The two men sat across from one another with an ocean of gleaming walnut, smelling faintly of lemon oil, between them. At one end of the briefing room, a stark white screen descended with a pneumatic hum.

It clicked home, and Wilson nodded to his assistant, who killed the lights.

"First picture," Wilson said in a voice that seemed too high in pitch for someone so large.

Bolan wondered whether Wilson's tie might be a little too tight for his own good.

The projector's magazine advance hummed, a bright square of light splashed on the screen, was swept away by a click, reappeared, vanished with another click and was replaced by a photograph of three men. Bolan knew instantly that it had been taken from a distance.

Without waiting for Wilson's question, Bolan scrutinized the three. He knew none by name, although one, the leftmost on the screen, looked vaguely familiar.

"Know any of these rascals?" Wilson asked.

Even in the near dark, Bolan knew that Wilson was watching him closely. "Nope. One guy, the one with the grey hair, looks sort of familiar, as if I should know him. But I can't connect the face with a name."

"Next shot, Donny," Wilson piped.

The projector whirred and clicked, and the photo was replaced by a blowup of one of the three men.

Again, Wilson waited. "El numero uno." Wilson chuckled. "That is Juan Rizal Cordero. Ring a bell?"

"No," Bolan said.

"Well, he's the new kid on the block. We've been watching him for more than two years. He shows up at the damnedest places. Nicaragua, two years ago, was the first time we tumbled to him. Right after the attempt on the Ortega brothers. We lost him after that for nearly six months, then he pops up, of all places, in Beirut. Mossad backfilled our file. Seems he's been training the right-wing Christian militia there, sabotage and demo work, mostly. Then he comes out of the ground again last February, a regular tucking ground hog, he is, in Angola. Palling around with a bunch of Woolworth meres, soldiers of misfortune I call 'em. That was right before Savimbi's plane lost a wing after the ANC conference in Nairobi."