Another fiendish Arab terrorist operation--this one's a believable tale involving the extermination of the U.S. Secretary of State (sorry, Henry) and Jordan's King Hussein during a noted painter's 80th birthday party at Cap Martin. Admittedly, the rationale behind the mission is quite circuitous--Ahmed Bel Jahra, a Moroccan secret policeman on the lam, has to redeem himself before the Pan-Islamic Libyan ruler will stake him to another coup in his own Morocco. Allah be cursed, Bel Jahra's last assignment was a double disaster--his bomb blew up at the Rome airport terminal instead of aboard a certain jet. . . and then it attracted the attention of Simon Hunter, an American detective working as an anti-terrorism investigator for the State Department. Aided by various French flics, CIA spooks and Israeli agents, Hunter jeopardizes his job doing free-lance police work (""dogged, determined tracking. . . searching, following, waiting"") just as two separate Black September commando teams are being primed for the kill. Nearly as gripping as plastique--one of the better examples of the Black Sunday school of fiction.