"Even if Falkner can help," Evan said, "even if everything goes right, it will be a miracle if you can get him away and into hiding. If you get in a jam, you can't rely on the Said Ababa government. They'll just look the other way. They give lip service to Washington, but they're too afraid of the Red December to interfere."

"I know that," Ronnie muttered impatiently. "Why are you rehashing old news? Nothing is going to go wrong; we've got everything covered."

"We could wait another day," Evan coaxed. "Maybe Washington will come through."

"And maybe those murderers will decide to shoot Falkner in the head tonight." She shook her head. "And if they didn't, you might not be able to find where they'll take him tomorrow night. They never keep him in any one place more than twenty-four hours." She stood up, jammed her hands into the pockets of her leather flight jacket, and said belligerently, "Now stop arguing with me. You agreed to do it and we're going to do it tonight. I'll be in that alcove on the Street of the Camels at eleven tonight. If you don't send the help you promised, they'll catch me and have two newspeople to execute." A sudden mischievous smile lit her face. "And then you'd have to go to my funeral and you know how you hate that kind of hoopla."

"What makes you think I'd go?"

"Because you know I'd haunt you if you didn't."

"You'd do it too." He scowled and with reluctance said, "All right. We'll go on with it, but don't expect anything else of me. I'll make die payment to Mohammed and Fatima and then I'm on my way."

Her relief was immeasurable. "That's all I ask." Then after a moment's hesitation, she added, "You're sure Mohammed is a good enough shot?"

Evan nodded. "It will be close range." He smiled crookedly. "I'm surprised you sanctioned shooting the guards. Isn't your heart bleeding for them?"