Treasure

The stillness became intense. And then it was broken by a new voice.

"You should have stayed and died on the island, Suleiman," said Akhmad Yazid in a menacing tone.

Ammar's calm did not desert him. He had set his genius and last bit of strength for this moment. He was not about to wait for death. He was going to step forward and embrace it. Not for him a life of perpetual darkness and disfigurement-revenge was his deliverance.

"I could not die without standing in your forgiving presence one last time."

"Save your babble and remove those stupid bandages. You're losing your touch. Your crude imitation of Mahfbuz was fourth-rate for a man of your skills."

Ammar did not reply. He slowly unwrapped the bandages until the ends came free, and he dropped them on the floor.

Yazid audibly sucked in his breath when he saw the hideous disfigurement of Ammar's face. Sadistic blood ran in Fawzy's veins: he stared with the perverted duill of one who enjoyed the sight of human wreckage.

"My payment for my service," A

"How is it you're alive?" Yazid asked, his voice shaken.

"My faithful friend Ibn hid me from the American Special Forces for two days until he fashioned a raft out of driftwood. After drifting with the current and paddling for ten hours, by the grace of Allah we were picked up by a Chilean fishing boat that set us ashore near a small airport at Puerto Williams. We stole an airplane and flew to Buenos Aires, where I chartered a jet to bring us to Egypt."

"That does not come easy to you," muttered Yazid. "You realize you signed your death warrant by coming here," Fawzy purred with anticipation.

"I expected little else."

"Suleiman Aziz Ammar," said Yazid with a trace of sadness. "The greatest assassin of his time, feared and respected by the CIA and the KGB, the creator of the most successful assassinations ever carried out.

And to think you should end as a filthy, pathetic beggar in the streets."

"What are you saying, Akhmad?" asked Fawzy in surprise.

"The man is already dead." Yazid's disgust was slowly turning to satisfaction. "Our financial experts will arrange for his wealth and investments to be taken over in my name. Then he will be turned out in the streets with twenty-four-hour guards to make certain he remains in the slums. He will spend the rest of his days begging to exist. that is far worse than a quick death."

"You will have me killed when I tell you what I came to say," said Ammar conversationally.

"I'm listening," said Yazid inpatiently.

"I dictated a complete fifty-page report of the entire Flamborough affair-All names, conversations, and dates were carefully itemized, everything, including my observations on the Mexican part of the operation and my opinion on the co

Copies are being read at this moment by the intelligence services of western countries and members of their news media. However you deal with me, Akhmad, knowing you're finished '

He broke off abruptly, gasped as his entire head burst into excruciating agony. Fawzy's face was livid and teeth gnashed in rage, struck Ammar with his fist. The impact did not carry the solid weight of a pla

A man in good physical condition would have pulled it Off, but he was a wounded man on the brink of unconsciousness. Delicate scar tissue around his eyes and jaw split apart He fell backward, warding off Fawzy's blows with his hands and arms, fighting to clear ills mind of the pain, face white, blood spurting.

"Stop!" Yazid shouted at Fawzy. can't you see the man is trying to die.

He maybe lying, hoping we'll kill him here and now."

Ammar reclaimed a measure of mental control, positioning the sound of Yazid's voice, the location of Fawzy.

He reached out with his left hand and moved slowly forward until he was certmn he touched yazid's arm. Then he clutched it and made a movement that brought it up behind his neck.

The composite knife was pressed tightly into the slight indentation just to the right of Ammar's upper arm secured by white surgical tapeKnown as a utility device by undercover operatives, it was designed to pass safely through metal detectors.

A

The vicious thrust lifted the revolutionary Muslim impersonator off his feet. Paul Capesterre's eyes bulged in shock and terror. His only sound was a hoarse gurgle.

"Farewell, vermin," Ammar croaked through his bleeding mouth.

And then the knife was jerked free and he made a sweeping arc toward the spot where he sensed Fawzy was standing. The knife wasn't designed for a slashing attack, but his hand came in contact with Fawzy's face, and he felt the blade slice the cheek.

Ammar knew Fawzy was right-handed and always carried a gun, an old nine-millimeter Luger in a holster slung under the left armpit. He fell against Fawzy, attempting to clutch the arrogant fanatic, while shoving the knife upward again.

Without sight, his timing was late.

Fawzy had swiftly drawn the Luger. He pushed the barrel into Ammar's stomach and triggered two rounds before the knife drove into his heart.

He dropped the gun and clutched at his chest. He swayed a few steps to his side, staring down with a swaying quizzical look at the knife protruding on an upward angle below his sternum. Finally his eyes rolled upward and he dropped to the floor only a meter from where Capesterre had fallen.

Ammar very slowly sank to the ceramic tile floor and settled on his back. There was no more pain, none at all. He saw visions without his eyes. He could feel his life ebbing away as if it were floating down a stream.

His fate had been decided by a man he'd only met briefly. The unage came back of the tall man with the green eyes and the set grin. A wave of hate surged and just as quickly passed. Dirk Pitt-the name was etched in the darkening reaches of his mind.

He felt a euphoric contentment close over him. His last thought was that Ibn would take care of Pitt. Then the slate would be wiped clean....

The President sat in a leather armchair and stared at four television monitOrs-Three were tuned to the major networks, while the fourth was a direct feed from an ArTny communications truck at Roma. He looked , but his eyes glistened with intensity. They roved steadily from one monitor to the next; his face was set in concentration.

"I can't believe so many people can exist in so small an area," he said wonderingly.

"Their food has about run out," said Schiller, g from an up-to-the-minute CIA report. " g water is scarce, and the sanitation facilities are backed up."

"It's tonight or never," sighed Nichols wearily.

The President asked, "What kind of numbers are we looking at?"

"A computer head-wunt from an aerial photograph shows nearly four hundred and thirty-five thousand," replied Schiller.

"And they're going to pour ugh a corridor less than a kilometer wide,"

Nichols said grimly.

"Damn that murdering bastard!" the President said savagely. "Doesn't he realize or care that thousands will be killed or drowned in the crush alone?"

"A majority of them women and children," added Nichols.