Chapter One

The scrape of the leather boots as they pushed aside the metal debris on the street could be heard in the stillness that precedes the dawn. Once a dark chocolate brown, they were now so deeply scuffed at the toes and along the sides that they had become a sandpaper tan. The original laces had been replaced with a garish red variety, since the boots had been pulled off the body of a soldier who had fallen in some nameless firefight in the middle of the city.

The young man wearing the boots was as anonymous as the battles in which he had fought. He was slight of build and gangly. His erect posture made him appear taller than his height. He was no more than sixteen years old. The dark hair above his lip and the occasional blemish of an adolescent were all that marred his smooth olive-complexioned face. His stride was even and purposeful. Yet one noticed that there was a weariness about him, or maybe it was caution in the almost indistinguishable pause as he brought forward one foot to replace the other.

Every fifteen steps or so he stopped in place and shifted his head slightly to gather in any sound around him—it was not light enough to detect much with his eyes. Still erect, he moved forward again, staying close to the pockmarked building line on his right. From time to time he brushed against the crushed concrete of a building front, creating a chalk-like smudge on his dull green fatigue jacket. It was zipped up against the early morning chill. The sleeves of an oversized gray sweatshirt were visible. He had pulled them down over his hands in place of gloves. He wore nothing on his head so as not to impair his

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