"What do you mean?"
"I think you just described somebody who slipped past Pierre in Beirut about five years ago. He's been in the terrorist game a long, long time, but he hasn't been heard from since. Everybody started believing he was dead. Or hoping."
"You know who he is?"
"It could only be one guy. Sabri Ramirez." He felt mixed emotions. This would be a real prize for Pierre and the others, if they could get him. The problem was getting him. Nobody had ever managed to come close.
"Who's that?"
Vance wondered if he really ought to tell her. Or shade the truth down a bit.
"Let me put it like this. He's no ordinary criminal. He's probably murdered a hundred people if you added up all the bombings. Mossad has been trying to assassinate the bastard for fifteen years." Vance leaned back, his mind churning, and touched his fingertips together. "This puts things in a whole new perspective. I knew he was a pro, had to be, but we're about to go up against the world's number-one terrorist. The king." His blue eyes grew thoughtful. "I've got to warn Pierre ASAP. The tactics may have to be changed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If Ramirez thinks he's trapped, he'll just lash out. Always happens. He goes crazy and gets irrational when he's cornered, which means negotiations are useless."
"Jesus." She shuddered, her eyes seeming to go momentarily blank. "I didn't sign on for this."