"I don't have any friends with cannons."

"So you say. Here's your ticket to Washington." Fisher dropped an El Al folder in Powell's box of belongings. "Tell it to them."

Powell handed it back to him. "I'll book my own flight. Cancel this one."

"You're going out through Cyprus?"

"I don't know. Maybe they'll open the airport. I'm in no rush."

"Washington wants to debrief you immediately. Repeat, immediately."

"But I don't work for the Agency anymore. If I understand that cable correctly, I'm on my own time now."

"You're out of Beirut, that's what it means. As to your reassignment to another station, Langley didn't cable that information."

"Don't dodge it. I'm out. So I can leave when and how I want. And if I want."

"You want to stay on?" asked an incredulous Fisher.

Powell shrugged. He checked through the drawers a last time. Fisher glanced at the box of objects and books. Seeing the Korans, he started away. "Don't leave just yet," he said. "There's a detail I need confirmed."

"What?"

"Checking a translation." Fisher went to his office and returned with a file of reports. "That Libyan. In a lounge he made a comment..."

"Where?"

Fisher ignored the question. "He made a comment in Arabic that one of our people overheard. Our man translated it, but just to be sure, I had him quote in Arabic also. Look at this, what does that mean?"

Scanning the handwritten script, Powell considered it a moment, then asked, "What was the context?"

"There was a news clip on the television of the President. The ragheads made a series of threats..."

"Ragheads?" Powell interrupted. "You mean, Muslims? Or Palestinians? Or Syrians? Iranians? Libyans? Maybe Aunt Jemima? Who exactly is a raghead?"

"Muslims, whoever, they're all the same. One of them said, 'If the infidel offends thee, strike down the infidel with a sword.' "