"That's not fair, Mr. Belasko. My husband is trying to help these people, my people. He didn't come here to impose his will on them."

"Like Harding, you mean?"

"Yes, like Harding. And like you."

"I'm not trying to impose my will on anyone. But Charles Harding has to be stopped. And, just in case you didn't notice, those three kids in that hut are your people, too. Not mine, not Harding's or McRae's. Not even your husband's, Marisa. They're your people. And you stand around and watch while an animal like McRae brutalises them. What's he going to do with them?"

"I have no idea."

"You better get one, lady. You better get one, before it's too late."

"And I suppose you'll clap on your white hat and ride out of the hills to save the world, then ride off into the sunset. Is that it, Belasko? Is that what you have in mind? By God, I misjudged you. You're a fucking hero, that's what you are," Colgan said, turning his back. "But this country already has enough heroes."

"And what the hell are you?" Bolan challenged. "What's your scenario for the next fifty years?"

"Don't bait me. You'll be sorry."

"That's exactly how I'd expect a tyrant to react. Don't disagree, don't have an opinion, don't challenge my wisdom, my authority."

"You're here by my sufferance. I think you ought to remember that."

"Is that the good doctor speaking? The Philippine answer to Albert Schweitzer? Sufferance? Where the hell do you get off talking to anyone about sufferance? You're not a god, Colgan. You're not even a good doctor. You tolerate an animal like McRae, let him tyrannize helpless prisoners, and you fancy yourself a benefactor, a savior. Is that what you suffer from, Colgan? Do you have a messiah complex?"

Colgan smiled. "Very good, Mr. Belasko. The accused becomes the prosecutor. But you can't wriggle off the hook that easily. It's not simple life is not simple."

"But you know its secrets, don't you Colgan? You're above it all, up there on Olympus. But you know something? I think the thin air has addled your brain. I think you're losing touch with reality and have become part of the problem. I know it. And so does Marisa."

She recoiled from the challenge as if he had slapped her. She turned away and nearly fell as she reached back toward her hut. Colgan took a deep breath.

"I don't know what you're up to, but I want you out of here."

"But you brought me here, Colgan. Don't you remember?"

"Well, I was wrong. You're not what I thought. You're a mistake, Belasko. A walking anachronism. You don't belong here."

"Neither do you, Colgan."

"Get out, damn you!"

"I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me where I can find Charles Harding. And Juan Rizal Cordero." Bolan was pleased to see Colgan flinch. "So, the name rings a bell, does it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never heard of the man."

"The hell you didn't. You know where he is, where they both are. And you're going to tell me, or I'll beat it out of you." He stepped toward the taller man and grabbed him by the front of the shirt. Bolan knew he was treading on very thin ice, but he was frustrated. Too many blind alleys. Too much bullshit. Lots of heat and now he wanted some light, damn it. He started to shake Colgan, twisting his grip on the shirt as Colgan tried to pull himself free.

The click of an automatic rifle brought him to his senses. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw Carlos, his rifle in hand, shaking his head.

"Let him go, senor."

"Why, Carlos? Why do you stay here? What do you see in this man?"

"He is a good man, senor. He cares for my people, for my country."

"He cares only for himself, Carlos. And for the power he has over you."

"He has no power, senor. I can leave anytime I choose. Now, let him go. Please."

Bolan shoved Colgan backward as he let go of the shirt. But the doctor was a lot sturdier than he looked. He staggered a step or two but didn't fall.

"You leave tomorrow morning, Belasko," Colgan said. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Bolan looked at Carlos, shaking his head.

"You're making a big mistake, Carlos. The man's insane. He'll drag you down with him if you let him. And make no mistake, he's going to take a fall. A bad one."

"No, senor. You're wrong."

"I hope so, for your sake."

15

Bolan stared in amazement. Colgan, dressed in white from head to foot, bent to duck under the lintel and stepped into the open. Almost ghostly in the brilliant sunlight, his figure seemed to float over the ground, and he sat in the passenger seat of Carlos's jeep without seeming to climb in.

Marisa sat next to Bolan in the second jeep. "This is my idea, you know," she said.

"And just what do you hope to gain?" Bolan looked at her, head cocked to one side. She wore sunglasses that picked up the sun and glinted small yellow daggers.

"Gain? Why, nothing. I just thought you should see what my husband is really like. You should see how he treats the people, how they look up to him."

"Idolize him, do they? Is that what you mean?"

"No." She turned away. "You're like all the others. You don't think a white man can come to a place like this without either going native or becoming Lord Jim. That's what Thomas means, you know, by the third way. He wants to be among the people, not lord it over them or becoming one of them. He wants them to meet him halfway."

"He has a funny way of showing it. What's the point of his getup?"

"Getup?"

"The white. He looks like a saint in a bad movie."

"Maybe he is, Mr. Belasko."

"Is that what you think he is? A saint?"

"Perhaps. I know he has done wonders for thousands of people. I know they love him and respect him for what he's done."

"I think your husband is a very dangerous man. He's made some sort of bargain with the devil, and the devil will eat him alive."

"I don't believe in devils, and neither does my husband."

"Do you believe in Charles Harding? Do you believe in Juan Rizal Cordero?"

Marisa didn't answer him immediately. When she finally spoke, Bolan could sense the uncertainty in her, as if she were wrestling with something unpleasant. "You must understand... it is difficult here. My husband doesn't want to take sides. But the countryside is in turmoil. The people hate the army, and they don't trust the government. Thomas is walking a very fine line. He tries to stay neutral. The NPA will attack us sometimes, because it is not a single entity. Every group is a law unto itself. Thomas makes no distinctions. If someone needs medical help, he gives it without regard to politics."

"Does that include members of the Leyte Brigade?"

"Yes, it does."

"Then he does know where Harding is, doesn't he?"

Marisa stayed silent.

"Do you understand that Harding and Cordero are planning to destroy this country? They will level it, if they have to, to save it from the NPA. Colgan showed me the village where..."

"I know, he told me."

"Has he told you that Manila will look the same way if Harding isn't stopped?"

Marisa fluttered a hand in the air, then waved it vaguely, as if to chase away something neither of them could see. Bolan sighed but said nothing more.

Carlos started his engine, and Bolan's driver followed suit. Together the two jeeps, followed by a truck full of medical equipment, began to roll out of the camp. As they slipped through the entrance to the road, the truck scraping its roof on some low-hanging branches, Bolan glanced back.

Behind the truck, a third jeep, this one sporting four heavily armed men, fell in line.

Bolan leaned closer to Marisa. He had to shout to be heard above the roaring engines. "Where are we going?"

"Malanang. There is an epidemic there, probably measles. Thomas has to set up a quarantine hut and inoculate those who haven't already contracted the disease."