But for all their good manners, Khalil had detected a degree of condescension in Hundry, who had identified himself as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Hundry had been not only condescending, but at times contemptuous, and once or twice had revealed a moment of hostility.

The other one, Gorman, had not identified himself beyond his name, which he gave only as Peter. But Khalil had no doubt that this man was an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Gorman had shown no hostility, and in fact, seemed to treat Asad Khalil as an equal, perhaps as a fellow intelligence officer.

Hundry and Gorman had taken turns sitting in the seat beside their prisoner, or their defector, as they referred to him. When Peter Gorman sat beside him, Khalil took the opportunity to reveal to Gorman his activities in Europe. Gorman had been at first incredulous, but finally impressed. He had said to Asad Khalil, "You are either a good liar, or an excellent assassin. We'll find out which you are."

To which Khalil had replied, "I am both, and you will never discover what is a lie, and what is the truth."

Gorman said, "Don't bet on it."

Then, the two agents would confer quietly for a few minutes, and then Hundry would sit beside him. Hundry would try to make Khalil tell him what he told Gorman. But Khalil would only talk to him about Islam, his culture, and his country.

Khalil smiled, even now, at this little game that had kept him amused during the flight. Finally, even the two agents found it amusing, and they made a joke of it. But clearly, they realized they were in the presence of a man who should not be treated with condescension.

And finally, just as Yusef Haddad went into the lavatory, which was the signal for Khalil to ask permission to use the facility, Asad Khalil said to Gorman, "I killed Colonel Hambrecht in England as the first part of my mission."

"What mission?" Gorman asked.

"My mission to kill all seven surviving American pilots who participated in the air raid on Al Azziziyah on April fifteen, nineteen eighty-six." He added, "My family all died in that attack."

Gorman had remained silent for a long moment, then said, "I'm sorry about your family." He added, "I thought those pilots' names were classified as top secret."

"Of course they are," Khalil had replied. "But top secrets can be revealed-they just cost more money."

Then, Gorman had said something that even now bothered Khalil. Gorman said, "I have a secret for you, too, Mr. Khalil. It concerns your mother and father. And other personal matters."

Khalil, against his better judgment, was baited into asking, "What is it?"

"You will know in New York. After you tell us what we want to know."

Yusef Haddad had exited the lavatory, and there was not a minute to spare to pursue this. Khalil requested permission to use the lavatory. A few minutes later, Peter Gorman took his secret and Khalil's secret to the grave with him.

Asad Khalil scanned the newspaper again, but there was little of interest beyond the one-million-dollar reward, which he thought was not much money, considering all the people he had killed. In fact, it was almost an insult to the families of the dead, and certainly a personal insult to himself.

He threw the newspaper in the trash can, gathered his overnight bag, looked out the peephole again, then opened the door and went directly to his car.

He got in, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot of the Sheraton Motor Inn, back on to the highway.

It was 7:30 A.M., the sky was clear, and the traffic was light.

He drove to a shopping strip that was dominated by a huge supermarket called Winn-Dixie. They had told him in Tripoli that coin telephones could usually be found at gasoline stations or near supermarkets, and sometimes in post offices, as was the case in Libya and Europe. But the post office was a place he needed to avoid. He saw a row of telephones against the wall of the supermarket near the doorways, and parked his car in the nearly empty lot. He found coins in the overnight bag, put one of the pistols in his pocket, got out of the car, and went to one of the telephones.

He looked at the numbers he had written down and dialed the first one.

A woman answered, "Alpha Aviation Services."

He said, "I would like to hire an aircraft and pilot to take me to Daytona Beach."

"Yes, sir. When would you like to go?"

"I have a nine-thirty A.M. appointment in Daytona Beach."

"Where are you now?"

"I am calling from Jacksonville Airport."

"Okay, then you should get here as soon as possible. We're located at Craig Municipal Airport. Do you know where that is?"

"No, but I'm coming by taxi."

"Okay. How many passengers, sir?"

"Just myself."

"Okay… and will this be round-trip?"

"Yes, but the wait will be short."

"Okay… I can't give you an exact price, but it's about three hundred dollars round-trip, plus waiting time. Any landing or parking fees are additional."

"Yes, all right."

"Your name, sir?"

"Demitrious Poulos." He spelled it for her.

"Okay, Mr. Poulos, when you get to Craig Municipal, tell the driver we're, like, at the end of the row of hangars on the north side of the field. Okay? Big sign. Alpha Aviation Services. Ask anyone."

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"You, too."

He hung up.

They had assured him in Tripoli that renting an aircraft and pilot in America was easier than renting an automobile. With an automobile, you needed a credit card, a driver's license, and you had to be a certain age. But with a piloted aircraft, you were asked no more questions than if you were taking a taxi. Boris had told him, "What the Americans call General Aviation-private flying-is not subject to close government scrutiny as it is in Libya or my country. You need no identification. I have done this many times myself. This is an occasion when cash is better than a credit card. They can avoid taxes if you pay cash, and their record keeping of cash is not so meticulous."

Khalil nodded to himself. His journey was becoming less difficult. He put a coin in the telephone and dialed a number that he'd memorized.

A voice answered, "Grey Simulation Software. This is Paul Grey."

Khalil took a long breath and replied, "Mr Grey, this is Colonel Itzak Hurok of the Israeli Embassy."

"Oh, yes, been waiting for your call."

"Someone from Washington has spoken to you?"

"Yes, of course. They said nine-thirty. Where are you now?"

" Jacksonville. I have just landed."

"Oh, well, it's going to take you about two and a half hours to get here."

"I have a private aircraft waiting for me at the Municipal Airport, and I understand that you live at an airport."

Paul Grey laughed and said, "Well, you could say that. It's called a fly-in community. Spruce Creek, outside of Daytona Beach. Listen, Colonel, I have an idea. Why don't I fly to Craig and pick you up in my plane? Meet me in the lounge. It's less than an hour flight. I can be airborne in ten minutes. Then I can fly you right back to Jacksonville International in time for your flight back to Washington. How's that?"

Khalil had not anticipated this and had to think quickly. He said, "I have already engaged a car to drive me to the Municipal Airport, and my embassy has prepaid for the aircraft. In any case, I am instructed to accept no favors. You understand."

"Sure. I understand that. But you have to have a cold beer when you get here."

"I am looking forward to it."

"Okay. Make sure the pilot has the info he needs to land at Spruce Creek. Any problem, just call me here before take-off."

"I will do that."

"And when you land, give me a call from the fuel and maintenance facility at the center of the airport, and I'll come over and pick you up with my golf cart. Okay?"