The group surged toward the man. “Where’s the liquor, buddy? … Where are the girls? … Let’s get this party on the road …”

The thin man was trying to get through to Robert, but the crowd was blocking his way. He watched helplessly as Robert bolted out of the door. He

took the stairs two at a time.

Downstairs in the lobby, Robert was moving toward the exit when the concierge called out, “Oh, Commander Bellamy, Imade your reservation for

you. You are on Air France flight 312 to Paris. It leaves at one a.m.”

“Thanks,” Robert said hurriedly.

He was out of the door, into the small square overlooking the Spanish Steps. A taxi was discharging a passenger. Robert stepped into it. “Via

Monte Grappa.”

He had his answer now. They intended to kill him. They’re not going to find it easy. He was the hunted now instead of the hunter, but he had one big

advantage. They had trained him well. He knew all their techniques, their strengths, and their weaknesses, and he intended to use that knowledge

to st