The Senator stared the Russian straight in the eye. "You knew."

"I guessed."

"You think Yazid ordered Kamil's death?"

"I can only say our intelligence sources discovered there was an Islamic faction in Cairo that was planning an attempt."

"And you stood by and said nothing while fifty innocent people died-"

"A miscalculation," admitted Korolenko. "We did not know how or when the assassination was to take place. It was assumed Kmfl's LIFE would be in danger only if she went to Egypt-not from Yazid lf, but rather his fanatical followers. Yazid has never been tied to any terrorist acts.

Your profile of him reads the same as ours: a brilliant man who thinkqs of himself as a Muslim Gandhi."

"So much for KGB and CIA profiles," said Vyhousky candidly.

"Another classic case of intelligence experts being suckered by a well-conceived public-relations campaign," sighed the Senator. "The man is a bigger psycho case than we figured."

Schiller nodded in agreement. "Yazid has to be responsible for the tragedy. His followers would never have considered it without his blessing."

"He had the motive," said Nichols. "Kamil has immense flair and charm.

Her level of popularity with the people and the military far exceeds President Hasan's. She was a strong buffer. If she's dead, Egypt is only hours away from a government led by extremist mullahs."

"And when Hasan falls?" asked Korolenko slyly. "What will be the White House position then?"

Schiller and Nichols exchanged knowing looks. "Why, the same as the Kremlin's," said Schiller. "We're going to wait until the dust settles."

for a moment the fixed smile faded from Korolenko's face. "And if, make that when, the combined Arab nations attack the Jewish state?"

"We'll back Israel to the hilt, as we have in the past."

"But will you send in American forces?"

"Probably not."

"Arab leaders might be less cautious if only they knew that. "

"Be our guest. Only remember, -this time, we're not going to use our leverage to stop the Israelis from taking Cairo, Beirut and Damascus."

"You're saying the President won't stand in their way if they resort to nuclear weapons?"

"Something like that," Schiller said with studied indifference. He turned to Nichols. "Whose deal?"

"I believe it's mine," said the Senator, trying his best to sound casual. This switch in the President's Middle East policy was news to him. "Shall we ante fifty cents?"

The Russians were not about to let loose.

"I find this most disturbing," said Vyhousky.

"A new posture had to come sometime," Nichols confessed. "The latest projections put United States oil reserves at eighty billion barrels.

With prices pushing fifty dollars a barrel, our oil companies can now afford to mount a massive exploration program. And, of course, we can still count on Mexican and South American reserves. The bottom line is that we no longer have to rely on the Middle East for oil. So we're cutting bait. If the Soviet government wants to inherit the Arab mess, take it as a gift."

Korolenko couldn't believe what he was hearing. His ingrained wariness made him skeptical. But he knew the Americans too well to doubt they would bluff or mislead him, on an issue of such magnitude.

Senator Pitt had his doubts, too, about the game plan the President was leaking to the Soviet representatives. There was a strong possibility oil would not flow over the Rio Grande when America needed it. Mexico was a revolution waiting for the starter's gun.

Egypt was cursed with a Dark Ages fanatic like Yazid. But Mexico had its madman in a Topiltzin, a Benito JuArez/Emilio Zapata messiah who preached a return to a religious state based on Aztec culture. Like Yazid, Topiltzin was supported by millions of his nation's poor, and he was also inches away from sweeping out the existing government.

Where were all the madmen coming from, the Senator wondered? Who was spawning these devils? He made a conscious effort to keep his hands steady as he began to deal.

"Five card stud, gentlemen, jokers wild."

Huge figures rose up in the eerie silence of the night and gazed through empty eyes at the barren landscape as if waiting for some unknown presence to bring them to life. The stark, rigid figures stood as tall as a two-story building, their grim, expressionless faces highlighted by a full moon.

A thousand years ago they had supported a temple roof that sat on top of the five-step pyramid of Quetzalcoatl in the Toltec city of Tula. The temple was gone but the pyramid remained and was reconstructed by archaeologists. The ruins stretched along a low ridge, and during the city's glory sixtythousand people lived and walked on its streets.

Few visitors found their way to the site, and those who took the trouble were awed by TVIa's haunted desolation.

The moon cast ghostly shadows through the dead city as a solitary man climbed the steep steps of the pyramid to the stone statues at the summit. He was dressed in a suit and tie and carried a leather attached case.

At each of the five terraces he stopped for a few moments and peered at the macabre sculptured friezes decorating the walls. Human faces protruded from the gaping mouths of serpents while eagles shredded human hearts with their beaks. He continued, passing an altar carved with skulls and crossbones, symbols used in later centuries by pirates of the Caribbean.

He was sweating when he finally reached the top of the pyramid and looked around. He was not alone. Two figures stepped forward and roughly searched him. They motioned at his attache case. He obligingly opened it and the men rummaged through the contents. Finding no weapons, they silently retreated to the edge of the temple platform.

Rivas relaxed and pressed a hidden switch on the handle of the case. A small tape recorder secreted inside the lid began to roll.

After a short minute had passed, a figure emerged from the shadows of the great stone statues. He was dressed in a floorlength robe of white cloth. His hair was long and tied at the base, giving it the look of a rooster tail. His feet were hidden under the robe, but the moon's light revealed circular bands around his arms that were carved from gold and inlaid with turquoise.

He was short, and the smooth, oval face suggested Indian ancestry. His dark eyes studied the tall, fair-complexioned man before him, taking in the oddly-out-of-place business suit. He crossed his arms and spoke strange words that sounded almost lyrical.

"I am Topiltzin."

"My name is Guy Rivas, Special Representative for the President of the United States."

Rivas had expected an older man. it was difficult to guess the Mexican messiah's age, but he didn't look a year over thirty.

Topiltzin gestured to a low wall. "Shall we sit while we talk?"

Rivas nodded a "Thank you" and sat down. "You chose a most unusual setting."

"Yes, I thought it appropriate." Topiltzin's tone suddenly turned contemptuous. "Your President was afraid for us to confer openly. He did not want to embarrass and anger his friends in Mexico City."

Rivas knew better than to be baited. "The President asked me to express his gratitude for allowing me to talk with you."

"I expected someone with a higher rank of state."