Kuhl was on him an instant later. Even as Eduardo raised his hands in defense, Kuhl struck a sharp, precise blow to his right arm with the end of the stick. His wrist bone broke free of the long bones of his forearm with a clean and audible snap. Kuhl swiftly brought the stick to the right and down again between Eduardo's neck and collarbone, then swung it across his middle. Eduardo simultaneously crumpled to his knees and vomited on himself.

Kuhl hit him three more times with the stick, smashing his nose with one blow, then striking him twice in the head. Eduardo collapsed further, curling his knees up into his chest. Blood gushed from his pulverized nose onto the rough concrete floor.

His eyes rolled blearily upward. He could see Kuhl standing above him, holding the stick in a vertical position, pulling at its upper end. And then the stick's handle detached and the long length of a knife blade slid from inside its bottom segment.

Kuhl stood there without expression, the knife in his right hand and the remaining portion of the stick in his left, looking as if he were about to plunge the blade into Eduardo's body. But instead he turned and passed it to someone who had come up beside him.

Eduardo shifted his head as far as he could, saw the man standing next to Kuhl, through a haze of pain, and released a low, tormented groan.

Vicente stared down at his nephew a moment, his eyes solemn, the lines around his mouth deepening. Then he knelt over him with the knife and sliced its edge across his throat to deliver the coup de grace.

Eduardo jerked, made a gurgling noise, and expired.

Rising, the old man gave the weapon back to Kuhl, turned toward DeVane, and bowed his head a little.

"I am sorry for your loss, dear friend," DeVane said gently.

Vicente nodded again but remained where he stood.

DeVane rose from his chair as Kuhl approached him, the knife dripping in his hand.

"Have Vicente driven out of here so the others can scrape that garbage off the floor," he said. "The Albanians have come through for us, and you and I have matters of vital importance to discuss."

ELEVEN - SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA APRIL 19, 2001

ELEVEN

SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA APRIL 19, 2001

"ANY WORD ON THIBODEAU?" GORDIAN ASKED.

"He's still in ICU, but his condition's been upgraded from critical to serious," Nimec said. "The doctors are encouraged. They say he's alert. Also told me he's already getting on their nerves."

"How so?"

"Asking a lot of questions."

"Good sign."

"And demanding they find him a Stetson."

"Even better."

"Exactly my thought."

"Either of you care to explain?" Megan said. "About the Stetson, I mean."

Gordian looked at her. "Thibodeau was Air Cav in Vietnam. It was their tradition to wear Stetsons as part of their military wardrobe when they received awards and decorations. Still is, I think."