He looked to the right and saw a big screen TV. It was tuned to Al Jazeera, but it seemed no one was paying attention. Three large couches were arranged around the TV They were filled with men, some of whom David recognized. This was the closest thing David had ever seen to a terrorism summit.

There were representatives from the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, and at least one from Beirut. There were several new faces from the martyr brigades and many old faces from the PLO and its only true rival, Hamas.

Through the crowd David saw Mohammed Atwa approach. David forced a smile to his face and lifted the two attachИ cases in the air.

Atwa, the head of Palestinian General Intelligence, the torturer of thousands, grabbed David by the cheeks and standing on his toes, kissed the younger man's forehead.

With a flourish Atwa turned and waved a theatrical arm in the air.

"He is here! Our son has returned from visiting our rich Saudi friends!"

Everyone fell silent for a brief moment and then the room broke into applause, toothy grins and nods of enthusiasm. This was the apogee of two years of hard work. David had started small, working his way up the ladder of the Palestinian Authority. His first donation had been $10,000. From there it got bigger, and as his stature grew, he worked his way closer to Atwa; the power behind the power, the man whom he someday would kill.

David knew if he were to ever see a Palestinian state, Hamas would have to be dealt a vicious blow. The Islamic fanatics would never be happy until every last Jew was dead, and when that happened they would only be satisfied if a Palestinian state were run by clerics who enforced strict Islamic law. Even the radical PLO looked tame next to the crazed members of Hamas.

David had cautiously counseled Atwa to bring Hamas into the fold by providing them with capital. The agreement was that David would use his skills to raise money and Atwa would hand part of that money over to Hamas to finance their terrorist and martyr operations. As David's fund-raising prowess grew, so did Hamas's reliance on PLO support. David was so successful that Atwa was also able to entice some other groups to the trough. They included Islamic Jihad, the Popular Resistance Committee and Hezbollah.

Tonight had been billed as a watershed evening for the groups. The last month's fund-raising had been so fruitful that they would all gather under the benevolence of Atwa and the PLO to divide the spoils.

Atwa relieved David of one of the attachИ cases and grabbed him by the arm. Excitedly, he led David between two of the couches to a spot in front of the big screen TV. Atwa turned his case around and opened it for the group to see. He nodded for David to do the same.

"Two million dollars, my friends!"

The room broke into shouts and praise for Allah. Men jumped to their feet and began hugging each other. The irony of seeing these cold-blooded killers act in a such a lighthearted way made David smile to himself. What idiots! Not only was the money counterfeit, courtesy of the Iraqis, but there was an even better surprise in store.

Atwa set the attachИ case down on the table and David did the same. Turning to one of his lieutenants, Atwa handed him a sheet of paper that explained how the money was to be distributed. Then, overcome with the emotion of the moment, he grabbed David and hugged him. Patting him on the cheek like a son, he told David how proud he was of him.

David kept up his act and shrugged off the compliment.

"It was no big deal."

"Yes it was, and don't say it wasn't." Atwa stuck a finger in his face to warn him against any more modesty. Then, looking around the room, he began to frown and asked, "Where is Hassan?"

David hesitated just briefly and then seized his chance.

"I need to talk to you about that."

Atwa's lined face became concerned.

"What has happened?"

David looked over one shoulder and then the other.

"Not here.

Not in front of the others." After looking around the room one more time, David gestured for Atwa to follow him.

The two men walked through the crowd, David stopping every few feet to accept another hug or handshake. He feigned reciprocity as the men showered affection on him, which was made all the more difficult by the fact that he was about to send them to their deaths. As they stepped outside, Atwa stopped; his look of concern now much deeper.

David pointed to the butcher's Mercedes sedan.

"In private." David walked around the other side and climbed into the backseat. Atwa joined him and when both doors were closed David breathed a barely discernible sigh of relief.

Rapp was willing to play the general's game for a while. Moro would undoubtedly remain defiant right up to the moment he was confronted with the evidence.

"Tell me, General, do you dislike America?"

Moro pondered the question with a puzzled look on his oily face.

"I'm not sure what you are asking me."

"It isn't a difficult question. Do you like America? Yes or no?"

"That depends. There are things about America that I like, and there are things that I don't like."

"Fair enough. What about China?"

The Filipino's eyes screwed a bit tighter at hearing this.

"I have no opinion on China."

"Really?" asked Rapp in a surprised tone.

"That surprises me."

Any sense of Moro's air of amusement had evaporated at the mention of the world's most populous country.

"What are you hinting at, Mr. Rapp?"

Changing gears, Rapp leaned back and said, "I would like to do business with you, General. As I said, I am a practical man, and I've been told you are too. I want Abu Sayyaf crushed, and I don't care what it takes. If I have to pay a certain person large amounts of cash to make sure the job gets done, then that's what I am willing to do."

"I am not sure," said Moro, squinting up at the tent's ceiling, "but I think I am offended by what you have just proposed."

Rapp looked him right in the eye and shook his head disbelievingly.

"No, you aren't. As I've already said, I know certain things about you, and I know it is impossible that you are offended by what I just proposed."

Moro took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. It appeared that the American was privy to his business arrangement. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "What exactly did you come here for, Mr. Rapp?"

"I came to make you a better offer than the one you already have."

"I'm listening. "The general leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"We know about your accounts in Hong Kong and Jakarta. We know you've been spying for the Chinese since the early eighties, and we know Abu Sayyaf pays you off so that you don't get too aggressive in pursuing them."

Moro studied Rapp with cautious eyes. Finally he said, "I'm still listening."

"As I've already stated, I'm a practical man. Although I'm not entirely comfortable with your connection to Beijing, I can live with it for the time being. Abu Sayyaf is an entirely different matter. That I cannot live with."

"Mr. Rapp, I still have no idea what you are talking about."

Rapp reached into his vest pocket while keeping his eyes locked on Moro. He pulled out an envelope and tossed it onto the general's desk. Rapp watched as Moro emptied the envelope's contents and began leafing through the various pages. They consisted of bank and phone records.

After Moro was done looking over the documents he placed them back in the envelope and set the package carefully in the middle of his desk. So the American did know his secret, or at least part of it, but Moro was not willing to admit guilt so easily.

"I don't know what any of this is about."