The men were almost indistinguishable at first glance.

High, prominent cheekbones, receding chins and leathery bronzed skin marked them as descendants of the Incas, who had ruled the country before the invasion of the Spaniards.

Now they were prepared to strike hard at their conquerors, to take a small step toward restoring Peru to its rightful owners and establishing a Marxist utopia.

Cautiously they crept onto the Avenida Abancay, a tenlane artery that cut through the heart of the city. Brightly colored ponchos concealed their weapons, while broad woven hats sat like inverted dishes to ward off the sun. Each man carried a razor-sharp machete and three sticks of dynamite. Julio Nunez, the leader, carried the prize, a cherished M-16 with a full clip and a spare, one of the few assault weapons his band possessed.

Julio didn't like the plan his unknown superiors had decreed. In theory it was to be a simple bank robbery to replenish the coffers of the organisation. But in this enormous city he felt exposed, naked to the eyes of the many strangers who crowded the broad sidewalk. He would rather have been preparing to strike at some sleepy village in the high Andes, near to Ayacucho where he had friends and a safe retreat.

However, from what little he knew, he was only a small part of a larger plan to show that they could strike at the very heart of the government, to show that no one was safe, anywhere, at any time.

Like a good soldier, he would obey his orders.

He glanced at the cheap Taiwanese watch he wore.

It was time for action.

At the foot of Avenida Abancay, three men waited with growing excitement. They were parked in a battered olive-drab jeep across from the Ministry of Education, a modern twenty-two-story tower. For the past ten minutes limousines had been arriving at the ministry, each accompanied by a swarm of motorcycle police.

This marked the weekly cabinet session, which they had observed from a distance for the past two months.