Thoughtful enough to earn him Shahkhia's alliance. So a curse on this nefarious attack on the other side of the globe. What foul surprise would beset them all next?

The temporary command post for the mission was an office barrack at the north end of the courtyard of Jericho's villa.

The low building was equipped to function as base headquarters for Lenny Jericho's far-flung operation whenever the big man stayed there.

The building was deserted now except for the quarters that were Kennedy's office and orderly room.

The topkick merc stood at the window that faced north from the villa. He watched the sky fade from deep purple into night as the sun disappeared behind the rocky silhouette of the Jebel el Akdar mountain range.

The hot Sahara winds of daytime had already died down. The temperature would now drop abruptly into the mid-fifties.

Kennedy understood the desert very well. The love of his life was soldiering, and this was his seventh assignment in North Africa. Yes, he knew the desert. He knew it and he hated it.

After tonight, he thought, I'll never walk on sand again.

He glanced at his watch. He wondered when he would be hearing from Leonard Jericho. He was tired of waiting.

Doyle was in the office with Kennedy. Doyle was second in the chain of command on this mission. Right now he appeared to read Kennedy's mind.

"The call should have come by now, don'cha think, Top? The men are starting to get restless."

Kennedy turned impatiently from the window.

"They're paid to hurry up and wait, and they know that. Tell 'em to stow it. We'll be lifting off soon enough. I got other things on my mind."

"Such as?"

"That new guy."

"Rideout?"

"What'd you think of him, Doyle?"

The second-in-command lit a cigarette thoughtfully. "Funny you should mention the guy. I've been thinking about him too."

"Like, what?" asked Kennedy. "You drove him out here from Benghazi. Did he talk much?"

"Like a clam. So what's with this job anyway?"

"Knock off the questions," growled the topkick. "The headshed screwed it up, as usual. I don't like it either. But we work with what we got.''

Doyle got thoughtful again.

"If we're talking about Rideout, I don't know what we got, exactly. I couldn't read the guy worth a damn. There's something about him. It's in the eyes. Cold eyes, Top, like chips of blue ice. The guy looks like he can handle himself."

"Maybe that's it," nodded Kennedy. "He's too cool. Showing up here late. And looking like he's got ice in his veins."

"I thought that was the kind of man we wanted here. What is it? You got a gut feeling about the guy?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I got a gut feeling that the guy's a pro all right. But not the kind of pro we want. I got the feeling I was being handled out there when I met him."

Doyle eyeballed Kennedy keenly.

"So what do we do about him? Jericho might not like it if we don't have proof."

"We'll give Jericho the next best thing, if I'm right," grunted Kennedy. "What have you got on the other thing?"

"I think we got what you wanted," replied Doyle. "It was the guy you had tagged, just like you said. I had two men on his ass and they took him right to the doorstep of a woman we know works for Mossad."

"Your men should've dusted him right on the spot and those others with him," grunted Kennedy. He was pacing the office floor restlessly. "Now we've got to deal with him here. Tonight."

"My men didn't know they were trailing an Israeli spy," Doyle bristled mildly. "Those were your orders."

Kennedy suddenly snapped his fingers, stopped pacing.

"Wait a minute. There's a way we can tie these two things together."

"I don't get you, Top."

Which is why you'll always be a dumb ass kisser and nothing more, thought Kennedy. His response was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone on the off ice desk.

"Here come the orders," said Doyle.

Kennedy palmed the receiver.

"Yes?" was all he said.

"Relax," a voice said. "I've got a scrambler on the line. How are things going there?"

The question was asked in an authoritative tone that made it anything but polite conversation.

"My men are ready and waiting to move out, Mr. Jericho," said Kennedy crisply. "Waiting on orders from you."

"Very good. What about our Israeli problem?"

"We've got the man tagged, sir. I'm making plans right now to take him out."

"Good. About goddamn time. New developments?"

Kennedy was aware that Doyle eyed him closely from across the office. But Kennedy saw no reason to bring up his suspicions concerning Mike Rideout. Kennedy would deal with Rideout at his level.

"No, sir. Nothing new. I've got security airtight. It's all running good like I said it would."

"Then set a course for the Aujila oasis. That's about thirty minutes flying time. Be there in one hour."

Kennedy glanced at his watch.

Perfect, he thought.

"One hour. Yes, sir. I'll brief the pilots immediately."

"I will see you in one hour then, Mr. Kennedy."

"Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir."

Kennedy replaced the receiver. He turned to confront the open question marks in Doyle's eyes.

"Aujila oasis," Kennedy told him. "Keep everyone at their post for right now. We'll have a quick pull out in twenty minutes."

Doyle was on his feet. He started from the office, but paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"You didn't say anything about Rideout."

Kennedy's eyes narrowed. "You haven't figured it out yet?"

"I guess I have," said Doyle. "I'll set that up too, then."

Kennedy nodded.

"Use Bruner and Teckert. Tell them to watch their asses. I got that damn feeling."

"I wonder if we're right. About Rideout, I mean."

"Either way we'll find out soon enough."

"You want it, you got it," said Doyle. He snapped off a curt salute and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Leaving Kennedy alone to his thoughts.

The boss merc turned to stare out the window. It was too dark to see anything out there except his own reflection in the glass. But it would give Doyle a few minutes in case the guy came back with any last-minute questions. It would do no good for Doyle to return and find Kennedy gone, with no one having seen him emerge from the office out front. That would not do at all.

I've got to be real careful now, thought Kennedy. This damn thing has been like walking on eggs. But these final minutes are crucial...

The world looked at Kennedy and saw unlined, youthful features that he knew were attractive to most of the women he came in contact with. His eyes sparkled. His smile could dazzle.

In other words, the horrors that he had perpetrated, and the hellzones — Vietnam, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Rhodesia, Chad, Libya — where he had spent his career soldiering amid the harsh realities of a world he never made, could not be imagined from his outward appearance.

Kennedy was willing to concede that a few people over the years might have guessed at the true limits of behavior that he was capable of, but not many.

Even some of the men in his outfit here in Bishabia would be shocked to know about the locked and boarded schoolhouse full of rebel kids near Gatooma that Kennedy had burned to the ground some years ago. The job had been on orders, sure, but some of the mercs here tonight would damn sure have blanched at a thing like that and refused — because they never had Kennedy's ambition and drive — to do anything that would establish him as the toughest, baddest, best merc in the business. It was too bad about those kids in Gatooma. It was too bad about a lot of things. But no, it was not a world that Kennedy had made, to his way of thinking. It was a world that he was trying to get ahead in. To accomplish that, you needed ambition and drive and the knowledge that winning was everything.