems to think she's a potential revolutionary and that it would be a great coup if she gave out some sort of sympathetic statement. She doesn't seem afraid of him."

The others in the room remained silent. They knew better than to ask Tappey how he had gotten such information.

The hall outside the Cabinet Room hummed with voices, they could hear the excited shouts of the TV camera crews waiting on the White House lawn. Then one of Eugene Dazzy's assistants was let into the room and handed Dazzy a handwritten memo. Kennedy's chief of staff read it in a glance.

"This has all been confirmed?" he asked the aide.

"Yes, sir," the aide said.

Dazzy stared directly at Francis Kennedy. "Mr. President," he said, "I have the most extraordinary news. The assassin of the Pope has been captured here in the United States. The prisoner confirms that he is the assassin, that his code name is Romeo. He refuses to give his real name. It has been checked with the Italian security people and the prisoner gives details that confirm his guilt."

Arthur Wix exploded, as if an uninvited guest had arrived at some intimate party, "What the hell is he doing here? I don't believe it."

Dazzy patiently explained the verifications. Italian security had already captured some of Romeo's cadre and they had confessed and identified Romeo as their leader. The chief of Italian security, Franco Sebbediccio, was famous for his ability to extract confessions. But he could not learn why Romeo had fled to America and how he had been so easily captured.

Francis Kennedy went to the French doors overlooking the Rose Garden. He watched the military detachments patrolling the White House grounds and adjoining streets. Again he felt a familiar sense of dread. Nothing in his life was an accident, life was a deadly conspiracy, not only between fellow humans but between faith and death.

Francis Kennedy turned back from the window and returned to the conference table. He surveyed the room filled with the highest-ranking people in the country, the cleverest, the most intelligent, the schemers, the planners. He said almost jokingly, "What do you guys want to bet that today we get a set of demands from the hijacker?

And one of the demands will be that we release this killer of the Pope."

The others stared at Kennedy in amazement. Otto Gray said, "Mr. President, that's an awful big stretch. That is an outrageous demand, it would be nonnegotiable."

Tappey said carefully, "Intelligence shows no connection between the two acts. Indeed it would be inconceivable for any terrorist group to launch two such important operations in the same city on the same day." He paused for a moment and turned to Christian Klee. "Mr. Attorney General," he asked, "just how did you capture this man?" and then added with distaste,

"Romeo." Klee said, "Through an informer we've been using for years. We thought it impossible, but my deputy, Peter Cloot, followed through with a full-scale operation, which seems to have succeeded. I must say I'm surprised. It just doesn't make any sense."

Francis Kennedy said quietly, "Let's adjourn this meeting until the hijackers make their demands."

In one instant of paranoid divination he had comprehended the whole plan that Yabril had created with such pride and cunning. Now for the first time he truly feared for his daughter's safety.

Yabril's demands came through the White House Communications Center late

Monday afternoon, relayed through the seemingly helpful Sultan of Sherhaben.

The first demand was a ransom of fifty million dollars for the aircraft; the second, the freeing of six hundred Arab prisoners in Israeli jails. The third was for the release of Romeo, the newly captured assassin of the Pope, and his transport to Sherhaben. Also, that if the demands were not met in twenty-four hours, one hostage would be shot.