"I'm sure you don't know me. I'm not in the academic field. Let's say that, well, I have connections to Washington. Can I leave it at that?"

Danica Jones pursed her lips for a moment and then shrugged in acceptance. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Just about everything," admitted Bolan. "I understand you spent quite a while out there."

"Work on the Haufari dig was the basis of my dissertation," she answered. She went on to explain that the Westfield expedition had excavated the ancient and long-abandoned port of Haufari, about thirty miles southeast of Khurabi.

Bolan noticed that her face became quite animated as she spoke. Danica Jones obviously liked talking about her work. Twice she got up to point out details on the map. Bolan took the opportunity to observe her both as a knowledgeable lecturer and as a woman. She was five-seven, maybe five-eight, weighing around one-eighteen. Her long legs, trim waist and taut stomach all accentuated the firm swell of her breasts. Neat blond hair framed an oval face, with a wide sensual mouth. Danica wore barely a trace of makeup. Bolan liked that.

She didn't need it.

Her vivid green eyes seemed remote, as if beneath the cool surface there was some deeply felt, long-ago hurt. Even when her features were animated with the evident enthusiasm for her archaeological adventures, she still concealed this secret vein of sorrow. Perhaps it was guilt or doubt. No matter, Bolan thought, dismissing it.

The telephone interrupted her account of diving for the wreck of a trading vessel.

"Hello... yes, this is she... oh, hi, Patricia... no, I'm not lecturing this term, it's my research semester... well, not now, no, I have a visitor with me... yes, I'll call you later... by." She was polite to her colleague but slightly distant. "Where was I? Oh, yes... we received a lot of help from the local pearl divers. And Allied Oil were very good about lending us their facilities."

"Bill Patterson?"

"Yes. Bill. Do you know him?"

"Not really." Bolan switched topics. "How did the Zayoud family react to your expedition?"

"The sheikh was very amenable. Carl, Professor Brunton, remembered to take some of the latest software as a gift. Harun Zayoud is very easily won over! And he saw to it that Salim Zakir, the Minister of Culture, made things go smoothly for us." She pointed to a photograph on the shelf behind her. Danica was posed next to Salim, who appeared to have more than a diplomatic interest in the American scholar.

"And what about Hassan Zayoud?"

Danica arched her eyebrows. "He's not at all like his brother. He's only interested in Khurabian history insofar as it reflects the glory of Islam. He once invited us to excavate at Hagadan, the Fortress of the Rock, to furnish him with proof of how powerful were the Tamal sheikhs. They were fundamentalist rebels who holed up at Hagadan in the fifteenth century."

Bolan could feel the tumblers clicking into place. "Tell me more about this fortress, Dr. Jones."

"I'd rather you called me Danny," she said, unrolling a large-scale map of Khurabi on the desk between them. "Okay. Khurabi occupies less than four thousand square miles between the barren ranges of the Jebel Sutaq, here, and Jebel Akzam in the south..." she began, tracing out the facts with her fingertip. The country was the shape of an irregular oblong, with about forty miles of coastline on the gulf, and running nearly a hundred miles deep. The interior was partially bisected by the steep rocky slopes of the Jebel Kharg. The population of little more than one hundred thousand lived in the coastal capital or in small fishing villages scattered farther to the south.

"The interior is a sun-baked wilderness, some of the harshest desert terrain in the world. Hagadan is here, in the southwest corner, quite close to the disputed border. The fortress was built around the only freshwater wells for miles."

"What's it like? Did you go there?"

"It's in the forbidden zone." Danny shook her head. "That whole quarter of the country is strictly off-limits. Of course, we could have gone out there under Hassan Zayoud's protection, but we had more than enough to do at the Haufari site. If you'll pass me that book, there's a picture of the castle at Hagadan in it."

Bolan quickly retrieved the volume. Danny found the photograph; it had been taken by a British traveler in the 1930's.

"I don't think it will have changed much," she joked. The fortress had been standing on the bare outcrop of the Hagadan Rock for many centuries. It was a formidable encampment.

"It seems to incorporate several styles," noted Bolan.

"You're right. Alexander the Great sent a garrison to Khurabi; one of his detachments is said to have laid the foundations. Randall de Lacey, an eccentric knight, brought his followers eastward instead of returning home after the Third Crusade. They built up the inner ward and towers. The Tamal sheikhs took over Hagadan and extended the walls and outer bastions. Defenders have been starved out, but the castle has never been breached by force."

Bolan didn't have that kind of time. Or manpower. If Kevin Baker was being held prisoner in the Hagadan fortress, then the Executioner would have to get in there alone, rescue him and get out again fast. "Are there any other features of note in the interior?" asked Bolan. The map did not reveal any, but he had to cover all the possibilities. "Do you know of a modern army camp, a training base maybe, even an old cave system?"

Danny could not see where this line of questioning was leading to; she shook her head emphatically. "There's nothing else out there that I know of — just quicksand, mineral pools, unmapped wadis — as I said, this is one of the most forbidding deserts in the world."

The outline of a plan was forming in the back of Bolan's mind... but it would first need the trust and willing cooperation of this striking young professor.

Bolan pulled out the gold locket and handed it to her. Danny stared at the boy's picture, and Bolan thought she might be searching for a family resemblance.

"No relation," he informed her. "His name is Kevin Baker."

"Isn't he the kid who was..."

"I'd better tell you the whole thing... at least as much of it as I've managed to put together."

Danica Jones had enjoyed talking with Mack Bolan. He was intelligent and attentive. She had assumed from his guarded introduction that he was gathering information for a diplomatic briefing, or perhaps that he had some interest in Middle Eastern espionage. She was not ready for the story he now told her.

She did not interrupt or challenge Bolan's explanation of what seemed to have happened.

"Let's go for a walk," was all she said when he had finished. "I need some air."

They followed the willows down to the creek that flowed lazily along the edge of the college grounds. The harsh realities of the modern world seemed very far removed from this peaceful sanctuary. The archaeology scholar stared down at a leaf drifting past. Bolan wondered if he had misplaced his confidence.

"What makes you think it's Kevin's knowledge of nuclear devices they are after," she asked, "and not his talent for breaking into top-secret computers?"

"The bomb makes more sense in the political and military context of the struggle for the Middle East. If the Soviets are or become involved, then they well might be interested in Kevin's computer know-how. Either way it's dangerous — for him and possibly for all of us."

"And why should Kevin cooperate with them?" Danny tossed a twig into the water and watched it swirl away.

"They could threaten him, scare him into going along with them. Or they could intimidate Kevin with threats of what might happen to his parents. They might find some weakness to exploit, some means of bribing him. And then there's always drugs. Brainwashing."