barbarians were attacking with the same intensity as at the beginning.

They began to smell victory and massed for one last charge.

Severus broke off the arrow shafts that protruded from his exposed flesh

and fought on. Barbarian corpses carpeted the ground around him. Only

a handful of his legionaries remained at his side. One by one they

perished, sword in hand, buried beneath swarms of rocks, arrows and

spears.

Severus was the last to fall. His legs folded under him and his arm

could no longer lift his sword. He swayed on his knees, made a futile

effort to rise, then looked up to the sky and muttered softly, "Mother,

Father, carry me to your arms."

As if in answer to his plea, the barbarians rushed forward and savagely

clubbed him until death released his agony.

In the water, Venator grimly clutched the spar and kicked his legs in a

desperate attempt to reach the retreating ship. His effort was in vain.

The river's current and a puff of wind pushed the merchant vessel

further away.

He shouted to the crew and frantically waved his free hand. A group of

seamen and a young girl holding a dog stood on the stern, staring at him

without compassion, making no move to bring the ship around. They

continued their escape down river as if Venator did not exist.

They were abandoning him, he realized helplessly. There would be no

rescue. He beat a fist on the spar in anguish and sobbed

uncontrollably, convinced that his God had forsaken him. Finally he

turned his eyes toward shore and gazed at the carnage and devastation.

The expedition was gone, vanished in a nightmare.

PART I

October 12, 1991

Heathrow Airport, London

No one paid the slightest attention to the pilot as he slipped around

the crowd of media correspondents who overflowed from the interior of

the VIP lounge. Nor did any of the passengers sitting in the waiting

area of gate 14 notice that he carried a large duffel bag instead of a

briefcase. He kept his head down, eyes straight ahead, carefully

avoiding the battery of TV cameras aimed at a attractive woman with a

smooth brown face and compelling coal-black eyes, who was the hub of the

noisy activity.

The pilot quickly walked through the enclosed boarding ramp and halted

in front of a pair of airport security agents. They wore plain clothes

and blocked the aircraft door. He threw a casual wave and tried to

shoulder his way past them, but a hand firmly grasped his arm.

"One moment, Captain."

The pilot stopped, a questioning but friendly expression on his

dark-skinned face. He seemed idly amused at the inconvenience.

His olive-brown eyes had a gypsylike piercing quality about them. The

nose had been broken more than once, and a long scar ran down the base

of his face.

He stood nearly six feet four inches, thickset, with a slightly rounded

paunch. Seasoned, confident, and standing straight in a tailored