Brogan at CIA, if it is the work of terrorists, they stepped out of

character on this one."

"Hala Karnil might have been the target," suggested Nichols.  "Akhmad

Yazid has sworn to eliminate her."

"We can't ignore the possibility," the President admitted.

"Have the news media gotten wind of it?"

"The story will be all over the papers and TV in the next hour.  I saw

no reason to hold it back."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do, Mr. President?"

"I'd appreciate it, Dale, if you'd monitor reaction from President De

Lorenzo's people.  There were eleven delegates and agency

representatives from Mexico on the flight.  Offer condolences in my name

and any cooperation within limits. Oh, yes, you'd better keep Julius

Schiller over at the State Department informed so we don't stumble over

each other."

"I'll get my staff right on it."

"And let me know the minute you hear from Rivas."

"Yes, Mr. President."

Nichols hung up and forced his attention back to the file. He began to

wonder if Topiltzin was somehow connected with the U.N. murder.  If only

there was a thread he could grasp.

Nichols was not a detective.  He had no talent for coldly dissecting a

prime suspect layer by layer until he knew what made the man tick.  His

academic specialty was in systems projections of international political

movements.

Topiltzin was an enigma to him.  Hitler had a misguided vision of Aryan

supremacy.  Driven by religious fervor, Khomeini wanted to return the

Middle East to the Muslim fulldamentals of the Dark Ages.  Lenin

preached a crusade of world Communism.

What was Topiltzin's objective?

A Mexico of the Aztecs?   A return to the past?   No modern society

could function under such archaic rules.  Mexico was not a nation to be

run on the fantasies of a Don Quixote.  There had to be another driving

force behind the man.  Nichols was conjecturing in a vacuum.  He

glimpsed Topiltzin only as a caricature, a villain in a cartoon series.

His secretary entered unannounced and laid a file folder on his desk.

"The report you asked for from the CIA-and you have a call on line

three."

"Who is it?"

"A James Gerhart," she replied.

"White House security," said Nichols.  "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Only that it was urgent."

Nichols  became  curious.  He answered the call. "This is Dale Nichols."

"Jim Gerhart, sir, in charge of-"

"Yes,  I  know,"  Nichols  interrupted.  "Yy'hat's  the problem?"

"I think you better come down to the pathology lab at George

Washington."

"The University Hospital?"

"Yes, sir."

"What in hell for?"

"I'd rather not say too much over the phone."

"I'm very busy, Mr. Gerhart.  You'll have to be more specific."

There was a short silence.  "This is a matter concerning you and the

President.  That's all I can say."

"Can't you at least give me a clue?"

Gerhart ignored the probe.  "One of my men is waiting outside your

office.  He will drive you to the lab.  I'll meet you in the waiting