"Then let's cover this fast," growled Bolan without taking his eyes from the night. He approached the turn. "You know why I'm here?"

"Strakhov. That's all I know. Except that my uncle has many connections in Mossad from his days there. That is how you got here. My orders are to obey your orders. I don't even know your name, but I am at your disposal."

"Where is Strakhov right now?"

"I am afraid we don't know that."

"Have you been able to learn why he's here? This is a hot spot for a ranking KGB commander to put in an appearance."

"I'm hoping the informer we're on our way to see will shed more light on the subject," said Herzi. "Her name is Zoraya Khaled." He told Bolan the address of the woman's flat not far from the Avenue des Frangais in central Beirut.

Bolan committed the address to memory.

"You have no clue as to why Strakhov has set up shop in Beirut?"

Strakhov.

The top priority.

The Executioner had come to Beirut to track down the elusive Soviet terror boss, destroy whatever the cannibal had going for him and terminate the KGB major general once and for all.

"It could be assassination," said the Israeli.

Bolan wheeled the Fiat into the turn.

The Muslim suburb up ahead looked deserted under the flickering illumination from the flares and distant fires.

Bolan could hear the sounds of automatic weapons in the distance from several sources, noneaimed at the Fiat.

"The president?" The Israeli nodded.

"Possibly to assassinate him and replace him with an Arab who is Christian but in fact a dupe of the rivals. As you can see, there is anarchy. A successful revolution? It could backfire. Israel could rush in to assist the Christians the Maronites. Your country would help. The government would prevail."

"Where is the president now?"