If he's got some hidden agenda, we don't have a clue what it is. In other words, if he isn't what he appears to be, what the hell is he?" Bolan looked at the folders, then at Wilson, who continued. "Time was, Belasko, when we only had to worry about one end of the political spectrum. Red was easy to spot, like a fire engine coming up the block. If it wasn't red, we didn't have to worry about it. But times have changed in a major way. We've taken a lot of hits, more than we should have if you ask me but nobody has and so I now have twice the work to do. I have to watch everything left and right." Bolan reached out for the folders, and Wilson shoved the stack across the table. "I wish to God there was more I could give you, but that's what I've got. Period."

"When do you want me to leave?" Bolan asked, not bothering to ask the earlier, more obvious question.

Wilson dug inside his jacket and pulled out a crisp white envelope. He slipped it across the table.

Bolan looked at it without making a move to retrieve it. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Wilson watched the big guy silently for a minute before continuing, "Brognola speaks very highly of you. He and I go way back. He told me there were certain things I could take for granted. I took him at his word." Bolan smiled the faintest of smiles. "As it happens, you'll be on the same flight as one Mr. Charles Harding. This time we don't want to lose him. You'll be going under diplomatic cover. The man to see in Manila is Frank Henson. I cabled him this afternoon. He knows you're coming, and he'll take care of contact on his end."

Wilson leaned across the table, extending one hand. Bolan took it in his own.

"You be damn careful over there, Belasko. Anything happens to you, Hal will have my balls in a vise. If he doesn't cut 'em off altogether."

"Thanks. I'll be careful."

"Look, Frank Henson's a good man. He's yours for the duration. He knows it and he's as faithful as the family dog. Use him. He expects it, and he'll bust his gut for you."