Stan watched the people wandering past, then brushed past a small native boy begging for coins, and walked into one of the silk shops. "Yes, M'sieur?" "You're holding a bolt of brocade for a Mr. Liebman. May I see it please?" Stan flashed a card. The little clerk waddled to the back of the store and returned with a small bolt of silk. Stan reached for it but the small man held it back. "You are Mr. Liebman?" Stan was sweating. "I'm a friend of his." "I'm sorry, M'sieur. I was told not to release this to anybody but Mr. Liebman." The little man wanted to stand and argue while the world went up in flames, Stan thought. He pulled out his wallet and slid a five dollar bill across the counter. "I don't think Mr. Liebman would want this quite as much as I would." The little man was not convinced. "Perhaps not but...." Stan thrust out the flat of his left hand and pushed the clerk back against the shelves. Bolts of cloth rippled down from them and Stan had to dig beneath them to get the one he wanted. A moment to open the bolt and cut the wires of the package and then he was out in the street once more, the clerk's shrill, indignant screams echoing after him. He raced to the end of the street, near the mosque, for the dark corner that looked a little too dark and a little too glossy and then.... ... out again in a small street a block from the Vatican in Rome. It was early evening. Twelve more hours to go, he thought, for the last one. That wouldn't take long and he could double-check any that Avis' agents might have missed. He hailed a taxi and sped out to the ruins of the old Forum. He waited until the taxi had left and then walked over to the column of Trajan--the tall, marble column that had been erected in order to commemorate the victories and the accomplishments of the old Roman emperor. He vaulted the low iron fence that surrounded the column and broke the lock on the door that led to an interior stairway. The package was still in its niche at the top of the stairs. Stan tore at the wrappings and pulled, its teeth, then crushed the package in his hands. That was the end of.... There was the sound of racing footsteps up the winding stairwell. * * * * * He flattened himself against the wall until they came into view, then launched himself down the stairs, landing squarely on the chest of a burly man so they both rolled down the steep flight of stairs. Tanner had finally gotten wind of what was going on, Stan thought sharply. But it was too late to do anything about it now. The invasion had been set, you couldn't stop a fleet once it rolled into motion. The overconfident Thuscans would land--to discover to their shocked surprise that there was organized resistance. Mr. Ainsworth's "apes" wouldn't be a pushover.... "_Bastarde...._"