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      CHAPTER ONE

      “I RELINQUISH my time to Prince Raimondo Niccolo Giancarlo di Castellani.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Secretary General.”

      Nic leaned forward to speak into the microphone so he’d be clearly heard. Though his parents and the majority of people who knew him called him Raimondo, to his closest friends in his military unit he was simply Nic, the name he preferred.

      “For three days now, the discussion going on before this council of the United Nations has done little more than incite rancor from every side.

      “We’re all assembled seemingly for the same goal—to decide how our world body should act to stop crimes against humanity, prevent genocide and end war crimes. Yet instead of putting our heads together to come up with a plan to enforce this doctrine, there are those among you once again debating the policy’s validity!

      “As the chosen delegate from the Enclave of San Ravino, and personal envoy of my father, King Leopoldo, I’m making a formal protest and walking out of this conference until such a time as a majority of you can find the courage to act for the welfare of the oppressed.” His black eyes flashing, he said, “I call on any delegates in this room who feel as I do to walk out with me, as a show of solidarity against this sort of shameful filibustering.”

      Before his anger turned to rage, Nic shot to his six-foot-three height and headed down the aisle to the nearest exit, carrying his attaché case. To his satisfaction other members, maybe sixty of them, got up at the same time he did. Not as many as the hundred he would have liked to see, but it proved he wasn’t a lone voice.

      More suited to freefall paratrooping than sitting in a chair listening to parsed rhetoric going nowhere, he burst through the doors to his waiting limo. The heat was surprising for early June. His driver maneuvered him through New York’s heavy noon traffic to the airport.

      While en route, Nic called his father’s personal secretary on the satellite phone and asked to be put through to him so he could make his report. Knowing the U.N. proceedings were being televised, no doubt someone on the staff had been keeping his father updated. By now King Leopoldo probably knew his hot-headed, thirty-three-year-old son had made an explosive departure from the world stage today, upsetting the entire proceedings.

      Never let it be said he hadn’t warned his parent he was a military man, not a diplomat. However, he’d agreed to represent San Ravino at the assembly in order to appease his father, who believed in talk. He was of the old school. Nic, still to be convinced, was a man of action, not words.

      For the last nine years Nic had been a part of the Raiders, a secret special operations force working in Africa, the Middle East and elsewhere. He loved what he did. The Spartan lifestyle appealed to him enormously. The only time he took leave from his unit was at the royal request of his father, and couldn’t be disregarded.

      Nic wasn’t unaware that the days were ticking away until July, the dreaded time when he’d promised his parents he would get out of the military and take up his duties at home.

      He made furrows through his straight black hair, anxious to jettison his suit for his fatigues. Comfort was what he craved on the flight to San Ravino, its own country within the borders of central Italy. With his duty accomplished, he could kick back and relax before he took another flight to rejoin his unit in the Middle East. As soon as he could connect with his father, he was prepared to listen, mostly, while the older man reamed him out for displaying his temper in public. Instead he heard something quite different.

      “Raimondo? Where are you, exactly?”

      Nic blinked. Not even a greeting? “I’m in the limousine, on my way to the plane.”

      “Are you alone?”

      He frowned. “Yes?”

      “Good. I’ve caught you in time.”

      Nic, on the verge of telling his father he wouldn’t go back to the assembly, heard the older man say, “Your superior has been in contact with me. Your orders are to fly to Africa for a dire emergency. Someone will meet you at the plane. Don’t bother to come home first.”

      Surprised, Nic gripped the phone tighter. He hadn’t heard his father this intense since he’d told him of his plans to enter the military. “Were you given any details?”

      “According to him there’s been another outbreak of violence in northeast Chakul. Some missionaries