Herzi turned to track his Uzi on the new danger when the machine gunner in the jeep opened fire, spraying the alley in a stitching cross fire.

Bolan heard the thwack of bursting flesh and a scream. Instinctively he knew what had happened even before he turned around. Herzi had caught a round in the chest. The nightwarrior continued to shield the kid from gunfire as he watched the Israeli stumble.

Bolan raced to the fallen Israeli and grabbed his shirt collar. The hell-blitzer pulled all three of them, the Mossad man and the Arab child-out of the line of fire.

Herzi collapsed against a wall in the alley.

Bolan looked at the guy, whose chest was a bubbling dark horror. Herzi coughed blood and lifted his eyes to Bolan, who crouched beside him, cradling the boy in his left arm. The three figures huddled in the narrow street while the battle raged around them between the crazed factions.

Bolan clenched his teeth in anger as he palmed the AutoMag. A good man lay dying and Bolan could not do a goddamn thing to save him. No one could with a wound like that.

"Y-you will have to carry on alone." The mortally wounded Israeli's voice could barely be heard above the fighting. "Zoraya... trust her..."

Bolan's gut constricted with rage and a pain of regret. He had brought this young man to die out here tonight.

"Chaim, dammit." The man on the ground coughed more blood, darker this time, as he struggled to touch Bolan's shoulder. "You are not to blame... I understand the importance of your mission... T-tell my uncle..." And Chaim Herzi died.

The fighting in the street became more intense.

A rush of movement came from the alley entrance a few feet away. A street fighter with PLO insignia, toting a smoking AK-47, charged headlong for the opposite end of the alley to outflank the Phalangists. Then he saw Bolan and the child and the dead man in the shadows. The guerrilla paused in midstride with a grunt of surprise and started to swing the AK in Bolan's direction.