"All right, for the record," Saul said, "I'm not on anybody's payroll.

This is a family matter. I'm asking for a dispensation from the bargain

I made. Temporary. Till I settle my problem. The minute I do, I'll be on a plane back to Israel."

The pockmarked man's gaze became calculating. "My superiors will want to know why they should make the dispensation."

"As a favor."

"Oh?"

"In exchange, I'll do them a favor." The man slowly stood from the railing. "Let's be clear. A favor? You want to put it on that formal a basis? You're invoking a professional courtesy?"

"A favor for a favor. I don't have any other choice."

"You'll do anything we ask?"

"With reservations."

"Ah, then your offer isn't serious."

"Wrong. It's very serious. But I'd need to know the assignment. The risk factor's not as important as the ultimate objective. It can't be suicidal. But it mustn't be morally repugnant."

"Morals? Don't tell me you've acquired morals, Romulus."

"The desert can do that to you. In case your superiors haven't thought of this, I remind them that an operative publicly exiled from the network but secretly affiliated with it can have great value. I wouldn't be linked with it." The pockmarked man's gaze became more calculating. "You're that determined to find out what happened to your father-in-law?"

"And protect my family from another attack. / told you this isn't business--it's personal." The pockmarked man shrugged. "My superiors will have to assess the tape of our conversation."

"Of course."

"We'll get back to you." The man crossed the bandstand, his footsteps echoing. "I'm staying at my father-in-law's apartment. I'd give you the address and phone number, but I assume you already know them." The man turned, studied Saul, and nodded. His nod was ambiguous, either in farewell or out of respect. 2

In a bookstore across the street from the park, Erika watched the van pull away. She waited until it disappeared around a corner then turned her attention back toward the park. In the rain, the bandstand was barely visible. She and Saul had assumed that his contact would have a backup. As a consequence, she had come here earlier, prepared to act as backup for Saul. She stepped from the bookstore, pulled up the hood on her nylon jacket, and hurried through the downpour. Saul was waiting for her at the bandstand. "Do you think they'll agree?" she asked. "If they feel there's something in it for them. I had to promise a favor for a favor." Her voice sank in despair. "I'm sorry. I know how much you'd hate going back to work for them."

"But what's the alternative? Do nothing to find your father and protect ourselves?

I'd hate that even more. Only one thing matters. Doing what's necessary to keep our family safe."

"The more I know you, the more I love you."

"Step closer when you say that." He pulled down the hood on her jacket, joined his hands at the back of her neck beneath her long dark hair, and gently drew her toward him, kissing raindrops off her cheeks. But she sensed his nervousness. "What if they don't give permission?"

"I'll have to go ahead anyhow."

"No," she said. "We will." She hugged him. "And God help whoever tries to stand in our way." 3

"I'm staying at my father-in-law's apartment. I'd give you the address and phone number, but I assume you already know them." Exhaling cigarette smoke, the pockmarked man leaned forward from a leather-covered chair and shut off the tape machine positioned on the conference table. He turned to the CIA's chief of station for Austria.

"You want to hear it again?" Fluorescent lights hummed. Three other men in the oakpaneled room sat motionless, showing no reaction as the station chief tapped his fingers on the table. His name was Gallagher. A short wiry man in a blue pinstriped suit, he stopped drumming his fingers and splayed them firmly across the edge of the table. "No, the third time was sufficient. I'm clear about what he told you. But you were there. I wasn't. You saw the expression in his eyes. Did Romulus mean what he told you?"

"A gut reaction?" The pockmarked man stubbed out his cigarette. "Yes."

"Provided Romulus feels the mission isn't suicidal, provided he doesn't object to the mission's objective, he'll do anything for us?"

"Again a gut reaction? Yes."

"My, my." A balding man decided to risk a comment. "It's a major shift in his position. The original agreement was--he promised to remain in exile, but we had to promise to leave him alone."

"A man of his talents,"

Gallagher said, "he could be useful if he rejoined the game and no one knew he was working for us. A master operative. A world-class assassin. And he's throwing himself on our mercy."

"But only once,"

the pockmarked man reminded him. Gallagher lifted his calloused fingers, the product of his black-belt karate training, and massaged his temples.

"Well, then, if he wants to pursue a personal vendetta, let him do it.

Something bothers me, though." The men in the room waited to hear what it was. "This personal vendetta might have professional consequences.

We don't know who's responsible for the attack on Romulus and his family, after all. Or who's responsible for the disappearance of his wife's father. We have to make sure he remains independent, unaffiliated."

"I don't understand," the pockmarked man said. "You will. Romulus must be impatient to hear from us. It's time I got clearance from Langley."

The rain had stopped. Streetlights reflected off wet grass and puddles.

The night air smelled sweet. Scanning the shadows of the park, Saul left the walkway beside the Danube and once again approached the bandstand. Again the pockmarked man sat on the railing, waiting for him.

"Romulus"--grinning, the man spread his arms in welcome--"it's your lucky day. I've been authorized by Control to agree to your proposal."

Saul breathed out. "All right." He steadied himself. "When I've settled my family concerns, I'll wait to be contacted-- so the network can have its half of the bargain."

"Oh, believe me, you'll be contacted." Saul turned to leave. "There's just one problem, Romulus."

"Problem?" Saul tensed, looking back. "Well, maybe not exactly a problem. Let's call it a condition. A stipulation."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't have any help from your Israeli friends."

"What?"

"The way my superiors look at it, you're valuable to them only if you're perceived to remain a freelance."

"Perceived to... ? Damn it, say what you mean!"

"What you're about to do has to stay on a personal basis. If you accept help from Israeli intelligence, it'll look as if you're cooperating with them, working for them."