The blue eyes looked into his. They reflected suspicion.

"My business is mybusiness," the man said.

"I may have a job for you."

"Fat chance."

Nogi was beginning to hope he could recruit this one. A good instructor always throws the largest member of the class around when doing demonstrations. Nogi would enjoy throwing this one around.

Nogi took another drink of hot sake. "I could teach someone your size to be really effective in combat. You'd be paid for learning."

"You recruiting for the army?"

"I'm recruiting people to fight the injustices that leave good men without jobs." Nogi said it mechanically.

Lyons drank half his beer nonstop, then slammed his glass down. "Sounds like bullshit," he spat.

Nogi's face remained impassive. His eyes stayed fixed on the shot glass of sake.

"You like being unemployed, I take it."

"I ought to flatten you for that."

"All right, you don't like being unemployed. You're just too yellow to fight back," Nogi challenged.

Lyons launched a loping, overhand right that a baby could intercept. Nogi's left arm drifted upward and back as if he were doing the backstroke. When the arm finished its stroke, Lyons's wrist was trapped under the karate expert's armpit, and the crook of Nogi's arm put pressure on the back of Lyons's elbow. When the Japanese slid off the bar stool, Lyons was forced to follow or have his arm broken. The small man grabbed his own wrist and increased the pressure on the arm, hustling Lyons out of the bar.

As they went out the door, Nogi spoke. "This is your last chance. Do you wish to learn to handle yourself better and be paid for it, or do you want to step into the alley with me for a demonstration?"

"You're not shitting me? I'd have a job?"

Nogi did not bother keeping the amusement out of his voice. "You'd have a job."

"Okay, boss, you got a man."

"You're willing to go through stiff training?" Nogi insisted.

"Let me go, will you? Why do we have to talk while you're breaking my damn arm?"

"I'm not breaking your arm. If I let go and you take a swing at me, then I will break your arm and you'll be no good to me. Is that clear?"

"Is what clear?"

Nogi carefully suppressed a sigh of exasperation. "I'll let you sleep off the alcohol and then we'll talk. No business until I'msure you have a clear head. Is that understood?"

Lyons looked at the scuffed toe of the old construction boots he was wearing.

"I, uh, haven't had a chance to find a room yet."

Nogi grinned. "I thought not. That's okay. We provide our team with living quarters until they're well into training. Do you want to stay there, tonight?"

"You're not ribbing me about a job?"

"Not if you can leave alcohol alone and follow orders."

"I'm no damn wino."

"We'll soon know. I'll break both your arms if you are. Now, I'm letting go of you. You can come with me or go away, but take a swing at me and I'll break you into little pieces and leave you here. Is that clear?"

Lyons nodded slowly, reluctantly.

Nogi let go of him and began walking, leaving Lyons to come or go. Lyons followed, rubbing his shoulder.

"You were lucky," Lyons sulked. "You won't get me like that again."

Nogi kept walking at a brisk clip.

"Tell me that tomorrow in the dojo," he grated at the blowhard he had just recruited.

"The what?"

"The gymnasium, you long-nosed idiot."

"Why didn't you say so?"

Nogi continued in silence, wondering if he would have the restraint not to break this one into little pieces. The garbage he got to work with was hardly worth the trouble.

July 11, 805 hours, Smyrna, Georgia

The receptionist judged that the two redheads were in their early thirties. She also guessed that both women had at one time been blond. The women, who introduced themselves as the Ross sisters, wore expensive business suits and carried attache cases.

"Mr. Brognola will see you right away," the receptionist told them. "His assistant will take you to his office."

The elder redhead asked, "Who is Mr. Brognola? We've done much of the recruiting for Elwood Industries, but we haven't met him before."

"Mr. Brognola has taken over as acting manager since the disturbance," the receptionist answered. She was polite, but did not encourage further pumping.

The assistant appeared in the reception area.

"Susan, Jennifer, it's good to see you again," she said to the recruiters. "I'll take you to Mr. Brognola's office."

Susan, who was four years older than Jennifer and looked ten years older, shook the assistant's hand. Jennifer gave the woman a hug.

"After the terrorists hit here, we've had some difficulty getting staff back together," the assistant said. "Mr. Fischer and his secretary were killed. Some people quit. Some say they're still too shaken to come back to work."

They passed a place where workmen were replacing a bullet-shattered door. The two sisters exchanged glances.

"So, I told Mr. Brognola that you could find the type of people he needs faster than anyone. I know the company, so I'm helping him find his way around."

When the two recruiters walked into the chief executive's office, they knew they had been recognized. But they could not recall ever having seen the gray-suited, gray-haired man who stood up and came around the desk to shake hands.

"Sit down, ladies. Would you like a coffee?"

Both shook their heads. They held their attache cases tightly, knuckles white. Hal Brognola perched on the corner of his desk, studying the two women.

"How's Henry these days?" Brognola asked.

"Oh, he's the same as ever," Susan said. "I swear if I live to be a hundred, Henry will still be around and still be the same. We asked if he wanted to retire. He was really annoyed with us for..."

Her voice trailed off. Her face turned white. She looked at her sister who was holding her briefcase much too tightly.

"How do you know about Henry?" Jennifer demanded. There was anger and defiance in her voice.

Brognola smiled. "Relax. I'm a friend of a friend."

Neither women said anything. Their eyes were locked on Brognola and filled with suspicion.

"This friend," Brognola continued, "posed as an enforcer to get Jennifer out of the Sciaparelli house and then went back and carried Susan out."

"You wouldn't have had to know him to know that," Jennifer said. "It was in the damn papers."

"He told me some time later about how you kept the mobsters at bay. He said that his marksman medal exactly covers your navel."

Jennifer's paleness was suddenly transformed to a mild tint of pink. "That's something Mack Bolan had better have told only to a friend," she said.

"So what's happened to you two since then?" Brognola asked.

"At first we hid from the Mafia. There weren't that many left in this area to hide from," Susan answered. "Then, when we thought we were safe, some capo sent us word that the incident involving our father was over and done with. If we'd forget, so would they. We kept the last name change. It was pretty close to Rossiter anyway. We went into this type of headhunting and so far they haven't bothered us."

"You think the truce will last?" Brognola probed.

"Not a chance!" Jennifer replied.

"But we've given up running and hiding," her sister added. "When trouble comes, we'll meet it."

"I still miss Mack," Jennifer said softly.

"Why did he have to die in that damn explosion!" Susan exclaimed.

Brognola's heart ached to tell these two women that Mack Bolan still fought the good fight, still had to watch his back against those who should be helping him. But it would do neither. Mack Bolan nor the United States any good to broadcast that the warrior was still very much alive. Brognola wanted to tell them, but he had to settle for a sigh.