Fools Mission

One He was scared. Hijackings were something to read about in the news, not something to experience. Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid of dying. He understood death too well to fear it, but he didn't want to die the way these guys would do it, torture before the bullet. He was also afraid that given a chance he would have to kill them, and he wasn't sure he could do that.

The hijackers, there were four of them, had moved quickly, taking control of the plane just after it left Athens on the way to Cairo. Three of them, two men and a woman, were Arabs. The fourth man was an Oriental.

Their leader, armed with a pistol had forced a stewardess to take him to the cockpit. The Oriental, also armed with a pistol was patrolling up and down the left aisle in tourist class. The woman, carrying a fragmentation grenade, was in the right aisle, moving from tourist to first class to help the other man who stayed in the first class section armed with an incendiary grenade.

They had gathered all the passports, probably to check for important people to add to their hostage value. While the false passport he carried didn't make him important, nor reveal his code name "Yankee," it did make him an American, and sitting at the front of the section as he was he figured that made him a good candidate for any reason the hijackers wanted. The eight weeks of intensive combat training he had just completed made it so he could tell the hijackers were terrorist, not soldiers, and if they did take him he had little doubt that he could kill at least two of them before they could kill him. Logic told him that would be the correct course of action, but in the back of his mind he feared that he would strike out in anger and he wasn't sure if that could change self defense into murder. He also feared that the indecision he was experiencing would keep him from doing what was right in any event.

Even with his head bowed, the position ordered by their captors, he could see the woman pass into the first class section. With his side vision he had seen the Oriental man pass behind him. Figuring the man would still be heading toward the rear of the plane he took a chance and glanced over his left shoulder. The beautiful young woman with the shoulder length blond hair was also glancing back at the retreating Oriental. Then she turned and looked right at Yankee. She didn't smile, or wink, or give any other sign of recognition, but he could tell she was ready to strike when the moment was right and expected him to help.

1

He knew her as Killer. For the past eight weeks she had been his teacher and his temptress. Like the other members of the team he knew nothing about her except her code name. She was probably ten years younger than him, in her mid thirties. She spoke English with a light German accent and it was easy to see what her profession was. When Captain, the team leader had tried to dump both Yankee and Speaks due to their lack of martial skills the Senator had assured him that Killer could turn anyone into a fighting machine. She had done her job very well, at least with Yankee. She had given Speaks the minimum time needed to get him up to Captain's standards, but Yankee had received the bulk of her time.

Her interests weren't merely combat related either. At first she had flirted with him as she taught him how to shoot. Then she had subtly invited his attentions as she taught him hand to hand techniques. When he failed to respond she had attempted to seduce him. He had always responded the same way, by working harder. Her almost constant attention had driven him to become the best shot on the team with all types of weapons, and in hand to hand he was second only to her. The day their orders came to move out she had been noticeably cooler to him. He welcomed that. The constant effort of warding off her advances had wearied him, and he had to confess there was something pleasing, even inviting, about the attention he had received from the beautiful young woman, even if she was a cold blooded killer.

As he lowered his head into the bowed position the woman came through the curtain into tourist class again. As she passed out of his vision on the right the Oriental man came in on his left, and he knew what Killer was waiting for. When the terrorists had first taken control they had demanded that only women or children be seated in the aisle seats. All men had to move to seats away from the aisle. He had been in the center seat of the center section, but Killer had been by the window. When the man and wife seated near her had started to change seats to put the wife on the aisle Killer had grabbed her and forced her to take the window seat while Killer sat down in the aisle seat.

Since then the Oriental man had passed by Killer at least a dozen times. Each time Yankee had expected her to act. Now he knew why she hadn't. She wasn't sure she could count on him to go after the woman. He had the skills, but would he use them. Even the time Captain had provoked him into a real fight he had held back, blocking instead of striking, using his six foot two inch size and 220 pounds to wear down the smaller man until he could pin him without hurting him. Killer was now waiting for the exact time when the woman was in first class and the Oriental man had just passed her so his back would be to her with his neck in easy reach. Yankee knew that exact combination could take a while. He decided to help.

The next time the woman passed into first class he glanced back.

The Oriental was still approaching Killer's seat. Yankee figured the timing 2

and knew the woman would be back before the man had his back to Killer.

So he stood up.

"Excuse me, Mr. Terrorist, Sir, may I use the restroom?"

Heads were popping up, people were gasping, and the Oriental man spun around, gun raised. He pointed the gun right at Yankee. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a grunt as Killer hit him from the rear. The gun flew from his hand, hit the ceiling, and thudded down in the aisle. It lay there for a second, then a woman reached down and picked it up. Yankee had tried to slip past the other passengers, but found that too slow. He climbed over them to get to the aisle. The woman with the gun gave no resistance as he took it from her hand without a word. The gun fit his hand well, but it felt uncomfortable.

He wanted to give it to Killer, but she was finishing off her target. The woman with the grenade would come back through the curtain at any moment as there were people screaming now. The time for indecision was over. He knew what he would do and prayed for the resolve and the aim to do it.

The woman burst through the curtain with the grenade over her head, very visible. Seeing the commotion she reached for the pin. Yankee nailed her right in the forehead. Then he dashed over the middle section of seats, trying to step on armrests, but getting a few passengers in the process.

The woman was still staggering when he reached her. He ripped the grenade from her hand and knew he had to put her out quick. In spite of all his training he just used an old fashioned haymaker to the jaw to lay her out.

Then he picked up the pistol he had thrown. There was a little blood on the edge of the handle where it had hit the woman. He slipped the safety off.

He still wanted to give the gun to Killer, but knew there wasn't time. The man in first class had to know something was happening and had to be dealt with. He swallowed hard and slipped through the curtain.

Ahead he could see only the backs of the plush seats. To his left was a doorway. He slipped over and glanced in. It was a small kitchen. Inside were two stewardesses huddled together, looking horrified. Yankee motioned them to be quiet as he slipped into the kitchen.

"The man with the grenade is still in first class, and the one with the gun is in the cabin, right?" he asked. One woman nodded her head.

Yankee let out a long breath.

"Here, hide this." he said, handing her the grenade. Then he stepped back into the aisle and moved up to the corner of the kitchen, right behind the rearmost seat of the center section. He held the gun ready as he glanced around the corner. All he saw were the surprised faces of the passengers in the back row. Then he realized it was again quiet in the rear section of the plane and he knew where the terrorist was. With a jump he climbed over the passengers in the rear seats and took a position where he could peek through the curtain.

3

The terrorist was standing over his fallen comrade shouting in broken English for the one who had killed him. In one hand he held the grenade high. In the other hand was the ring to the grenade. Yankee knew if he shot the man the grenade would go off when the man released the lever, yet he was sure the man was going to use it anyway. He took a deep breath and stepped through the curtain, with his gun hand behind him.

"There is no reason for alarm, Sir." Yankee said calmly. "Why don't you put the ring back in that grenade and we can talk this over."

"You not my passenger." The man screamed back at him. "You do this. You die."

Yankee pulled out the gun and raised it. He didn't want to shoot.

He didn't know if he could, but he knew he had to appear as if it were certain.

"Only you will die, but you don't need to. Put the pin back in the grenade and we can all live. You do want to live, don't you?"

That was the wrong question. Suddenly the man spoke.

"I come to die. You die too. You go first." The lever popped off the grenade as the man gave it a gentle underhand lob right to Yankee.

In the split second the infernal device was in the air Yankee knew what he needed to do. Slipping the safety on the pistol he let it drop as he stepped forward and caught the grenade. Time seemed frozen as he stepped to the fallen Oriental. He expected the grenade to fire at any instant, ending his life in searing white heat, but he couldn't seem to make himself move any faster. He dropped to the floor and with one hand rolled the dead man on his side. With the other hand he laid the grenade on the floor under the stomach of the corpse and then pulled the body back over to cover the grenade. Then he remember the living terrorist and wished he hadn't dropped the gun. He needn't have worried.

Just before he heard the muffled "POP" of the grenade he heard the snap from the man's neck followed by the thud of the body hitting the floor.

Only he and Killer were left standing in the aisle. Soon the aisle was filled with rancid smoke and a bright glow began to appear.

Yankee moved quickly, grabbed the second body and dumped it on top of the first one. People were screaming again and leaving their seats in an effort to escape the foul smelling smoke. A steward appeared with a fire extinguisher which he used on the smoldering heap to no avail. Then a stewardess brought a fire blanket and tossed it over the mess. After a few moments the lump sank down and the smoke lessened.

"This is the captain speaking. Kathy, are you back there? What's going on. I've got fire lights on in the cargo bay? This guy up here is getting pretty upset."

"What do I tell him?" the stewardess asked. Again Yankee had to think fast.

"Tell him the terrorists have killed some passengers and have cut off their hands. They want you to bring them to the captain so he will 4

instruct everyone else to obey. Then you and I will go to the cabin, when they open the door, you step aside." Yankee picked up the gun and slid the safety off.

"Very good." Killer said as Kathy used the intercom to relay the message. "But not good enough. Anyone who throws guns instead of shooting them shouldn't volunteer for jobs like this. You, stewardess, you are about my size. Take off your clothes."

The stewardess looked shocked, but as Killer began to remove her pants Yankee caught on, and was grateful to be let off the hook.

"Do as she says. Just the jacket and the skirt will be enough."

Yankee's instructions were very commanding, and the young lady obeyed.

Killer slipped into the skirt and pulled on the jacket. Yankee held out the gun.

"I don't need that." was all Killer said as she headed for the front of the plane.

The crew tried to get everyone in their seats, but no one wanted to go near the bodies, and people were complaining about the floor being hot in spots. Yankee sat down wondering what type of death would be more painful, burning, explosion, crash, or falling out of a ruptured aircraft. He buckled his seat belt.

"This is your Captain. The hijacking is over. We have permission to make an emergency landing in Tel Avi. We should be on the ground in about five minutes. Please note the emergency exits, and follow the instructions of the crew. Please fasten your seat belts and observe the no smoking signs." A few people chuckled as the smoke was everywhere.

The landing was uneventful and the evacuation was orderly and quick. As Yankee rolled out of the chute he was grabbed by two soldiers and hustled to an ambulance where a doctor glanced at him, asked him a few questions, and went on to another passenger. Yankee was shuffled over to a small group of people. For the first time he noticed how sweet the air smelled. Then he took in the action around the plane.

Firemen had cut the belly of the plane open. The fire was out and men were inside the cargo bay tossing out smoldering luggage. Firemen were also inside the plane, as were soldiers. Two body bags were dumped down the rear evacuation chute. The woman terrorist was brought to the door and shoved into the chute. She was hand-cuffed and had leg shackles on so she couldn't even stand up at the bottom, but she didn't need to. Four of the soldiers picked her up and threw her into the back of a van with the two body bags. A minute later another body bag was thrown in, the doors were closed and the van sped away.

Yankee saw Killer standing with the crew about seventy feet away.

He wanted to talk to her, but two men in suits were obviously questioning the group. One of them spoke into a radio or phone he carried and a sedan pulled up. Two men got out of the rear and stood by Killer. She didn't 5

resist as one of them took her by the arm and led her to the car. She climbed in the rear with a man on each side of her.

Yankee didn't like that. He couldn't tell if she had been arrested, but he knew that the rest of the team had no chance of carrying on their mission if he too were detained. He looked for some means of escape.

There were soldiers all over the place. Ambulances had been leaving on a regular basis as the doctors loaded them with people suffering from too much smoke, or hysteria. Yankee began scheming a way to get into an ambulance when the first small bus arrived. It was an airport shuttle bus and it pulled right up to the first group of passengers. It loaded and pulled away as another shuttle pulled up.

Yankee decided to try and slip ahead a few groups to get on a bus as quickly as possible. He would have to slip past soldiers who were placed to separate the groups, but he felt he could bluff his way through. His plans were thwarted by a dark sedan that pulled right up to his group. Two men got out of the rear.

"Mr. Richards, would you please come with us?" It was in the form of a question, but the body language left no mistake that it was a command. Yankee wished he hadn't destroyed the false passports he had used to get from Chicago to Paris, then from Paris to Athens. He could have used one of them to get out of this, but the only passport he now held showed him as Roland Richards. In Cairo he was to pick up a new passport for the trip to Rio De Janeiro, and then again for the flight to Lima. For now he just had to hope he could remember all the details of the cover story that went with this identity. He got in the car with a man on either side of him.

The windows were obscured so he couldn't see out. The car let him out inside a parking garage next to an elevator. The two men took him up three floors, down a hallway, and into an empty office. They offered him a seat and a cup of coffee. He took the seat as the two men left. He got up and looked up and down the hall. It looked empty, but he knew he wasn't alone. He went back to the bare desk and sat down. He waited with nothing to do for an hour. Then a man entered.

He carried two manila folders. He wore suit pants, but no coat.

His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the tie was pulled down, hanging loose. His hair was gray and thinning. He appeared to be in his mid fifties, and looked too small to be a part of the organization that had produced the large men that escorted Yankee to the office. He sat down behind the desk, flopped the two folders in front of him, and looked directly at Yankee for the first time. His eyes were blue, and surrounded by wrinkles. Not the soft flowing ones of age, but the hard, sharp creases of worry.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Richards. Did you get some coffee? Would you like some coffee? Something to eat? We have a fine cafeteria downstairs. It's on the house." He spoke pleasantly, but there was 6

a professional coldness to his words. Yankee felt intimidated by him, but took that as a clue to press forward boldly.

"What I'd like is to get out of here." Yankee stated. "But even more I'd like to know where I am, who you are, and why I'm here?"

"It should be obvious why you're here, Mr. Richards."

"Because I helped stop a hijacking, and maybe saved some lives."

"There is no maybe about it, Mr. Richards. The leader of the terrorists, the man in the cabin, had a complete set of plans with him. It was their intention to either crash the plane into our parliament building, or force us to shoot it down. It was a suicide mission, so you definitely helped save some lives."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because I have some questions. If you'll permit me." He opened one folder and took out a paper. He began shooting questions at Yankee.

Yankee shot back answers. Several of the questions were worded to trip him up, but he caught every one of them. Finally the man put the paper back in the folder and closed it.

"You are very intelligent, Mr. Richards. But then you would have to be in your line of work. You are on your way to New Deli to install some sophisticated machinery for your employer. Do you do this often?"

"With the possible exception of the trick questions, you knew the answers to every question you asked." Yankee responded. "So I assume you know the answer to that one too."

"Yes, but I wanted to see if you did."

"You know what your problem is?" Yankee asked. "You have spent so much time chasing bad guys that you've forgotten there are some decent, simple folk out there. And while it is obvious why I am here, you still haven't told me who you are. If you don't give me a name, I'll give you one. How about 'Grumps?'"

For the first time the man almost smiled, but quickly overcame the temptation. He looked Yankee right in the eye.

"Decent, simple folk don't take action against armed terrorists. My gut feeling is that there is more to you than you are letting on."

"That woman is the one you should be talking to. She took out three of those guys. I only got one."

"But you gave her the chance to strike. According to your stories you do not know each other, yet you seemed to know what she could do when you stood up and drew the terrorist's attention. You claim to be a simple mechanic, but your actions were very professional."

"Professionals don't throw perfectly good guns at deadly enemies."

It was Killer's voice. She appeared in the doorway.

"I asked you to wait next door." Grumps said coldly. Killer waltzed into the small office and sat on a corner of the desk.

"I don't obey people I don't have to." She stated. She turned to Yankee.

7

"Don't let him bother you. He will try to make you confess to terrorist acts against the state. They should be giving us medals, instead we get interrogated." She fell silent as a man entered carrying some plastic garbage bags. He set them on the desk and left without a word.

Grumps removed the tags from the bags and read them. Then he opened one bag. Reaching in he pulled out a charred suitcase handle. A pungent burnt aroma whiffed into the room as he held the handle up for Yankee to see.

"This is what was salvaged from your luggage, Mr. Richards.

You bag was not as badly burned, Miss Hermann, but with the smoke and foam the contents were virtually destroyed, except for this."

Grumps pulled a smoke stained aluminum case from the other bag.

He laid it on his desk and snapped open the two latches.

"Nice." He said as he picked up the pistol.

"You had no right to search my luggage!" Killer growled. "And that was locked and sealed according to airline regulations. You had no right to open it."

Grumps ignored the tirade. He picked up the detachable stock.

"Yes, it was shipped in full accord with airline regulations, and it was locked, but we do what we must to preserve our nation, Miss Hermann.

And you have here only the rights we agree to give you. You are on your way to participate in a martial arts olympics in Japan. I didn't know this type of firearm was a part of those contests."

As he spoke he swung the stock around as if to attach it to the gun.

The shoulder pad on the stock hit the lid of the case and slid to one side revealing to Yankee and Killer's view the end of a silencer concealed inside the stock. Yankee tried not to show his shock. There was no way Killer could explain that away.

She didn't try. She swore in German and with one hand grabbed the stock away from Grumps. She quickly slipped the pad back in place, spun the case around and gently set the stock back in place next to the telescopic sight. Then she ripped the pistol from Grumps and laid it in the case. She snapped the lid closed and glared at Grumps.

"Such a fine tool is not for the hands of an oaf." She barked. "And I have had enough of you and this place. The only bright spot in this whole affair is Mr. Richards here. We did not get to really meet on the plane. My name is Eva, Eva Hermann. I am on my way to win some nice prizes in marksmanship at the martial arts olympics, if these idiots will let me go in time to make my connections in Cairo."

"Roland Richards." Yankee said, standing as he shook the hand she held out.

"See, someone here is a gentleman." Killer sneered to Grumps. "I was impressed with your actions on the plane, Roland. Aside from your unusual use of the pistol you did very well. You think fast, and move quickly. I can almost understand this idiot's interest in you."

8

"Your actions were very impressive, too." Yankee said, feeling uncomfortable as Killer wouldn't let go of his hand.

"I am supposed to be impressive. I make my living at it."

"Miss Hermann used to be a captain in the East German Security Force. A martial arts instructor, officially." Grumps interjected.

"Yes, and for a pittance, too. Now, with democracy, I get very well paid for my demonstrations. In fact, Roland, I would like to treat you to dinner, if this idiot will let us go, which I suggest should be soon or I might choose to be impressive again."

"Well, thanks, Miss Hermann." Yankee stammered, finally getting his hand free as Killer turned to glare at Grumps again. "But, I'm married, and I don't think my wife would approve of me, and you, I mean, you know."

"So, don't tell her." Killer retorted.

"Uh-hmmmm" Grumps interjected. When they both looked at him he motioned them to sit down.

"My gut feeling tells me there is more to this, and to you two than meets the eye, but I have no proof of anything. And for the record, Miss Hermann, you and Mr. Richards were never under suspicion as terrorists.

We merely like to know all about those we can count on as friends. And yes, you do deserve medals. You prevented a very embarrassing situation for us, and we will try to show you some proper gratitude. At this moment we are trying to arrange a flight for you to make your connections in Cairo, but it isn't easy as direct flights between our two countries aren't being permitted right now. We will make every effort to get you to Cairo in time for your flight. In the mean time, we have taken some rooms for you at a hotel near here. We will also provide you with some clothing and personal items to replace what you lost in the fire. Anything you want at the hotel, simply sign for.

"The airline has scheduled a press conference in a little over two hours. They would like you to join the crew. The press will be anxious to see you. Shall I send a man to take you there, after you've had time to freshen up?"

"No." Yankee answered. "I need more than some freshening up. I don't feel like facing a bunch of reporters with their incessant questions, besides, I don't think I could tell them anything they don't already know."

"I understand. Your where-abouts will be kept quiet. How about you, Miss Hermann?"

"If I thought it would sell tickets to the olympics I would say yes as the prize money is dependant on ticket sales, but since you can't promise me I'll even get there in time, I will opt for a quiet dinner with Roland here."

She turned to Yankee as she tucked her gun case under her arm. "I will call room service at the hotel and take care of everything."

9

Killer left the room. As Yankee stood up to follow Grumps motioned him back. The older man got up and came around to face Yankee. He held out his hand. Yankee took it.

"Thank you, Mr. Richards, for what you did, and for being a plain simple folk. I do need to be reminded that some do still live out there. And do watch out for her, Miss Hermann, I mean. The company of instructors she was assigned to in the military did teach, but their primary function was to serve as assassins. She is a real pro. Good luck."

Killer sat real close in the car, chatting about the scenery. The two young men in neat suits sat in the front, discretely never looking back.

Yankee felt relieved that the hijacking and the interrogation were over, but Killer made him as nervous as he was when facing the hijackers. He was glad the Senator had given Killer a cover that let her act as she had, and he was glad his cover said he was married so he could use that to hold her off, but he wasn't looking forward to the stay at the hotel.

The car stopped in an alley. The two young men opened a freight elevator and ushered them inside. Killer kept her arm linked in Yankee's and kept up the small talk. Yankee said nothing. From the elevator they were led into a hall that had only four doors. At the first one the lead man stopped.

"This is for you, Miss Hermann." he said. He opened the door and stayed by it as Killer removed her arm from Yankee's and with a smile and wink entered the room.

"See you soon, Roland." she said.

Yankee accompanied the other man to the next door. He opened it.

"I hope you like your room, Sir." The man said as Yankee entered.

It wasn't a room, it was a suite, and it was bigger than his house back in Colorado.

"This will do just fine." Yankee answered. The young man started to close the door, but paused.

"If I might say so, Sir, the young lady seems to like you. Good luck." He left, closing the door quietly.

Yankee explored the suite. It was luxurious, from the king size bed to the sunken tub in the bathroom. He wanted to go out on the balcony to take in the view, but he knew he shouldn't. If someone saw him and recognized him from the plane it could jeopardize the entire mission. If a photo of him as Roland Richards got into the papers it could cause trouble if the people in his small town back home saw it, or it could prevent him from assuming his new identity in Cairo.

There was a phone by the nightstand. He had a special number he could call in an emergency, but he wasn't sure this qualified. Then it dawned on him that the phone was probably bugged. In fact, the whole room most likely was wired so Grumps could keep tabs on the special visitors that were housed on this floor.

10

His attention shifted to the door as the bell rang. He opened the door to find a porter with a large luggage rack. The bottom shelf was loaded with suitcases and the top bar was filled with clothing on hangers.

The boy rolled it into the room as Yankee stepped aside.

"What is this?" Yankee asked.

"This is for you, Sir, compliments of the establishment. And I was told to give this to you." He held out a large envelope. Yankee took it and reached into his pocket. The boy smiled and waved him off as he headed out the door.

"I've been taken care of, Sir. Enjoy your stay with us."

As the door closed Yankee looked through the clothes. He had to hand it to Grumps. The sizes were right, and there was everything that was needed, from suits to coveralls. There were also personal items, shaving needs, and the like. He picked up one of the bags. It was empty. Yankee almost laughed. Each piece of luggage was more expensive than everything he had lost on the plane, and any one of the three suits probably cost more than his entire wardrobe back home. He took what he would need for a shower and change of clothes then he remembered the envelope. He opened it.

He had forgotten all about his passport. It was there, along with one thousand American dollars and a small card that simply read "Thank You." He was impressed, not by the expense of everything, but because he felt the Israeli government was trying to be nice. He put the envelope and its contents on the bed and went for his shower.

It was a long shower, but it wasn't relaxing. Now that he was free to relax and had a break from the pressures he had been under his mind began to go back over what had happened. In his mind he relived the fear he felt in facing the hijackers. He could hear the crack of bones as Killer worked. He could smell the stink of burning flesh. In spite of the hot water he shook with cold chills. He suddenly wanted to just go to bed. To sleep.

To forget the horror he had just participated in.

When he closed his eyes it was worse. He saw everything again, as if in slow motion. Every detail from his thrown pistol slamming into the woman's head to the cold insensitive look in Grump's eyes. He got up, put on some casual clothes from the rack, and began looking through the supply of magazines on the coffee table. The doorbell again pulled him away. It was Killer.

She too had showered, and put on her makeup, and perfume, and done her hair. She looked and acted as fresh as a flower, and she was wearing a strapless, pure white evening gown with form fitting torso and flowing hemline. She was beautiful. She flowed past Yankee into the room and twirled, letting the dress ripple round her.

"Isn't it beautiful?" She said brightly. "It was delivered to my room, along with everything a girl could want." She came back to Yankee, 11

took the open door out of his hand and closed it. Then she went to his luggage rack and ran her fingers through the clothes.

"Nice. These people do know quality. Why don't you put on this suit and we'll go dancing."

"No." Yankee said meekly. He could feel his face flush and he had to fight to control his voice. He wanted the young woman out of his room, but he feared to offend her. His mind raced for words to use.

"We can't go out." He muttered. "If we're recognized..."

"Oh, yes, those reporters." she replied. "You're right. We'll stay here and dance." She waltzed over to the stereo and found some music.

Then she went to the large glass doors opening to the balcony.

"Too bad those buildings are in the way, I bet that would be a beautiful sunset." She closed the drapes and turned to him, her arms open, inviting. He shook his head, but came toward her, stopping short.

"Miss Hermann, I..."

"Miss Hermann?" she teased. "Isn't there something else you can call me?"

He feared she had forgotten all about the mission and he was pushing himself to come up with a way to tell her that could fit in with their cover stories.

"Formalities might be best, Miss Hermann. I'm pretty sure Grumps is listening in."

"Who is Grumps?" she asked, finally dropping her arms.

"That man who interrogated us. He wants to link us together somehow, make us more than what we seem to be."

"That's a good name for him, Roland, and I like his idea of linking us together. Only we'll do it without words so he'll have nothing to hear."

She came to him, slipping her arms around him and rising on her toes tried to kiss him. He stiffened, put his hands on her shoulders and held her away.

Anger flashed in her eyes as she backed off, but she spoke softly.

"What is the matter with you? I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment, just a moment of sharing, of kindness, of caring. I need someone who cares right now. And so do you."

"Miss Hermann, please understand. I am married."

"I won't tell you wife. She will never know." Killer cooed as she moved closer to him again.

"But I would know, and God would know." He protested.

"I can make you forget all about God, and help you relax. You need to relax, you poor man." She reached up and caressed his face with both her hands.

His mind was racing. He knew she wouldn't leave so he would have to, but to go out was to risk being recognized, to jeopardize the entire mission. To stay was to risk his soul. He felt out of place. He didn't belong here. He was a simple, quiet man who needed to be in his workshop, not 12

here on an international rescue mission shut up with a woman he both feared and desired.

She moved again to encircle him with her arms. He stepped back and knew what he had to do. He couldn't be true to the oath he had taken to the team if he wasn't first true to the covenants he had made with God. He headed for the door.

"Don't. You can't go out there." Killer hissed softly, but Yankee never looked back. The doorbell rang as he reached for the knob. He jerked it open to reveal the young man who had let him into the room.

"Good news, Sir." The man said. "We've located a private business jet on Malta that is going to Cairo. We have an executive air force jet waiting to take you and Miss Hermann there. We need to leave for the air-base immediately. And have you seen Miss Hermann? She isn't in her room."

Yankee didn't answer. He just swung the door open all the way so the man could see Killer.

"Oh, maybe it isn't such good news." The man muttered.

"It is good news, and we'll be ready in a few minutes." Yankee said. He ignored Killer as he grabbed the largest bag and began to fill it with just the items he felt he had to take to keep his cover alive. Killer stormed out of his room and into her own, slamming the door.

"Will that be all?" The young man asked as Yankee closed the bag. Yankee only nodded as he slipped the passport and the money into his pocket. He followed the man down the hall, pausing at Killer's open door.

She was gone now. Like Yankee she left most of the clothes and luggage.

The evening gown was on the floor in a heap. Yankee stuck his head into her room for just a second.

"Thanks, Grumps." he said.

13

14

Two He knew he was dreaming. It was the same dream he'd had a dozen times before, but he was powerless to stop it. He just went with it as an observer.

He was back on the yacht. He had been there for 38 hours without sleep, waiting while his other three men slipped aboard; waiting for the perfect chance to strike. The hostages were all wives and children of important government ministers; the perfect target for the five terrorists who held them and the ship off the coast of France. The assignment to free them had come to him. The plan was his. The men were men he had trained. The last one had come aboard twelve hours ago when the small rowboat had again brought the days provisions.

He was armed with a machine pistol and two stun grenades. On his belt was a radio tuned to a local radio station. In his right ear was the speaker. From code words worked into the programs he got information from his superiors, but this seldom came. For the most part he just waited, hoping for the chance to strike at the terrorists without endangering the hostages.

Then it came. Even in his sleep he could feel his cheeks burn with shame as the code words came over the radio. He was to withdraw. He knew the government had given in to the demands of the terrorists. He hated that, but he was a soldier. He had to withdraw. One terrorist came running, shouting, a paper in his hand. The other four gathered around to hear of their victory. Then they started shouting and celebrating. That close together he could have taken them all by himself, but he had his orders.

Then the mood changed. He could hear them clearly. They said it was too easy, the victory wasn't complete. They hadn't killed any of the hostages to show their resolve. They could at least humble them.

He would have overlooked a beating, but he knew their intent.

One terrorist handed his gun to another, seized a woman by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She screamed as he grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it open. Her scream was drowned in the sound of gunfire as four French soldiers spilled out of their cramped hiding spots. It took less than ten seconds. Five terrorists died. All hostages and soldiers were safe. It was total victory.

He was promoted to major and decorated by the President. That was the public show. Then a friend told him he was to be given an obscure 15

post in the south pacific and left there. He had shamed the honor of the politicians who had bargained for the hostages, and they wanted him to pay for it. When the orders came through he simply resigned.

He saw himself next in southern Africa. The four rebel groups were battling a Marxist government. One of the groups hired him as just another mercenary, but not for long. His skill soon took him to command of the group, and to a string of stunning victories against the government.

Then the other rebel groups joined together to oppose him, fearing he would be too powerful and take over their country. He tried to bargain with them, convince them of his intent only to free the country and offered to teach them, unite them as an army. They didn't trust him. Having little honor themselves they couldn't see that he was a man who lived by his word as a soldier. Faced with a civil war that would destroy the rebels and leave the Marxists in power he made a painful decision. One night he left a letter of resignation and slipped away.

He didn't go far. The neighboring country had a democratic government fighting Marxist rebels. He offered his services to the government and was readily accepted. In six months he turned the army from a frightened group of bullies into a potent fighting force able to take pride in a growing number of victories. Then the generals turned against him. He was too good, too powerful, too successful. They feared him and wanted him sacked. The president refused. The president died in the coup.

Loyal officers in the army helped him escape. He went to North Africa.

Five rebel groups were fighting a Marxist dictator. It was his type of war, but this time he did it differently. He got the five groups together.

He trained them all. He led them all, but from the back seat. He was a shadow leader, letting the five generals take the glory and the credit. He had learned his lesson about politicians. They had to be out front. They had to look good. They had to feel secure.

It took 32 months to topple the man and his old Soviet armed army. The procession into the capital was a joyous one. The five generals rode in open cars at the front. He rode in on a tank near the rear. He was invited to the state banquet and seated with the senior officers, but no real mention was made of his role, and he was content to have it that way. He wanted none of their politics, just a good nights sleep and an airline ticket to Crete. There was a small cafe there where mercenaries gathered to swap stories and wait for a job.

The food was still warm in his stomach when the soldiers came.

Soon he stood before the Mad Man as the general had been named by his own soldiers for his daring in combat. With him, also hand-cuffed, were the other four generals. The Mad Man explained how their debates were useless. They didn't need a democracy, but an Islamic state. The Mad Man would be the Sultan, the Caliph. They would all be ministers and together they would unite the Islamic world and restore its ancient greatness.

16

He was to be minister of defense. He refused. The others refused.

They ended up in prison. Over a three month period the Mad Man came to see them regularly. He told them of the greatness of his new government and tried to convert them. They all refused. Finally, the Mad Man quit coming and they were left alone to rot.

After six months the other four men approached him. Through a loyal guard they had re-established contact with some of their followers.

An escape had been planned. They knew how to get out, and there would be a car waiting to take them to the coast where a boat was waiting. They didn't have to ask him twice.

Only as he climbed over the wall and entered the car, a lone man, did he understand their plan. The only way they could get past all the guards was for one man to sacrifice himself at each guard post. They had died to get him free, and he knew why.

He vowed that he would see the Mad Man dead. He would do the work they had freed him to do.

Then he woke up. He didn't feel rested. The dream always made him tense. The Mad Man put a price on his head and had him declared an international terrorist. Since then he had been unable to move in his old circles. He had been unable to recruit the mercenaries he needed for an assassination attempt. Besides, the Mad Man had put into effect some of the tightest personal security measures any head of state ever had. To get to him would take an army, and armies cost money. That was the only reason he was here.

He had chosen the code name Captain for this mission, and he didn't like much about it. Rescue missions like this normally got more of the rescuers killed than victims freed. But the money was good. The Senator paid well. Plus, the resources the Senator had access too were fantastic. The plans, the training facilities, the passports, the covers, were all excellent. He had resented the Senator's refusal to let him kick Yankee and Speaks off the team in favor of more combat experience, but he had to admit that Yankee had surprised him. The mechanic was smart, and talented. He was a hard worker too, and as much as Captain resented it, he was the man that glued the team together. Speaks practically worshiped him. Pilot confided in him, and Killer couldn't keep her hands off him.

That irritated him the most. He couldn't figure out why Killer was so attracted to Yankee. Women of Killer's beauty were rare. In fact, when he first saw her he was worried that she would go for his good looks and charming ways as women always did, and romance had no place on a team like this. She hadn't given him a glance. It was Yankee right from the start.

He admired the way Yankee had handled her. Always pushing her away, but never alienating her to the point of hurting the team. He also admired how Yankee had picked up on the combat skills. The man seemed to be able to do anything he put his mind to, and seemed to know something about everything. The only thing that worried him now was Yankee's 17

morals. Men like Yankee had no business in the dirty world of kidnappings, terrorism, or the like. They just couldn't understand it enough to stay alive.

He picked up the newspaper he had been reading when he fell asleep. The hijacking story was all over the front page. He shook his head over Yankee's use of the pistol. How could he trust the lives of his team to a man who didn't want to kill. He wasn't even sure Yankee would kill to defend his own life.

"Se単or Rodriguez, that is your plane there. Would you like to inspect the cargo?" The clerk in front of him handed him a stack of papers he recognized as the shipping invoices for the sugar processing machines.

He stood up as he took the papers. What the crates really contained was a disassembled helicopter, fuel, uniforms, and weapons.

"Is that necessary? Can't the transfer just take place?" he responded.

"Of course, Se単or." the clerk said, walking away.

Captain walked over to the glass wall of the freight terminal. The cargo plane had halted and the doors were opened. A forklift began removing crates. Soon, a forklift from the Cuban airline began picking them up and putting them in the large Russian built cargo plane. Captain knew this was the crucial part. Once the crates were in the possession of the Cubans the local government would be unable to touch them.

Then his worst fears came true. As the Cuban forklift picked up the last crate the receiving forklift backed around too fast and swung too wide. It clipped the crate, knocking it off the forks. It crashed to the concrete and M-16's, pistols, and grenades were scattered on the tarmac.

Captain swore softly in French. Armed police began converging on the smashed crate almost instantly. The drug wars were so hot in the region that gun running was big business; a business the governments wanted to shut down.

He laid the papers next to the clerk and left. He knew all the others would be waiting at the hotel by now. He had a rental car waiting, but decided not to use it now that the police would be looking for him in a matter of hours, if not sooner. He left the airport and hailed a cab. He changed cabs three times before walking two kilometers to the hotel. He bypassed the desk, not wanting to sign in for the room that was reserved for him. He used the stairs to go up four stories and made his way to Yankee's room. He was sure the team would be gathered there after coming in from all over the world to prevent any appearance of a gathering that the local authorities might notice.

Speaks opened the door. Pilot was laying on the bed looking at a magazine. Killer was in an easy chair next to the bed. Yankee was in a chair by the window. Captain held up the paper he carried.

"Nice job, you two. Send you on a secret mission and you steal headlines." he quipped.

18

"Would you prefer we didn't arrive at all?" Killer shot back.

"No. In fact you did well to keep your photos out of the paper.

Are you alright, Yankee? You look terrible."

"I'm Okay. I just need some sleep."

"He is in after shock from the hijacking. He never saw anyone get killed before." Killer added. "I know of a good diversion, but he can't handle that either."

"I'll be alright." Yankee stated. "I will be able to do my part."

"You may not have a part to do." Captain said, flopping onto the bed next to Pilot.

"You tried to get rid of me before, Captain. It didn't work, remember." Yankee retorted.

"Calm down." Captain said. "That was not personal. None of us have anything to do. The authorities have seized the weapons."

"What about the bird?" Pilot asked.

"They only got the weapons." Captain answered. "But that is enough to put an end to this whole thing. I will call the Senator later with the news."

"No." Killer said. "We must go on."

"I agree." Yankee added. Captain looked from one to the other.

"I would expect that from Yankee." Captain said. "He is on this mission to save the girl, but you know the odds, Killer. Why would you be willing to risk your neck in an unarmed attempt to get to her."

"Because of the money, just like you." Killer snapped.

"The dead don't need money." Captain answered. He turned to Pilot and Speaks. "What do you say?"

"Going in without guns would be suicide." Pilot answered.

"Why?" Yankee interrupted. "The plan doesn't call for any killing anyway. We are to sneak in and out. The guns were just for an emergency."

"Sit down, Yankee. All of you gather around." Captain said, moving to the edge of the bed. "The Senator wanted you all to know only what you needed to, as the need arose. I wasn't to tell you this until we were on the plane, but since the mission is ended you may as well know.

"The area where the drug cartel is holding the Senator's niece is populated largely by Indians. The cartel has gained control of entire villages by hiring the Indians and paying them partially with drugs until they are addicted. Then they use them as virtual slaves. This has angered other villages who have in effect declared war on the cartel. I do mean war.

They have armed themselves with whatever weapons they can get. They interfere with the drug harvest and processing, they kill any cartel workers they can get. They see the cartel as an enemy to the Indian people. They have asked the government for help, but the government has little power in that region and fears that by arming the Indians they will just be creating a 19

future rebel force they will have to deal with. So the Indians are on their own."

"That is good." Pilot interjected. "Maybe we can recruit the Indians to help us. We are fighting a common enemy."

"To them, we are the enemy." Speaks added. "Since the establishment of the free government in Afghanistan, and their demand for war criminals to be turned over to them, the militaries of the former Soviet Union have seen many of their elite troops disappear."

"What does that have to do with us?" Pilot asked.

"When the U.N. voted to support Afghanistan's call for war crimes trials and many of the new republics agreed to cooperate, a lot of the soldiers who fought in Afghanistan decided to run for it. About the only place they could go where they were beyond the reach of government was here." Speaks continued.

"The drug cartels have the money to hire them, and the power to shelter them. Many of the cartels have built virtual armies of trained soldiers armed with good weapons the new republics have been willing to sell under the table to anyone with hard cash. The cartels are using these forces against the Indians. So the Indians take any white man for an enemy.

The cartels also have some new type of nerve agent called Aggas that the Indians fear and hate."

"So we will be facing trained soldiers with the cartel, and hostile Indians in the countryside?" Pilot asked.

"Yes." Captain said. "I told you this would not be easy when you complained about how hard I trained you. Now I think you see why we can not go on without our weapons. The chances of slipping in and out without being seen by one side or the other are very slim." He turned to Speaks.

"How did you know all this? The local governments are trying to keep it a secret that they have communist war criminals and Indian uprisings on their hands. Even in the circles I frequent I heard only vague rumors. The Senator had access to hard facts, and it appears you do too."

"Uh..." Speaks muttered, trying to draw back. "I can't tell you how I know. Okay?"

"Why not?" Pilot demanded. The little man tried to sink into his chair. It was obvious he didn't want to answer.

"Leave him alone." Yankee broke in. "It doesn't matter now. I doubt anyone will want to go on now." He said it, but he didn't want to believe it. The whole reason he had agreed to join the team in the first place wasn't his "desire to save humanity, or at least one girl." as Captain accused him, but because he felt prompted to do so when he prayed about it. He told himself he could take solace in the answer he had received. It had told him to go, but hadn't said he would be successful. Maybe it was meant to end this way.

20

"I know where there is an arms dealer in this city." Speaks said quietly. He quickly had everyone's attention. "Only please don't ask me how I know."

"Can we buy what we'll need?" Pilot asked.

"No." Captain said. "I've dealt with independent dealers before.

They don't meet or sell to anyone that comes without a personal reference they can check out. Even if we had the contact we haven't the time. I also doubt we have the funds. These people charge three to ten times the open market value of the weapons."

Yankee had felt that little push inside when Speaks mentioned the arms dealer. He knew he was to pursue the subject. He pulled a chair over next to Speaks.

"What can you tell me about this dealer. Tell me everything you can without betraying any promises you've made."

"This was a KBG operation before the collapse of the Soviet Union. Now it is run by former KBG agents who were afraid to go back home. They deal mainly in weapons smuggled out of the new republics, and some from the old East Block nations. They normally have in stock the small arms we would need." Speaks told Yankee.

"But they won't sell to us." Pilot broke in. "So we just go in and take what we want, right?"

"That won't be easy." Speaks answered. "They are prepared at any time to repulse a police or military raid. They use a printing plant as a cover. It runs around the clock with three shifts. At any time there are thirty people there, and they are all trained soldiers. The building is also built like a fortress."

"I would like to see this place." Yankee said. He stood up and motioned for Speaks to join him as he headed for the door.

Captain wanted to call them back or to warn them, but then he told himself it didn't matter. There was no way two amateurs like Yankee and Speaks were going to accomplish anything. He made himself comfortable on the bed and went to sleep.

He was awakened by Speaks and Yankee coming in, loaded with bags and packages. Speaks was obviously excited.

"Yankee has it all figured out. We're going to get the guns and shut down this place in the process."

"How do we get in?" Pilot asked.

"They are going to invite us." Yankee answered. He pulled two pieces of paper from his pocket. He handed one to Captain.

"Hopefully your Spanish is good enough to track down these items. Take Pilot to help you carry the stuff. Killer, you go with Speaks and try to get everything on this list."

Killer took the list, looked at Captain, then shrugged.

"Why not." She said. She followed Speaks out the door. Pilot headed for the door, but Captain didn't budge.

21

"I am probably being searched for by the police so going out there is not a good idea. Besides, I want to know what you are up to." Captain said. Yankee took the list out of his hand and gave it to Pilot.

"Your Spanish is terrible, Pilot, but it will have to do. Use the emergency money we all carry and play like a dumb tourist on a weird shopping spree. Get me what you can. The van I have to have."

Pilot looked at Captain. Captain nodded. Pilot left as Yankee opened his suitcase and dumped the contents out.

"I'll explain as we work, Captain." Yankee said, opening the packages he and Speaks had brought. "I need the set of jumper cables and the motorcycle battery. And in here somewhere is a jug of used motor oil.

Help me find it."

22

Three Captain just watched as the others packed the gear. He shook his head at the cheap CB radios, the war surplus gas masks, and the suitcase Yankee had fashioned with jumper cables coming out of one end and two meters attached to the surface. Yankee and speaks were dressed in matching tan shirts and pants. Each had a tool belt filled with tools, and hard hats to top it all off.

"Do you know what your odds are of pulling this off?" Captain asked.

"Probably better than our odds are of succeeding with the rescue."

Yankee answered, knowing Captain couldn't answer back. He didn't.

Yankee led them down the back stairs to where the plain white van was parked. He took the passenger seat while Speaks got behind the wheel.

The other three sat on the floor in the back. No one said anything as Speaks drove them to a spot just around the corner from the printing plant. He parked and looked at Yankee. Yankee turned to the others.

"Got your radios? Remember what to do? Good luck." He said.

Pilot and Killer climbed out. Pilot carried a newspaper with his small radio inside. Killer had her gun case and a purse with the radio in it. She walked around the corner. Pilot waited a few minutes and then followed.

Pilot went to a bus stop right across the street from the printing plant. He could see right into the front office from where he sat on the bench. He waited.

Killer had crossed the street and went down an alley on the north of the plant. She stopped at a power pole near the rear corner of the building. She looked up at the three large canisters. Yankee had told her they were transformers. From each one a wire ran into a ceramic tube, a fuse Yankee had called them. Her job was to cut one of the fuses. She glanced both ways to make sure no one was watching. Then she dropped to one knee and opened the gun case. She removed the gun and the silencer.

With the silencer in place she stood up and held the gun with both hands.

The fuses were about seven meters up, and were only three centimeters wide. She fired and missed. She swore in German, then tried again. The middle fuse shattered. She took out the radio and turned it on.

"No sparks." was all she said.

"Lights on." Pilot said into his paper.

23

Speaks gave Yankee a worried look. If Yankee was wrong about that being the power to the plant their plan was about to fail.

"I told you cutting any one fuse only had a fifty-fifty chance of knocking out the lights in the office." Yankee said calmly. "Wait a few more minutes. If we have to we'll have Killer take out another fuse."

Pilot watched as a man came into the office from the back. He could only guess at the conversation, but the man was gesturing towards the back and pointing at the lights. The woman he was talking to picked up the phone and made a call.

"Phone call." Pilot said. He got up and started up the street to block traffic. Killer heard his message and left the alley, going down the street to block traffic.

"Let's go." Yankee said to Speaks.

"What if the phone call wasn't to the power company?" Captain asked from the back.

"Then we still go ahead." Yankee said. "Try to convince them you have to do the line test. Play it by ear, Speaks."

Speaks gave Yankee a worried look, then started the van. He pulled around the corner and down the alley to the south of the plant. He stopped by a loading dock. He looked over at Yankee and took a deep breath.

"You can do it, Speaks." Yankee assured him, putting a hand on the little man's shoulder. Speaks swallowed and got out. He climbed the steps to the dock and pushed the button near the personnel door. He glanced back at Yankee who had climbed out the back and was setting the suitcase on the dock.

Yankee didn't dare say anything as his Spanish was rusty and his accent was obviously American. He just ran a finger across his throat to let Speaks know the bell might be dead. Speaks got the message and pounded on the door. Then he came over for the suitcase. His hand was shaking as he took the handle. Yankee put his big hand on Speaks' and gave him a smile. Speaks swallowed and turned to face the man who had come to the personnel door and was demanding in heavily accented Spanish to know what was wanted.

"Power Company." Speaks said, trying to sound official.

"You sure got here fast." The man said, wiping his hands on an ink stained apron.

"We were in the neighborhood." Speaks answered. He turned to Yankee. "Call this one in. I'll check inside."

"The problem isn't in here." The man said, blocking the door. "I already checked. We got no power on one leg coming in from your side.

Maybe you should check your fuses."

"I already did. That is why we are in the neighborhood. We had a sudden hyperthrust amperage surge spike that jumped the fuse blocks and took out the customers line somewhere between our fuses and yours. That 24

is why I brought this line impedance resonator. It will tell me exactly where the burnout occurred so we can help you fix it and get you back on line."

Speaks had tried hard to not stumble on any of the technical words. He knew he had to sound convincing, especially since Yankee had told him that was all gobble-de-gook anyway. They were counting on the man accepting the power company man as a professional who knew what he was saying.

"Well?" Speaks said when the man didn't move. "If you don't want my help, the surge took out lines all over this area and I really need to move on."

"Alright." The man said, stepping back inside. "Follow me."

Speaks did. The man took him to a panel and pointed out the main disconnect. Speaks put the suitcase on the floor and opened the disconnect.

It was just as Yankee had drawn it. He took the jumper cables and was about to attach them to the top cable lugs when the man stopped him.

"Just what did you say this thing is? It looks homemade to me."

The man growled.

"It is. I made it. Commercial ones are available, but they cost a fortune." Speaks tried to keep his voice from trembling. He attached one jumper cable. Yankee had told him that if he connected to the two live legs things would happen fast. If he got one live leg and the dead one things would happen a bit slower. He put the other jumper cable on another lug.

"When it warms up it will register." He tried to sound convincing.

"The difference between the two meter readings will tell us how many meters from here the burnout is."

Things began to happen. Yankee had loaded the suitcase with all sort of old capacitors and resistors wired to take a charge and then overload.

Around them he had packed oil soaked rags. At the bottom of the bag he had put an industrial vibrator wired to the motorcycle battery through a time delay. The delay finished its cycle and the bag began to shake.

"What's happening?" The man demanded.

"Oh no." Speaks screamed. The scream was real. He was putting all his fear into it. "It's an impedance backfeed. It's going to blow up.

There'll be fire everywhere. We'll be killed."

The bag jumped with a "whump" sound and shot out a brief flash of flame and clouds of black smoke. Speaks screamed. The man ran, shouting.

Yankee had set some tools and a coil of cable on the dock to look like he was busy. When people started pouring out the door and running for the street he knew it was time to act. He grabbed a bag and jumped onto the dock. He dashed into the smoky building and almost ran over Speaks. He pulled two gas masks from the bag and handed Speaks a handful of road flares. Speaks started for the front while Yankee began to explore the building with the aid of a powerful flashlight.

Speaks opened the door slowly, afraid of meeting someone, but everyone was gone. No one wanted to stay around a burning building full 25

of explosives. He slipped into the office area and began setting the flares around the place on all the non-flammable surfaces he could find. Then he lit the flares and headed for the back. He hoped that from the street it would look like the place was on fire.

Speaks found Yankee by the flashlight. Yankee had to shout to be heard through the gas mask.

"Nothing in the plant area. They must be in the storage area at the back." He waved the light toward the rear of the building and started off.

Speaks followed.

Yankee paused at a walled off section of the building. He opened a set of double doors. It was the maintenance area, and a nice one. He had never seen so many good workbenches or tool storage cabinets. In fact, he had never seen such clean tool cabinets as the ones along the outside wall.

"Bingo." he said as he led Speaks in. He ran to one cabinet and opened a drawer. It was full of screwdrivers. Another drawer had pliers in it. Then he realized the drawers were only about ten inches deep. The cabinet was over two feet deep.

"There has to be a way to get into the back." He yelled. "We haven't got time to look. Find a crowbar or sledge hammer and we'll crack this thing."

Speaks found a crowbar and stuck it between the cabinet and the wall. He gave a mighty heave and fell down as the cabinet rolled out easily from the wall. From the back could be seen racks filled with AK-47s.

Under them were boxes of bullets. Yankee grabbed the next cabinet and pulled it out from the wall. It held handguns, hand grenades, detonators, and blocks of plastic.

"One rifle each, and bullets." Yankee shouted as he handed Speaks a large canvas bag. Then he loaded his bag with pistols, bullets, grenades, a few blocks of plastic, and a couple of detonators.

"Let's go." Yankee shouted. Speaks followed him to the door where they both ripped off the gas masks and went outside. Yankee jumped down and threw the bags in the back while Speaks climbed behind the wheel and started to back out of the alley.

"I hear sirens." Captain said as they neared the street.

"The cops are here." Speaks squeaked. He stopped and looked at Yankee who had just climbed into the passenger seat.

"What do we do?"

"Tell him we shut off the power so the firemen can go in safely."

Yankee answered quietly. "And calm down. He isn't looking for us."

Speaks drove out of the alley, rolled down his window and shouted to the nearest policeman what Yankee had said. The officer nodded and waved them away as he was busy trying to back the crowd away from the building.

26

"Go right." Yankee whispered. "There is no traffic coming from that direction. That means Killer did her job. We'll get her then swing around the block for Pilot."

"She did her job alright." Speaks answered. "Look at that traffic jamb. We'll never get through that."

"He's right." Captain said from the rear. He had risen to his knees to see out the front. "We'll have to go back and hope Pilot wasn't as successful, if we can find Killer around here."

"There she is." Speaks said. Killer has just come around a corner at a dead run. Close behind her was a pack of men in hot pursuit.

"Turn around, quick." Yankee ordered. "Captain, get ready to open the rear doors. Speaks, step on it at his order. Honk the horn so she'll see us."

Yankee rolled down his window and stuck his head and one arm out. He waved. Killer saw them and came running.

"Open it." Yankee shouted, but Captain already had the door open.

He flung it wide and Killer dived into the back of the truck. He shouted at Speaks who left a ten foot strip of rubber on the pavement. He only slowed down as they neared the printing plant. A policeman in the street tried to detour them.

"Don't let him." Yankee said. "Tell him we have to shut down the main transformers or the whole block may catch fire."

Speaks skidded to a stop, stuck his head out the window and shouted what Yankee had said. The officer stepped aside and waved them on. Speaks floored it and shot past the plant and down the street, swerving hard to miss two fire trucks that were just arriving.

"There he is, back there. We passed him." Killer called from the back. "He sees us. Stop."

Speaks stopped right in the middle of the street. Pilot ran out to them and climbed in the back.

"The airport." Captain ordered as he slammed the door. "We still have time to make our flight."

"We did it." Pilot shouted, trying to high five Captain who refused to respond, so he gave it to Killer.

"Yes, we did it." Captain replied sourly. "I guess I should say 'congratulations,' but I know what the chance for success was. I will say I have never seen such luck."

"What luck?" Pilot demanded. "The plan was a good one."

"All it would take was for one person to not believe the lines Yankee scripted and we would all be running from the police, or be dead at the plant right now."

"On the contrary, Captain." Yankee replied, turning around to face him. "It would have been more unusual to have failed. When you look official, act official, and talk official, people normally believe you. People like the policeman back there even try to be helpful to other officials."

27

"What about the man at the plant?" Captain asked. "He almost didn't let you in."

"Yes, I was worried that Speaks would run into someone who understood the mechanics of the situation. That is why I taught him to use the technical sounding non-sense. Most people don't want to admit they don't know what you're talking about when you treat them like they should.

I think it's called pride. A lot of people are afflicted with it."

Captain didn't respond. He knew the last comment was aimed at him and it made him angry. He knew Yankee was right. Given human nature the plan was a good one. He just felt a bit hurt that he hadn't been able to participate. He was the team leader, and he had sat in the back of the van the whole time. He decided to change the subject.

"What part of human nature did you use to block traffic, Pilot?"

He asked.

"It wasn't human nature, it was a human body. I kept jaywalking, forcing cars to dodge me, hoping to cause an accident. Unfortunately it didn't work."

"Make that 'fortunately,' Pilot. Killer did succeed, and blocked our escape route. How did you do it, Killer?" Captain asked.

"I did use human nature, at lease male nature. I took off my clothes in the middle of the street." Killer answered.

"You what?" Yankee demanded, shocked.

"Just from the waist up." Killer retorted. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Boy, wish I'd been there." Speaks muttered. Yankee heard him, but ignored the remark.

"What about that mob?" Yankee asked.

"They didn't bother me until I put my clothes back on." Killer answered. "I think they wanted more. Even I could not handle that many hormonal freaks. What's so funny?"

Pilot burst out laughing. He was laughing too hard to explain.

Speaks joined him. Yankee just shook his head and settled back in his seat for the ride. Captain smiled and thought quietly about his team.

He was more suited to combat than rescues, but figured he had as good a chance as anyone to pull this off. Killer and Pilot he could count on to carry out orders. Even Speaks had shown himself able to overcome his fear and do as instructed. Yankee had shown himself to be as smart with people as he was with things, but the total absence of confrontation or a contingency plan for it in his thinking made him a big question mark.

Would he fight if they had to, or would he be dead weight?

That bothered Captain. But something bothered him even more.

Yankee seemed to have some type of insights or hunches. They always seemed to be right, but he preferred facts and situations he could see and feel. He decided he wanted Yankee off the mission, and he only had a matter of hours to pull it off.

28

Four Captain knew they couldn't just board the plane as planned. The police would be watching the plane. He began planning a way to sneak through the airport without being seen when Yankee suggested they not even use the airport.

"Do you expect us to fly like birds to get aboard in mid-air?"

Captain asked.

"No. We board at the runway." Yankee answered. "The Senator supposedly has this Cuban crew hand picked for this mission; so the pilot would probably comply with this request."

Yankee handed Captain a paper. It was written in Spanish.

Captain handed it to Speaks who translated for him.

"Okay." Captain replied. "That sounds good, but how do we get this to the pilot? Anyone who goes near him at the airport will be liable for arrest."

"I called the Cuban air line and got his name." Yankee answered.

"And this is the hotel he is staying at." Yankee handed Captain another paper. "And he is a man. Need I say more?"

"No." Captain answered. He handed both papers to Killer.

"Ordinarily these spy type guys are leery of strangers, but I think he will see you. Take a cab there. We'll follow in half an hour and pick you up out front."

"Half an hour?" Killer parroted. "I hope that will be long enough.

He may be cute." She gave Yankee a quick glance then left.

The others began wrapping their weapons in bundles so they could be carried easily. Captain kept looking at Yankee as he worked. He had to admit the man was good, but he lacked a killer instinct, and he tended to think through orders instead of blindly obeying them. Captain wanted men he could trust to obey blindly when needed. Deep in the back of his mind he also had a nagging dislike for the way Yankee had stepped in and salvaged the mission when the logical command decision was to write it off.

He felt that while the Senator had made him the team leader, he lead only with Yankee's permission, and he resented that.

It was dark as they parked the van on a back road behind the airport and made their way to the runway.

"That should be it." Pilot whispered as a dark silhouetted plane pulled away from the terminal and headed for the runway.

29

They gathered up their things as Captain waited to make sure.

"Okay, now." Captain said as soon as he was convinced that the large Soviet built plane was the one they wanted. Keeping low they all advanced right up next to the runway as the plane rolled up and stopped.

The pilot was supposed to radio the tower that he had a malfunctioning ramp light and that he was just going to open then close the ramp to see if the light would go out. Sure enough, the rear ramp began to drop.

Captain led the way. He leaped onto the ramp as it was still coming down. Pilot was right behind him. Yankee climbed on as it hit bottom. Killer jumped on as it started up. Speaks jumped for it and missed.

Captain and Pilot reached down and grabbed him. With one mighty jerk they propelled him into the aircraft as the ramp started to seat itself.

"This way, quickly." Pilot shouted, leading them through the dark.

"There should be seats along this wall. Find seat belts if you can. If not, hang on tight. These planes climb out steeply."

The rumble of the wheels stopped and the floor tilted sharply as they all grabbed at whatever felt solid. Then the lights came on. After a few minutes the plane leveled out and the team seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief.

"We did it." Pilot exclaimed. "We did it. We're on our way. We got the guns. We got the plane, and we are on schedule. Are we good or what?"

"Yes." Captain answered. "We are on schedule, but we used our rest period to get the guns. I suggest you all try to get whatever rest you can now. We will be landing in two hours. Then we have two hours to get the helicopter put together. Two hours after that we must be in the compound, and two hours later, back to the chopper to leave at sunrise. We need to be sharp, so sleep if you can."

Pilot slipped to the floor. He used his arm for a pillow until Yankee pulled a flotation cushion from the seat and tossed it to him.

Speaks and Killer each took their cushions and joined him on the floor.

Yankee stretched across three seats, but didn't close his eyes. He kept looking at the crates that contained the helicopter, fuel, and clothing for the raid.

Captain knew that now was his chance. He moved to the seat by Yankee's head.

"I think we need to make one change in the plan." He said.

Yankee didn't say anything, but he looked intently at Captain.

"Your job was to make sure the chopper worked, and to get us past any security systems they may have." Captain went on, trying to sound matter-of-factly. "You've got the chopper part down pat, in fact, the changes you've made in the assemble should keep us well under the two hours, and I'm glad for any extra time we can get to go in and get back out, but to tell the truth, I've never liked the idea of leaving the chopper 30

unguarded. If you could just tell me how to get past their security systems, you could cover the chopper for us."

"If you can tell me the type and make of whatever system they are using I could probably teach you how to disable it without being detected, in say four or five hours. If you don't know the type or make, then I'll have to teach you just about all I've learned about security systems. That should only take a few years." Yankee sat up as he said that. He looked away from Captain, and the younger man knew why.

Captain didn't know whether to be angry or embarrassed. Yankee had seen right through him. If he had been in Yankee's shoes he would be fighting mad right now, but Yankee had spoken calmly and without any rancor. Captain again felt as if he had been bested by a man he didn't feel was good enough to be on the mission.

"If you really want to protect the chopper, Captain, how would you like to cut the mission time by about two hours?" Yankee suddenly asked, turning again to face Captain.

Captain seized on the question to get away from his failed attempt to fool Yankee.

"I would love it, but it is not possible?"

"Yes it is." Yankee answered, standing up to look around the airplane. "Our crates are the only things in here, and this plane is big enough to hold a fully assembled helicopter, minus two rotor blades. Even the ramp is big enough to roll it out. What do you say? Should we put it together?"

"No." Killer interrupted. "Let us get some sleep."

"She is right." Captain answered reluctantly, savoring the idea of an extra two hours to pull off the raid.

"No one is sleeping, or really resting." Yankee countered. "I'm running on nerves, and I'll bet everyone else is too. Speaks? Pilot?"

"The floor is hard, and my mind won't quit." Speaks said, sitting up. "I can't rest, not now."

"Let's do it!" Pilot said, jumping up. He headed to the first crate and waited for Yankee to join him. When Yankee was in place he nodded his head. They both pressed in and held the secret latches Yankee had put into the crates. Both sides dropped away. They lifted the top and both ends fell back. All the crates would be as easy to open as this one which held the tools needed for the assemble job.

It took a bit of persuading to get Killer to help, but soon they were all busy. Yankee had pre-attached lifting blocks to the heavy pieces so they could be easily hoisted up with the hand crane he had designed and built to telescope into a small package. In a hour and a half they stepped back.

"I still say it is ugly." Killer said. The chopper was a stripped model. Yankee had left off most of the skin panels as well as things not absolutely needed to make it fly, like seat cushions, insulation, even half the instrumentation and all the lights.

31

"You're right, Killer." Yankee agreed. "It is ugly. And it will be noisy, and cold, too."

"And fast." Pilot added. "Without all that weight she ought to really move."

"We need to get it lashed down before this plane goes into one of it's steep descents." Captain said. Without a word the four men used the ropes from the camouflage nets to secure the chopper. Killer sorted through the black clothing that had been wrapped around the delicate parts of the chopper. She picked out the ones meant for her and slipped to the far side of the chopper to change clothes. The skeleton chopper didn't offer her much cover, a fact quickly noticed by the four men.

"She needs her privacy." Yankee said, turning his back as he selected the black clothing that would fit him. Speaks was the only one to turn his back too, though Captain and Pilot both pretended to pay attention to the clothing they were sorting.

"I don't know how you did it, Yankee." Speaks said softly. "And I sure can't understand why. If you hadn't mentioned that you had a family, I would have to think you were, well, you know."

"Queer." Yankee answered. "No, I'm certainly not."

"Then why didn't you go for the prize? Isn't that what a man is supposed to do?" The little man asked.

"Supposed to do?" Yankee echoed. "Tell me Speaks, have you ever cheated on your wife?"

"Well, no." Speaks admitted. "But I have never really had the chance, and certainly not with a beauty like Killer. I don't see how you could resist, or why you'd want to."

"Tell me, Speaks, which is easier, to eat or to fast."

"To eat, of course."

"Which is easier, to rest, or to work?"

"Rest, naturally."

"To give in, or to resist?"

"Give in, and it's a lot more fun."

"What makes a man, an easy life, or a hard one?" Yankee asked.

Speaks took a minute to think that one over.

"Alright, I see what you mean. Then that is why you turned her down; you're trying to prove you are a man?"

"No, Speaks. I turned her down because I believe it is morally wrong to engage in any sexual activities outside marriage, and if I can't be true to my beliefs then I fail as a man, in my own eyes as well as God's."

"Wow. That is pretty deep. Why do you feel that way?"

"My religion teaches that." Yankee answered.

"And you accept everything your religion teaches?" It was Captain. Yankee had thought he and Speaks were talking too quietly to be over heard.

"I believe in the doctrines." Yankee answered.

32

"Even the old ones that don't fit anymore?" Captain countered. He felt he finally had a chance to trip Yankee up, humiliate him a bit, make him accept Captain as the leader.

"The doctrines of my church don't change with time or social customs, Captain." Yankee stated. "What changing they do is done by command of God, through revelation to his prophets."

"The prophets are all dead." Captain stated. "Or haven't you read the Bible?"

"The Bible shows that God has always had a people on the earth that was taught by prophets. If God is just, or unchanging then that would have to be true today."

"Yankee, are you saying there are prophets on the earth today?"

Speaks asked. There was no scorn in his voice as there was with Captain, only a longing to know.

"Yes." Yankee answered firmly.

"And you follow these prophets, and give them your money?"

Captain continued to push. "I've seen it all over the world. People taken up in these false teachers, swayed by golden tongues and charismatic personalities."

"That only means they didn't put their leaders to the only real test."

Yankee replied. He went on before Captain could ask what that was.

"I didn't accept the prophets, or the doctrines without asking God, in prayer, if they were sent from him."

"And he answered you?" Speaks asked. Now there was awe in his voice. Yankee almost laughed, but held it back. He smiled and put his hand on the little man's shoulder.

"Of course he answered me, Speaks. He is my Father. Why wouldn't a father talk to his child. He is your Father too, and he would like to talk to you, if you'd only invite him to."

"I don't know how?" Speaks replied meekly.

"I'll teach you." Yankee offered.

"Nonsense. It's all nonsense." Killer broke in, shattering the conversation. From shoulder to toe she was dressed in tight black clothing.

In one black gloved hand she held the black ski mask that would complete her uniform. None of the men had finished dressing. They all hurried as Killer watched.

"That will be hot in this climate." Killer said, pointing to the green turtle neck sweater Captain pulled on before the black shirt.

"This pullover has been with me in all my battles." Captain answered. "I will put up with it's heat for the tradition it carries."

"Superstition you mean." Killer shot back. "Just like Yankee's religion. Sometimes I wonder how men ever got to rule the world."

No one responded to her except a squeaky intercom that blurted out a short message that only Speaks understood.

33

"Fasten seat belts." Speaks said as he grabbed his black boots and sat down. Everyone joined him, pulling on shirts, doing up belts or shoes as the plane tilted sharply.

Captain bent over to ties his shoes, but watched Yankee as he did so. He had failed to embarrass Yankee, in fact, Yankee had been most impressive. He didn't buy what Yankee had said, but he could tell Yankee did, and that puzzled him. Yankee was probably the most secure man he had ever met, and was obviously one of the most intelligent. How could he believe all that stuff. Then Captain had a novel idea. What if Yankee was what he was because he believed that stuff. What if he did get answers to his prayers. What if that was the source of those hunches that always seemed to be correct. If that was so, then Yankee was a man to have at his side. In fact, he could be the only man who would be able to find a way to get to the Mad Man. Captain sat up, but never took his eyes off Yankee. He had to reject what he had just been thinking, but he still felt there was more to Yankee than he had seen before. If he could perform as needed on this mission, he would be a man to befriend, a man to learn from. If he could perform as needed.

Captain's ponderings were cut short as the plane hit the ground hard. No sooner had it jerked to a stop than the lights went out and the rear ramp started down. He was about to issue orders to get the chopper and gear out, but without a word Yankee darted over and began releasing the lashings. The other followed quietly. Captain joined them as they pushed the chopper out of and away from the plane.

While Yankee lead the others in putting the last rotor blades on Captain hit the side of the plane hard three times. The ramp started up and the plane pulled away, headed for the end of the dry lake bed to start its take off. Before it was in the air the chopper was assembled and covered with the nets.

"Check your weapons." Captain ordered. Each of them checked out the AK-47 and the pistol they had been given. Killer threw away the pistol and took hers from her gun case. It fit in the holster. She slipped the silencer into her belt and stuffed the case into her black backpack.

"That case probably weighs two kilos." Captain said. "You will travel better if we leave it here."

"You carry your tools and I will carry mine." Killer snapped back.

Captain only shrugged and started off, following his compass into the night. The others silently took their places in line behind him.

34

Five None of the five except Captain knew their exact location. The Senator had wanted it that way. Only Captain knew they were in a region of the upper Amazon basin, accessible mainly by air. The compound was about five kilometers from the dry lake bed. To get there they had to cross over a large hill, then traverse an area of intense coca cultivation complete with farm buildings, go past an Indian village that was controlled by the drug lord, and into a small valley where the compound was situated. They were told it was fortified and had the best in modern detection gear. It was also manned by two dozen elite guards, formerly Soviet Block soldiers.

During the day there were dozens more armed Indians available.

That was why they had to get in and out in the dark. That was why Captain was happy for the extra time Yankee had given them. Provided Yankee could get them in undetected, and if he and Killer could handle any situations that arose without any noise, they should be able to find the girl and get her out in time to be in the air before sunrise. While the Senator had admitted that the drug lord had a small air force hidden there, it was for ground attacks and cargo only. There was no air to air capabilities. That was what the Senator had assured him, but he didn't want to take any chances.

He almost laughed at that thought. The chances of them getting into the compound undetected were slim. Yankee was good, but he doubted he was good enough to deactivate a security system from the outside, and do it in a way that went un-detected. He expected some trouble, and hoped the team could handle it.

Once in the compound they would have to find the girl, and that could mean searching a lot of rooms. They were bound to bump into someone. Killer had her silencer, and he was real good with the knife he carried in his boot, but how many surprises they could handle, or how many people they could kill quietly was just a guess. He had to admit the odds were against them, but the Senator had promised to pay them if they just got inside the compound and made a good effort.

He mentally kicked himself for that thought. There was a young girl's life at stake, and he was thinking about the money he would need to start a revolution. Then he reminded himself that his life was also at stake, as were the lives of the four people with him. He felt responsible for the group and had doubts about risking their lives for the girl, but he had agreed 35

to do a job, and he had to try. His only comfort was in knowing that they had all been told of the risks, and of their chances of success. Then again he had to remind himself that only Yankee really understood the odds. To the others it was just a challenge, or some numbers.

He froze. So did the others. He mentally kicked himself for losing himself in thought. He had figured they were safe until they got close to the compound, but there, visible against the sky was a figure, less that eight meters away, sitting on a rock on top of the hill. The person became aware of them at about the same time and called out to them. It was a woman's voice and in a language he didn't understand. He slipped the safety off his rifle and advanced boldly up the hill.

Again the woman called out to them, then as they got closer she must have seen the guns and panicked. She screamed and dashed down the far side of the hill. Instantly Killer stepped in front of Captain, her pistol raised. Just as quickly Yankee closed on her. He grabbed her arm just as she fired. The silenced bullet "whispped" skyward. Killer swore in German and turned to confront Yankee, but he was off running down the hill, chasing the woman. Captain took off after him. The woman had to be stopped from sounding an alarm, and he wasn't sure Yankee would go to any lengths to do it.

The short head start the woman had didn't benefit her much.

Yankee was a strong runner, and he wasn't in a panic. He caught up to her at the base of the hill and tackled her from behind. As they hit the ground she was screaming and trying to scratch, kick, or bite him. He got one hand over her mouth while pinning her arms to her chest with his other hand. He used his legs to wrap around her and pin her. He tried to calm her down in Spanish, but she didn't seem to understand. Then Captain came up and put the barrel of his rifle in her face. She froze. Yankee loosened his grip a bit.

Then Killer came up. She pointed her silenced pistol at the woman.

"Get away from her, Yankee." Killer ordered. Yankee didn't move. He looked up at Captain.

"Stop her. It isn't necessary."

"Put it away." Captain ordered. Killer didn't move. "Put it away or I'll take it away." Captain commanded. Killer lowered the gun, but turned to glare at Captain. He tried not to notice. Before this mission he had always felt he could handle anyone in hand to hand, but now he knew he couldn't handle Yankee, and this was Yankee's teacher he was facing.

He tried to maintain his composure and hoped her military background would get him obeyed.

"Alright. Fine." Killer snapped. "I was willing to do the dirty work, but now you can do it yourself. She has to die. There is no other way." She turned and stomped away just as Speaks came stumbling to join them.

"Talk to her, Speaks." Yankee said. "Tell her we won't hurt her, but she has to be quiet."

36

"Speaks tried several Indian languages before the woman tried to respond.

Yankee removed his hand from her mouth. Even in the dark it was then evident that it was a young Indian girl, probably in her mid teens. She talked quietly with Speaks for a few minutes.

"She says she lives in a nearby village and works two days a week in the drug lord's house as a cleaning lady. She likes one of the Russian soldiers, but he never paid any attention to her until today, when he asked her to meet him here, on top of the hill. She came early to enjoy the stars while she waited for him. She thought you were him, Captain, until she saw us too, then she thought it was a drug raid."

"Tell her we won't hurt her." Captain said, kneeling down by the girl. "Ask her if she has seen a white girl, an American, about her own age, in the house she cleans?"

Speaks talked to her. She shook her head, then spoke.

"She wants to know if she can go now." Speaks said. "She says the big boss frequently has women there, but never a girl her age."

"You can't let her go." Killer's voice came from the dark, showing she had never moved out of ear shot. Captain tended to agree, but he had given his word that he wouldn't hurt the girl.

"Ask her if there is a road, or trail near here." Yankee said to Speaks. "One that will be used in the morning?"

Again Speaks translated.

"She says there is a path at the base of the hill that the villagers use every morning to get to the plantation sheds to get the tractor and tools to work the drug fields."

"We are at the base of the hill." Yankee said, unwinding himself from the girl, but keeping a hold of one arm. He stood up and pulled the girl to her feet. She was trembling now.

"Ask her where the path is?" Yankee said. When Speaks did the girl looked around, obviously disoriented for a while. Finally she spoke and pointed.

"She says it is a tree length in that direction." Speaks informed them.

"We haven't time for this." Killer broke in. Yankee ignored her.

He headed for the path with the girl in tow. The others followed.

"This is perfect." Yankee said as they found the path. "We tie her to that tree where she will be found in the morning."

"A bullet is faster, and more sure. Besides, we haven't any rope."

Killer interjected.

"You're right." Yankee admitted. "Captain, hand me your knife."

Captain bent down and pulled the knife from his boot. He handed it to Yankee, curious to see what he would do with it. He was sure he wouldn't use it on the girl.

37

When she saw the knife in Yankee's hand the girl let out a little cry and tried to jerk her arm free, but Yankee's grasp was too firm.

"Talk to her Speaks. Tell her I just need some cloth from her skirt to tie her up with. Explain what we intend to do." Yankee said. Speaks did so and the girl calmed down. She made no effort to run away as Yankee released her, grabbed the hem of her ankle length skirt, and made several cuts. He then ripped the cuts into strips up to her waist where he cut them off. With each rip of the fabric the girl let out a slight whimper, but she made no effort to resist as Yankee tied her to the tree.

"Tell her we need to gag her so she won't be found until daylight."

Captain instructed.

"Sure." Speaks said. Then he thrust his hand deep into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. It was his escape money. He peeled off a few bills and held them up for the girl to see, then tucked them into the waistband of her ruined skirt. Then he told her about the gag. She only nodded. Yankee put on the gag.

"Let's move out." Captain ordered. He lead off. Speaks said something to the girl, then followed Captain. Killer and Yankee hesitated.

"You heard him, move out." Killer barked.

"After you." Yankee insisted, not moving. Killer glared at him a minute, then stomped off, muttering in German. Yankee fell in right behind her where he could keep her in view.

They moved on a few hundred meters before Captain paused to check his compass. When he had his bearings set he looked up, and then looked around.

"Where is Pilot?" Captain asked.

"He was behind me, coming up the hill." Yankee answered. I haven't seen him since we encountered the girl."

"He was ahead of me." Speaks said. "When you three chased the girl, he turned to the right at the top of the hill. I didn't know whether to follow him, or you guys. I finally decided he was headed to cut her off if she got past you, so I went after you. I forgot about him."

Captain didn't respond. If Pilot had turned right he was headed toward the compound. He didn't like that. He searched his memory. He had told the team that the compound was north from the landing site, but that was all. If Pilot had more knowledge than that, then he wasn't what he appeared to be.

"Down. Scatter." Captain hissed instinctively as he heard the noise. The team did as instructed and lay still. A minute later a dark figure, hunched over and moving as quickly as possible passed right through the group.

"Hey, Pilot." Speaks spoke up. The figure stopped and turned around. It was Pilot. Captain stood up and faced him. The safety was off on his rifle.

38

"Where have you been, and where were you going?" Captain asked dryly.

"I figured four of you could handle one woman, so I decided to scout ahead a bit, you know, be in the lead for a change. I didn't mean any harm, and it's a good thing I did. Up there, by the first fields you come to, there is a road, and down that road there were three trucks coming. Two went on, headed south, but the other one stopped right by the fields.

Soldiers, ten, maybe a few more, I couldn't tell in the dark, got out. They cut across the field and took up positions near the woods. One of them was carrying a heavy machine gun. I decided to get back and tell you. We are walking into an ambush."

There was stunned silence, broken only by Killer's statement.

"I told you we should have killed the girl."

Captain knew the girl had nothing to do with this. He glanced at his watch. They were still way ahead of schedule. The ambush was just setting up, as if the soldiers knew their schedule. They had also set up on the side of the fields near the jungle. That was their intended route. He also knew that the road ran on south, then turned to the far end of the dry lake.

They hadn't come very far, but he knew the truck would still get to the chopper before they could.

"It's a trap, isn't it?" Yankee voiced their concern. "They knew we were coming?"

"Yes." Captain admitted. "Pilot, you said you were a jet jockey in the navy. Can you also fly prop driven planes, or other types of helicopters?"

"I can fly anything that was meant to fly, and probably some things that weren't." Pilot stated.

"Then we press on." Captain said. Only Speaks objected.

"We walk right into their trap?"

"There is no trap." Captain answered. "Since we know about it, we go around it. They are expecting us to be there, we'll be someplace else.

We're going to take the road. It will be easy and quick. We bypass the ambush, hit the compound, and get out while they are looking for us out here. Unless any of you have any objections. Pilot, Killer, Yankee?"

"Sounds good." Pilot said.

"I want my commission." Killer stated.

"They've got our chopper covered, haven't they?" Yankee said.

"They plan on getting us there if they miss us here. How do we get around that?"

"We don't. We take one of their planes to get out. They know our plan and are counting on us to follow it. That gives us an edge, especially if we can get to the compound before they miss us at the ambush. Any more objections, Yankee?"

39

Captain waited for an answer. He knew it would take a second.

The big man always hesitated, as if pondering anything important.

Suddenly Captain understood. Yankee was praying.

"It sounds good. Let's go." Yankee agreed.

"The road should be over here." Captain said, leading off. He barked an order back over his shoulder. "Keep it quiet till we are past the first field. Then we do double time to the compound." He set off at a brisk pace.

When they were past the first field he turned to issue new orders.

Speaks and Pilot were gone.

"They were right behind me a minute ago." Yankee said in answer to the unasked question. "Wait, here they come now."

Both men were running, and making no effort to be quiet.

"They're coming." Speaks shouted.

"We were just about past them when they came out of the woods."

Pilot said between breaths. "We watched them for a minute. They are grouping on the road and the leaders are pointing down the road toward us."

Captain instantly ran over the map in his mind. All thoughts of completing the mission were gone. Now it was a matter of staying alive and out of the enemy's hands.

"The farm sheds." Captain said. "A quarter kilometer down the road, over near the jungle edge are some buildings. They may offer some protection. If not, we go into the jungle."

He didn't ask for objections. He didn't wait for Yankee to pray.

He just turned and took off running, but not too fast. He was pacing himself for the distance and hoped the others could keep up.

They did. Fear is a great motivator. None of them questioned his orders as he surveyed the sheds.

"Pilot, take the one on the right of the square. Yankee, take the back one. Speaks, you go left. Be sure to check behind them too. Killer, you and I go in the front. I'll come in from the left. Go." They all went. Speaks had an open lean-to type structure made of locally available material. It had some crudely built tables and benches, along with some buckets and a stone fireplace.

Pilot found a wooden shed with a metal roof. It housed a large assortment of hand tools and stacks of cloth bags.

Yankee had the biggest building. It was a metal prefab with two sections. One section was stacked to the roof with sacks of chemicals. The other section was a garage-maintenance shop with a small tractor and trailer in it.

Everyone met in the square and reported. Captain didn't like the report. It didn't sound like a good defensive position. Unfortunately he didn't have much of an option. The running soldiers could be heard before they were seen, and they were close.

40

"Into the garage." Captain ordered. They all scrambled in, pulling the double doors closed behind them. The doors were tightly fitted, probably to keep out rodents, so Captain felt safe in lighting one of the lamps. He looked around, then pointed to the back wall.

"Yankee, what's back there?"

"It's relatively clear for a ways, then there is a sinkhole, about ten yards back. There is water in the bottom of the hole. The jungle is on the other side of the hole. To the right it follows the valley. To the left it runs up a steep hill.

Captain went to the back wall. The panels were about half a meter wide, running from the foundation to the roof, a height of about three meters. There were bolts about every twenty centimeters. They were rusty.

"Yankee, can you get one of these panels off?" Captain asked.

Yankee took one look at the bolts and shook his head. Then he went to a work bench and came back with a hammer and large screwdriver. He placed the tip of the screwdriver against the wall tilted down about 45 degrees. He hit the blade of the screwdriver with the hammer. It cut through the metal and down about half an inch. With each blow the tip cut down another half inch.

"Good." Captain said and walked away. He wanted to go out the back, but he wanted the soldiers to think they were still there. He went to the middle wall of the building. There was a personnel door near the front wall. He opened it and gingerly went in. There were the sacks Yankee had mentioned.

"Speaks, get in here." He ordered. "Tell me what this stuff is. It smells like ammonia."

Speaks came in, but had to grab a bag and drag it into the light to read it. Captain examined the rest of the storage area and then rejoined the others in the garage area.

"It's fertilizer." Speaks said. "It has a nitrogen content of..."

Captain waved him silent. All he wanted to make sure of was that it wouldn't burn or explode if it took a bullet.

"Pilot, take over for Yankee." Captain ordered. "Speaks, Killer, start dragging bags of fertilizer and place them along that front wall for some protection."

"Those bags won't stop a bullet from a heavy machine gun." Killer stated. "I say we surrender."

"Do as I said." Captain snapped. He turned to Yankee.

"We're going out that back wall, Yankee, but I want those soldiers to think we are still in here, and plan on staying. You are the mechanical genius. Can you rig up something from what we have here to make a gun fire every so often, all by itself, to make them think we are here?"

Yankee looked around for a minute, then answered.

"I think it would be better if we died here." His answer produced a visible shock in the younger man, but he went on. "If they think we are 41

dead, they will stop looking completely. And if we die fighting them, they will be unlikely to question what they see."

"Can you do that?" Captain asked.

"If you are willing to sacrifice two of the rifles, some grenades, and our plastic and detonators." Yankee answered. "And, I'll need some help."

"Anything." Captain answered.

"Then find a container and drain about a gallon of fuel out of the tractor. This is the fuel line here. Don't damage it, the tractor has to run.

I'll get a bag of fertilizer. Speaks, Killer, forget the front wall, put about ten bags on the trailer."

For the next half hour Captain did as he was told. He mixed the explosive, set bags on the trailer, positioned rifles on the bags and then put other bags over them to hold them in place so it looked like the trailer had been fortified with bags leaving gun ports to shoot out of. Short boards were placed on fulcrums with bags as weight on one end while the other end was pulled down and anchored with some twine Yankee found in a tool box. Then Yankee wired everything. He tied strings to the gun triggers and ran out different lengths and tied them to a work bench so that when the tractor pulled the trailer out of the barn the strings would pull tight at different times, firing the guns. He did the same to the levers, then he cut a pop can he found in two and placed a hand grenade in each half. He pulled the pins and set each can on the lever where it would be flipped into the air when the lever dropped. Then he put a block of plastic and a detonator on top of the bag of explosive Captain had mixed and anchored it in such a way that another string pulling tight would detonate it. He made that string the longest. He tied it to the bench.

"Speaks." Yankee said, "Find something heavy and set it on top of the bomb, carefully. A little compression will help with the effect. Now for the finishing touches, everyone give me some of your escape clothing.

They all dug into their packs and pulled out the clothing they were to change into if they had to abort the mission and try to make it on their own. Yankee placed the clothing around the trailer.

"I didn't get any from Pilot." Yankee said. They all looked to the back wall. It had a large hole cut out. Pilot was gone.

"How about your gun case, Killer?" Yankee asked, trying to break the silence. "It would probably survive the blast somewhat intact, and lead them to think we were all on that trailer?"

"It doesn't go on there unless I do?" Killer growled.

"Don't tempt me." Captain muttered in French.

Pilot came in through the hole. He joined the group.

"They are crazy." Pilot said. "They have this place nailed. They set up the machine gun over by the tool shed and have deployed all over the area. They must know there is no back door because they are only covering the front, but they aren't doing anything. A small car just pulled up and 42

some guy got out, talked to the leaders, then left. Why aren't they doing something."

"You there, in the garage. We have you covered. Come out with your hands up. You will not be hurt." It was a shouted voice from outside.

"It's English." Captain mused out loud. "They do know who we are, and they want us alive. Interesting." Suddenly he changed tone.

"All of you, out the back, take cover in the sink hole. After the blast, head for the jungle and get out any way you can."

Killer, Speaks, and Pilot headed for the exit. Yankee climbed into the seat of the tractor. Captain stood next to him.

"Get down, Yankee. That's an order."

"What?" Yankee asked. "I'm not done yet."

"Yes you are. You've been a big help, but it is my job to drive this thing out there. Just put it in the right gear and get down."

"You are serious, aren't you?" Yankee responded without moving.

He took a section of rope he had found and began to tie the steering wheel in place.

"You over estimate me, Captain. I may not be afraid of dying, but I'll never volunteer for the trip, and you don't need to either. Just go unlatch the doors and then get out the back. And don't get in my way. As soon as this thing starts driving itself out there, I'm going through that wall like a banshee."

Captain didn't know whether to feel relieved or foolish. He decided to just do as Yankee said. He unlatched the doors as the man outside again shouted for them to come out.

"Yes, we are coming." he said quietly as he grabbed his rifle and ducked out the hole in the back wall. He was halfway to the sink hole when he heard the tractor start. He flopped down in the hole and rolled over just in time to see Yankee come through the wall like he had rockets on his heels.

Yankee dove into the hole just as the first gun began firing. He stopped sliding down hill as the hand grenades were knocked out of their cans and went off. Then the ground shook. He rolled over and looked up.

The sky had turned white. He scampered up the steep side to the others.

They were supposed to run for the jungle, but no one was moving. They were just staring over the edge of the hole. He stuck his head up.

Some fragments of the metal sides were clinging to the foundation anchor bolts, but the building was mostly gone. There was a small white mound of fertilizer still in place, but most of the chemical was still settling onto the ground in a large fan pattern going out from the mound. The two wooden structures were gone, as were all the soldiers.

"You didn't leave much evidence of our deaths." Captain said softly.

"There was less than a hundred pounds." Yankee said, shaking his head. "It shouldn't have done this. I don't know what went wrong."

43

"Speaks went wrong." Killer said. "When you told him to put some weight on the bomb, he used fertilizer bags, about ten of them."

"I did that?" Speaks asked, pointing at the devastation. "How? Fertilizer can't blow up, can it?"

"It doesn't matter now." Captain replied. "We won't be bothered by them any more. I suggest we carry on with our mission. Let's get to the compound before it gets any lighter."

Captain lead out with the others falling into line, all except Yankee. He took Killer by the arm.

"You knew what Speaks did." Yankee said. "And you knew what it could do. Why didn't you stop him, or tell me. The bomb I built would have done some damage, but it probably wouldn't have killed anyone."

"Oh, leave me alone, Yankee. They were just soldiers. It is their job to die."

She jerked her arm away and started off after the others. Yankee picked up his pack and followed.

44

Six The compound had obviously been built long and low to take advantage of the jungle cover. At one end of the compound was what looked like a warehouse complete with a loading dock. Two large tanks were at the end of the building. In the middle of the compound was a structure that looked like a heavily fortified hacienda. Next to it was a barracks. Behind the three in line buildings was a parking area, and several open front shelters that looked like garage bays. Just beyond the garages was a small concrete building without windows. Right next to it, nestled right next to a large tree for camouflage was a tall mast with an antennae on top.

Captain put down the binoculars. The compound was nothing like the drawings and model the Senator had prepared. There was no sign of an airfield.

Yankee finally put down his field glasses and turned to Captain.

"It just dawned on me. We've been had." Yankee said.

"That should have been obvious since we encountered the soldiers." Captain answered dryly.

"Yeah, I know." Yankee answered. "But I hoped that was from loose lips, or at worse, one of us was a traitor. Now I see that compound, and it is not anything like what we were prepared for. I have known the Senator for a long time, and he doesn't make mistakes this big. Either he was intentionally given bad information, or he set us up....Oh Crap!"

Captain had never heard Yankee swear or use any expletive so he knew this had to be big. Yankee dropped his head and closed his eyes, but he wasn't praying. He was shaking his head and muttering about being a fool.

"What's wrong? Yankee, are you okay?" Captain asked. Yankee looked up.

"Everyone has family. I just over looked it. It was so stupid of me. I should have caught it."

"Caught what, Yankee. What is wrong?" Captain demanded.

"The Senator was an only child, and he never married. He doesn't have a niece. He set us up. This whole thing is a fool's mission."

"He's a dead man." Captain said coldly. Then he jerked his thumb toward the compound. "So there is no rescue to do. But those trucks in that 45

compound represent our best ticket to get away from here. How do we get in?"

"Walk." Yankee answered.

"Yes, I know we walk, but what about the perimeter defenses?"

Captain demanded.

"That is what I meant." Yankee answered. "Except for the few sentries you saw, there is none. No sensors, no emitters, not even old fashioned trip wires."

"Killer, Speaks, Pilot." Captain barked, "You heard all that. There is no rescue, and no payoff, so this team is dissolved. I intend to steal a truck from the compound and get out of this valley, or at least as far as the road goes. Then on foot or by water, whatever it takes to get back to civilization, and back to Colorado where I have a score to settle with the Senator. You are all invited to join with me, but under the same rules, I command."

"I say we surrender." Killer said. "With every human being within five hundred kilometers hostile to us, there is no way we can get out of here.

If we surrender, at least we will be alive. It was obvious they did not want to kill us. Whatever we were sent here for, it will keep us alive."

"I'm with you, Captain." Pilot said.

"Gee, I don't know. From what I've heard about the cartel, I, well, I guess I'm with you Captain." Speaks said.

"Good. Yankee, what about you?"

Yankee had been using the field glasses to again survey the compound. He turned to respond.

"Actually, I think I'll go to the compound and see if I can get a flight out. Tell me Pilot, is it hard to fly a helicopter?"

"Why?" Pilot asked. "Did you see a chopper in there?"

"Yes. Ours. I thought I heard something. Two trucks just pulled up. One is a crane truck. The other is a flatbed with our chopper on it. The crane is unloading it now."

"Let me see." Pilot said, grabbing the glasses from Yankee. He took a long look. "That's it. That's my bird. We're going home just the way we planned."

"Unless Captain still wants to go by truck?" Yankee queried.

"Forget the truck." Captain said, also looking through his binoculars. He dropped them and faced the group. "But I still want the same commitment. I command until we reach safety. Then you can all go your own ways. Agreed?"

Everyone agreed, except Killer.

"This is stupid. If we go in there, we'll have to fight to get that helicopter. If we make them mad at us, they might not keep us alive. I still say we surrender."

Captain lowered his rifle on her. She backed away.

46

"Tie her up." Captain ordered. "Just like the girl, near the road where she'll be found. Gag her so she can't get anyone's attention until after we are gone."

"No." Killer stammered. "I will go with you. I will help you."

"Can we trust her?" Pilot asked.

"One prisoner probably won't do." Killer pleaded. "If we all surrender, there is a chance for us, but just one won't be able to do whatever they've planned. If you won't all surrender with me, I'll go with you. I promise."

Captain raised his gun.

"I want to get in before daylight." Captain said as if nothing had happened. "We'll come in from the south, by those tanks. Then into the warehouse. From there Killer and I will head for the hacienda to draw some action. You three head for the chopper in front of the hacienda. Pilot you get it started. Yankee, you and Speaks cover for him, and for us. We'll break for the chopper when we hear it running. Any questions?"

There were no questions.

The perimeter guards were Indians, and not hard to slip past.

Captain sent everyone in, one at a time, to hide behind the big tanks.

Lastly, he slipped in to join the team.

"What is that smell?" Captain asked.

"Sulfuric acid." Yankee answered. He tapped the one tank and pointed at the plumbing running into the building. "Stainless steel. I don't know what the fiberglass tank holds. Do you want me to check?"

"No." Captain answered. He already knew that this was not good cover. If shooting started he didn't want to be laying in a pool of acid in an attempt to avoid a few bullets.

"Pilot, check the door." Captain ordered. Pilot slipped around the corner onto the loading dock and tried to lift the overhead door. It wouldn't open. He tried a personnel door. It was locked too. He slipped back to the group.

"Everything is locked." He reported. "Do I shoot out the locks?"

"No." Captain answered. "We haven't seen the back of the building. Maybe there is a window. Yankee, check for windows, and any internal security devices. Yankee?"

Yankee wasn't there. Then they heard the overhead door roll open a bit. Captain peeked around the corner. The door was open about 18 inches. Against the white metal he could see four black gloved fingers holding it from the inside.

"Come on, it's open." Captain whispered over his shoulder, then led the way by laying on the dock and rolling under the door.

There were no windows, but a single night light glowed at the far end of the building. It wasn't a warehouse, it was a factory.

47

"They must make the cocaine right here?" Captain said as Speaks slipped under the door to complete the team. Yankee closed the door and locked it.

"Locked, eh?" Captain chided Pilot.

"It was." Yankee replied before Pilot could defend himself. "I picked the lock. And this isn't drug machinery, it is metal working machinery, sheet metal. Except for that corner over there. Some chemical work is being done over there."

"Never mind." Captain snapped. "His mind was racing too quickly to be offended at Yankee's correction. He wanted to know how Yankee knew how to pick locks, and if this could be a good defensive position if they had to drop back to it. He knew there was no time for the first question, and he still felt too close to the acid tank for the second one.

"Let's check out the door at the end of the building." He said, leading the way. They passed stacks of what looked like metal coffins on the way to the door. By the time they reached the door he knew it had to open into another room in the same building as they hadn't moved far enough to reach the outside wall. He tried the door very carefully. It was unlocked. He held the knob as he raised his rifle. He nodded to Pilot who also raised his rifle and stood near the door. Yankee and Speaks both drew their pistols. Killer just stood there clutching her case.

Captain threw open the door and charged in right after Pilot. There was no one there, but there was the personnel door Pilot had tried from outside, and a window that faced the hacienda.

"Stay down." Captain ordered as he and Pilot dropped to the floor.

Yankee and Speaks went into a crouching position as soon as they came in.

Killer strolled in a minute later. She sat down on the floor when Captain frantically waved her down below the window height. Captain glanced out the bottom of the window. There were soldiers gathering in front of the hacienda, right next to the chopper. He swore in French and turned around.

He leaned against the wall below the window and tried to assess the situation.

"What is this place?" He asked. ""It's the maintenance room for the factory." Yankee answered.

Captain swore mentally this time. Right now he wanted a place to hide until the soldiers disbanded, or maybe even till the next night if need be, but this wasn't the place. If the factory was to be used, this room would be used. Then he noticed that the room was only half as deep as the building. In the far corner was a set of double doors. He waved Yankee towards the corner.

"Check it out." He ordered. As Yankee and Speaks took up position to rush the room he decided to join them. He crawled over as they burst into the room, guns ready. They had already lowered their guns when he came in. There were no other windows or doors out of the room. He swung the doors closed and turned on the light. The end of the room 48

nearest the factory was occupied by a big tank like machine. The wall nearest the hacienda was filled by racks of small tanks about twenty centimeters wide by a meter long.

"What is it, Yankee?" He asked.

"That over there," Yankee pointed at the big tank. "Is an acetylene generator. Those cartons behind you would house the carbide fuel for it.

These tanks are oxygen bottles." He opened a valve on a manifold and checked the gauge. "They are full."

"What happens if bullets start flying?" Captain asked.

"Since the generator appears to be fully charged," Yankee explained, "it will leak flammable gas if punctured. If a bullet punctures one of these oxygen tanks, it will take off like a misguided missile."

"You mean like..." Captain made a hand motion to show erratic flight. Yankee nodded.

"And if it hit another tank, it could rupture it."

Captain swore in French again. He turned out the lights and opened the door. He scooted over to the window and glanced out. The soldiers were no longer grouped by the helicopter. Now they were deployed, and he could tell they had the factory building surrounded. It was as if they knew where to look. He didn't like it.

Yankee and Speaks came out of the utility room. Speaks dropped to the floor, but Yankee remained standing. He took a pipe wrench from the wall, a piece of hose from the workbench, and a coil of wire hanging from a nail. Then he went back into the utility room.

"Hello there, in the maintenance shed. We know you are in there.

The entire building is surrounded. This time there is no escape. Throw out your weapons. We will not hurt you. We want you alive, but we will take you however we must."

It was a bull horn. Captain knew his position was not defensible.

This time there was no back way out. He had never been in a situation where he could not retreat, or at least run to fight again another day. He was trapped and didn't know what to do. Then he realized something funny.

He wanted to talk to Yankee. He wanted one of Yankee's hunches. He wanted any way out. Then he got angry.

He was mad at himself. He was mad at being suckered into this mission. He was mad at getting his team stuck. Most of all he was mad at himself for thinking a miracle could save them. Now there was only one logical course of action.

The window shattered as Captain threw his rifle through it. He didn't even move from his position seated below the window, back to the wall. He just gave the gun a double over head throw. He followed up with his pistol. He didn't say a word as he looked at Pilot.

Pilot heaved a big sigh before throwing out his rifle, followed by his pistol. Speaks was still across the room. He threw his pistol and hit the window jamb. The gun bounced into the center of the room. He crawled 49

over to it, picked it up and flipped it out the window. Then he sat there in the middle of the floor and waited.

They didn't have to wait long. They heard the footsteps on the dock, and then the doorknob rattled. It was locked. There was some shouting, and then a key clicked in the lock. A second later a stream of soldiers poured in, filling the room, guns pointing everywhere. No one moved. No one spoke. Then the drug lord came in.

He was probably six feet tall, but so fat he looked shorter. He was balding but sported a full bushy beard that flowed down on the vest of his immaculate white suit. As he came in several soldiers had to raise their guns to make room for him. He waved a few of them out the door and turned to Captain.

"Well, Major. You ran me quite a race. The outcome was certain, but oh, what a course. You live up to your reputation. I also know that you retained your knife, and you are oh so good with it. Please, if you don't mind?" He held out his hand and smiled.

Captain hesitated for a moment, then reached down slowly and pulled out the knife. The soldiers visibly stiffened. Still moving slowly he took the knife by the blade and handed it up, handle first to the fat man.

"Thank you, Major. It is nice to see that you will be reasonable.

You know, I must confess to a slight oversight. Even though I knew you were all coming to visit me, I failed to make preparations for you all. I figured some of you could double bunk, but now I see that is not a good idea. While four of you can stay in the hacienda with me, one of you will have to be locked up elsewhere. The old radio shack will do. You, dear Major are most used to hardships, but your rank prevents me from putting you there. So I must chose another. How about the one who calls himself Yankee." He glanced around the room, and for the first time realized that there were only four captives in the room. He bellowed out a name so loud it was hard to tell what it was, but one soldier stepped forward.

"I told you there were five of them. Get out there, find Yankee or I'll have your head."

"Calm down, or you'll give yourself a stroke." Yankee said, stepping into the doorway from the utility room. Captain silently shook his head. For a second there he had the hope that Yankee might go undetected, to escape later and tell their story. If it couldn't win their freedom, it might at least thwart whatever plan this fat man had for them, and that would be a victory in itself.

When Yankee appeared the soldier nearest the door lowered his rifle on him and shouted at him in Russian.

"He says to drop the wrench." Speaks said softly. Yankee let the wrench drop to the floor. Then the soldier pointed to Yankee's pistol.

Yankee took it slowly from the holster and let it join the pipe wrench. The fat man then went up to Yankee like an old friend and pulled him into the center of the room.

50

"You are all being so reasonable." the fat man said. "I like that.

I'm sorry I have to lock you in the old radio shack, Yankee, but it will just be for a day or two, until secure quarters can be prepared in the house. You will be so kind as to join the rest of us for meals, won't you? I'm sure you will. Let me see, you two, take him away."

The two designated soldiers pulled Yankee toward the door.

"I need to talk to you, and soon." Yankee said to the fat man as he was being led away. He tried to wait in the doorway for an answer, but the two Russians poked him in the back with their rifles, forcing him out.

"We'll do lunch, today." The fat man called after him. Then he turned to Captain.

"As for the rest of you, please, join me in my home. You must have lots of questions I can answer for you." He waddled out with the prisoners close behind, each with a gun barrel to his head.

51

52

Seven The interior of the hacienda was nothing like the bare concrete exterior. Marble floors were covered with Persian rugs. The walls were draped with expensive tapestries, and between them could be seen hand carved trim made of exotic woods, gold, and ivory. The furniture, mirrors, even the lights were obviously antiques. It was all blatantly very expensive, but for all the expense there was no set style and definitely no class. Even the cleanliness of the place went a bit too far. It wasn't comfortably clean, it gleemed.

The soldiers made them pause at the entry to remove their shoes.

Then the fat man led them to the dining room. He opened the double doors to reveal a table heaped with food next to the door. In the center of the room, under a large chandelier was another table set for four.

"Please excuse me." The fat man said as he motioned them into the room. "I will eat later. My regular staff doesn't come in this early, so you will have to serve yourselves. I will be expecting you in my office in, shall we say, twenty minutes?"

The four entered, but only Killer went to the table to get a plate.

Pilot and Speaks were following Captain's lead, but he was busy taking it all in. Three soldiers had moved to the door at the far end of the room and stood with their guns lowered. Three more were similarly positioned at the main door. There were no windows, or other entrances. He went to the table and picked up a plate.

"I don't think I am very hungry." Speaks said as he picked up a plate and followed Captain to the food table.

"Eat anyway." Captain ordered. "You don't know when you will get to eat again."

"Do you think he will try to starve us?" Pilot asked. Captain didn't answer. He didn't want to talk here. He wanted them well fed in case an escape opportunity presented itself. He didn't like being separated from Yankee like this. If an escape were possible, Yankee would be left out, but he was too much a soldier to consider sacrificing all them for one man.

Then it dawned on him; the table was set for four. Yankee never had been included in this part of the fat man's plans and the soldiers had all seemed to know what to do without being told. That meant this had been rehearsed, all of it. Yankee was intentionally separated. Why? He came from that small town the Senator called home. He had known the Senator for years.

53

Was he a part of the trap? He had been the one to get them this far, but if he were a traitor, why had he planned the escape at the farm? On the other hand, he had done nothing to save them in the maintenance room at the factory. In fact, Captain had to admit that he had expected more from Yankee than a surrender in the doorway.

Killer tried to make light conversation, commenting on the decor and the food, but no one else spoke. When the twenty minutes was up all six guards advanced on the table. No words were spoken, but the pointed guns said all that was needed. Captain got up and the others followed. One soldier led the way back into the hall, and into the next room.

"Ah, my guests. Well fed I hope." The fat man rose from the spacious leather chair behind a desk big enough for Pilot to land a helicopter on. He came around in front of the desk.

"You, my dear, may sit here." he said, motioning Killer to the leather chair he had just vacated. Killer took the seat as he positioned the others. Major, please take this chair. Our translator can have this one, and that one by the fireplace is for our flyboy."

As they sat down a soldier stepped up to each man and held a gun barrel to their foreheads. Another soldier used pre-cut lengths of rope to tie their feet together and each arm to the armrests of the chairs. When they were done the soldiers left.

"Over confident fool." Captain thought. On the desk, right in front of Killer was his knife, and her gun case. While the fat man leaned on the desk and gloated over his captives Killer calmly opened the gun case and removed her pistol and the silencer. She screwed the silencer on. Then the fat man turned and saw her.

"You are certainly as lovely as the Senator said, my dear." He said, reaching for the empty gun case. "After this is all over, I am sure your many talents could be used here."

Killer leaned back in the seat and folded her arms, still holding the gun. She made some remark in German that almost made Speaks laugh.

Captain wasn't laughing. Now it was all too clear, and he mentally kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. The fat man held up the gun case and removed the molded insert to reveal a black box with a blinking red light.

"Even with this, you almost pulled it off, Major. I am impressed.

You do live up to your reputation. But, I am being a bad host.

Introductions are in order. My real name is of little use to you. I am known now as the 'Big Boss.' The lady behind me, who recently joined my employ, is Eva Hermann. A few years ago she was with the East German security forces, where her talents were probably not nearly as appreciated as they will be here. Nor as well paid. For you, my dear, a little bonus for a job well done."

Boss reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sparkling tangle.

As he held it up it cascaded into a beautiful diamond necklace. He held it 54

over the desk to Killer. She didn't hesitate in grabbing it, but she didn't put it on. She looked at it a moment, then stuffed it in a pocket.

"You may wear it to dinner tonight." Boss said. Then he turned back to the men.

"This fine commander you all call Captain is Major Andre LeBlanc, formerly of the French army. I call him Major, but he could as well be called General, or Field Marshall. He is, without a doubt, one of the best battlefield commanders of our time.

"And this fine fellow is Dick Richards, head translator for the C.I.A. I don't need to tell you about his language ability, but did you know he also has a photographic memory. Anything he reads he can recall word for word at a later date."

"That is how you knew about the arms dealers, and the aggas."

Pilot spoke up. Speaks nodded, then replied.

"I can't put it all together like Yankee can, the stuff I know, I mean.

I don't really remember it consciously, but if something sparks it to bring it back, I can read it again like it was in my hands."

"And lastly," Boss interrupted. "We have Hank Daniels, airman extraordinary. You know he can fly just about anything, but did you know he got a medal of honor for some little rescue flight he made in Iraq."

"You don't get the medal of honor for some small flight." Captain spoke up. He wanted to probe Boss a bit, see what kind of man he was.

"And Pilot flew jet fighters. Jet fighters aren't designed for rescue missions.

What he did must have been very special, and dangerous."

"Perhaps." Boss snapped. Captain knew he had hit a nerve. Boss either had a pride problem, or a bad temper, or both. That could possibly be used against him in the future.

Boss held up a set of manila file folders. On the top one was Captain's picture.

"As you can see, I only go for the best. In my work, in my house, in my guests, and in my women." Boss gloated.

"Keep it up." Captain thought. "Killer may be in your employ, but she is no toy. Just keep pushing and she'll be putting your notch in her gun yet."

"You forgot one." Pilot added. "The best mechanic."

"Ah, yes, Yankee." Boss replied, giving Pilot a look that could only be described as hatred. "Yes, the mechanic, the all around fix-it man.

He is key to my plan."

"That must be a low quality plan." Captain spoke up, still trying to probe the big man. "I mean, we are all professionals, but Yankee, good as he is, is still an amateur. What kind of plan relies on amateurs?"

"A very good one." Boss barked at Captain. Captain noted the rise he got, but it was nothing like what Pilot had evoked. Boss began to pace the room.

55

"Alright, I planned to tell you anyway, why not now?" Boss growled. "You know the business I am in. That part of what the Senator told you is true. What you were not told is that I am president of the cartels.

You didn't know that, but the D.E.A. does. What the D.E.A. doesn't know is that one of the duties of the president is to supply all the members with aggas to control the Indians. You have seen the factory. You have seen the two tanks. The fiberglass tank holds the latest batch of serum. All that is needed to activate the serum is the acid in the next tank. In the past we have had to rely on cluster bomb parts purchased in Argentina to make bomblets of the gas. Now, with the machinery I have flown in at great personal expense, we are able to make a new type of dispenser that will strike even more terror into the Indians. Maybe it will be enough to make them agree to some sort of peace treaty."

"Why should it?" Captain asked as Boss paused. He wanted the fat man to keep talking. He wanted to learn all he could. If he did get out of this, he wanted to nail this man along with the Senator. He didn't like being trapped; he didn't like being betrayed, and this man had done both to him.

"You have to understand how it used to be." Boss answered, returning to sit on the front edge of the desk. "When the national governments began giving in to pressure from the U.S. and Europe we cartel leaders were first forced into hiding, then into virtual exile, like here.

Oh, this is nice, I must admit, but not as nice as it was. When I first built this place it didn't have to be fortified. The Indians were willing to work for peanuts, or rather, coke. They lined up for jobs. I put them to work. I brought in electricity. I brought in medical care. I even built a water treatment plant. They loved me. And discipline was no problem. Anyone who misbehaved got his coke cut off for a while. They toed the line.

"That is when the problems started. The old folks. The Indians who were too old for my services said I was making slaves of their children.

As if I forced them to get hooked on the stuff. I swear that neither I nor any other cartel member has ever forced anyone to use the stuff. We just provided it. It was their choice. At any rate, the old folks, the parents and grandparents suddenly forbade the young ones to work for me. It almost worked. These Indians have a strong family sense, but the coke was stronger. Eventually I had all my people back.

"Then it turned nasty. One night the old folks came. Armed with what ever they could get, they came. Some of my Indian guards were willing to fight, but most wouldn't. I made it to the airstrip hidden a quarter mile north of here and got out safely, but they burned everything I had built.

"Fortunately the cities were abounding in old east block soldiers looking for employ. I hired some and came back. I had to kill off most of the old folks, but the young ones came back around, for the coke."

"But the coke keeps killing off the users, so you have to keep bringing in new ones." Captain spoke up, trying to seize control of the 56

conversation again. "And that means going outside your little valley here.

And everywhere you go to recruit the story is the same. You hire some young ones and their parents see what is happening. Soon you have the whole area up in arms against you."

"He's not the only one." Speaks added. "The other cartel members have been doing the same thing. All through the jungles and growing areas.

It has become a political issue with the Indians now. Even those outside the region are either pro-drug or anti-drug, and the arguments aren't debates anymore. Both sides are taking up arms. It is like a huge Indian uprising in the center of the continent."

"Very good, Dick, and very accurate." Boss broke back in. "A year ago things were tense around here. Then we got the aggas and a few old planes. The Indians fear the aggas. We have a custom of only using it around our individual areas. The rebels stay out, we don't hit them. But there are some diehards out there. Entire tribes have moved or have become mobile, nomads if you will. The men try to sneak in to strike at us, then get back and move again so we can't hit them. So my new delivery system will enable us to blanket entire areas with the aggas. That will drive the Indians totally out of these jungles and growing areas."

"They will have to go someplace." Pilot added. "And they will still pose a problem, for somebody."

"Exactly." Boss growled. "The national governments have always worked well with the cartels, for a price. They pay lip service to law and order, but the politicians, the lawyers, the police and the judges, they like our money. But when the Indians start showing up in the cities it will put a lot of pressure on them. They have been content to let us fight out here, and have simply done everything possible to cover it up, to deny that they have a modern day Indian war in their country, but as I drive the Indians out, they will certainly go to the cities, and they will probably take the guns with them. The governments can't afford to feed them, or fight them, so they may look to us. Not that I couldn't handle the local military, but the U.S. is already pressing the governments to allow U.S. air strikes and raids inside their boarders. Of course, national pride prohibits that, for now."

"But a few Indian massacres in the cities could change all that."

Captain tried again. "And just the knowledge of what you are trying could convince many leaders to let the U.S. pull a series of 'unapproved' raids aimed at knocking out the cartels, or at least the one making the aggas."

"Exactly, Major. So you see my predicament. How do I keep the U.S. out of this until the problem is so full blown that the national governments can't handle it at all? That is where you all come in. You are the answer to my problem."

Boss waited, but this time Captain remained silent, knowing that the fat man wanted him to ask. After a minute Boss continued.

"These are very proud people. That is why they refuse to let the U.S. in. To reinforce that pride I will simply show them that the U.S. has 57

ignored their wishes, flaunted their sovereignty, and totally insulted them by sending in a crack military unit to attack one of the cartels. Only the plan went awry and you were captured instead. It is beautiful. A U.S. Senator recruits a recognized military expert, you Major, and gives him a top C.I.A. official, and a decorated war hero, along with a hired assassin to do the dirty work, and you get the picture."

"I get the picture." Captain retorted. "And it is flawed. This is not a crack military unit. This is not the way a military strike would be pulled off. No one will buy it?'

"The press will." Boss cooed, bending down to talk right in Captain's face. "And so will the anti-American masses in the cities down here. It will work."

Captain was silent. The anti-Americans groups would buy anything that made the U.S. look bad, and the media was always more interested in sensationalism than in truth. It just might work.

"No." Captain tried to argue. "Killer may co-operate with you, but none of the rest of us will."

"You don't need to, Major. That will lend credence to my story.

You will be expected to deny it if you are in the U.S. employ. You will even be expected to tell some outlandish story about me planning the whole thing and you being fool enough to fall for it. The only proof I need is you.

I have you, and that current model army helicopter sitting outside.

"By the way, Major, thank you for bringing that down for me. The stripped parts are already on their way here. Not only will it serve as proof of U.S. military intervention, but will come in handy for spreading the aggas. I have one soviet built chopper, and more are available, but there is nothing like good old U.S. military hardware. It's even more fun to fly. I fly too, Major. I will enjoy this little present you have brought me."

"Half way Harry." Pilot shouted, leaning forward. Boss stood up and turned on Pilot.

"I thought you were familiar." Pilot went on. "Back then you had hair on your head instead of your face, and you didn't need a crane to get you to the cockpit, but it's still you. And you haven't changed, have you?

Still sitting back wanting someone else to do your dangerous work. Do you guys know who this is? We called him Halfway Harry. Over Iraq your missions weren't counted unless you went more than halfway. He always did. Then he always turned back."

"I had mechanical problems." Boss shouted. "They were all verified by ground mechanics."

"We all had mechanical problems." Pilot shouted back, straining at his ropes.

"Policy said we were to return to base if we had mechanical problems." Boss screamed, turning red in the face.

"Policy said we were to decide if we needed to or not." Pilot screamed the correction. "Only the cowards decided to abort, Halfway."

58

Boss turned, leaned across the desk and snatched Killer's gun. He turned to face Pilot. Pilot didn't back down.

"I flew eighteen missions before you showed up." Boss growled.

"No one questioned my courage."

"Your dad was an admiral." Pilot continued to refute the fat man.

"That was why no one dared question. Even after I pointed it out and filed the complaint no action was ever taken against you, like it should have been, Halfway."

"Cool it, Pilot." Captain ordered. He was ignored.

"Yes, my dad was an admiral, and his dad before him, and his dad was a captain, and I had a career ahead of me until you came along and ruined it. No action was taken, but that name you gave me stuck. It followed me to every assignment. It preceded me to some. So I resigned, and it followed me to the work place. Then I got into the business where your past doesn't count, just your performance. And now look what I've got."

"You've got a beautiful prison in the middle of a jungle." Pilot snapped. Boss raised the gun and aimed for Pilot's head. Pilot didn't flinch, he didn't blink. He stared back up the barrel right into Boss's eyes.

Captain held his breath and watched. Speaks closed his eyes and bowed his head. Killer had been cleaning her fingernails. She paused to watch.

Boss's hand began to tremble as if the gun were too heavy for him.

Then his jaw began to tremble. Finally he turned his head away and fired.

As soon as Boss had turned his head Pilot had ducked as far as the ropes would let him. The bullet smashed into the fireplace behind him. He sat up as Boss looked back.

"Still doing things halfway, Halfway?" Pilot taunted.

"Shut up, Pilot." Captain ordered, but was again ignored. Boss turned and stomped away from the desk, over towards a window.

"Want me to do it?" Killer called after him.

"No." Boss bellowed. He marched back quickly, coming up behind Pilot like a raging bull. Pilot had just begun to turn to see when Boss put the pistol to the back of Pilot's head and fired. Chair and all pitched forward slamming Pilot's lifeless body on the marble floor. His face was away from the group but a pool of blood was spreading out on the marble floor.

Then Captain knew it was planned. He and Speaks were seated in chairs on rugs. Only Pilot had been seated where there were no rugs to stain. Boss had brought the flyer here just to kill him and having killed once, he would be better able to do it a second time. Captain now had only Speaks to worry about saving, but he had a cowardly maniac to deal with.

Just then Speaks looked over at him. There were tears in his eyes.

"Yankee never did teach me how to pray." Speaks could barely croak. "I wish I had learned."

59

"You just lost your war hero." Captain spoke up, trying to divert Boss from any killing frenzy. "Keep this up and you won't have a story to tell."

"Not true." Boss said quietly. The red had left his face as quickly as it spread out on the floor around Pilot. "I still have exactly what I planned. His body will be turned over to the government as proof of the story. You will be held as my security that the U.S. will not strike again.

Media personnel will be allowed here to interview you, maybe even a few government people. It will be quite a show. Especially when I bring out the grieving parents of the young girl you killed."

"We didn't kill any girl." Captain said quietly. Boss had walked away from the body and laid the gun back on the desk. Killer let it stay there.

"Alright, so Miss Hermann killed her." Boss replied. He seemed to have lost a lot of his fight. He kept glancing at the body. "It is still the same. She was a part of your assault team."

"There is no dead girl." Captain asserted. He saw a chance to rattle Boss's confidence in his own plan. He hoped to be able to exploit that.

"No dead..." Boss turned on Killer. "What is he talking about. I arranged for her to be there. You went there, the tracking beam showed you did."

"Yankee wouldn't let me kill the girl." Killer answered plainly.

"He wouldn't let you? How could he stop you?" Boss demanded.

"What was I supposed to do?" Killer demanded right back. "Did you want me to kill him so I could kill her? You need him for the rest of the plan remember? Besides, what difference does it make. We killed a dozen of your best men out there at the farm."

"They were soldiers." Boss screamed. "Soldiers are supposed to die, it is their job. Besides, most of them were war criminals. We needed an innocent young girl to die to show what savages the U.S. sent here."

"Why is Yankee so important to this plan?" Captain asked quietly.

He wanted to keep Boss off balance, but not angry.

"Yankee is not just a mechanic." Boss answered, slowly turning away from Killer. She got up and moved to the far end of the room.

"Yankee is known in his town as an honest man. It is his honesty more that anything that will get this story accepted when he tells it."

"What makes you think he will tell it?" Captain asked.

"He probably already has." Boss answered. "He will tell it because he believes it. The radio bunker I locked him in is not an old one.

It is the one I use every day for my phone calls to keep the business going, order supplies, move money from my accounts. Yesterday we shut it down and doctored it to look disabled. I even put a fan in the doorway of the bunker and dumped vacuum bags of fine dirt into the air stream to settle on everything. He was selected because he will know how to make the radio 60

operational. Then he will do what any many would do. He will call for help. I have several people out there waiting for his call. If he doesn't give enough information they are trained to extract it from him with questions.

Before it is over he will have alerted the world to your presence here."

"And he'll tell them we came to rescue a girl, and that we were set up." Captain added.

"And that will be dismissed as a cover story." Boss stated. He seemed to be in control of himself, but now he was avoiding looking at the body.

"What if Yankee doesn't do it?" Captain persisted. "What if he doesn't make the call. What if he recognizes it as another set up."

"He won't." Boss replied. "Any man would call for help."

"Yankee is not like other men." Captain kept trying.

"That is true." Killer said from the other end of the room.

"What do you mean?" Boss demanded, his voice rising.

"I have never met anyone like him." Killer answered, moving closer to the group. "He is more than anyone, or perhaps less, I don't know how to explain him, but he is not what your plan called for. He can not be expected to do what any other man would do in any given situation."

"Then I will use my backup plan." Boss stated. "You see, Major, I have it all covered. Yankee is not only known for his honesty, but for his religious values. He is a Mormon, and in his church they still kick out active members who fool around with other women. Not only that, but their wives normally divorce them too. Yankee has too much at stake here. If he doesn't make the call, I will have a chat with him. When I explain how I plan to send Killer here to reveal her relationship with him to that whole town, he will cooperate."

Captain smiled. He looked at Killer.

"Do you want to describe your relationship with Yankee, or shall I?" "What does he mean?" Boss turned on Killer again. "Didn't you sleep with him? I ordered you to sleep with him. How dare you disobey me?"

"Oh, she tried." Captain said. "She just didn't succeed."

"What?" Boss exclaimed. He looked Killer over from head to toe, then back up again. "How could any man refuse you? No man could refuse you."

"Don't you see?" Captain asked. "You chose Yankee for his moral values, and it is his moral values that will foil your plan."

"No." Boss screamed. "The mere threat of my sending Killer to tell his wife there was an affair will be enough. He will do what I want to preserve his family."

"I've never met Yankee's wife." Captain continued, "But if she is anything like him she won't believe it. And I do know Yankee. He does only what he thinks is right, and threats, bribes, nothing will change him.

61

You chose him because he isn't like most men, and then based your plan on him being like most men. He's beaten you."

Captain knew that the plan still had a good chance of working without Yankee's involvement, but he hoped to keep Boss off balance, make him reconsider for a time. Right now time was all that could be hoped for, time to find a way out.

"No. He refused her, but maybe he is gay. He will do it. I will show you." Boss barked as he went to a large cabinet opposite the desk.

He opened the doors to reveal a large screen television and several video recorders.

"You see this one is running." Boss said, pointing to the top one.

"There is a camera in the bunker, cleverly hidden, and recording what goes on there. By turning on this other one, there, now it is recording what goes on in the bunker. Now I will play this first one for you. You will see. He will fix the radio and he will make that call."

Captain's hopes sank. Given a chance to call for help he'd take it.

He expected Yankee to do so too. He still wanted more time.

"No matter how this works out," Captain spoke up so Boss could hear him over the rewinder. "What happens to us?"

"You are of some worth to me dead." Boss said. "Your bodies can be identified as proof of my story if need be. However, I have been impressed with your abilities. Co-operate with me and there could be a good place for you in my organization, Major. Not here, of course, but out there in the world. You could take charge of my growing security force, expand it. Refine it. You could make me untouchable. And Dick too could have some uses. The information he has in his head is worth a lot of money, and power. There, now let us see what this super Yankee will really do."

The camera came on as the door was opened. It was a heavy steel door that opened inward. A hand reached in and turned on the light, then Yankee was thrust rudely through the doorway. The door was slammed behind him, sending up a cloud of dust. He looked around, then pulled off his ski mask.

"First private moment I've had in days, and it has to be a jail cell."

Yankee said. Then he dropped to his knees and began to pray out loud.

Captain listened, touched by the sincerity of the prayer, and by it's simplicity. Yankee didn't pray for a miracle, only guidance. Then he got up and went to the radio console. It had a tarp over it. He raised a corner and looked under it, then pulled the tarp off. He stepped in front of the large console and picked up one of the telephone type headsets that were attached to it. He put it on and began flipping switches.

"There, see." Boss gloated. "He is already trying. But that would be too easy. He might catch on. The radio does not work. He knows that now. There, see, he's going for the power."

62

"Don't do it, Yankee." Captain thought. "See through this thing.

Use one of your hunches." He begged, but apparently to no avail.

Yankee traced the conduit back to the power box and transformer.

He opened the main disconnect.

"No fuses." he stated, then began to look around the room. Once he looked right at the camera.

"See it, Yankee, see it." Captain willed, but Yankee went on looking. He tugged at sections of conduit to see if they were securely attached. They all were.

"He is looking for fuses." Boss said gleefully. "Of course, to leave fuses in there would be a big tip off, but a resourceful man might find something else that would work. There, he has it."

Yankee knelt down and removed the knee panel from the console.

There inside was a red toolbox. He pulled it out and opened it. He began removing tools, then lifted out the tray and took out more tools.

"You may have outsmarted yourself, Halfway." Captain thought.

"You probably don't know what Yankee can do with tools. If there is a hammer and chisel in there I'll bet Yankee will opt for escape."

"There, he found them." Boss continued to gloat. "Three lengths of pipe, battered and worn, but sized about right to fit a fuse holder."

Sure enough, Yankee took the three sections of pipe right to the disconnect. He snapped in the first one, then the second. The third slipped from his hand onto the transformer below. As he retrieved it he paused, wiped the dust from the transformer name plate and read it. Then he stood up, but paused before snapping in the third pipe. He did not turn on the power to the radio.

Instead he went to the tool box and grabbed a screwdriver. In a second he had removed two glass covers from two read-outs. Then he took a wrench and reached up inside the radio. Next he used a pair of pliers to undo the conduit running from the radio to the transformer. He pulled out the heavy power cables.

"He's broken your radio." Captain said, trying not to show his joy.

"He's merely disconnected it." Boss retorted. "What is he up to now?"

"I don't like this." Killer interjected. "This man can be dangerous.

Get some guards over there. Stop him now."

"He won't touch you, and he is dangerous? To who?" Boss ignored her.

Yankee had used wire cutters to start tears in the canvas tarp. He ripped out several strips. He placed them in a pile and positioned two of the power cable near them. He turned on the power and knelt by the pile of canvas. He took one cable in each hand, held them close together by the canvas then turned his face away and quickly struck the bare ends of the cable together with a striking motion. The bright flash blanked the entire 63

screen for a second. When it refocused Yankee was blowing on the pile of canvas. A flicker appeared.

"Fool, is he trying to smoke himself out. Does he think the guard outside will let him out if the place is on fire?" Boss questioned as Yankee held both the lenses he had removed over the smoldering fire. Then he stood up and stomped out the fire.

Yankee shut off the power and grabbed a pair of locking pliers. He stretched one of the power cables to the door and clamped it onto the hinge.

The hinge was welded to the door on one side and the metal door casing on the other. Yankee checked both hinges over carefully, then he checked out the bolts used to attach the hasp to the door.

"What is he up to?" Boss again demanded. "The hasp is on the outside, and I had my men put in carriage bolts to secure it. The rounded head in on the inside, there is nothing for him to get a hold of. Is he mad?"

Yankee selected the two biggest screwdrivers. He used another pair of locking pliers to attach another power cable to the shank of one screwdriver, then he wrapped a strip of canvas tightly around the entire blade, leaving only a bit of the tip exposed. He put back on the black gloves he had removed, picked up the smoked glass he had made, turned on the power and went to the door. He positioned the screwdriver by the top hinge raised the smoked glass in front of his eyes, and touched the screwdriver to the door.

Again the screen whited out, but the hiss of the electric arc could be heard. When the screen again came into focus Yankee was surrounded by swirling smoke. He knelt by the bottom hinge and again struck an arc.

The screen went white.

"He is mad." Boss exclaimed. "The fool has welded himself in there. Does he think he is safe? I have a cutting torch, he should know that."

The screen again came to life. Yankee was wrapping the second screwdriver with canvas. He put this one near the first of the three bolt heads that held the hasp on. The screen went white and never cleared until Yankee finished with the third bolt. Then he took a small pry bar from his belt and stuck it between the door and the jamb. He gave one big twist and the heavy metal door came crashing inward, sending a cloud of dust thick enough to block the view again. When it cleared Yankee was standing by the door, both hands raised over his head while a guard covered him with a rifle.

"He didn't weld it, he cut it off?" Boss sounded amazed. "How did he do that? Not that it did him any good. He'll still have to make that call, but first he'll have to repair the radio."

"He wants him to put down the pry bar." Speaks translated what the Russian soldier was saying. Yankee got the message from the way the man was waving the gun. He lowered his arm and let the pry bar drop to the floor. Then the man waved at Yankee's other hand, the one with the 64

screwdriver still in it. Yankee glanced down at the cable still attached to the door frame. Then he lowered his arm and let it swing back to bring the screwdriver in contact with the frame. There was a bright flash.

When the camera again recorded it showed Yankee on top of the soldier. He didn't do anything fancy. A haymaker to the jaw and the soldier was out. Yankee got up holding his hand.

"He knows better than that." Killer said. "I taught him how to do better than that."

"Shut up." Boss screamed. "There was only one guard at the door.

He is out. He just got out."

"That whole thing didn't take half an hour." Captain thought.

"Halfway forgot that was a recording. Yankee has been out for a long time.

He is probably hiding in the jungle right now."

"Tell you what, Boss." Captain spoke up, wanting to divert the fat man's attention for as long as possible to give Yankee as much time as possible. "Your plan is blown, and could cause you some embarrassment with your cartel friends. But, if you let us go, we'll forget this ever happened. You go on with your life, we go on with ours. What do you say?'

"Shut up." Boss screamed. Then he jerked open a door and screamed for the Russian officer. The man appeared shortly. He had a hole in one stocking and his big toe was sticking out.

"The American has escaped from the bunker." Boss shouted as he grabbed the man by his shirt and pulled him over to the cabinet with the television. He jerked open another door, flipped on a switch and pushed a microphone in the Russian's face.

"Ten thousand dollars to the man who brings me the American, dead or alive. Give the orders." Boss commanded. The Russian spoke into the microphone. His voice could be heard booming all over the compound.

Then a lot of commotion broke out. Men could be heard shouting and running. A lot of vehicles started up and roared off in different directions.

Then the officer rushed out wanting to try for the reward.

"I hope he makes it." Speaks said quietly.

"So do I." Captain replied. His attention was drawn to the door as Boss bellowed at a soldier who had just come in.

"What do you want...."

"Boy is he in trouble." Captain thought as he glanced at the man's feet. Not only was he wearing his boots, but they were muddy. Then he glanced up at the AK-47 the man held. It was held steady at waist height, ready to be used. Then he looked at the face. He had never seen Yankee looking so determined.

65

66

Eight Boss was frozen right where he stood next to the video cabinet.

Killer was next to him, but she started to move slowly toward Yankee.

"Yankee, it is so good to see you." She said cheerily as she moved toward him. "I was worried about you. Did they hurt you? How brave of you to come to rescue me. I'll make you glad you did."

"She's lying." Captain snapped. "She is one of them."

"No, Yankee." Killer cooed, moving still closer to Yankee.

"That's not true. I pretended to go along with the fat pig in an attempt to gain his confidence, but I could never betray you. You know that."

Yankee kicked the door closed behind him and shifted position ever so slightly so the gun barrel covered Killer but could be swung back very quickly to cover Boss. Killer paused as she assessed the situation, but then pressed on.

"You believe me, don't you Yankee? You want to believe me, don't you Yankee?" she pleaded. Yankee moved the gun more in her direction, but she didn't stop advancing.

"If what you said were true, he'd be dead now." Yankee answered, with a nod of his head toward Boss. "I've seen you work. You don't hesitate, but you better now, Killer. I will do what I have to to stop you."

Killer paused. She was ten feet from Yankee now. She studied his face and took another step forward.

"Shoot." Captain half said, half whispered. He knew that Killer figured Yankee would not shoot. He too, feared that Yankee would not. It was hard to simply shoot at a human being for the first time. It was hard even for a veteran to fire on someone face to face. To fire on someone you knew and worked with was next to impossible and this was Yankee, the man who threw guns rather than use them. Captain strained at his ropes.

He wanted to shout, to explain to Yankee the need to act for all their sakes, but he didn't dare. He knew he couldn't draw Yankee's attention for even a second or he was lost. Killer had moved within her strike zone now. Any closer and she could take Yankee out, unless he fired.

She took one more little step forward. Yankee took one back. She kept her eyes on his. His never left hers.

"I like you, Yankee. You know that. I think you like me. I won't let these people hurt you. Give me the gun. We'll be safe here. I'll take 67

care of you." She took another step forward. He took one back, against the wall.

"Don't Killer." He spoke softly. "There is more at stake here than just me. I will do what I have to. I always do."

She moved like a cat. She had trained Yankee to defend against this type of attack, but she moved in a way to overcome what she had taught him.

Yankee didn't do what he was supposed to. He didn't try to move to the side or pull in the gun in a defensive move. He attacked. He moved forward quickly. Killer was totally surprised. With both the time and distance decreased her blows lacked the power they needed. Yankee absorbed them and swung the gun butt hard against the side of her hear.

Not only did it connect with the strength of his big arms, but it had all of his and her forward momentum too. Killer did a three quarter backward flip in the air and came down hard on her face. She lay there with blood coming from her mouth, nose, and ear.

Yankee's momentum carried him past her, into the room. He glanced back at her. She was moving slightly, but was obviously out of action. From the corner of his eye he sensed motion. Boss was edging toward the desk. Yankee turned to face him and lowered the rifle square on him.

"I am too far away, Fat Man. I will have no choice but to shoot unless you move away from the desk." Yankee said. He managed to keep his voice steady, but inside he was shaking. He hadn't expected to take out Killer, but in that split second when she started her attack he had known what to do and was perfectly calm. Now he wanted to sit down, to collapse.

His heart was racing, his stomach was churning, and there was a lump in his throat. It wasn't facing death that had bothered him, it was the reality of killing someone that did because he had made up his mind to kill her to save his three friends.

Boss moved quickly away from the desk. He backed right into the video cabinet and cowered there, not taking his eyes off Yankee's gun.

Yankee stepped over to the desk and for the first time saw Pilot. He paused, shocked.

"Killer?" he asked.

"No, Boss. The fat man." Captain answered. He noticed the look in Yankee's eyes as he glared anew at their former captor. The fat man tried to pull a cabinet door in front of himself as if half an inch of wood would protect him. Captain wondered if Yankee could feel vengeance. He almost hoped so, because then he could be persuaded to join in taking out the Mad Man of North Africa after they got out of here.

Yankee kept his eyes on Boss as he backed up to the desk. With just a quick glance he grabbed Captains knife. While Boss tried to shrink into the wall Yankee stepped quickly beside Captain and with one quick but 68

careful slash cut the rope holding his right arm. Then he handed the knife to Captain who used it to free his other arm and feet.

"Excuse me." Captain said as he slipped behind Yankee. He leaned over the edge of the desk and grabbed Killer's silenced pistol. "I'll watch him, you help Speaks." He said as he held the knife out for Yankee.

Yankee was only too happy to comply. He quickly cut Speaks free and even handed him the rifle. He glanced at Pilot, then over at Killer who was trying to get up. He went to her and carefully helped her to her feet.

He assisted her to the big chair behind the desk and lowered her into it.

"She needs medical attention." Yankee said as Speaks passed the knife back to Captain.

"Speaks, cover him. Don't hesitate to shoot." Captain ordered. He knew Speaks was no more likely to shoot than Yankee was, but Boss was like a quivering mass of jelly and didn't pose much of a threat at the moment. He turned to Yankee, but Yankee was busy looking at the folders Boss had left on the desk, so he looked at Killer. She was coming around.

The entire side of her head was swollen and she looked grotesque with blood in her hair and all over her face. As focus returned to her eyes she looked at Yankee. From the fire in her eyes Captain knew she would be alright, but in no physical shape to be a threat for a while. Yankee dumped the folders into a metal trash can and began going through the drawers. He found a pistol in one. He tucked it into the belt of the uniform he wore. He pushed the chair back away from the desk for better access. Killer moaned, but tried not to move her head. Yankee found what he was looking for, a book of matches. He also found a small red notebook. He opened it but it contained only numbers written in ink and some notations in pencil.

"What are you doing?" Captain asked as Yankee went to the fire place. It was a fake one, for effect only, but it did have a small vent built in.

He sat the waste can under the vent and lit the contents.

"Those folders contain all the information he'd need to track us down again." Yankee answered. "I don't know how he got it in the first place, but at least it will take him time to rebuild it."

"Maybe not." Speaks said, pointing to one corner of the office that was filled with business machines, including a computer. Yankee went right to the computer. He turned it on and hit a few keys.

"The directories are all password protected." Yankee said. He looked over at Boss. "Alright, fat man, talk. How do I get in?"

Boss didn't answer. He was too scared.

"Just smash it." Captain said.

"That may not destroy the data." Yankee said. Then it hit him.

He went to the desk and grabbed the little red notebook. He turned to the first page and glanced down the contents. When he returned to the computer he had the password he needed. It was a number. He repeatedly worked the routines needed to erase the data, then he reformatted everything to make sure. Then he programmed the machine into a loop 69

where it would continually dump the nonsense phrase he put on the screen into memory over and over to overwrite anything that may have remained.

"Now we can leave." Yankee said.

"Any ideas?" Captain asked. Yankee shook his head. "You mean you came in here to get us without any idea of how to escape?"

"Oh, I had an idea, but the fat man killed it. Pilot and that helicopter were the way out." Yankee answered.

"Then there may still be a way out." Captain said. He left Killer's side and advanced on the fat man. He ripped the cabinet door out of his hands and put his knife to the fifth of the mans chins. Boss whimpered.

"You know me, don't you Halfway. I am a man of my word.

Listen and listen well. Do as I say, and neither I nor my men will kill or harm you. Do you understand?" Captain spit the words out with an edge to his voice that demanded attention.

"Yes." Boss answered. He did know Captain was a man of honor and would keep his word.

"You can fly that machine. You are going to take all of us out of here. No tricks and you don't get hurt. Try to pull something and you die.

Is that clear?" Captain demanded. Boss nodded.

"I want an answer." Captain snapped.

"Yes, Yes. I agree." Boss added. Captain turned to Yankee.

"You will take the rifle and cover us as if we are prisoners.

Halfway will lead, supporting Killer. I will be right behind with the silenced pistol ready to drill him if need be. And where did you get that uniform?"

"From the guard at the bunker." Yankee answered.

"I saw you knock out the guard and leave." Captain said.

"I saw him." Speaks said. "You were all busy talking about his escape, but I saw him come back in, take the guards uniform and tie him up with his black clothes. It was all on the recording" "What recording" Yankee asked.

Speaks explained what had happened while Captain pulled off his black pullover. He draped it over his arm to cover his pistol. He then fixed the turtleneck on his green sweater and moved over to talk quietly with Speaks for a few seconds.

"Alright, let's go." Captain barked at Boss. The fat man went to the desk and helped Killer up. She seemed to have regained some strength, but took great care not to move her head. Boss put his arm around her and she gently laid her head on his shoulder.

"Good. Now move slow and easy, like there is no hurry." Captain ordered. "Yankee, stay right behind me with the gun in my back."

"What about Speaks?" Yankee questioned. "Shouldn't he be with you for me to cover too?"

"He will cover us from the door way until the chopper is running and ready to lift off. Then I get in and you go for him. Now, let's go."

70

Yankee didn't like the last part of the plan. It would be better to stay together, but Captain wasn't about to discuss it now, so he did as he was told. They moved out into the hall, then to the front door. There were no guards there. They had left for a chance at the reward. There were several armed soldiers milling around the compound, but none paid them much attention.

Surprisingly, Killer was able to climb aboard under her own power. Boss needed a shove from Captain to climb into the pilot's seat. He took a few minutes to check everything out, then started the engine.

Captain had climbed into the passenger bay with Killer but since Yankee had left out the interior wall he had no trouble keeping his gun on Boss while Yankee covered Killer from the ground.

"Are we ready?" Captain shouted at Boss. The fat man nodded.

Captain turned to shout at Yankee and stepped right between Yankee and Killer. Yankee saw the danger and tried to move quickly sideways, but Killer was able to strike from where she sat. She kicked Captain right in the back. He tumbled out of the chopper. Yankee thought he was clear, but Captain put out his arms and grabbed Yankee. They both went down.

"Go you idiot." Killer screamed, holding her head with both hands. "Go. Go. Lift off."

Boss jerked on the stick. The stripped chopper jumped into the air.

Yankee rolled away from Captain and from flat on his back drew a bead on the chopper. He didn't fire. He lowered the gun knowing that it made no sense to fire. If he downed the ship it was lost to them. If he did not it was lost to them. He wouldn't kill for nothing. Then the intercom system blared out something. The soldiers started running and shouting. Gun fire erupted all around them.

"Stand up and cover me." Captain ordered. "Take me back inside."

Yankee complied. He glanced around as they moved quickly towards the hacienda. The soldiers were shooting at the chopper. Boss had one arm out and was waving frantically, but no one on the ground was paying attention. The chopper was smoking already and taking more fire.

Before he went in the door he saw the chopper drop the last thirty feet to the ground. It went up in a whooshing fireball. Captain jerked him inside.

Speaks came out of the office to join them.

"There has to be another way out." Captain said. "We need to get to the motor pool."

"The back door is that way." Yankee answered. "It is the way I came in." Captain darted down the hall. Speaks followed, with Yankee in the rear.

This time it was easy outside. Everyone was moving toward the crash site and paying no attention to them. Captain led them right to a jeep.

He got in behind the wheel. Speaks took the shotgun position, and Yankee 71

climbed in the rear. Captain roared off, turning into the first road they came to that disappeared into the jungle.

Yankee put down the gun and rode in silence until Captain stopped at a cross roads to get his bearings. Then Yankee spoke up. "You had that planned, didn't you? You took me down on purpose, and that was Speaks on the bull horn telling the soldiers to down the chopper wasn't it?"

"Close." Captain answered, turning north. "I told Speaks to offer ten thousand dollars to the man who shot down the chopper because the prisoners were escaping in it. I hope Halfway had enough cash laying around to pay them, because they did it."

"You set them up." Yankee replied.

"Yes. I did." Captain answered. Yankee couldn't see the faint smile that crossed his face, but his voice was jovial.

"That was our way out." Yankee continued, trying to talk between bounces. The road was badly rutted. "I could even understand losing the chopper, but you killed them after you promised not to."

Captain shouted at Yankee.

"I promised not to hurt him if they didn't try anything. They did try, as I knew they would. Besides, there is no way we could have trusted him to fly us to safety. Once in the air we would have been as much at his mercy as he was in ours. Even if he did comply all the way, the man was cowardly, but powerful and vengeful. No matter where we ran or hid he would have found us. What I just did saved not only your life, but your family's as well."

"You're right." Yankee said quietly from the back seat. "I see it had to be done. Thank you."

"And I need to thank you. Once escaped a soldier's duty is to get out, get home if possible. You came for us instead, I thank you for that."

"It wasn't just for you." Yankee answered. "You see, I sabotaged that factory we were in. I turned it into a bomb. I was hoping to reason with the fat man, get our release in exchange for defusing the bomb."

"A bomb, how?" Captain asked.

"I locked out the pressure reliefs on the acetylene generator and plumbed the fuel system into the compressed air system. The compressor tanks, airlines, the whole place is being filled with high pressure acetylene."

"So someone fills a tire with gas instead of air, so what?" Captain asked.

"High pressure acetylene is unstable. It can self detonate, and with the lines running all through that place it will take out the whole building.

What's wrong?"

Captain had stopped the jeep. He turned to face Yankee.

"That factory made Aggas bombs. If it explodes it could make enough gas to fill this valley.�

Yankee drew in a long slow breath as he visualized the size of the disaster. Aggas was heavier than air so not only was it dangerous as a nerve 72

gas but initially, near the generation point it could displace all the air, suffocating people.

"We have to go back. I can bleed the pressure off gradually, or get it to flare to one end of the building. We can't let all those people, all those Indians and soldiers get hit with that stuff."

Yankee had hardly finished his sentence when the ground shook with a mighty roar. Even through the dense canopy of jungle a large fireball could be seen rising. It fell back to be replaced by a slowly rising ball of what looked like steam.

"Aggas." Captain said. Then he started issuing orders. "Yankee, you drive. Head uphill. The Aggas is heavier than air. It will take a little time to climb since there is no wind. Maybe we can out run it."

"What if this road doesn't keep going uphill?" Yankee asked even as he climbed into the driver's seat. "What if it ends?" Captain didn't answer, but then Yankee didn't let him as he popped the clutch and floored the gas dumping Captain onto the floor as the jeep tried to stand on it's rear wheels as it jumped down the dirt path.

73

74

Nine Yankee did his best to avoid the ruts and holes, but not for the comfort of the ride. He only wanted to keep control of the jeep and go as fast as he could. Captain was concentrating on staying in the jeep when he heard something that caught his soldier's sense.

"That's a chopper." He said. "And another plane, twin engine, piston. Look to the sky, men."

Suddenly the jungle stopped and they roared onto what looked like a very shady country road. Coming down that road right at them was the twin engine plane they had heard. Yankee pulled hard on the wheel to get out of the way, over next to the jungle. The plane was just leaving the ground as it passed them. The helicopter was right behind it, flying horizontal, a few meters off the ground. The plane suddenly shot upward, through a patch of clear sky. The helicopter followed.

"It's an airport." Yankee exclaimed. "And what an airport." The airport consisted of a runway a mile long and 150 feet wide. Suspended from the trees on either side of the runway were cables criss-crossing the field. On the cables was a covering of camouflage nets. Woven into the nets were fresh green branches and leaf clusters. At either end of the runway was a section without netting that would probably look like two clearings in the jungle, not a runway.

"No one would be able to find this if he didn't know where it was."

Yankee said, putting the jeep in gear and heading for the far end of the field.

"Even then, I'd hate to try and land or take off here." Captain answered. "There is no room for error, and no second chances."

"Speaking of second chances, there is no road out of here."

Speaks said. He was right. The far end of the field they were approaching had what looked like an office shack, some gas tanks, and three hangars.

Beyond that was jungle without any break.

"It looks like we run for it on foot." Captain said, trying to sound confident as they stopped in front of the office shack. He didn't feel very confident.

"We don't stand a chance against that jungle." Yankee observed.

He turned and looked back to the other end of the field. He could see lights wisps of gray streaming from the jungle.

"Maybe that thing will go high enough to save us." He said, pointing to a motorized scissor lift by the side of one hangar. It had a pile 75

of branches on it, along with a large roll of twine used to secure the branches to the netting.

"I'll bet this plane will go even higher." Speaks said, pointing through a window in the only closed hangar. "Too bad we don't have Pilot anymore."

Captain ran to the doors and slid them open. Yankee helped him.

"Its a Dakota." Captain said. "A very reliable plane."

"It's a DC-3." Yankee said at the same time. Captain ignored the comment. He jerked the chock away from one wheel and got ready to put his shoulder to the strut.

"Speaks, get that other wheel. We'll roll this thing out. Yankee, get in and see if you can start this baby."

Both men moved as ordered. Yankee had to jump for the door as the plane moved away from the steps. He climbed right over the coffin like box that was the only thing in the back of the plane and rushed into the cabin. He slipped into the left side seat and ran his eyes over the instrument panel.

This wasn't an old DC-3. That was obvious even before he turned on the power switch and the panel lit up with digital readouts and bar graphs. The writing was all in English so he was able to find the controls he needed. He hit a start button. The right engine roared to life. He touched the next button and the left engine fired up immediately. They were turboprops and totally outside Yankee's experience. He monitored the readouts, but had no idea what parameters he should be looking for.

Suddenly Captain dropped into the right hand seat and fastened his seat belt.

Yankee did the same.

"Turn it onto the runway." Captain ordered as he turned to give Speaks some instructions about the radio at the engineer's post.

It took Yankee a second to get the feel of the throttles so he could make the plane roll. It was jerky as he used the brakes to help get lined up on the runway. Dead ahead was a layer of white gas three or four feet thick at the end of the runway. He turned to Captain.

"Ok, it's all yours." he said. Captain didn't even look at him as he answered.

"I don't know how to fly this thing. I probably couldn't even start it. Your are the mechanical genius and this is a machine. Fly it."

Yankee sat in stunned silence, just staring at Captain for a minute.

Then he turned slowly and looked at the aggas rolling toward them and getting deeper by the minute. He looked over the controls. Then he prayed.

"These are the flaps." he said when he opened his eyes. "I will be busy, so you drop them when I tell you."

"Will you tell me when to raise them?" Captain asked.

"If we make it to that point, there will be lots of time to do it."

Yankee answered. He locked the brakes and eased the throttles open carefully trying to match their rpm. He could feel the plane struggling to 76

roll. When he sensed the brakes and engines could no longer fight each other he released the brakes. Instantly the plane shot forward. The tail jumped up giving Yankee a better view of the field. She was rolling true, right down the center, but he soon had to fight to keep her on the ground.

He felt safer with the wheels on the gravel and didn't want the plane in the air until he felt he had to. They were almost into the aggas when he pulled back gently on the stick. She didn't even rock as she left the ground. He raised the landing gear. The plane shot ahead as he tried to hold it between the aggas and the netting.

Captain sat frozen, aware of the netting shooting past overhead and the aggas flowing beneath them. He was also very much aware of the jungle wall rushing at them at tremendous speed. He was sure it was too late when Yankee opened the throttles all the way and pulled back sharply on the stick. The wall of jungle dropped away suddenly to be replaced by blue sky.

Yankee had misjudged a bit. He wanted to go out the near side of the hole, but barely kept from trimming the trees on the far side. He also held the steep angle too long. He didn't know what the stall warning sound meant, but he could feel the plane was slowing too much. He eased the stick forward, and the plane dropped down and to the left.

He fought the urge to push at the throttles for more power because he knew there was none. He instinctively turned the wheel and worked the pedals to turn the leftward drop into a headfirst dive. By the time he had done that the blue sky had vanished. A sea of green jungle filled the windshield. He pulled back on the stick trying to feel the plane around him as it groaned with the effort. As the blue sky again sank upon them he eased off on the stick to avoid climbing again. He looked out the side window and down. He had cleared the jungle by sixty or seventy feet. He turned to Captain. Captain was drenched with sweat.

"When do I drop the flaps?" Captain asked.

"We didn't need them." Yankee answered calmly, but he wasn't feeling calm. He had forgotten all about them. He had forgotten everything except the plane, the sky, the jungle and the need to keep them all separate.

"Where to?" He asked, turning back to the controls. He eased back on the throttles and settled back in his seat. "We are headed north by north west right now."

"Turn west, over the mountains." Captain said. "Speaks, see if you can find some maps in that stuff back there."

Yankee banked to the left. He used the throttles to climb, but soon backed off on the throttles and turned back to the north.

"What', wrong?" Captain asked. He took the maps Speaks offered him as Yankee answered.

"Just in the time we've been in the air I've seen the gas gauges drop. Unless you have a specific place in the mountains that is close by I 77

suggest we not use any fuel climbing over mountains. And we have another problem."

"What?" Captain asked, fighting with a map that didn't want to unfold flat.

"I can't land this thing?" Yankee stated.

"Five minutes ago you couldn't fly it either." Captain said, "If we can find an airport, they will talk you down. You can do it. Do you have any idea how much fuel we have? How far can we go?"

"No." Yankee answered. Captain was trying hard not to show his concern as he held the map for Yankee to see.

"We are around here." Captain said, pointing at the map. "The safest way out would be west, over the mountains, but if we can't go there, due north is fine. If we can make the coast there are several cities that have airports. It would be a good idea to stay low going over the boarder though.

Both these countries have beefed up drug interdiction patrols by air in exchange for old fighters from the U.S. I don't want to meet an F-4 over this jungle."

"How far is it to the boarder?" Yankee asked Captain. Captain checked the map.

"I don't know where we are exactly, but I would say it is 400 to 700 kilometers."

That was reassuring to Yankee in a strange sort of way. He was sure they didn't have enough fuel to go that far. He had eased back on the throttles to what he hoped was a good economical cruising speed. He didn't know what the ground zero was or how to set the altimeter, but he figured they were three to four hundred feet above the jungle, and there were no mountains in sight ahead of them. He turned on the auto-pilot and stood up.

"What's wrong? Where are you going? Who is flying the plane?"

Captain asked.

"Nothing. To see what we can throw out to lighten the load, and the auto-pilot." Yankee answered. He opened the closet and cabinets in the cabin and started pulling things out. There were coats, a fire extinguisher, a first aid kit, more maps and charts, some magazines and books, and a few personal items. There was also one parachute. He set the parachute aside and scooped up the rest.

"Speaks, open the door, and get the one in back for me too, will you?"

Speaks did as requested. Yankee tossed out the armload of stuff.

Speaks added some loose items from the cargo area. Yankee then turned his attention to the box. He unlashed it and released the catches on the lid.

The lid lifted off to reveal two tanks about six feet long and a foot in diameter. They had fins at one end with a nylon web strap about 15 feet long coming from a hole between the fins.

"They look like bombs." Speaks said as Yankee bent down to examine them.

78

"They are aggas dispensers." Captain said joining them. "Halfway mentioned a new delivery method, that must be it. Thrown from a plane or chopper that cord would open a chute that would let the canister descend slowly, emitting gas from those slots on the nose. It could saturate a large area. If we throw them both out, it might give us an extra hundred kilometers of fuel."

"It might also produce a big gas cloud on some innocent village."

Yankee countered. "Hand me your knife, please Captain."

With Captain's knife he was able to remove the panels at the top of the bomb. He carefully removed the parachute, taking care to cut loose the strap that was connected to the detonator. Then he cut the pull cord from the other bomb. He held up the parachute and smiled.

"That one parachute in the cabin only presented a problem, but this presents some answers. I can make a harness for two with this, and this chute should be able to handle two people since your combined weight probably equals the bomb." He said.

"I would prefer taking my chances with the plane." Captain replied.

"Given an airport, with an experienced pilot to talk me down, I would too." Yankee said. "But if it comes to no airport and no one to help, would you prefer a certain crash to this?" He held out the parachute.

"Can you work on the harness back there, in the cabin?" Captain asked. "I don't like leaving the plane unattended." He went back into the cabin. The other two followed him.

"How did you get into this, Yankee?" Captain asked after watching Yankee work the webbing for a minute. "I mean, where did you learn all this?"

"I grew up around machines." Yankee answered. "I have just always done this."

"But didn't you go to school? I have seen combat engineers with less ability than you."

"I had a year of college before I left on my mission to Texas. I wanted to graduate. I wanted a degree in electronics to get into designing computers, but it didn't work out that way. My girl waited for me. I married her two months after getting home from my mission. Four months later we knew my first son was on the way. I had to choose between being the kind of father and husband I wanted to be and staying in college. I dropped out and went to work as a maintenance mechanic for the big mines near my home."

"You went on a mission before this one?" Captain asked, confused.

"Not this kind of mission." Yankee said with a smile. "I was a missionary for two years for my church. That is where I learned to speak Spanish."

"Did you learn about explosives in the mines?" Captain continued.

79

"Some, yes, but most of what I know I learned after I went into business for myself. After my second son was born there were complications. Following the surgery my wife couldn't have any more kids so I decided I could do without the security of a big corporation so I quit and started my own business. I run a fix-it shop. I handle everything from cars to refrigerators, security to leaky roofs. I also do contract maintenance for the small mines in the area. Some of them are just mom and pop businesses too small to be serviced by the explosive companies so they come to me with designs for explosive mixing machines. I build the machines. In doing so I learned a lot about mixing explosives. I think the designs were pirated from the big explosive companies, as were the formulas, but in a small town like that, you don't ask questions of your neighbors. There was one formula that fooled everyone though. I think the big companies slipped it in on purpose. Let me tell you about it."

Yankee talked as he worked, occasionally glancing at the gauges.

Then he asked Captain about his background. Captain told his story.

Speaks was seated at the engineer's post and wearing earphones but removed them from time to time to hear the tales. He kept checking the radio as Yankee checked the instrument panel.

"Getting anything on that?" Captain asked Speaks as he finished his story at the point where the Senator had recruited him. "I wish we could radio for help, but I'm not sure we'd like the help we would get."

"Nothing local on the military bands." Speaks answered. "There is some stuff on the commercial side. I think it's from some airport, but I can't tell where. It doesn't sound close."

"It would have to be close to help us." Yankee said. "We have enough fuel for maybe twenty minutes more. Then it is crash, or try out this." He held up the finished harness."

"I see smoke up ahead." Captain said, drawing their attention.

Sure enough, off to their left, at the foot of some mountains was smoke.

Yankee banked the plane in that direction.

"I hope it isn't a cartel plantation." Speaks said as the jungle cleared, revealing cultivated fields. The smoke seemed to separate into distinct columns as they got nearer. It was a small city. Yankee started to climb.

"Why are you going up?" Captain demanded. "That wastes fuel we may need to land."

"I can't land this thing." Yankee replied. "I've considered it, and the best thing to do is bail out. We need altitude for that."

"Another one of your hunches?" Captain asked. He put up a hand to keep Yankee from answering. "Don't explain. From your track record, I'll take one of your hunches any day. I'll take the single chute. You and Speaks take the double."

"I'll take the single." Yankee countered.

80

"I've used them before. I'm a trained paratrooper, Yankee. I can help you and Speaks get out, then go it on my own."

"Sorry, Captain, but I need to help you two out and then watch your descent for wind drift so I can fly the plane downwind of the city before I bail out. I don't want to dump a plane full of aggas on the city. I don't imagine you want to come down into a gas cloud either."

Yankee's logic was too much for Captain. He didn't want to come down into a gas cloud, and he didn't want to try flying the plane himself.

"How do we get into this thing?" he asked, holding up the harness.

Yankee set the plane on autopilot and took the two men to the rear of the plane and got them into the harness. Then he attached the big chute to the harness, and snapped the rip cord clip onto a hook above the door. He steadied the two men as they hobbled to the doorway. They were bound together face to face. Captain had his back to the door so Speaks could see out.

"I've changed my mind." Speaks suddenly said. "I'll take my chances with the plane.....aiiiii." Captain had jerked backward, propelling them into the air.

Yankee had intended to lay on the floor and watch their drift, but he never got the chance. With the sudden loss of weight the plane jumped.

The autopilot corrected, but not before the open crate they had not relashed shot forward, slamming into the cabin bulkhead. That weight shift sent the plane into a dive, and Yankee scampering for the cabin.

He fell into the pilot's seat and grabbed the controls as he turned off the autopilot. He gave the plane full throttle as he pulled out of the dive.

Then he felt the crate in the back slide toward the tail. He fought to correct for the weight shift when the left engine went dead. He held the nose up to clear the mountain side the plane had headed for. He gave a sigh of relief as the plane cleared the peak. He fought the controls to stabilize the plane.

The single engine was enough to bring him back to level flight. He heaved a sigh of relief and looked at the compass. He was headed due west. He looked back and saw only mountain tops. He knew he had to do a 180 turn and get out of the mountains if he had any hope of joining up with the others. Then the right engine quit.

He didn't hesitate. He was out of the seat in a flash and fought his way into the parachute harness. He sprinted for the door of the plane even as he felt the plane slip off to one side and nose down. He sidestepped the crate as it again slid forward and crashed into the bulkhead. He reached the door and paused. He didn't want to jump. He suddenly felt a totally irrational fear. There was nothing out there but blue sky. He closed his eyes and pulled himself out with his hands.

He forgot to count, but he knew he was clear of the plane when he opened his eyes. He fumbled for the rip cord and found the handle. He pulled it. A second later he felt as if a giant hand had slapped his whole body. He looked up at the white canopy over his head. Then he looked 81

down for the first time. He was over water. It was a small lake in a mountain valley. The plane was below him, in a steep glide, and moving in the same direction the wind was taking him. He had fears of coming down in that gas cloud he had talked about and began trying to teach himself all he could about how the parachute worked. Then he realized the plane was going to land in the lake. He watched as the plane nosed into the water and flipped over onto its back and then started to sink tail first right where the water flowed into the exit river.

He held his breath for a minute until the plane was out of sight, then he took a deep breath and enjoyed it thoroughly. There was no gas cloud.

82

Ten With each pendulum swing of the parachute Captain could see the plane. He saw it jump out of control and go into the dive. He saw it pull out and disappear over the mountain. He assumed Yankee had done it on purpose to make sure the aggas bombs didn't get anyone. He didn't know what was over that mountain, but he doubted Yankee could make it on his own. Yankee was a genius with machines, but the jungle was a whole different world. He mentally said "Good bye" as he had done many times before to fallen comrades. He had never gotten used to Yankee, but he had come to respect him and his hunches. He deeply regretted that he would be unable to recruit Yankee for a mission against the Mad Man, but that was life.

The harness Yankee had made held them securely, but gave them no control of the parachute. They went with the wind, and to a considerable distance since together they weighted less than the bomb the chute was designed for. He watched the ground and knew that Speaks would be of no help in landing. The little man hadn't even opened his eyes the whole time.

Just before they hit the ground he twisted so they could fall sideways. Then he made a mad grab for the lines to collapse the chute before it could drag them. He was successful. The silk dome deflated and lay still. So did he for a second. Speaks opened his eyes.

"We made it. We're alive." Speaks exclaimed.

"Yes, but we must get out of this harness." Captain said. He was able to reach the knife in his boot and began cutting the webbing. Speaks pulled away and stood up as Captain finished cutting himself free.

"Looks like a farmer's field." Speaks said as Captain put away his knife and got up. "Maybe these plants are cocaine plants. Do you know what they look like?"

"No." Captain answered. "We are about to have some company.

Try to follow my lead."

A four wheel drive vehicle, red and blue lights flashing was tearing down a road next to the field. It slowed, then halted opposite them. Two uniformed men got out. One stayed with the car, radio in hand, the other came into the field. He began asking questions as he got closer, then he pulled his pistol and leveled it at Captain. He shouted some instructions.

"He wants you to drop the gun." Speaks said. "He's speaking Spanish so we aren't in Brazil."

83

Captain had forgotten Killer's pistol that was tucked into his belt.

He was glad he had removed the silencer. He carefully removed the gun and held it out to the officer.

"Tell him it is a collectors piece and I don't want to drop it in the dirt." Captain instructed Speaks. "Ask him to take it. Tell him it was the only thing I had time to salvage from the plane before we had to bail out."

The man took the gun very carefully, staying as far back from them as possible as he did so. Then he instructed them to go to the car.

"Do you speak English?" Captain asked the man as he headed across the field. The man didn't reply so Captain went on as if talking to him, but actually filling in Speaks.

"Don't answer any questions. Just keep telling them we are Americans that bought charter seats on a plane that was to take us fishing where no one had gone before. Tell them the plane developed engine trouble and the pilot had us bail out to reduce the weight. Keep asking to see the American consulate."

It sounded good, but it did no good. They were cuffed together and shoved into the car for a bumpy trip to the police station. There they were separated. Captain feared they were beating a confession out of Speaks since he was being left alone. When he was finally removed from his cell it was to be taken to the police chiefs office. Speaks was already there, seated in an easy chair.

"Please, sit down." The Chief said in English as the door was closed behind Captain. "I am sorry for the delay, but you are the cause.

That story about the fishing trip had to be checked out. Then one of my men found someone who got the number from the plane. We checked that out. We know who owns it. You are among friends now. Here, take your gun, and your knife, and in the future, try to use a better cover story. You are not dressed like fishermen. There is a car waiting to take you to the airport."

Captain had a million questions, but knew better than to ask even one. He just picked up the gun and knife and followed Speaks out the door.

An officer was waiting for them. He took them to a waiting car and opened the door. They climbed in and the driver took off.

"Do you speak French?" Captain asked the driver. He didn't respond, so Captain turned to Speaks and continued in French.

"What is going on?"

"They think we work for the Boss, or Halfway, or the Fat Man, whichever you want to call him. They already know something big happened out there. I told them there was an accident at the aggas plant that destroyed it and flooded the valley with gas. I said that Boss was dead and everyone was fleeing. The chief made a few phone calls and said everything was being taken care of. Another cartel chief would absorb all of Boss's people that got out. That is where we are being sent now. What do we do, Captain?"

84

"Go along with it, for now." Captain answered. "We seem to be safer as drug men than who we are. Keep your eyes open for a chance to escape."

The car pulled into a small airport. It went through the gate and right out to the runway where a small twin engine jet was waiting. The driver stopped and turned to Speaks. He said something, then got out to open the door.

"He says to keep the gun hidden. This is a commercial flight and there will be ten other passengers." Speaks translated. Captain shoved the gun inside his belt and pulled his green sweater over it. They boarded the plane.

He felt conspicuous, but tried not to show it. Speaks was still dressed in his black attack uniform, minus the ski mask and gloves. Captain was similarly dressed, except for the green turtleneck sweater. Everyone else wore suits. He wanted to ask for a magazine to hide behind, but there were no attendants on the flight so he just sat there, trying to figure out where they were and where they were going by watching the ground. All he knew was they were headed toward the south-west over some rugged looking mountains.

The city was about four times as big as the one they had left, but he had no idea where it was or what it was called. He hoped there would be some sign at the airport. He also hoped that once in the airport they would be able to disappear into a crowd or something. He wanted to find a place to hide, to regroup and plan. They needed clothing which they could buy, but they would also need transportation out of town, and the country, and there would no doubt be someone waiting for them, watching the airport.

He suddenly found himself wishing Yankee were with them. He could handle combat situations, but this was something that called for Yankee's ingenuity.

Someone was waiting for them at the airport. The car was parked on the runway and two men greeted them as they left the plane. The men wore suits but the fabric was light enough to let the straps of their shoulder holsters show through. They were courteous as they invited Captain and Speaks to get into the back seat. They even made small talk on the way into town.

The car pulled into the basement of an office building and right up to the elevator doors. One man got out and lead them into the elevator. If Captain had had even the faintest idea of what to expect he would have dropped the man right there, but he figured it was best to wait. If the hall was empty when the elevator opened he would take out the man and they would head for the stairs even though the man had punched a high button on the panel.

The doors opened directly into a spacious office that held a dozen people. Captain followed right behind the man as they approached the 85

group. One man, tall, slender, well dressed and in his late fifties separated himself and came to welcome them, his hand outstretched.

"Welcome." He said in English. "We can use your services. The pay will be as good as you are used to, and life around here is a lot better than out in that jungle. I am so glad you speak English, too. It is so hard to communicate with these Russians. Speaking of which, we have some of them from your group. He motioned toward the group which parted to show a handful of men in the uniforms Boss used. Captain knew they were from the plane he had seen escaping. He hoped they would not understand what was happening, but they did.

Several of them started shouting and pointing at Captain and Speaks. Captain pulled at his sweater to grab his gun. His hand closed on the gun at the same time as he felt the pistol barrel press against the back of his head. He froze.

He slowly raised his arms. The pistol was pulled back from his head but he knew it was still trained on him. He glanced over at Speaks.

He was covered too. The poor man looked exhausted and appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"Lock them in the supply room." The tall man ordered. They were roughly grabbed and dragged from the room by four of the men.

Captain again wished Yankee were there. He would take on two men in hand to hand, and knew Yankee could too, but poor Speaks could not. Then he realized how tired he was too. He quit thinking of escape as they were pushed rudely into the supply room. The door was slammed behind them and locked.

"Are you alright?" Captain asked.

"Yeah, they didn't hurt me." Speaks answered.

"He's a brave one." Captain thought as he tried to look around.

The only light came from the crack under the door. Then Speaks felt along the wall next to the door. With a click of the switch a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling flooded them with light.

The room was about four meterst square with shelves all around the outside edges. There were some cartons stacked in the middle of the room. Captain checked out some of the papers stacked on the shelves.

They all bore the company name of "Fine Time Produce Exporters." He knew then he was at the corporate headquarters of another cartel member.

The produce company was a front for the drug exports. He then went to the door.

He tried the lock, but it was a solid one. The hinges were on the outside, and the door was a solid fire rated door so there would be no breaking through it. He carefully scanned behind the shelves, but there were no other opening. It was a good cell. "Let's get some sleep." Captain said quietly. He pointed Speaks to a spot on the floor beside the cartons.

He would take the spot right in front of the door. He turned out the light and laid down. His mind was troubled, but his body was tired. Within a 86

few minutes he was asleep, but not before he could hear the slow even breathing indicating that Speaks was already out.

His was a dreamless sleep, deep and long. He had lost all track of time, but it didn't bother him. He had no schedules to keep. Right now his first concern was to keep Speaks and himself alive. His second concern was to escape, and take Speaks with him if he could. It was Speaks stumbling around in the dark that awoke him. He got up and turned on the light.

"Are you alright?" Captain asked.

"Yeah. Just stiff, and hungry." Speaks answered. He had found a seat on the cartons. "I wish Yankee were here. He would know how to get out."

Captain took that as a criticism, though he knew Speaks didn't mean it that way. He resented the fact that Yankee, an amateur soldier would probably have found a way out a long time ago, and he felt helpless.

He was hungry too, but not stiff. He had spent too many nights of his life sleeping where ever the battle had left him. His muscles felt fine, and he wanted to use them. When that door opened, he would take any opportunity that didn't place Speaks in certain danger.

He didn't have to wait long. As the key clicked in the lock he got ready. He wished the door would have opened in so he could have used it as cover. This way the door was opened all the way and his opponents could come in all prepared. Prepared they were. Four of them, carrying machine pistols. They stayed away from Captain but manhandled Speaks out the door, then ordered Captain out. One of them hustled Speaks down the hall while Captain was ordered to follow. When he lagged a bit one of them prodded him with a gun barrel, but aside from that they stayed away from him, obviously considering him a potential threat.

They were returned to the office. Except for the tall man seated behind a mammoth desk it was deserted. Speaks was seated in an easy chair by the desk. The tall man motioned Captain to a chair at the opposite corner of the desk from Speaks. Three of the armed men left, but one remained by the door. By his stance Captain knew he was a trained soldier.

Captain also knew that he and Speaks were positioned so the guard had a clear shot at each of them without endangering the tall man.

"I have been reviewing the events of the past few days." The tall man said. "At least as much as we have information on. You guys really pulled a number on Boss. Not that he didn't have it coming."

Captain was surprised at that last statement and it must have showed because the tall man paused before going on.

"I assumed you knew who I was, and the relationship I have, or rather had, with Boss and the other cartel members. I see that is not so. Let me introduce myself. I have several names, depending on the country I am in, and the business I am doing, but in the business you have become involved in I am known as Padre. There are two reasons for this. One is 87

that I used to be a priest. The other is that I consider my organization to be a family and I try to treat everyone as I would my children. You can call me Padre, or Father whichever language you prefer. I take it you do not speak Spanish, but he does."

"You were a priest, and now you run a drug empire?" Captain asked, avoiding the question. He didn't want to give this man any more information than what he had.

"Yes, and with good reason. I was born here, out there in the countryside. My mother, God rest her soul, was a full Indian. My father was an Italian immigrant trying to be a farmer. We were poor. I was always hungry. I remember that, the constant hunger. I became a priest to help my people. The church trained me to be a teacher, and then sent me to New York City to work with the poor.

"Hah! Poor. They had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a roof over their heads. They were poor because they could only afford one television and had to wait in long lines go get free medical care. I wanted to be here where babies were dying from a lack of aspirin. The church refused to change my assignment, so I left. I came here having learned one thing.

Money makes the difference, and there is a lot of money in the United States that should be shared with the people down here. Since your people were not willing to give it, I had to come up with a way to take it."

"So you started selling drugs." Captain broke in.

"Yes. And I used the money to hire doctors to go out into the villages and treat the Indians on a regular basis. I built schools out where the government refused to so the Indian children wouldn't have to spend half a day walking to what the government called a school. I paid for teachers to go out there. I helped my people."

"While you were killing people back in the States." Captain threw that in to see what Padre's reaction would be. The man remained calm.

Captain had seen this type before. In their own eyes they were Robin Hood, but in actuality they were egotistical villains. While the dollar amount of what they actually gave to charity work was impressive, as a per cent of their actual take, it was nothing. This high rise building was proof of that.

"No. I force no one to grow drugs. I force no one to make drugs.

I force no one to ship or sell drugs. I force no one to take them. Everything about my business is based on the individual will of the people involved."

"Then we are free to go?" Captain pushed at Padre's logic. The man smiled and shook his head.

"It is so good to have someone like you to talk to. Everyone here tries so hard to please me that I can't even have an intellectual discussion because that requires some controversy. We will have to talk often."

"Great." Captain answered. "Call my secretary and we'll do lunch sometime. But now, we really should be going." He started to stand up.

The guard snapped his machine pistol down, steady as a rock with the sights 88

lined up on Captain. Captain sank back into the chair, slowly. Padre waved the guard back.

"See what I mean?" Padre asked. "Even these soviets try to anticipate my every need and provide it. You are a soldier, or so all my information would indicate. Tell me, what do you think of these spetznez soldiers."

"They are specially trained commandos." Captain answered, sure he was giving the man nothing he didn't already know. "In short, they are trained killers. Their role was more political than military, but they can be awesome fighters."

"How true." Padre said. "But just between us, they obey very well because that is what they are conditioned to do, but they lack initiative."

"Did you hire any officers?" Captain asked.

"Officers are at a premium. Where they ran to I don't know, but it was mostly just the soldiers that showed up here looking for shelter and work. They have been a Godsend, but I do wish more of them were like you. Who sent you anyway?"

"If I am what you say, you know I won't answer that." Captain replied.

"Oh, they could get you to talk. I think you know that, but I don't want that to happen to you. You take five men into Boss's own house when he apparently even knew you were coming. Then you kill him, destroy the aggas plant, and most of his workers and soldiers in the process, steal one of his planes, and make your get away. That is fantastic. You are fantastic. I respect you, but I need to know more about you. Who sent you? Was it the D.E.A? Was it my government? Did the Japanese send you to try and stop our growing market there?"

"If I answer, what do we get?" Captain asked.

"Your lives." Padre answered. "I know you will be hard captives to keep, but I promise you your lives. Co-operate fully, and I can promise you so much more."

"This was a privately organized, privately funded mission."

Captain explained, not expecting Padre to believe him. "We were hired to do a job and we did it as best we could. If and when we get back it will be payoff time. We weren't informed about you, and certainly weren't planning on being your guests."

"Good. Very good." Padre exclaimed. "All that time I spend hearing confessions did teach me one thing. I can tell when someone is telling the truth. What you said was true, and you kept quiet about who sent you. I like that. It shows loyalty. And your motive was money. I like that.

You are a mercenary, are you not?"

"I've been called worse." Captain replied. Padre laughed.

"I like you. I don't think I can trust you, but I like you. Do you have a name?"

"Captain will do. He is called Speaks."

89

"Captain? Is that a name or a rank?" Padre continued.

"I've had many names, and many ranks." Captain answered. "Use it as you wish."

"Ah, a man of mystery." Padre said. He leaned forward on his desk and spoke quietly. "Enough games. I have many mercenaries in my employ, Captain, and I don't like most of them. They go with the money.

There are a few, however, who come with loyalty. You are like that. I have a job for you, and if you will swear to be loyal, I will pay you well."

Captain knew he would never give his word to this man, but this was a possible chance at staying alive long enough to escape.

"What kind of a job?" Captain asked.

"Chief of security." Padre answered. "Before you turn me down, let me show you something. Please, come with me."

Padre got up and went to a paneled section of a wall. He pressed a spot and a panel slid back to reveal an elevator. He motioned Captain and Speaks in, then the guard who entered and placed his gun right against Captain's head. Only then did Padre enter and push the only button on the console other than the one lit up. The door closed and then opened. They had dropped only one floor. Right before them was an armed guard facing them. He stepped aside as soon as he saw who it was. He backed up against a steel door with a small window in it. Through the window Captain could see stairs in a shaft right next to the elevator so they had to go to Padre's office too.

Opposite that door was another. It looked like a vault door, but had no lock. Padre opened it. It was a vault about two meters square.

Padre stepped in and turned on a light. The walls were lined with shelves.

On the shelves were boxes with symbols for the different currencies they contained. Almost every major nation was represented.

"I keep about $400,000 worth of each currency." Padre explained.

"Just for quick deals, you understand. I also keep about a million dollars worth of these on hand. I use them as incentives for jobs well done here. I have to restock about once a month."

He reached into one box and pulled out a shrink wrapped roll that held twenty Krugerrands. He handed it to Captain who looked at it and tried to hand it back.

"I also use maple leafs and pandas. No, you can keep that. Call it your first bonus. It isn't quite equal to a week's pay if you accept the job.

Kindly step over to the door opposite the elevator." Padre said. Captain and Speaks did so. The small antechamber was barely big enough for them, two guards, and Padre who needed extra room to swing the vault door closed.

"No locks, on several million dollars?" Speaks mused out loud.

"Not needed." Padre said, slipping past them to the third door.

"No one would steal from me. Besides, it is guarded 24 hours a day, and monitored too. Please come in."

90

He pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was only three meters wide, but twenty long. One wall was covered with small monitors.

For each bank of six monitors there was an armed security guard, just watching. They all stood for Padre. He waved them back to their posts and walked slowly down the line.

"Every room, every hall, even the closets can be monitored. The sound is shut off to the monitors unless something appears suspicious. Each screen is also taped, video and audio. The tapes are kept for a week, then reused if there is no reason to keep them." He had come to the end of the room and opened a door. It lead to a hall, and outside was another armed guard who nodded as Padre greeted him. Padre took them down the hall to an office with a large window that opened onto the hall. A large man with bushy red hair and a mustache to match was seated at a desk talking on the phone. He noticed Padre and waved.

"That is my present chief of security." Padre explained. "He is English, and fairly competent, for this building anyway. You may keep him as an assistant if you wish. I have needs of expanding the security role beyond these walls. He can't handle that. Come in here please."

He took them into a conference room across the hall. There were a dozen men gathered around a table that was covered with papers. The conversation was heated, but stopped when they realized who had come in.

All of them snapped to attention.

"You know I do not like that." Padre chided them softly, but only one seemed to understand. He said something to the others and they all stood at ease. Padre shook his head and approached the one that spoke English.

"Please have them return to work. I am merely showing our guests a small part of the operation. Please, continue." The man nodded and turned sharply, barking orders to the others. The conversation resumed, but not nearly as lively. Padre returned to Captain and waved at the phones, computers, fax machines, and telecommunication equipment that filled the room.

"This is the security operations center. These computers are tapped into every data bank in the world, including some that we aren't even supposed to know exist. For instance, down here is a special machine." he took them to the far end of the room and paused at a keyboard. He turned to Captain.

"I need your name." He said quietly, but firmly.

"Captain will do."

"No, it will not, just this once. If we are to work together, there must be some trust. I need your real name, not some nom-de-guerre."

Captain stood silent for a long while, then answered.

"Francois de Tulmac."

91

"Spell that please." Padre said as he typed it into the computer.

When a menu popped up he selected "All Search" and entered it. The screen went blank.

"We have plotters for graphics, and excellent maps." Padre continued talking, but he never moved from the machine. A printer started running off text at a rapid rate. Padre grabbed the first page before it could enter the catch basket. He started to read it as the paper piled up around him. Another printer began running, slowly, printing high resolution photos.

"When were you born?" Padre asked Captain. He answered.

"Where?" Padre demanded. Captain answered.

Padre went on for twenty minutes, picking details from the hundred or so pages of details. Captain answered every question, though he stopped to think about some of them.

"Very good, Franky." Padre said holding the last sheet. "Only this says you are dead. Interpol closed your file years ago."

Captain pulled up his green sweater and pointed to two scars on his stomach.

"I almost was. And Franky is dead. I am Captain now."

"Why would you want to be dead?" Padre asked with a smile.

"It's all there somewhere on those papers. I am wanted for armed robbery in the Netherlands."

"Yes." Padre replied. "That is out of character for you."

"Not really." Captain explained. "A very wealthy man's young daughter was kidnapped. While he and the police negotiated for the ransom, he hired me on the side to find and save her. I did. When I went to his mansion to collect my ten thousand dollars, as promised, he refused to pay me. I knew he had that much cash, so I took it, at gun point. He called it armed robbery, and the police weren't likely to believe me over him. So Franky is dead now. I am Captain, if you please."

That part was true. He had buried Franky in a sandy grave after spending nearly every day for three years with the man. He was the only man he had ever called a friend, and one of the few he admired as a soldier.

Fortunately they looked enough alike to be brothers, a fact he hoped would help him now as the picture rolled out of the printer. Padre studied it for a minute.

"You look better without the beard, Captain. Why did you ever grow one?"

"When I was young, I looked even younger. Women prefer more mature men. The beard made it easier." Captain answered, hoping Padre would buy the logic. He was trying one of Yankee's tricks. Play on the human nature of the other guy. Padre laughed. He let the photo drop onto the floor with the other papers.

"I like you, Captain. I think we will do well together. Now for you, Speaks, your real name."

92

"You won't find anything on him." Captain said quickly, but trying not to sound anxious. He didn't want Padre to know Speaks had connections to the U.S. government. "This was his first mission. A few months ago he was just a clerk in a business office, handling translations. I recruited him for this mission because of his ability to speak the local Indian languages. He is not the type of guy to even get speeding tickets, if you know what I mean."

"I fail to see of what use he would be to you." Padre said. Then he turned to Speaks and said something in his native tongue. Speaks answered and the two of them talked for a while. Then Padre laughed.

"I can use you too, Speaks. That is a good name for you. If Captain trusts you, then I will. Now, please, come. I have just a bit more to show you."

He took them quickly out of the room and down the hall. He opened the door and took them into the waiting room of another office with a large glass window. The man in the office quickly got to his feet to come out, but Padre waved him away and spoke softly to the secretary for a minute in Spanish. She pointed to another office which was dark. Padre took them in and turned on the lights. He pointed through another window into a large room. It was so big it had to take up the rest of the floor. It was filled with printing presses, computers, printers, imagers, everything for producing documents.

"You're counterfeiting." Captain said, stepping up to the window.

"Oh no." Padre assured him. "In our trade we don't like bogus bills. Too many of them are drawn to our product, and passing them is way too risky. What I make here are things like this." He began shuffling through the papers on the desk. As he found what he wanted he slapped it in front of them.

"Import export permits for any country. Business licenses. Import licenses. Tax stamps. Travel permits. Business letters from any reputable business you want to name, and then these. Choose your country and your story. We can put in the stamps and markings to back it up." He had dropped two passports on the top of the pile. Captain picked them up. One was from the U.S. and the other from Spain. They both looked authentic, complete with visa and customs stamps, but no pictures to go with the names.

"Before the cartels all joined," Padre explained, "We all had to go it alone in every aspect. Now we specialize somewhat. Oh, we all produce and sell, but everyone comes to me for these papers, just like they all went to Boss for the aggas to use against my people. Another member handles the import of the chemicals we all need. Another gets the machinery, and one even acts like a personnel department for chemists and technical people. If we could solve a few more problems we could all be one big happy family. Now back upstairs to my office. There is one more thing to show you."

93

Once back in Padre's office the guard went back to stand by the door. Captain felt relieved. Whenever they had been in close quarters he had a gun barrel pressed to his head, and it made it hard to think of how he could tell Padre he wouldn't work for him, and yet stay alive.

Padre went to the wall opposite the elevator and slid back two panels to reveal a giant screen and control console. He motioned Captain over to it.

"It takes just a second to warm up. There." Padre said as he turned on the screen. It had an outline of the building on it with colored lights at various points.

"This is the fire control system. Press this button, and you see the intruder alarm system. This one shows the security condition of all the vaults and arm caches. This one shows the communication systems, and this one the condition of the emergency generators, food stores, etc. You see Captain, this building is heavily fortified. The walls are designed to stop rockets. The windows are of bullet proof glass. Each floor has bulkhead type doors in the wells that can be sealed floor by floor. The ventilation can be shut down floor by floor. The roof is made of armor plate 35 centimeters thick with concrete on top of that. It too can be sealed off from the building. The lower eight floors handle the routine affairs of my regular business. The ninth floor is the one below this. This one has my office and living quarters, as well as some offices down the hall for cartel business. The floor upstairs is for my security people. You will get a nice room there. Now tell me, what do you think?"

"Impressive." Captain said. "And you are going to turn this all over to me?"

"This and so much more." Padre replied. "Not only would you run security here, but you would reach out to my people in the jungles and mountains. You see, I have never agreed with the cartel's wars with the Indians. I am strongly opposed to the policy of addicting the Indians to drugs, and then using them as slave labor. I even agree with the Indians taking up arms to defend their way of life.

"I feel that this uprising shows that the Indian will no longer be pushed around by the white man. If a good soldier could go into the jungles, set up bases, train the Indians in fighting skills, organize them, then they could drive out the slave holders and take control of the production aspects of the drugs. While refusing them to Indians they could use the drugs to enslave the white world while siphoning off their riches to improve the Indian way of life. I think you, along with the language skills of your friend here, are the man to do it. While these rebels hate whites in general, they respect talent and skill in a warrior. For the right man they would put aside their little tribal differences and unite. It could be a great rebirth of the Indian civilizations."

"With you as the king pulling the strings from behind the scenes."

Captain added. Padre smiled.

94

"Yes. Somebody has to do it. I would be king, and you would be prime minister."

"Those slave holders you want to push out are your fellow cartel members. Plus, you would be taking on half a dozen governments who won't want to see a large part of their territory pass into rebel hands."

Captain continued.

"The cartel members, for the most part are outsiders. They don't belong here. They will be replaced with competent Indians, and believe me, there are many trained and waiting. Unfortunately, they are mostly rebel leaders right now. But, as I said, they will unite under a strong leader, and I think they will have no qualms about turning the drugs on the white man. It is only their people they are fighting to protect. As for the governments, those we can not buy, we will defeat. Even now they are unable to control the areas we will be taking. We will leave them their major cities and coastal ports. They can continue to play their political games and make themselves feel important. We will use the money we get to train and arm my people. We will again be a warrior nation in control of our own lands and destiny. You and Speaks can be heroes in that new nation. How about it, should I put these on two folders in the personnel files?"

Padre held up two photos. They were of Captain and Speaks, probably taken by security camera when they were first brought in. Captain had avoided the question. He knew he could never swear loyalty to this man, yet to refuse would cost them their lives. Then he remembered a conversation with Yankee back in their training camp. Yankee had tried to explain how no one could understand a value system higher than their own.

They would always judge other men according to their own standard. He suddenly realized this was his key to Padre.

"Great." He said. "All I have to do is swear allegiance to you, and I have the job?" Again Padre smiled.

"While I think you are a man of your word, I would be a fool to take you at face value." Padre answered. "First there would be a little test of your loyalty."

"What sort of test?" Captain asked, eager for anything that could take him and Speaks away from the fortress-prison they were in. He just didn't want Padre to demand that he take an oath first.

"I want you to kill the president of this country, along with his interior minister, and the defense minister." Padre stated.

"I am a soldier, not an assassin." Captain answered, knowing he could never agree to that test.

"We have tried assassins." Padre replied. "Boss even brought in the world's best, a woman, named Hermann. But no one can get close to these men. To take them out will require a military style assault. I can supply facts and figures. I can get you two hundred Spetznez, along with five or six hundred Russians and a handful of other mercenaries. I can also draw in a thousand of so armed Indians. Can you do it?"

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"Where do you get all these people?" Captain asked, trying to avoid the question.

"All the cartels will lend me their troops for this." Padre answered.

"You see, we have typically controlled the elections down here, but last year things suddenly changed. The day before the elections one of your congressmen, Daniels, from the fifth Utah district showed up with three dozen other congressmen he had organized. Along with armies of reporters they took up stations at all the critical election counting and polling points.

That placed us in a real bind.

"Normally we would have bought or intimidated the needed people at these points, in fact, we already had, but we knew we could not buy these people, and to kill them or even beat them would have perhaps been reason enough for the U.S. to intervene militarily. So we pulled back and let the elections progress unopposed. The anti-drug side won heavily.

"The new president has been approached, but that resulted in the arrests of anyone who tried. He has appointed an interior minister, comparable to the American Attorney General, who shares his views. Then he promoted a lowly major with a good record against drug operations to be the top military man. For the last year they have been weeding out the military and the police. They have built a solid core of professional soldiers and police around them that makes them unreachable by anything less than a full army. What is worse, they are now beginning to form units of soldiers and police to take on the cartels. While they can not succeed, they can make life unbearable, and hurt profits tremendously. If you can take them out, it will send a message to all governments that we are not to be messed with. Can you do it?"

"At this point, all I can promise is to try." Captain said, careful not to commit himself further. "I will need data, schedules, everything about these men, and the forces available to them and to us before I can even start forming a plan."

"Good." Padre replied. "I can give all that to you. We have people in the Presidents office, and in the military and police. I will turn the conference room over to you and Speaks. You may choose to use the men I have there now, or send them packing. I need some type of answer in less than a week. In the meantime I will put your personnel files in my drawer.

You will be assigned quarters upstairs. All your wants will be supplied, but you may not leave these top floors. Any attempt to escape, and you will be killed. Other than the guards, everyone will be instructed to obey you and co-operate fully. Any questions?"

Captain shook his head. As he did so he could see the look of disbelief on Speak's face and hoped the little man would trust him. He knew they would be under constant surveillance so it would be hard to tell Speaks he had no intention of killing the president. He just wanted time to find a way out.

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Eleven Yankee thought he would come down in the lake too, but he missed by a few yards. He landed feet first in a marshy area next to the lake and sank up to his knees. The wind caught his chute and would have dragged him but it ran into the trees and collapsed before the lines even pulled tight.

He struggled free from the mud and the harness and made it to solid land. The plane had come from the east so he headed that direction with hopes of getting over the mountain and rejoining the others. After three hours of fighting the jungle he sat down on a fallen tree and faced reality.

He didn't know for sure if it was one mountain, two, or more he had flown over. With the dense foliage he wasn't even sure if he was headed for the right mountain. He thought of climbing the largest tree around to check his bearings, but he didn't have the energy. He stretched out on the tree to rest a minute before going on.

He awoke sore, hungry, and puzzled. He knew it was the next day, and the sun was high, but something had awakened him. Then he identified it. A helicopter. He sprang up, looking for a clearing to get into, but found none. He started desperately to climb the tree he had thought about using the day before. It was a hard climb, and he wondered if it would be worth it. It sounded as if the helicopter had landed nearby, but it may have just flown off low.

It never dawned on him that maybe he wouldn't want to find the helicopter or be rescued by it. As he climbed higher he began to get above the other trees. Then he saw it, and he scrambled to get around the tree to have some cover. The helicopter was in a clearing about three hundred yards away. It was a good size one. A dozen men were moving about it.

They unloaded and set up two heavy machine guns. A mortar was unloaded and taken into the jungle. A few minutes later a dummy round fell into the clearing which elicited a series of hand signals from the men by the helicopter to the men in the jungle. Two more rounds came in before everyone was satisfied.

He watched as the men placed some land mines and booby traps.

Even at that range he could tell they weren't government troops. They had to be drug people, and he preferred the jungle to them. He took a sighting on a distant mountain peak and climbed back down the tree. He set out 97

determined to ignore the hunger in his stomach until he was away from the battle scene that was being set up. He began studying the plants around him as he searched for trails big enough to handle him. He also kept his eyes open for wildlife. He knew his best chance for survival was the pistol he had tucked into his belt, but he knew he had only eight or nine shots and didn't know how many days they would have to feed him. At any rate, he wasn't about to shoot off a gun within ear shot of the men he had seen.

He didn't stop when night came as he had found a trail that appeared well used and was open enough to be used at night. He had found springs of water and drank his fill, hoping it wouldn't make him sick, but he was still hungry and wanted to be far enough away by morning to start hunting.

He froze when he heard it. It was a sneeze. He knew some animals could sneeze like a man, but he was more willing to accept this as a human sneeze. He drew his pistol and moved off the trail into the jungle in the direction of the sound. A brief flash of white tipped him off to the man's position. He moved as quietly as he could around the man who obviously had a cold. He sneezed again, trying to muffle it in the handkerchief he held.

Yankee passed within ten feet of the man. When he wasn't wiping his nose he held a rifle at the ready and faced the same direction. Yankee figured he was guarding something and wanted to get behind the man. He wanted food, and figured there would be some in the camp the guard was protecting. He heard a rustling in the jungle and sank to the ground.

Another man with a rifle passed within a few feet of him. The new man went up to the other guard and relieved him. The man with the cold then headed back the other way. Yankee waited until he was a ways ahead, then followed behind him. He tried to keep quiet but also to keep the man in sight. He almost succeeded too well. The man abruptly stopped and sat down. Yankee stopped quickly. He could hear low voices. The language was strange, but he thought it sounded like some of the Indian languages he had heard Speaks practice. He moved forward slowly and carefully.

There was a complete camp set up. In the dark he could see it when he was this close, but it seemed to disappear if he backed up just a few yards. There were several small groups of men scattered around what looked like a spring of water. There was a tent opposite where Yankee stood, and to the left of the tent, back in the jungle was a faint red glow.

It had to be a fire, and that had to mean food. He was certain these were Indian backup troops to the men he had seen setting up the ambush.

His good sense told him to get out of there, but his stomach told him otherwise. He would have to travel a long way now to get out of earshot of this group too. He began to make his way around the perimeter of the camp toward the fire.

He was right. It was a fire, and there was food. There were two men there. One was cooking, the other was tending the fire which was in a 98

simple sheet metal stove. It served to concentrate the heat without a lot of flame. Yankee moved closer. He could smell bread and meat. He had second thoughts about stealing food, but he consoled himself with the thought that it had all been bought with blood money from drugs. He got to within six feet of the back of the stove before he realized the brush was too thick to come in from that side. He would have to come in from the side or front, right past the men. He decided it wasn't worth it. He would steal food, but not kill for it. He stood up from his crouching position and turned around, right into the barrel of a gun. He raised his hands slowly and his pistol became visible. The man poked him hard in the chest with the rifle barrel. He made sure the safety was on and let the gun drop from his hand.

He was captured again. His life was in danger, but all he could think about was how stupid he had been to not realize that the camp would be guarded on the other side too. He had almost walked right into the arms of the guard. He knew Captain would never make that kind of mistake.

Then he had another thought. Maybe they would at least feed him.

The guard had issued one shout. Men came quickly. Yankee was soon surrounded. Hands were thrust into his pockets and he was hit and punched several times when nothing was found. He endured the abuse well, but almost doubled over when the guard thrust the rifle barrel hard into his chest. He got the message. He moved into the camp.

A short, stout man met them there. The guard was obviously proud of his catch as he bragged to the men gathered around. The short man said nothing for a minute, then barked some orders. The men dispersed quickly, seizing weapons and heading for the perimeters of the camp. Yankee was left with the short man, who now held his pistol, and the two cooks. The short man barked some orders again. The two cooks grabbed Yankee's raised arms and pulled them down behind him. They tied his hands, then hobbled his feet so he could shuffle but not walk. Then they bent him over and tied a rope from his foot hobble to his neck so he couldn't even stand straight.

The short man grabbed the rope around Yankee's neck and pulled.

Yankee followed, shuffling towards the tent. Twice he stumbled and fell.

Both time the short man kicked him repeatedly until he got to his feet and went on. Once in the tent he was forced into a kneeling position. The short man got out a large portable lantern with red light tubes. He turned it on, bathing the tent in a faint red glow. It held a folding cot, a folding table, and several back packs. There was an AK-47 near the door, leaning on the cot. Yankee began testing the ropes that held him, hoping the man would not see. He kept his eyes on the man. In the half light he looked as wide as he was tall, but he wasn't fat. He was just built like a barrel. His shape forced him to take a waddle type step when he moved, and he swung his arms and shoulders when he walked. He seemed like an unlikely soldier, but Yankee knew he was in no position to judge.

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The man pulled a small book from one pack and stood by the light to thumb through it. As he did so he tried to pronounce some words.

Yankee realized the man was trying to question him in Russian.

"I don't speak Russian." Yankee said in Spanish, surprised at how hard it was to talk without pain. "I can handle Spanish or English."

"Oh." The man said speaking Spanish. "You not speak Russian.

And I am man in moon. Never mind, you Spanish good. You answer questions."

"Who are you?" Yankee asked. The idea had suddenly crossed his mind that these were not drug troops, but rebels.

"As if you not know." The man answered. "I Panther, Black Panther. I lead Panther group, and you come here for assassinate me for reward money. That I know. How you know I be here with my men I not know. That is what I want you tell me. I find out. Make it easy for you."

"Look, Mr. Panther, I'm not what you think. I am not a Russian with the cartels. I am an American. I came here to rescue a girl who was being held captive by a man called Boss, or so I thought. Actually it was a set up to trap some Americans to use for political purposes."

"Oh, and uniform not one I like hate?" Panther snorted. Yankee had forgotten about the uniform he was wearing. He tried to explain but Panther didn't let him. He landed a massive backhand to the side of Yankee's head, knocking him over. He then repeatedly kicked him until he struggled up to his knees which wasn't easy with his hands tied behind him.

"Enough. Tell me now. How you know I be here? I know there is security leak, but I find five possibilities at this time. I want name."

Yankee didn't answer. He knew the man would not believe him. If he could get out of the ropes he knew he could handle the man, but these Indians could qualify for the rope tying merit badge. He knew he had to get help. He started to pray.

Panther didn't wait long for an answer. With a long swing of his arm he again tried to backhand Yankee. Yankee saw it coming and tried to duck. He took the blow on the top of his head. It again flattened him.

Panther started to kick him. Instinctively he lashed out with his feet, having to use his entire body to move them, but he was able to hit Panther in the legs hard enough to topple him. The man didn't have far to fall, but he fell on his head, and he hit hard.

Quickly, Yankee slid himself over to the fallen man. Panther was still breathing, and he had a knife scabbard on his belt. Yankee rolled over and was able to grab the knife and pull it from the sheath. He moved away from Panther so as not to hurt him as he tried to maneuver the knife to cut the ropes on his own wrists. It wasn't easy. He laid on his back and arched it so he could let the knife drop to the ground to change how he held it and still pick it up again. He was in that position when the cook came in with a single plate of food.

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The Indian gasped, threw the plate on the table, and knelt by his fallen leader while calling out to those outside. The other cook came in, looked at the situation and pointed at Yankee. He stepped over Panther and aimed a forceful kick at Yankee's head. Yankee did a quick set up. It avoided the kick, but left the knife exposed. The Indian shouted and backed away. Now armed men were coming into the tent. Several guns were trained on him as one man rolled him over and took the knife. Even worse, Panther had come to.

Panther was helped to his feet. He was unsteady for a moment, then he pointed at Yankee and bellowed. He left the men who were holding him and charged like a bull. He too aimed a bone crushing kick at Yankee's head. Yankee twisted, saving his head, but the blow hit him on the shoulder. He saw a bright flash of white followed by intense pain, then he passed out.

He didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to leave the dream he was having. He didn't want to feel the pain that racked his entire body. He didn't want to face the knot that used to be his stomach. He had no choice.

Consciousness flooded his brain and so did the pain. It was barely light.

He was outside, lying on a blanket. A black man was sitting beside him.

"You are awake." The man said. "Too bad. Now Panther can have some more fun with you. Take my advice, tell him what he wants to know. What happened to you last night was mild, even the dislocated shoulder. Be nice to him. Be respectful. Answer his questions, and you'll get a single bullet in the head. Quick and painless. Otherwise, you will still answer his questions, but your death will be horrible. I know, I am a doctor."

"Who are you?" Yankee asked weakly.

"Tony Gonzales." the man answered. "Who are you?"

"Now I'm called Yankee."

"Tell me your real name, and I will notify your next of kin back in Russia. That is, if I ever get out of this."

"Are you a prisoner too?"

"Panther calls me a draftee. I am from Mexico. I was put through medical school by an European charity group that required that I spend five years in less developed countries as a pay back. I chose Ecuador, thinking it was far removed from this strife here. Boy was I wrong. Panther came there to purchase guns. I was in a mountain village that turned out to be a major arms depot for these guys. Anyway, Panther see me, decides he needs a doctor, and I'm in his little army. I'm waiting for a chance to escape, but it must be a good one. So far no one has made a clean escape, and he kills everyone who tries."

"How long have you been with him?"

"Two years, eleven months, five days. But who's counting. I have come to know Panther well. He thinks of me as a friend, almost one of the family. We play chess. He isn't very good, but I let him win. If you play, he will stop questioning you for a game, but let him win. He is a fantastic 101

fighter, but very much a spoiled brat. I think he delights in pain, and he has no concept of the value of human life. That is the man you are dealing with. Tell him what he wants to know."

"Doctor, I hurt all over, and I haven't eaten since before we attacked Boss's place days ago. Could you..."

"Please don't ask. I would like to help you. I have some medications and there is food available, but Panther would torture me if I gave them to a Russian. I am sorry. I wish I could help."

"I am not a Russian. I am American, but I guess that wouldn't matter much to anyone. I don't think these Indians want to believe me.

Will you believe me? If I tell you my story, will you get word to my family back in the states? Tell them what happened?"

"I can make no promises about believing you, but if I do, I will do what I can. If you are American, how come you speak Spanish so well.

Americans don't normally learn a second language."

"I served a mission for my church in Southern Texas. I had to learn Spanish to work with the people there."

The doctor seemed very interested at that comment. He leaned over Yankee as he questioned him.

"Are you a Mormon? Do you know what that is?"

"Yes. I am. Are you L.D.S?" "No, but in medical school, in Mexico City, there was an American on the faculty. He spoke excellent Spanish because he had served a mission to Mexico and came back to teach years later. He was a good doctor, and a good man. I respected him. I ate with his family often. I learned a lot from him, and not just medicine. Tell me about your church."

Yankee began weakly, but actually picked up strength as he talked.

He started with Joseph Smith and the first vision and told the story up to where the Angel Moroni told him where to find the plates from which he would translate the Book of Mormon. Then Panther appeared, looming over them like a storm.

"He awake." Panther boomed. "Good, I question him here. Say, Doc, how about scalpel. It be cleaner than my old knife." Panther had pulled out his big knife and tested the point and blade. He had a wicked grin on his face.

"No." the doctor said, standing up. He was a head taller than Panther, but probably weighted fifty pounds less. He stood toe to toe with the Indian and spoke with authority and confidence.

"I have questioned this man, and he is what he says he is. He is not a Russian, not a drug man. He is innocent, and I will not let you hurt him farther."

Panther was obviously taken back by the boldness the doctor showed. He backed up a few steps and rubbed his chin. He glanced at the two armed guards who were with him, then back to the doctor who stood as a sentinel over Yankee.

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"How you be sure?" Panther finally asked.

"I have known other men like him." The doctor stated. "They are good men. They all share common values, values you couldn't even understand. I want food prepared for him, and I will treat his injuries properly."

"If he convince you, it worth looking at." Panther said, putting the knife away. "He eat, but no medicines. I need them for fighting men. We take him with. I question him later if I decide you wrong. His hands be tied and there be rope around his neck, tied to your neck, Doctor. If he escape, you pay."

"One question, Panther." Yankee spoke up. "Are you headed uphill or down?"

"That no concern you." Panther snapped.

"Yes it does." Yankee persisted. "Because if you are headed down, please kill me here and save me the pain of traveling like this. If that trail down there goes where I think it does it leads to an ambush that will cut you to pieces."

"What ambush?" Panther demanded, kneeling by Yankee. "If this trick it do you no good."

"I can't say how far it is." Yankee explained, shuffling over to draw in the dirt with a twig. "But there is a clearing shaped like this. The men I saw leave the helicopter placed one heavy machine gun here.

Another went here. They took a mortar into the jungle in this direction. I don't know where it is, but it is zeroed in on the clearing here. Land mines were placed here, and booby traps here. I counted twelve men in pea green uniforms with dark green berets. You out number them two to one, but they have the firepower and the surprise."

Panther had been studying the drawing. He obviously knew the area described. He ran his finger along were the path entered and exited the clearing and used his hand to simulate the passing of his band past the gun emplacements. He nodded. Then he looked back at Yankee. "How you see this and they not see you?"

"I walked right into your camp without being seen, didn't I?" Yankee answered. Panther grunted and barked some orders to his guards.

They left, but returned a minute later with a third man. Panther confronted the Indian, and there was an exchange of words before the guards seized him, removed his weapons, and tied him up securely. He was dropped at Yankee's feet. Then Panther turned to the doctor.

"You responsible these two. When I come one will die. If they not both here, you die too." Panther said firmly, then he turned on his heel and marched away barking orders. Men jumped to follow. Soon the camp was quiet.

"I will unhobble you, if you promise not to try and escape." The doctor said to Yankee.

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"I promise." Yankee answered. "But isn't this your chance. You could get away."

"Not in these jungles, these mountains." The doctor answered as he struggled with the ropes. He finally took a scalpel and cut them.

"Panther knows these like the back of his hand. Here, he is king. He would find me within hours. I have to hope I can gain his confidence enough to let me go with when he goes to purchase arms sometime. In a city, or near one, I would have a chance."

"Isn't there one just over those mountains?" Yankee asked.

"There? Yes, but it is a drug center. Everyone from the mayor on down is on the payroll. I would feel safer with Panther. He only kills his enemies. There they kill anyone who isn't directly on their side. That was the target for this raid, a helicopter depot I think, but the whole place was in an uproar over something so Panther sent in five men to check for other targets. No good ones were available so we retreated. I will get you some food.

Yankee felt a rush of anguish at that news. He had dumped Captain and Speaks right into the frying pan. He knew Captain was a good soldier, but in a city, without an armed force he was out of his element. He feared he would never see them again.

"This is cold, but still edible." The doctor put a plate by Yankee and helped him set up. Yankee couldn't tell that the food was cold. He wasn't even sure it tasted good. He cleared the plate in under two minutes.

The doctor held out a bottle.

"A little wine will go a long way to improving your outlook." He offered. Yankee refused. The doctor persisted, but so did Yankee. Finally the doctor put the bottle down.

"I am staking my life on you, Yankee. I thought I should be sure.

By the way, you never did tell me your name."

"Maybe it should just stay 'Yankee' for now. Hopefully you won't have any need to notify my next of kin."

"Are you sure of that?"

"What do you mean?" Yankee asked.

"I understand the local Indian language. Panther discussed the possibility that Inaqua here is a traitor and told the Madonna Cartel about this trip, but he also discussed the possibility of you being a part of the cartel. You betrayed them to save yourself, plain and simple. When he gets back, he has to decide which of you to question."

That didn't set well with Yankee, but deep inside he felt it would be alright for him. That meant Inaqua would die. He looked at the man.

He was crying softly and his lips were moving. Yankee decided that he didn't like war.

"Here, take these." Yankee turned back to the doctor. He had some pills and a cup of water held out.

"Not if it will get you in trouble with Panther." Yankee answered.

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"He doesn't know what I have in inventory. Take them. They won't knock you out, but they will ease the pain."

Yankee downed the pills and the water. In fact he asked for more water. He drank two more cups full, then asked for more food. The doctor got it and Yankee ate another full plate, but more slowly this time. In fact, he decided it didn't taste very good, but he wasn't about to be choosy. Even with his whole body hurting it felt good to have a full stomach.

He slowly slumped down onto the blanket. He was about to close his eyes when the doctor leaned over him.

"How did you get the name 'Yankee'?"

"For this mission we all chose code names that applied to us in some way. Mine stands for yankee ingenuity."

"That is interesting." The doctor said. "None of the Indians use my name either. They started calling me 'Black Doctor' but later shortened it to 'The Black' or maybe it would translate as 'Blacky.' Maybe 'Black One' would be closer. Anyway, you get the idea. If I have to use your code name, maybe you should use mine. Call me Blacky."

"That sounds rather racist." Yankee protested. The doctor laughed.

"Down here, Yankee, there is only one color of skin that is hated, and you're wearing it."

"Still, I'd feel bad calling you that. What if I shorten Black Doctor to BD. Can I call you BD?" "Sure. I like that. I wonder if I can get the Indians to call me that.

Say would you..." BD quit talking as Yankee had drifted off to sleep.

BD let Yankee sleep until he heard Panther returning with his men.

Then he gently shook Yankee awake.

"He left with 23 men." BD said, thinking out loud. "I wonder how many were lost this time?"

"I hear those Russians are excellent fighters." Yankee said, struggling against his pains to sit up. "And they had enough fire power to handle a group twice Panther's size."

"You do not know Panther." BD replied. "What you say would be true if he walked into the ambush, but in this case, he would be doing the ambushing. The cartels fear him, and with good reason. There they are.

They have wounded."

Panther bounced into the camp area. He carried a rifle in each hand and was smiling broadly. Behind him the others came, breaking from single file as they entered the camp. Two men were being assisted.

Everyone carried at least two rifles or a heavy machine gun. The wounded were moved toward BD, but Panther got there first.

"Good fight. They not know what hit them. We get eleven undamaged rifles, twelve pistols, three dozen grenades, plus a few, and some first aid supplies for you. I use grenade on mortar crew, damaged tube, but we bring shells. I barter them for gold to Crocodile next month."

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He dropped a backpack by BD. Bandages spilled out. He turned to Yankee.

"Your information good, very good. It so good in fact, I think it come from man who a part of trap. But you know Se単or Yankee, when I send five men to town, each man I tell we be leaving by different route.

Then one who is told this route, ask be rear guard. I ask why. Then you tell of ambush. I understand. You innocent, but he not."

With that Panther reached down and grabbed the bound Indian and hauled him to his feet. From the look on Panther's face he knew there would be some intense questioning, but so did Inaqua. He started talking, pleading. Yankee couldn't understand a word, but it drew all the other Indians into a group to listen.

"Poor man." BD said as he began treating the first wounded Indian. "When he joined Panther he said his wife and children were dead, killed by the High Andes cartel. Now he says that they are alive and held hostage. They were to be set free if he could lead Panther into a trap. He is begging for his life. Will you hold this bandage for me, Yankee?"

Yankee held the bandage, but didn't take his eyes off Inaqua and Panther. Inaqua dropped to his knees, still pleading. Panther calmly pulled a pistol from its holster, put it to Inaqua's forehead and fired.

Yankee stared in horror, not believing what he had just seen. BD tapped his hand to get him to let loose of the bandage, but he didn't move.

"You get used to it." BD said, prying Yankee's fingers off.

"Never." Yankee tried to say, but he only squeaked. He swallowed hard. "I don't see any Russian prisoners either."

"The Indians don't take prisoners." BD said. He gave the wounded Indian some pills and instructions while Yankee watched two men drag Inaqua away. He didn't look back until BD swore. He had just unwrapped the field dressing on the second man's wounded arm. Yankee looked, then looked away.

"Bullet shattered the bone, bone fragments sheared the flesh." BD muttered. "Yankee, can you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him tight. I gave him some pain killers, but he may still flinch. I can't put him to sleep or Panther will leave him behind."

Yankee did as requested, but only after using his hand to gently turn the man's face away from watching BD. Yankee tried not to watch too, but he was aware when the arm came off. BD picked it up and just tossed it into the brush. Then he worked to smooth the bone and stitch the flesh. He worked for an hour and through the whole thing Yankee could feel the man getting weaker in his arms.

"Enough." It was Panther. He was now carrying a back pack and behind him the other men were similarly dressed, ready to move out.

"Get him ready walk. You fix later." Panther ordered. Then he ordered Yankee to stand up. Yankee was determined not to show his pain as he did so. He stood up and towered over Panther.

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"You serve me well, Yankee. I accept your services. After ceremony you get guns. Til then, you help doctor with wounded. Try keep up."

Panther stormed off to lead his men. BD quickly gathered his gear.

Yankee, with some help from the first wounded man got the new amputee on his feet and helped support him.

"BD, this man is in shock." Yankee protested, ignoring his own pains.

"I know." BD answered, but if we don't keep up, Panther will order us to leave him. Pray for him. I'll get Panther to give us more help."

BD pulled on his large pack and ran ahead while Yankee and the two wounded men struggled into line. Soon BD came back with two men to help. They took the amputee between them while Yankee and BD flanked the other wounded man to help him.

"What ceremony was Panther talking about?" Yankee asked.

"And what service does he want from me?"

"He meant the induction ceremony where you swear loyalty to him. You are a part of the Panther group now. You have been drafted."

107

108

Twelve For a week Captain had virtually lived in the conference room, and Speaks had been at his side. Speaks translated all the information into English for Captain and Captain made note on the papers in French. He used the notes to put some words out of order to get a message to Speaks.

When he stacked the papers in a certain order and had Speaks review them the out of place words said that he no intention of killing the president, but that Speaks would just have to trust him in whatever he did. When Speaks understood the message Captain shuffled the papers and mixed in many more with French notes on them.

Every day Padre came in on his rounds to greet all his workers. He always asked Captain if he needed anything, and if he had any ideas yet.

Captain always answered "No and no." This day was different.

"I need a good night's sleep." Captain answered.

"So take it." Padre replied. "You have gone over everything three or four times. Maybe some sleep will help you sort out what ever it is you are looking for. If you need something to relax you, all my young lady workers know how to assist you. You only have to choose. I assure you, any of them would consider it an honor. They all know how much I am counting on you two. I know some you'd like. Should I choose one for you?"

"Half the thrill is in the chase." Captain answered by way of refusal. He pulled out the city map and laid it on top of all the papers on the table forcing the Russians gathered at the other end to move some of theirs.

"A man after my own heart." Padre said. "How about you Speaks? Ready for a little diversion?"

"Uh, no." Speaks answered, obviously tempted.

"Always follow your commander." Padre observed. "I like that.

Well, take some time, sleep, do what ever you wish. Maybe tomorrow you will have something to show me."

"I have something now." Captain said. Padre had turned to leave, but turned back around. He pulled a chair over next to Captain.

"Good. Show me how you will get to him and the others."

"First, I need to verify some information. Serge, will you and the others join us?" Captain spoke up so the four Russians could hear him.

They came over, but it was obvious they were not enthusiastic about it.

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"First," Captain started, "Your reports say the President is coming here in one week to make a major announcement at a rally in the soccer stadium. Knowing this is a drug center he has been sending in troops to insure his safety. According to the information Serge and his boys have provided me these are the units, and these are their placements."

Captain had the name, type, and strength of each military unit written on slips of paper. He placed each one on the city map. Serge nodded as each one was placed.

"I need to know how reliable the news reports are of the President's coming, and how accurate these troop reports are." Captain stated.

"My information is very good." Serge declared with pride. "I have sources inside the army high command."

"And I have sources inside the president's office." Padre stated.

"She backs up everything the news has said. He will be here, but with all those troops it would be foolhardy to try anything here. I can't get you that much firepower, especially not on this short notice."

"I think we can get to him, even here, but that is not why I asked.

This troop placement around the city doesn't fit with guarding the stadium.

While they can move to the stadium, and obviously will, they are actually positioned for an attack on something in this area." Captain drew a red circle on the map. Padre gasped. He put his finger on a block inside the red circle. Captain took good note. It was the first time he had received any information as to where they were at.

"What about this?" Padre demanded of Serge. The Russian quickly told the others what was going on, they continued to talk, looking at the map.

"Well?" Padre again demanded.

"They agree completely with Captain." Speaks translated. "They are just trying to figure out how to say it and still save face."

"Save face?" Padre screamed, jumping up. "My head is on the line and they are trying to save face. Incompetent fools. Captain come with me."

Padre smashed through the Russians as he headed for the door.

Captain, followed closely by Speaks, was right behind him. They went straight to the elevator and up to Padre's office. Padre went to a computer and punched a button. A hard disk slid out. He took it carefully and inserted it into a case which he placed in his pocket. Then he turned to Captain.

"Those units have been in place for a few days, so they probably have everything targeted. There are jet fighters and armed helicopters at the airport, so an air escape is out, too risky. The best bet would be to take the limousine, as if I were going out into the countryside to visit a school or clinic. Yes, that is it, but they will follow. I need your help, Captain. How do I lose them. How do I get into the mountains without them knowing?"

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"You don't need to." Captain answered calmly. He pulled a chair up next to the big desk and motioned Padre and Speaks to sit down. They both did so.

"There will not be a strike at you before the President's speech.

Everyone knows this is to be a major anti-drug announcement about some get tough policy. The speech will be made, the President climbs back in his helicopter and flies away. The troops leave the stadium, return to their base points and pack up as if to leave, and hit this building."

"You seem so sure." Padre said, searching for a reason to believe.

"If he launched the strike first the city would be in turmoil, or even in revolt when he arrived. With all the newsmen out there that would be politically stupid. But if he makes the promises, and within hours carries it out, that is courageous. And the timing is the easy part. The rally ends two hours before dusk. The president leaves at that time. The ban on air flights in the area lasts for four hours, so the strike must come before that so your escaping helicopter can't be confused with anyone else. Plus, the army will need some time to move troops into points to block all traffic leaving this immediate area. Plus, all the business in the area will be closed and most of the people gone by dusk. I say the attack will come at sundown, spearheaded by the two gun ships coming in from the west and the armored units on the ground from all sides."

"It makes sense. It sounds good. Are you sure? Maybe we should still leave now. I will take you with me, of course." Padre wanted to believe he wasn't in danger.

"We can leave now or later, but I don't think we will need to leave at all." Captain replied. Padre leaned toward him.

"You think we can withstand such an attack? I had this place built to hold out police or rebels, not the army. Will my armored roof, bulkheads, and bulletproof windows keep them out?"

"The gun ships will clear the roof for troop ships to land." Captain said with a trace of a smile. "Those troops will be the mountain assault troops stationed near the airport. They will bypass the roof armor by repelling down the outside of the building. They will use shaped charges to shatter your bullet proof windows, followed by stun grenades, followed by soldiers. Most likely they will make their entry on this floor. The tanks will open the lower floor like a tin can, and shaped charges will remove your bulkheads without structural damage to the building. I would give them five to seven minutes to get in here. Thirty, maybe forty to secure the building."

"Then we should plan our escape now, as I said at first." Padre said angrily. This time it was Captain who leaned forward.

"No, Padre, because there will be no attack. Once the president is dead the whole thing will collapse."

"Dead? You can get him before the rally? How?" "Not before, at the rally." Captain corrected.

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"Impossible." Padre exclaimed, leaning back. He studied Captain for a moment, then leaned forward again so he was face to face with the soldier.

"How?" "A bomb." Captain stated.

"With all those soldiers?" Padre protested. "Security will be too tight. The stands, seats, everything will be searched. How will you get a bomb in there."

"They will pick it up and deliver it for us." Captain said, leaning back now. "I worked with a man once who showed me that using human nature can be a potent weapon. In this case we will work on their desire to make this rally a show piece for the world."

"How?" Padre asked.

"Yeah, how?" Speaks echoed. Captain stood up and pointed to the elevator.

"Let me show you. It's all in the papers down stairs."

Padre got up, but went to the computer. He took the disk from his pocket.

"You can really do this?" He asked. Captain nodded. Padre slipped the disk back into the machine and joined the two men in the elevator.

"Here it is." Captain said, holding out a newspaper clipping.

"Yes, this is a drawing of the stadium as it will be decorated for the rally." Padre agreed. Captain began pointing out some things on the drawing.

"Here is the stand where the President will sit. His chopper will land right behind the stand, and leave from there. In addition to the stadium seats there will be chairs on the grass in front of the stand. On this side of the stand, on the grass is a statue of a government soldiers reaching out. At the other end of the stand is a statue of an Indian family huddled together, also reaching out to the soldier for safety."

"But that statue will not be there." Padre gloated. "I could not stand the pomp of this thing, so I had my men steal the mold a few days ago. There is not enough time to get another one flown in from Italy, so the statue cannot be cast in the capital."

"You will have to return the mold, I understand it is here in the basement storage area?"

"Yes." Padre answered. "But why? Even now there is not enough time to get it back to the capital and cast a statue."

"Exactly, but there is enough time to get one cast in ice right here in your city. What we need is an ice house capable of doing it, one that will do it our way, because the bomb will be in the statue. We also need a respected person, one who looks clean to the government, to accidentally find the mold and suggest to the rally planers the idea of the fragile family pleading with the solid soldier to save them from destruction."

112

Padre didn't say anything. He went to a phone and gave some orders. Then he returned to Captain.

"The mold will be found tomorrow. I have a local business man who will suggest the idea of the ice statue, and a local ice house that will make it. I have even instructed the vice chairman of the rally committee to champion the idea. Now, tell me, how will you cast a bomb in ice without it being seen?"

"If you will send somebody for these ingredients, I will show you."

Captain answered, handing Padre a penciled list. Padre read down the list.

"Hmmm, from a feed store, a hardware store, a gas station. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, but I will also need a box of blasting caps, a half dozen flashlight batteries, two transistor radios, two radio controlled actuators that have to be smaller than the transistors, and one good radio detonator control, and about a kilo of plastic. Want me to write that down?"

"I have it." Padre answered. "And you shall have it within the hour."

"Good. That is just enough time to have a shower and some lunch." Captain said. "Come on Speaks. Oh, Padre, have all that delivered to the kitchen. We'll meet you there in one hour."

Captain had his lunch in the kitchen so he was ready when the materials were delivered. By the time Padre arrived there were three glass pans heating on the stove. Each contained a syrupy clear liquid. Captain removed each pan to the table and measured out a small amount of another clear liquid and added it to each pan. Then he used the cooks portable mixer to whip each batch.

"What is that smell?" Padre asked.

"Ammonia or diesel fuel." Captain answered. "Both odors will go away as this stuff cools. It only gases while it is warm, at least that is what I've been told. I've never actually made this before."

"What is it?" Padre asked, picking up a spoon to ladle some out.

Captain grabbed his wrist before he could.

"Don't ever stick anything into an explosive mix without discharging it first. There is only a kilo or so in each pan, but it would be enough for us."

Padre backed away, laying the spoon on the table.

"Explosive? Is it nitro-glycerin? Is it safe?" Padre asked. "You made that out of the things I ordered?"

"It's safe." Captain answered. "As long as you don't do something stupid. When it cools, it jells a bit, but stays clear like this so it won't be detected in the ice statue."

Padre moved back over to look inside the pans.

"What about the container? Won't it be noticed, or can you use a clear plastic bag or something that won't leave a visible line?"

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"We wont need to." Captain answered. "At the ice house have them ice the mold by spraying fine layers of water inside to build up a hollow statue. Get a wall of say five centimeters of ice. Then we pour in this stuff, leaving it five centimeters down so a slab of ice can be laid on top and carefully iced in. Then we let the whole thing cool down for a few days in the freezer. I figure we will have around a 750 kilo bomb about twenty meters from the podium."

"Brilliant." Padre exclaimed. "And you are sure this stuff will work?"

"No." Captain answered.

"What?" Padre seemed shocked.

"I told you I've never made this stuff before." Captain replied.

"That is why I made three different batches. I varied the formula, as I remember it, a bit in each one. Now I need some of your people to take these out and test them."

Captain pulled three blasting caps from the box and put them in a plastic food bag. He next sat the sack of batteries by the caps. Then he had Speaks hold open plastic bags while he poured the three mixes into them.

He labeled each bag and laid them on the table.

"I can tell someone how to do this." Captain said. Padre shook his head. He picked up a cardboard box and started to put the items in it.

"I have experts in the field." He said as he loaded the box.

"Then they won't like getting that package." Captain said. "Never store blasting caps with the explosives, and never transport batteries and blasting caps together."

"Oh, yes. That makes sense. Hand me that paper sack, please, and that garbage bag."

Padre separated the items, and gathered them up to leave, but turned back at the door.

"I'll know in about two hours if these work. Meet me in my office then." Padre left. Captain gathered up the other items and started to prepare them. He glanced up at Speaks. The little man looked worried.

"Relax, Speaks. This will all work out just fine. You'll see.

Captain and Speaks were ten minutes early, but Padre was waiting, and excited.

"The first two both worked." Padre exclaimed as Captain spread the remaining items out on the desk. "My man says the third may have worked if we had a booster, whatever that is. He also said that due to the cold we would need a booster for the statue. I think you knew that. What do you have planned?"

Captain pointed to the items on the desk as he explained.

"These transistors can be modified to accept the radio control circuits and still look like radios. They will activate the blasting cap. The cap alone will not be strong enough to penetrate the ice, or set off the 114

explosive, but this plastic will be. The cap sets off the plastic, the plastic sets off the bomb."

"But that will be visible inside the ice." Padre protested.

"It won't be inside, it will be outside, and it will be delivered just before the time to use it. I will explain how. I will take a dozen film canisters and open them. I will discard the film, melt the plastic, fill the canisters, and reseal them. The blasting cap will be camouflaged inside a set of earphones. The film and earphones will be grouped inside a photographer's bag. The radio will be carried separately until it is time to use it. Then it will be placed inside the bag and the ear phones plugged in.

The radio will be turned on, the man walks away, and when he is clear, I press this button on the control unit here, and we have one big hole."

"Brilliant." Padre nearly shouted. He was so excited he couldn't remain seated. He got up and paced the room. "Brilliant. It will work. I have already gotten word about the rest of the plan. Everything is in place.

All that remains is to modify these items, and select one of my people to place the detonator. Yes, what is it?"

A young woman had entered with some papers in her hand. She gave them to Padre and left, but not before giving Captain a wink. He ignored her, but Speaks watched as she walked out.

"Perfect. This gets even better." Padre exclaimed as he handed the papers to Captain. "All at once. I knew you would be able to get the others later, but now, all at once. It is beautiful."

When Speaks finally returned his attention to the plan he looked puzzled, so Captain slowly explained what he was reading in the papers.

"These are copies of a letter sent to Congressman Daniels. He is invited to be on the stand with the President when the big speech is made.

His presence is to honor him for his work on behalf of the people, and to show U.S. support for the crack down. The letter informs him that the interior minister, and the commanding general will also be there. The next page covers transportation and security measures. The last page is Congressman Daniel's reply. He will be there."

"I hope this doesn't change anything." Padre suddenly said, a note of worry in his voice. "I mean about the congressman being there. You don't have any qualms about him being there, do you?"

"It's going to be a big hole." Captain replied coldly. "It will take a a lot of bodies to fill it. That brings up the next part of the plan."

"There is more?" Padre was surprised. He sat down and leaned toward Captain. "You have accomplished everything I asked. What more can you give me?"

"How would you like to take out most of these loyal army units the President has put together?" Captain asked.

"Yes, of course. You can do that?"

"No, but you and your people can." Captain answered. "This is where you can make good use of your Russians. They can handle this type 115

of planning. You will need to get all those men you offered me at first, and more if you can. You already know the positions they will take in and around the stadium. All those in the stadium will be destroyed or deactivated by the bomb. Those outside will be confused, and most likely leaderless as I expect most of the officers will find some reason to be inside the stadium for the speech. Use your forces to hit those units outside the stadium with all you've got. Tell them to keep up the attack because the units will quickly go through their supplies and will have no reserves since the troops inside the stadium will be unable to come to their aid. Give each of your commanders a radio tuned to the frequency of the bomb detonator so they can strike at the same instant the bomb goes off."

"Brilliant." Padre said quietly, staring at Captain. "Brilliant. That not only destroys or weakens those army units, but insures they will not carry out the planned attack here where the three of us will be safe and sound."

"The two of us." Captain corrected. "Speaks will be out there.

I've looked at their security measures, and you are not going to get any of your people in there to deliver the detonator. But this city is already crawling with media people. Find one that resembles Speaks and hide him away until this is over. That document mill down there will be able to give him all the papers, passports, documents, whatever is needed to get in there, and back out. The city will be in an uproar so he won't be able to come right back here, but I suspect you have a safe house he can go to until the fighting stops."

"Yes, of course." Padre assured him. "I'll find him one in the area.

I know he is capable. He can speak the language of anyone we choose, but will he do it. No offense, Speaks, but going in there will take a lot of nerve.

I am not sure you will do it. You may choose the airport instead."

"No!" Captain snapped. "Speaks will do exactly as I tell him. He knows I will insure his safety and keep him alive."

"Yes, I think he would." Padre said after a moment of silence to ponder what he had seen of the two men. "Yes, he will do it. This will succeed. Captain, you are underpaid. I am doubling you salary. You too, Speaks. What a glorious day awaits us."

"All that remains is modifying this equipment." Captain said. "I can handle the plastic, but could you get someone to do the electronics so it will look professional?"

"I will get someone to do it all, Captain. You are too valuable a man to be playing with something as deadly as explosives. I want you alive for a long long time. We will do great things together, you and I. Great things."

Speaks just sat quietly, looking worried as he studied Captain's face.

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Thirteen When Panther felt safe he had no reason to hurry. That was fortunate for Yankee and the other injured ones. They had a hard time keeping up. Yankee could see they were heading straight for a mountain range. He hoped the pass wouldn't be too high. His body screamed and his head was pounding. BD passed out what pain killers he dared give to walking men. They all washed them down from the same canteen. Yankee was sure he had taken in enough germs in the last day to kill half his state, but he didn't have time to worry about it. It took all his concentration to keep moving.

Panther stopped for lunch and siesta at a place where the trees were close enough to block out the sun, but underneath there was room to spread out. Packs were opened and food passed out. Panther made a beeline for the end of the procession.

"Yankee." Panther bellowed. "You not siesta in United States, yes?"

"No." Yankee answered from the prone position he had collapsed into.

"Good." Panther said. He threw a rifle down by Yankee. "We siesta. You stand guard."

"No." BD growled, standing up to face Panther. "This man is wounded and under my care. You can't use him."

"He not look hurt. Where he bleed?" Panther demanded.

"Somebody tortured him last night." BD said. "His injuries are inside, but just as real as gunshot wounds or amputations."

"I only have him few minutes." Panther protested. "He be able stand guard."

"A few minutes with you is like eternity in hell." BD continued.

"I say he is hurt. Do you want an injured man to protect your rear?"

That got to Panther. He barked a few orders, followed by a jerk of his thumb. Three men left the camp to take up guard positions. Panther flopped down by Yankee.

"Hey, you Yankee. Doctor tell me you invade Boss because he trick you. How go old fat boy?"

"He is dead." Yankee's answer was barely audible. He had eaten the bit of food given him and wanted to sleep.

"Dead? You kill him?"

117

"Not me. Our team leader did it." Yankee answered.

"That good. Your team leader, he good man. What you do while leader kill Boss?"

"I was busy blowing up the aggas plant." Yankee said. He was trying to abbreviate the story to get to the end so Panther would go away.

"Then we stole a plane from Boss and headed for home, but ran out of gas.

We bailed out. I came down back there, and ended up joining you."

"Caramba! This true? You destroy aggas plant. There no more gas?" Panther demanded.

"Yes. Except for what the cartels have in stock, there will be no more." Yankee answered. Panther jumped up, grabbed Yankee by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Yankee wanted to scream with the pain. Panther held Yankee and screamed at the troops. All his men gathered around and listened as he rattled off something to them, pointing at Yankee. When he finished the men cheered. Panther turned to him.

"You serve my people better than many Indian. No white man do this us. I make you Friend of Indian. I take you as cousin, and name you Night Cat." He turned to the others and told them what he had told Yankee.

The men began to chant one word. Yankee understood that was his new Indian name, but he didn't care. He wanted to lie back down. He smiled and waved at the gathered men, and tried to turn away, but Panther grabbed him and gave him a massive bear hug, then stomped away. Yankee grabbed his ribs and sank to the ground. BD was by his side in an instant.

"Here, lie back Yankee. That Better?" BD asked, sliding a backpack over for Yankee to rest his head on. "You sure made an impression on Panther, and the others will treat you like a god. Aggas has been the horror of their lives."

"Why?" Yankee asked feebly. "These guys face death every time they go into battle."

"Death they can face." BD answered. "Old age they can not. You have to understand, Yankee, that there is no retirement for these people.

There is no old age assistance, or any government programs. When they are old they have to rely on their children to care for them. The aggas not only makes them old before their time, but it does the same for their children. It takes away not only their life support, but their hopes for a better future, and a name of honor to pass down. For them aggas isn't simply a weapon they can not defend against it is the end of all they live for, all they fight for. It takes away the meaning of life for them."

"They need to learn the real purpose of life." Yankee said, fighting back the sleep, but losing the battle.

"The real meaning of life." BD chuckled. "Sure. Do you know the real meaning of life?"

"Yes." was all Yankee could answer as he slipped into blackness.

The blackness ended abruptly. He opened his eyes to see BD bending over him, urging him to get up. He weakly complied. The line 118

was already formed. He fell in and tried to keep going. It wasn't easy, but he kept up, until they entered the foothills. There was no pass. Only a bunch of animal trails up and over the mountain. He wanted to sit down and cry, but knew that his choice was to keep up, or try to find his own way out of the jungle. In his heart he begged for the strength, pleading with God. The pain never left him, and he was near the exhaustion point the whole time, but as the sun was slipping down the group neared the top of the mountain. He had even been able to help with the wounded. Then he paused and listened.

"I hear a helicopter." He said to BD. "I don't hear anything." BD said, stopping too. They stood there as the rear guard came up and tried to urge them on.

"I may not be at home in these jungles, but I've spent my life around machines, and I know what I hear. A helicopter, low and muffled, but there. It's not changing, like it is hovering somewhere out of sight."

The rear guard again urged them on. BD spoke to him sharply.

The man ran past them, but returned in a minute with Panther.

"Where is copter?" Panther demanded. "I hear not." Still, he barked orders. Everyone began scanning the sky.

"I don't hear it as much as I feel it." Yankee said softly. Then he perked up. "It's changed pitch. It is coming nearer."

"I not hear. Panther stated. He began barking orders and the line reformed, then everyone paused. They all heard it now. The helicopter came over the top of the mountain, low and slow. The men scattered even before Panther shouted the orders. Yankee dropped to the ground and crawled for some brush.

There was no hard cover. No big rocks or crevices to slip into. No big trees to hide behind. Just brush to get into and hope the chopper didn't see them. Yankee lay still, watching the helicopter through the brush. It was painted in jungle camouflage. He had never seen one like it so he assumed it was Soviet made. The pilot was visible through the windscreen.

There was no co-pilot, but behind the pilot was a compartment with sliding doors. The door were open and light machine guns were mounted on poles inserted into the floor. There was one man on each side manning the guns.

The men had seen something. They began firing into the brush.

Yankee wondered why no one on the ground fired back. The chopper seemed to have its way, moving up and down the mountain side sweeping the brush with its guns. One stream of bullets passed within a yard of Yankee's head. He wanted to break and run, then realized that was the intent. He laid still and got a close look at the machine as it passed. He could tell it was armored against small arms fire. Their only chance to fight it would be to pick off the men on the guns. In his eye he pictured that. A duel between a man with a rifle and one with a machine gun. He 119

understood then the strategy of Panther's men. Scatter along the mountainside and hope you are not seen.

The chopper swerved, and one gunner jerked his gun around before firing. The man on the ground was literally blown out of the bush he was using. The chopper moved uphill, passing Yankee, then ran parallel to the mountainside. It fired a long burst into an area. A figure popped up, rifle ready. He never got a shot as the machine gun cut him down. He screamed and flung the rifle. It landed right on the trail about ten feet in front of Yankee.

It was obvious that the chopper wasn't going away. It would stay as long as it had bullets. Yankee tried to sink lower into the bush. He was just off the trail, less than a yard and felt vulnerable, but the machine was staying ahead of him. He saw one gunner point, and shout into his intercom. He knew another of Panther's men had been pinpointed. The man knew too. He stood up and bolted down the mountainside, tumbling and falling as he scrambled for new cover. Yankee could see he wouldn't make it. The chopper was turning to go after the man. Then a thought struck Yankee. He could put an end to the slaughter. He had seen the ship in full profile. From the intake to the exhaust was a straight line, so the jet engine was most likely in line with the intake. The side of the engine was armored, but the front wasn't. He forgot his pains as he rolled from his cover and darted forward. He grabbed the rifle and checked it over. It appeared unharmed.

"Get down, you fool." BD's voice came from a bush below him as he stood up in plain view. He ignored it as he nestled the stock against his shoulder and steadied the gun. The pilot had seen him. The nose of the chopper dipped slowly as the machine moved right toward him. He knew the intake was probably a yard wide, but at his present range it looked like a dime. He held his fire and stood stock still as the machine grew quickly in his sights. The two gunners had been raking the mountainside. Now the one on the left was remounting his gun on an extension bar to fire forwards.

The intake looked as big as a quarter now. Yankee fired a short burst to get used to the recoil, then fired until the gun made a final "click."

He had seen nothing happen and wondered if he had missed when suddenly the intake belched a tongue of yellow flame which quickly went out, but a steady stream of black smoke poured out. The pilot quickly turned downhill in an effort to save his ship, but he was too low. The chopper smashed belly first into the mountainside, slid fifteen yards, then toppled on it's side.

Yankee stood there, feeling relieved. The killing was over. Then with a shout Panther's men scrambled down the mountainside and swarmed over the chopper. Yankee heard three shots and knew what had happened.

"No." He screamed. He was too tired and hurt to try and control his anger. "No. Stop it. Stop the killing." he screamed in English. In frustration he threw the rifle toward the wrecked craft. It sailed out over the 120

mountainside, coming down within inches of an Indian who was trying to run up the mountainside waving a pistol in a holster he had just liberated.

The man ducked and scrambled for cover, not knowing what the missile was.

"You right." Panther bellowed, approaching Yankee. "Gun be yours. Is your right go down first." He slid to a halt right next to Yankee.

"You have ears of cat and eye of eagle." Panther went on. "You too good for only cousin. I make you brother, and name you 'Little Panther.'" He grabbed Yankee and gave him another bear hug that took Yankee's breath away. Then he scampered down the mountain side to supervise the looting of the downed chopper.

Yankee sat down, holding his ribs, and started to cry. He had performed beyond his ability in downing the chopper, but now all he felt was pain and sorrow. He had wanted to stop the killing and three more men had died. He felt trapped, and without hope. He wanted to sleep, to escape into blackness again. Instead he rolled onto his side, put his head on his arm and prayed for strength to go on, to be what he should be.

"Yankee, are you alright? Did they hit you?" It was BD kneeling by him.

"No, I'm not alright and no they didn't hit me." Yankee said, fighting to get control of his emotions. "No one needs to shoot me. Panther is going to squeeze me to death."

"I need help." BD said. "There are wounded, and Panther and his people will be of no use until they have everything off that machine they think they can use. Can you help me? Are you sure you are alright?"

Yankee struggled to his feet, trying to ignore his own body in an effort to help someone else. He followed BD toward where the first man had been hit. Yankee took one look and went looking for the second man.

He found him. He looked as bad as the first man, but he was still breathing.

BD joined him a second later, as did Panther.

"He's still alive." Yankee said as BD picked up his medical kit and started slowly up the hill after a shake of the head toward Panther.

"BD, I said he is still alive." Yankee said, grabbing the doctor by the arm to turn him back. BD didn't turn back.

"No, Yankee, he is not." BD said without looking at Yankee.

Yankee was about to protest when the nearness of the gun shot made him jump. He turned to see Panther straightening up from his position next to the victim.

"That part you never get used to." BD said, a crack in his voice.

He started back up the hill.

"What about the drug men?" Yankee asked, struggling to keep up with BD. "They're dead." BD said flatly.

"Why?" Yankee demanded, grabbing BD hard enough to force him to stop and talk. "It doesn't have to be this way."

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"Yes it does." BD screamed. He swore at Yankee, then forced himself to calm down enough to talk. "Do you think I like this? I'm sworn to save lives, and with a full hospital of surgeons and gear I might could have saved that man. But out here, all I have is this. That man was dead.

Panther just ended the pain." BD had thrust his medical kit out at Yankee and held it there. Yankee put both hands on it and gently pushed it back down to BD's side.

"It's hard on you too, isn't it?" Yankee spoke quietly now. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to blame you. I just don't understand any of this. I don't understand how these people can kill the enemy when he is helpless, let alone kill their own without a second thought. Are these men or savages? Is this what war does to you? Will you become like them? Will I?" BD almost laughed at the last question before answering.

"Me, maybe, but you, never. I've never seen anyone so ill fitted for war emotionally. You have all the skills, and plenty of courage, but you just don't understand what war is all about. Oh, you see the big picture, the drugs versus the rebels, the good versus the bad, but you don't understand that on this level it is all about killing, and staying alive. If you kill, you stay alive. That is what Panther does, and he is good at it. Look."

The chopper had been stripped of guns and ammunition. Panther held in his hand all the papers taken from the ship. He was sorting out the maps and throwing away the rest, letting them blow down the mountainside as easily as the lives of the five men who had just died. Then he turned his attention to the guns and the radio that had been ripped out, along with the helicopter's batteries. He began ordering men to carry certain parts, but soon ran out of men. He saw Yankee and BD standing there and motioned them to come.

"No." Yankee said, speaking to BD quietly. "That is not the way it should be. If these people are to survive the war they must do it by more than just staying alive and killing all the enemy, they must remain human beings in the process."

BD wanted to tell Yankee that was a noble thought, but didn't have a chance. Panther pointed at Yankee as they got within earshot.

"You well enough fight, you well enough carry. You take radio.

Doctor, you carry something. Small machine gun maybe. Other wounded, they carry too, maybe." Panther was reviewing what was left to carry as Yankee spoke up.

"The wounded can't even support themselves, let alone this junk.

Why don't we just camp here, get some rest. In the morning everyone will be stronger, though not strong enough for all this stuff."

"Oh, stay here." Panther bellowed. "My brother not know ways of cartels. I tell you, Little Panther, how it work. When this ship see us it talk on radio. Backup ship now on way. Stay here? Yes if you tell me there no 122

aggas and you shoot down next one that comes. No. We hurry over top and run like fools and hope it not find us."

"How did this one find us?" Yankee asked, interrupting Panther as he was about to bellow out more orders.

"Luck." Panther answered. "Only you make it our luck. Now get radio, we go."

"I don't think it was luck." Yankee said.

"What you say?" Panther demanded angrily.

"That chopper was waiting on the other side of the mountain.

Waiting, as if it expected us to pop over at any time. When we held up it came for us. How could it know the exact time we would come over the ridge?" Yankee asked. "I think it was an ambush set up so that the chopper would take out all the men after the first one over." Yankee said. Panther stared at Yankee, then screamed, "Arano!"

Arano, Panther's second in command stepped forward. He had been listening and immediately started to deny everything. Panther listened, then turned to Yankee.

"He good soldier. Why I not believe him?"

"Because I am your brother." Yankee answered sharply. He stepped up to face Arano, then quickly snatched the radio from him. He looked at the frequency setting and then turned over the radio ripped from the chopper. It was set to the same frequency.

"Traitor." Panther screamed. Arano jumped like a deer, right down the mountainside. Just as quick Panther had his pistol out but never got a chance to fire it. Yankee kicked his legs out from under him. The stout man fell flat on his back as Yankee bounded after Arano.

Yankee forgot all of his pains as he pursued the man. Arano had a pistol and knife, but had no chance to use them as Yankee tackled him and pinned him so fast he didn't even have time to scream from the pain.

Yankee disarmed him and used his own pistol to prod him back up the hill to where an outraged Panther waited.

"First, I kill him." Panther raged. "Then I deal with you."

"You'll kill no one." Yankee bellowed right back. Panther was shocked. He even stepped back as Yankee went on.

"Right now we need every able body we can get. He can carry something. You can hand out your justice later. To prevent his escape we will tie him to you." Yankee could hear one of the other Indians translating what he said. They all stood there waiting for lightning to strike Yankee at any minute."

"I felt something when I grabbed him." Yankee said. He thrust his hand into the bag Arano had tied to his waist. He pulled out a handful of gold coins. He handed them to Panther. Panther's eyes lit up and he forgot about being angry.

123

"That is Arano's motivation." Yankee said, using the rope from the bag to tie Arano's hands behind his back. Panther clenched the money in his fist, then held it out to Yankee.

"Booty go warrior who capture." Panther said, rather reluctantly.

Yankee shook his head and refused to take it.

"That is blood money. I do not want it. Use it to buy food for the men."

"Why blood money?" Panther asked.

"It cost Inaqua his life needlessly." Yankee answered.

"Inaqua traitor too. He confess." Panther retorted.

"Did he confess, or make up a story to avoid being tortured by you.

Isn't it possible both traps were laid by the same man, with the same rules.

Let the first man pass, take out all the others?" Yankee said. The other Indians were quite agitated now, arguing amongst themselves over what Yankee had said. Panther stepped back and shook his head.

"You say I make mistake. Panther leader. Panther no make mistake."

"Only God makes no mistakes." Yankee said, knowing Panther wouldn't dare refute that. "I just say you may have acted too quickly. You need a way to prevent mistakes."

"How?" Panther asked, very much aware of his men gathered around.

"By changing just a few things." Yankee answered. "First, no one gets executed on one man's authority. Everyone will have a chance to explain to a jury or council what they did and why. The council will decide their fate, not one man. Second, we will start taking prisoners alive. Many of the Russians we face are fighting only because they have no other choice.

Given a choice, and sanctuary, some of them will fight for our cause. The others can be turned over to the governments around us to be extradited for war crime trials. Some of them may even have some reward money on them that we can use for arms and medicines. Third, we stop putting machinery ahead of our people. We fight for our people, so why sacrifice them for spare parts?" He kicked the radio on the ground for emphasis.

The other Indians were nodding their approval of all he said.

"But guns, bullets, radios," Panther argued. "Make possible to strike enemy. Make us most feared. Without them, we are not."

"Without men to use them, we are nothing." Yankee corrected. "If we try to move all this equipment, more of us will die along the way."

"But we need it." Panther protested.

"Alright." Yankee suddenly agreed, bringing a smile to Panther's face. "But fair is fair. The strongest man should carry the largest load.

You, Panther, will carry the two heavy machine guns. We will all double up on the rest."

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Yankee knew Panther couldn't protest that he was the strongest, nor could he refuse to shoulder an impossible load and expect the others to.

He stepped closer to Yankee and spoke quietly.

"I see point, Yankee. What we take?"

"All of it." Yankee answered.

"All?" Panther bellowed, then caught himself and lowered his voice. "You make me look fool?"

"No. I am just counseling you to take a large part of this stuff and conceal it somewhere. Come back for it later."

"But, that cut number raids we do?" Panther protested.

"It may cut down the number, but will that matter if the raids become more effective?"

"No, I guess not." Panther admitted. He looked at the wrecked helicopter. "You effective. Very well, I accept. We take half over top and hide it. We come back for other half. We hurry. Cartel always send second strike. They arrive anytime."

"Then I counsel that we move all this stuff a short distance down this side of the mountain and hide it. Then we go on to the bottom, to where we stopped for lunch. We make camp, stay for a day, maybe two until the wounded get some strength. Then we come back up here, take what we can, and go home. Later we come back for the rest."

"But, we not going that way." Panther protested.

"Does the cartel know the way we are going?" Yankee asked.

Panther thought that one over, then nodded.

"I see. That wise. Panther never turn back. They know that.

They not look for us there. Yes, we do that, but only till morning. Then we go or food supplies run short."

"You and most of your people were raised in places like this."

Yankee countered. "Surely you know how to find food, live off the land."

"Yes, but grubs taste like grubs, and bark like bark." Panther spit on the ground to show his dislike for the stuff. "I like cooked beans, canned meat. Oh, alright. We discuss in morning."

Panther was his old self as he barked out the orders. The men seemed pleased and quickly moved the things into sheltered caches. They moved easily down the mountainside. Since little was being carried BD was able to get two well men to help each of the wounded. He assisted Yankee.

"I thought you were dead back there." BD said. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he cut your throat in your sleep."

"Is he that kind of a person?" Yankee asked.

"No, he is not." BD admitted. "But you know, I think he was becoming like that. I think you put an end to that, but you still don't understand, there is no humane war."

It was dark when the two helicopters came. They used bright floodlights to search the top of the mountain, then went on over the top to 125

search the other side. The Indians all cheered as the lights disappeared.

Panther came over to where Yankee was bedded down.

"You wise, Yankee. You be good soldier but I think you be bad brother." He walked away without waiting for a reply.

"He expects you to stand up to him now." BD said from his bedroll. "When you are not half crazy from pain, will you?"

Yankee didn't answer. He was asleep.

126

Fourteen Captain put the finishing touches on the detonators while Speaks and Padre watched. Without any explosives attached he tested first one, then the other.

"They both work fine, so it doesn't matter which one we use." He said. "Here, Speaks, take this one. Keep it turned off as it is now live. You are sure you know how to attacheit to the film canisters?"

"He's rehearsed it a hundred times." Padre snapped. "Even a child could do it. He must leave now. Everyone with an invitation must be inside an hour before the officials arrive. We are so close now, nothing must go wrong."

"Agreed." Captain said. He handed Speaks the photo bag with the explosive canisters in it. He pushed a camera toward Speaks, along with the papers he would need.

"Remember, you are a Russian photo-journalist, so stay away from any Russians who might recognize the name you are using. You look a lot like the guy the local police are holding for us, but let's not take chances.

Don't lose that invitation either. And remember, I will give you time to plant the detonator, and get out of the stadium. Get to the safe house as quickly as possible. There will be pandemonium when the shooting starts.

Let me show you one more time exactly where the safe house is, and how to get there."

Captain pulled over the map while Padre checked his watch impatiently.

"This is the path you will follow." Captain said, running a pencil point just above the paper. "It will be easy to follow. As a safety factor I have asked the ice house to park one of their trucks here, where I've marked 'ice,' as a sign post for you." Captain penciled in "ici" on the map. Speaks knew Captain could spell better than that. He also knew "ici" was French for "here."

"I understand." Speaks replied. He looked at Padre. "I am ready."

"Fine. Good. Excellent." Padre said, hustling Speaks towards the door. "Your cab is waiting in the parking garage. If you have any problems on the way, the driver will know what to do. He is one of ours."

"Does that mean I don't have to tip him?" Speaks asked. Padre shoved him out the door. Then he turned to Captain, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

127

"You look like a kid at Christmas." Captain observed.

"I feel even better." Padre exclaimed. "Are you sure all the units are in place?"

Captain went to the computer he had set up on Padre's desk. On the screen was a map of the city. He picked up a radio and sent out a signal.

Instantly red lights began to light up on the screen.

"They are all in place." Captain answered, checking the screen against a clipboard. "Technically, they are out gunned by the army, but the army units can't last without backup, which will be destroyed in the blast.

You did instruct everyone to press the attack, even if they seemed to be losing didn't you?"

"Of course." Padre answered. "They are under orders to fight to the last man, if need be. They all carry radios that are keyed to the detonator control. When you push that button, they attack. In a little over two hours, this city, maybe even this country, will be mine."

"I hate to wait on an empty stomach." Captain said. "Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?"

"No. I am too excited to eat. Aren't you?"

"Not really." Captain replied. "It's just another campaign for me.

In fact, I need to finish the last chapter in my book. Now where did I leave it? Oh, by the television."

Captain went to the large screen television to get the book. As he did so he scooped up the other transistor radio without Padre seeing him.

He slipped it behind the television as he reached for the book, which he knocked onto the floor behind the machine. As he bent down to get it he unplugged the antennae. Then with just a nod of the head to Padre, he left.

The building was nearly empty. Since everyone in Padre's organization was expected to fight when needed, they were all out with the professional soldiers. He shook his head in disbelief at how everything was going. He normally led his troops into battle, but he wanted no part of this one and had worried about how to get out of it. Padre had insisted that he stay behind. Padre said he was too valuable to risk out there. He really suspected that Padre was keeping him there to make sure Speaks carried out his part. It didn't matter. It all fit together very well. There was just a few more items to get ready.

The kitchen was empty, as he knew it would be. He got out a glass pan and started to heat a measured amount of water. He took two soup packets from the pantry, along with bread and some greens. From the cooler he got meat and cheese. He pulled a chair up to a table near the stove and started to cull the greens, stopping after a second and looking around. Then he picked up a cardboard box from beside the stove and set it between his feet as he continued to cull the greens. He dropped the bad stuff into the box, occasionally missing. Then he would bend over, pick up the piece of garbage and deposit it in the box. Each time he did so he removed from the box some of it's contents.

128

He knew where the camera was and had placed himself so his back was to it. To someone watching from that point he appeared to be making a sandwich. He was, but he was also measuring and mixing the remaining ingredients for the explosive he had made a few days before. When the water boiled he set the box back by the side of the stove and opened the soup packets, but slipped them over the side of the stove. He poured his mix into the water and stirred it carefully, removing it from the heat. He place it on the table and sat back to eat his sandwich and read his book.

Twenty minutes later he put down the book and looked at his watch.

"Time to go." He said, as if to himself. "I better take this with me." He picked up the pan and went to a cupboard, from which he removed a plastic container and its lid. He poured the "soup" into the container and snapped on the lid. Taking his book, he went back to Padre's office.

"Sure you're not hungry?" He said as the guard let him in.

"No." Padre said with exasperation. In one hand he held the television remote. In the other hand was the telephone. He was trying to use both at once.

"The TV won't work, and there are no technicians in the building.

We may have to go to the conference room to watch this. How hard will it be to move your communications gear?"

"That will take too long." Captain answered, glad he wouldn't have to use the "I forgot a spoon and bowl answer" he had ready in case Padre did want the soup.

"Let me check the TV, Padre."

He went to the set, pulled it out from the wall, and stepped behind it. Quickly he removed the lid from the container and set it behind the set.

He took a blasting cap from his pocket and opened the back of the transistor radio. With a few twists of wire he had the cap secured. He dropped the cap into the mixture. He set the transistor down carefully and turned it on.

Then he reattached the antennae.

"There, it's working." Padre exclaimed. "What did you do back there?"

"I hooked up some loose wires." Captain answered truthfully.

"Brilliant. I don't know how I got along without you." Padre said.

He pointed at the screen as Captain settled into a seat and grabbed the detonator control. The screen showed the inside of the stadium. It was filling with people. The stand could be seen below, with the bronze statue on one side, and a tent on the other.

"They will remove the tent and the dry ice in about half an hour, when the satellite broadcast starts." Padre said, as if instructing Captain.

"Your man back in the studio can get us a closeup of the statue when we need it? He doesn't know why, does he?"

"He will do as I say." Padre answered, never taking his eyes from the screen. "He is in contact with the camera crews by wire and directs all 129

their angles. When I tell him to he will broadcast locally the view I want.

The international signals will come from another camera. Look at all those soldiers. And that, did you see that? They have metal detectors set up to screen everyone. What if they stop Speaks?"

"Speaks will get through." Captain said calmly.

Speaks did get through. Security checked his camera over carefully, and looked in the bag. When the officer took out the radio to look at it Speaks let him look a second, then took it from the man's hand. In faltering Spanish he asked him what station the ceremony would be broadcast on. He put the headphones around his neck as the man answered him. He adjusted the radio to the frequency, thanked the man, closed the bag, and went on. The soldier didn't give him a second look. He was glad too. He wanted to break out in a cold sweat. He wanted to drop the bag and run. He wanted Captain or Yankee by his side. Instead, he did what Captain had told him to.

He took a seat in the press section and fiddled with the camera, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing with it, which he didn't. He waited until the helicopter arrived. Then he moved with the flow as media people left their seats and flowed toward the stand on both sides of the seats set up on the field. He pretended to take pictures as he worked his way toward the statue. Once there he had to fight the flow as most of the others headed back to their seats as the President and his people took the stand to a roaring ovation.

With most of the media gone he was left in the shadow of the statue, pretending to take pictures. Then he stopped, sat his bag on the base of the statue and opened the bag. He took out the one real roll of film, put the radio in, looped the headset around the loaded film canisters, and turned on the radio. He closed the bag, slipped the roll of film into his pocket, and started away from the statue.

"Se単or, you have forgotten your bag." A soldier said, stepping in front of him. He was a young man, maybe twenty, and was not at all threatening. Speaks looked back to the statue.

"It was getting heavy." Speaks said. "I need to get a few shots from over there, then I will return for it." He hoped the man would buy that line.

"That is not wise, Se単or, not in this crowd. Someone might take it.

I will help you, I will stand guard by it until you return." With a smile, and a salute, the young soldier started toward the statue.

Speaks watched a second. He knew he was supposed to be gone by now, but he couldn't let that young man stand right next to the bag. He ran after him.

"Soldier, wait." He called out. The soldier turned around. "I can get the far shots when the President is speaking. Right now, would you let me take a few shots of you, local color, dedicated public servant, that sort of 130

thing. Could you stand about there so I can get you, and the stand behind you?"

The young soldier was happy to comply. Speaks marched him away from the statue a good hundred feet. Then he retreated even farther to take the fake shots.

"There, the detonator is set." Padre said, pointing to the screen.

The camera was focused on the ice statue. It clearly showed the bag sitting there. "You may press the button anytime, Captain."

"Speaks hasn't had enough time to get out of the stadium, let alone out of the blast zone." Captain answered.

"Speaks is expendable, Captain." Padre said coldly. "We mustn't take any chances of anything going wrong. What if someone sees the bag sitting there and tries to steal it?"

"I gave Speaks my word." Captain replied.

"I appreciate that, Captain, but maybe this is the time to show that your loyalty to me will transcend any bond. It would be worth a lot of money to you."

"How much?" Captain asked.

"Two million American dollars." Padre replied. Captain stood up as if thinking. He went over and stood near the television. Then he shook his head.

"I want the money, but I can't break my word. I can't push the button yet. How much would it be worth for you to do it?" He held the radio control up.

"Same price." Padre said, standing up, holding out his hand.

Captain smiled and set the control on top of the television.

"I can't make it that easy. I have to live with myself. At least take a little time to come and get it. Maybe Speaks will get clear."

Padre didn't take much time. He made a beeline for the control.

Captain made a beeline for the desk. He glanced back to make sure Padre was indeed ready to use the control, then dropped behind the heavy desk.

The blast was a bit bigger than he was counting on. The desk did protect him, but it moved with the force, hitting him like a slow moving truck. It dazed him, but he struggled to his feet, trying to move quickly. He knew Padre was dead, but the guard by the door might have survived. He tried to dash to the door, but stumbled as the shock of the blast still had him disoriented.

The guard had indeed survived, but he was in no shape to pose a threat. Captain picked up the man's machine pistol and glanced at it. It appeared to be in working order. He smiled. Now he was in control, and he was armed. It felt good. He had planned on using the computerized controls in the office to shut down the security systems, and to order an evacuation of the building, but as he approached them he could see they hadn't survived. He was able to make the disk drive spit out the disk Padre 131

had thought important enough to take when his life was in danger. He put the disk in his pocket. Then he noticed the fire.

He had first thought the smoke was just from the blast, and his ears were ringing too much to hear the crackle, but now it was evident. The blast had not only started a fire, but had ruptured the sprinkler pipes in the ceiling. Water was cascading down one wall, but the other end of the office was engulfed in fire and it was increasing in intensity. Even as he looked he could feel the heat rising dangerously, and the air in the room was being consumed. He had to get out, and quickly.

He was right by the door, and hoped it still worked. It did. He stepped over the moaning guard into the hall. He knew he had to get the door closed quickly but the semi conscious guard rolled over and a leg flopped into the doorway. Captain was just going to kick it back in and close the door, thinking the man deserved it, but then a strange thought crossed his mind. Yankee would save the man.

Without understanding why, he grabbed the man by the leg and dragged him into the hall. Then he slammed the door. The office was fully engulfed. He knew the door and wall would only hold the fire a few more minutes, but the sprinklers in the hall would probably contain the fire when it broke through. While the fire was raging he needed to carry out the rest of his plan.

He turned to run for the stairs at the far end of the hall, but doubled over in a coughing spasm. He hadn't realized the extent of the smoke he had inhaled. He pressed on, but not quickly, and he had to keep one hand on the wall for support as he went along. He stumbled down the stairs, grateful that Padre had sent everyone except the barest possible staff into the streets to help the attack on the army. He didn't feel much like doing hand to hand right now, and his head hurt so much he wasn't sure he could even shoot straight.

He went past the offices and conference room, right to the main control room. He forced himself to stand upright and tried to look confident and in control as he opened the door. There was only one woman there, frantically trying to cover all the monitors and deal with all the flashing emergency lights. She was wearing a pistol and reached for it as he opened the door.

If his reflexes had been up to par she would have died, but he was just starting to raise his own gun when she recognized him. She dropped her hand away from the pistol and pointed at the controls, babbling rapidly in Spanish.

"Calm down." He said, fighting the urge to cough. To his surprise she responded in English.

"Something is wrong." She said. "I have fire lights upstairs. I've lost video on Padre's office. I have to keep shutting down the alarms. I don't know what has happened. I think there was an explosion."

132

"It is an attack by the army." Captain replied. "I was there. Padre is dead. There are soldiers all over upstairs. Let the alarms sound. Get everyone out, down, by the stairs. Leave all guns, papers, anything that can identify us as Padre's men. Beyond that, it's every man for himself.

Understand?"

She nodded, then grabbed a microphone and sent out the instructions. Even as her voice blared from the intercom system the vault guard burst into the room. Captain tensed and slipped the safety off his gun, but the guard wasn't interested in attacking. He threw his gun aside as he came into the control room. He was stuffing a wad of bills into his pocket and heading for the exit. He skidded to a halt when he saw Captain.

He looked at Captain's gun, then at the money he was stuffing in his pocket.

Captain knew the man expected to be shot. Instead, he stepped up to him and grabbed all the exposed bills. He jerked them out of the man's pocket and threw them on the control panel. Then he backhanded the man and raised his pistol. The man cringed until Captain jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Go on, get out!" He ordered. The man may not have understood the words, but he got the meaning. He ran for the door.

"Leave the gun, and get out." Captain said to the woman as he tossed his pistol onto the control panel near the money. He opened the door for her as she undid her holster and let it drop to the floor.

"I've got to burn some papers, then I'm going to try the service elevator." He said. "You use the stairs."

She obeyed, running for the stairs. Captain leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh of relief. He was grateful these people were trained to obey. If just one of them had acted like Yankee he would have had to fight, and he didn't feel like it. His head was still pounding, and now he was getting nauseous.

He stumbled to a rest room and looked at himself in a mirror. He had looked worse, but never so quickly. He pulled off his green turtleneck sweater and quickly washed it in the sink. He hung it on a toilet stall as he washed himself and groomed his hair. He really didn't feel any better when he was done, but he had to look good on the street.

He pulled on the wet sweater and went to the conference room.

One of the Russians had a large document case that he always left there.

Captain grabbed it and dumped out the papers. Then he returned to the control room. He removed the woman's pistol and two extra clips from the belt. He tucked the pistol into his belt and pulled the sweater over it. The clips went into his pocket. Then he went to the vault. He pulled down the boxes of currency and filled the document case with neatly stacked bills from the major countries of the world. He added a few rolls of gold coins, and put four rolls into his pockets. Then he headed for his last stop.

In the document room it took him only a few minutes to make himself a French passport and an American one. He had a bit of trouble 133

getting the computer to pull his photo from the personnel files, but finally succeeded. He put the French passport in his pocket. The other went into the suitcase. Then he headed for the stairs. He saw no one all the way down and he was glad. He didn't want to deal with anyone. He just wanted to get out of the city as soon as possible, but first he had to check on Speaks.

Speaks actually saw the blast. The detonator blew the entire bottom out of the statue, sending a cloud of mist and ice chunks over a wide area. The people on the stand were bowled over, and the young soldier he was trying to save was knocked flat by the blast, but he quickly rolled over and sat up to look at the damage.

Speaks too had been knocked over, but only because he had been stooping as if to take a low shot. Now he knew he had to get out of there.

The stand was crawling with soldiers, hustling the dignitaries to the helicopter, and the crowd had gone wild. Some were trying to stay still and see, but others were stampeding for the exits. Speaks joined the stampede.

Before the flow of the mass had propelled him out of the stadium he could hear the shooting and the blasts. Padre's men had launched the attack. He wondered if he would have to cross a fire zone to get away from the stadium, to the place Captain had marked on the map, but he needn't have worried.

The instant the helicopter lifted off all the troops in the stadium had rushed to reinforce their comrades. By the time Speaks cleared the exit Padre's people were being beaten back from the stadium and the army was in full pursuit. Speaks wasn't even challenged as he followed the map in his head the half mile to the chosen spot. In fact, the hard part was the waiting once he got there. He stood in a doorway of a locked warehouse, wishing Yankee were there to get them inside. People occasionally rushed past, as did an occasional vehicle. The sounds of shooting and explosions slowly diminished. He couldn't tell if it was getting farther away, or just lessening, but he was glad to be away from it. Then he began to worry that Captain wouldn't come. He hadn't known all the details of the plan Captain carried in his head. If something had gone wrong he would be alone, with no money, false identification papers, and no idea of what to do or where to go.

He wanted Yankee to be there. Not to get him out of the mess, but to give him those lessons on prayer. Right now he felt the need for strength greater than his own. He had tried to pray when Pilot was killed. Now he tried even harder. Right there in the doorway he sank to his knees and tried to teach himself how to pray.

"Speaks? Is that you? Are you okay?" It was Captain's voice.

Speaks stood up. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"I'm alright, Captain. Now everything is alright." He said.

"Unless we can commandeer a vehicle we will have to walk to the airport." Captain said. "You've seen the map. Can you find us a way there?"

134

"Sure." Speaks replied. "We go this way. It's about three miles."

Speaks led the way. Captain followed, silent as he watched the little man for a while. He stepped up beside Speaks to walk with him.

"I'm glad you kept the camera." He said to Speaks. "It will look better if we get on the plane with something to carry. How did it go in the stadium?"

"I don't think we killed anyone, but flying ice might have injured a few. I didn't stay around to find out."

"Look, I'm not much good at handing out compliments." Captain said. "But your going in there took real guts. I'm sure you considered the possibility of that thing going off before you were clear."

"Yeah, I did." Speaks answered. "But I knew you were probably counting on that so it was covered. Besides, I remember overhearing a part of a conversation you had with Yankee about an explosive that wouldn't go off after so long. I figured that was what you were using."

"Yankee said it wouldn't shoot at all under 75 degrees Fahrenheit, or after three day. We passed both of those marks. I just had to stall Padre long enough for you to get out of the way of the plastic."

"How is Padre?" Speaks asked.

"Dead." Captain said flatly.

"I kind of figured as much. Taxi!" Speaks shouted the last word and ran into the street. Captain stared in disbelief. Amidst all the confusion and panic in the city there was a taxi coming down the street.

The car stopped only to keep from running down Speaks. The driver shouted at him to get out of the way so he could get to safety. Speaks didn't move as he shouted back.

"We have to get to the airport."

"There is fighting all over the city, you fool. I'm going home. If you are smart, you will find shelter. Go to the airport tomorrow."

"Tell him we'll pay him well." Captain said, catching the gist of the exchange.

"Money is of no use to a dead man." The cabby retorted to Speaks' offer. Then Captain pulled a gold coin from his pocket. It was a full Maple Leaf. The cabby licked his lips, but looked like he was going to shake his head. Captain pulled out a second coin. The cabby's eyes got as big as the coins.

"Get in, get in." The cabby shouted. Captain and Speaks complied.

135

136

Fifteen Yankee succeeded in turning the one day rest into three days.

Panther did not like the idea, but he didn't know how to handle Yankee. All His men cowered in his presence, but Yankee treated him as an equal.

When Yankee suggested they put away the canned goods and live off the land Panther agreed to avoid another confrontation he might lose. The strange part was that most of the Indians did not know how to live off the land. Yankee suggested that Panther teach them. He agreed, but proved to be inept at teaching, so Yankee filled in. Panther would explain to him what to do and Yankee would tell the men in a way they could understand, then send them out to search for food.

Each evening they would eat what they had gathered. They didn't like it at first, but came to look at it differently when Yankee explained that such tactics could free them from heavy supply packs and increase their range of operations. Yankee tried telling them that they were living like their ancestors, but one of them told him, with more than a little pride, that he was descended from the Incas, and they did not live on grubs and roots.

Yankee countered that the ancestors of the Incas did not live on them either.

That prompted questions about the ancient peoples that had lived there.

Yankee told them about Lehi, and the history of the NephiteLamanite civilizations. He took his time, going into as great as detail as he could remember. He kicked himself for not bringing a copy of the Book of Mormon, but he had never planned on having time to teach the people. The thing that amazed him the most was that no one questioned what he taught.

They accepted him as a leader and a teacher, all except BD and Panther.

BD listened, and even agreed a lot, but did not accept it all.

Panther was only interested in getting Yankee to agree that it was time to move on. Yankee was in no hurry to leave. The food was scarce, and not that tasty, and the insects were terrible, but his body was healing, and he found it peaceful there. He enjoyed teaching the men and found their simple trust in him rewarding. He also knew that he would have to leave them soon. He would not take an oath of loyalty to Panther. He had to get home to his family. He was to have been home by now and he knew his wife would be frantic with worry, but there was little he could do except pray that God would give her peace.

On the third day Panther came to him. He seemed determined as he opened a conversation.

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"Rest been good." Panther began, talking quietly so no one overheard them. "Training, living on land, that good too. Even your stories I enjoy, but now we move. We late at base camp, and we war to fight." He was surprised when Yankee agreed.

Yankee helped BD with the wounded, and tried to keep track of where they went for the next three days. They stayed away from all roads and well traveled paths, but there were landmarks he could memorize. He knew they were getting close when around noon on the third day Panther stopped the group and let out a long, low sound. An identical sound greeted him. A short while later a man with a rifle appeared and greeted Panther warmly. Panther brushed the man off and led the group into a stream. He walked right up the middle. The group followed, all except the lookout. He faded back into the jungle.

The stream took them into a ravine, which deepened into a steep narrow canyon as they moved on into the mountain. Three more times Panther cleared their way with sentries. A few time BD told Yankee to look back. From the rear he could see fortifications manned by one or two men.

They had been totally invisible from the front. Yankee realized that no one could get up the canyon except on foot, and they would be sitting ducks for the men on guard. He also realized it would be impossible to get past these men going the other way without being seen. The base camp could end up as his prison.

The left wall of the canyon was solid rock, going straight up. The right wall was also solid rock with some brush but not much. It sloped up at a steep angle, about sixty degrees. When they came to the opening on their left Yankee at first thought it was just a shadow, but it was actually a large undercut. It was close to a hundred yards long and half that much deep. It sloped from a thirty foot opening near the creek to about three feet at the rear wall. The downstream end, where they entered, had some pens for goats. Along the back wall were a series of stick and brush huts. Near the upstream end was a larger stick and brush structure. In the middle, around a flat rock three feet tall and roughly fifteen in diameter were a bunch of logs arranged like theater seating. It was the perfect hideout. It couldn't be seen from the air and an attack up the canyon would be very costly to anyone foolish enough to try. Yankee could only assume that the upper end of the canyon was as well protected.

As soon as they entered the cavern people came running. Yankee estimated there were close to forty women, with an equal number of children. There were maybe a dozen men. There were hugs and fond embraces for the men in Yankee's party. There were also sobs and cries from the women who got back wounded husbands, or no husbands at all.

Panther mounted the rock and shouted for everyone to gather. He spoke in Indian so Yankee got close to BD for a translation. BD hardly showed any interest as he translated.

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"He always does it the same way. Tells of their valor and courage.

He exaggerates how many enemy soldiers they killed, and takes most of the credit for himself. Like now. It seems you shot down the helicopter, but he told you to. And you didn't just drop in on us, he recruited you after learning you destroyed the aggas plant. You know, Yankee, even through his bragging, you sound quite impressive. There are a dozen or so single women here. After you've made your pick, see if you can put in a good word for me."

Yankee didn't like the immoral suggestion, nor the idea of being praised for what had happened, but he said nothing. BD moved off as Panther dismissed the group and came to Yankee.

"They prepare food now. We eat well. Then we have trial and execution. I like new policy. It let young here see what happen to those who betray. You have third hut from top end. New widow be moving into women's house soon. You know, brother, this be great privilege. Normal new recruit must take hut near goats and work up, but that not for my brother. Put gear by hut, then come, eat with me and officers."

Yankee's gear consisted of a bedroll and canteen he had inherited from one of the dead, and a scared but sound AK-47 with two spare clips.

He knew that hardly anyone else had any more than he did so he knew these men were not fighting for worldly possessions.

"Beans and bullets." he muttered to himself as he made his way to his hut. Captain had told him that was often the only pay a mercenary could expect unless he came out on the winning side. He didn't like the pay, and he didn't like the job, but he could see why BD was still around. It would be next to impossible to leave this place without permission. He also didn't want to dine with Panther and his officers. He preferred BD's company. He would also have liked to eat with and talk to the crowd of children who were following him, staying about twenty feet away. When he stopped they stopped. When he advanced, they retreated. When he left, they followed.

There were a dozen or so of them, ranging from about six to twelve. They spoke quietly to each other, but fell absolutely still when he looked at them.

The women treated him about the same. When he looked at them they looked away. When he approached they fell silent. He could feel their eyes on him when he passed. He had never felt so much like a sore thumb in his life. He knew he had to talk to BD and find out what was going on.

He found BD in a tent on the upstream side of the women's house.

It was an old canvas tent that BD had set up as a small clinic. It had five cots and a folding table with a camp stool near it. A lantern hung from the ridgepole.

"All the comforts of home." Yankee said as he entered.

"Yeah, and when they aren't full of wounded, I even get a cot."

BD said without looking up from the packs he had under the cots. He was putting different medical supplies into different packs. Yankee sat on a cot.

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"Is there a reason why the children are following me, and the women are avoiding me?" Yankee asked.

"One, you are a white man." BD answered, tapping Yankee's foot to get at a pack under the cot he sat on. "Two, you are new here. Three, they respect warriors here, and you are a good one. Panther neglected to mention that you are a reluctant one. Don't let it bother you. I got much the same treatment when I was first brought here."

"Seeing those kids, the wives, it reminds me of family, and home.

Isn't there any way out of here?"

BD got up quickly and motioned Yankee to be quiet. He closed the tent flap and sat down next to Yankee.

"Most of those kids out there speak Spanish better than their parents, and they are loyal to Panther. They worship him in fact. You must never talk of escape where anyone can over hear you. I will tell you what I know. There is a secret escape route out of this cavern and canyon. Only a few of the soldiers and women know of it. They are to lead the people out in the event of an attack that overwhelms the defenses at the top or bottom.

I have been trying to gain the confidence of the women, to find this route, but with no success."

"Great." Yankee said. "Panther informs me I am to eat with him tonight."

"That is a real honor." BD said. "Do it. If you can play the part right, take an active role in his war effort, you may work yourself into a position of trust, and that would include the location of the trail out of here."

Yankee shook his head.

"I feel sorry for these people. I think I even understand their fight.

I think I even agree with it, but it is their war, not mine. I can not join Panther in a war that has as its main purpose revenge killing. If there was even some real military purpose to their fight, some overall plan, I might could help."

"Then do that." BD whispered. "Work on Panther. Get him to adopt a long term plan. Do that, and I know you'll get us out of here."

"I know a man who could do that." Yankee said. Then he hung his head. "He is probably dead now, and I never learned enough from him to be able to pull it off. Maybe we should just wait until we go on patrol together and just slip off. The two of us together might stand a chance against the jungle. At least now we know how to find food."

"The roast goat we will be eating is food." BD countered. "What we ate back there has another name. No, you work on Panther. You can do it. I've watched you. You can do anything you put your mind to."

"I try to never put my mind to anything I feel is wrong." Yankee replied. "What is that?"

"The call to dinner." BD answered, standing up. "Go eat with Panther, and remember, getting out of here isn't wrong."

140

Yankee did eat with Panther that night, and the next. He did talk about uniting the Indian bands and striking at targets that would really hurt the cartels. Panther liked the ideas. He liked the idea of him being the leader of a united front. In fact, he didn't even go on the expedition to pick up the supplies they had cached on the previous one. Instead, he stayed behind with Yankee to go over maps and charts. He showed Yankee where they were located, and the territories of the other rebel bands. He hounded Yankee for ideas that would get the other bands to join with him.

"To do that you have to demonstrate in a clear way that you can provide them with victories they can't get on their own. You need a good show piece, an outstanding victory or some type; something that no one has ever done before." Yankee said on his third day in camp.

"How? I now kill more drug people than other group. More than any two groups. What I do more?" Panther demanded. Yankee swept his hand over the maps they were looking at.

"You, and the others operate here, in the jungles, in the mountains.

You bother the cartels, like a mosquito, but you never really hurt them because they are not centered here. Only Boss moved out here, and because of him no one else is likely to. To hurt the cartels, and gain the fame you need, you will have to go into the cities."

"No." Panther stated in objection. "Here, we fight cartels but government stay out. If we hit city, even drug one, we have army on us.

We not fight two wars."

"I agree." Yankee answered. "And we don't want your actions to push the government and the cartels into working together any more than they already do. But there is a way to pull this off."

"I listen." Panther said eagerly.

"Car bombs, blowing up buildings, that sort of thing has terroristic value, but little military purpose. Plus, that always kills some civilians and gets the media upset, but consider this. How would everyone react if a group of men swooped down on a ship that was loading say a ton of cocaine. The men move quickly to control the area, avoiding shooting and killing if possible since a lot of the people in the area will be innocent. The cocaine is seized, opened, and burned right on the spot. The attackers then melt back into the city."

"I not see how that helps us." Panther protested. "We kill their people, they dead. Gone. We kill cocaine, they plant more. You have good ideas, my brother, but this not one."

"You kill their people, and they do hire more." Yankee explained.

You kill their money supply, and they won't be able to keep even the ones they have."

"Oh, I see. We kill all shipments, yes. Then we come here and kill their people. Yes, it work, but how we find shipments? Government not do it, not your D.E.A." 141

"The government often doesn't want to, and our D.E.A. people are forced to work from without, hoping to buy a little cooperation from someone who knows. These countries are filled with your people. They will help you out of loyalty where they would not help the D.E.A. for any reason."

"Yes. That good. I build network of lookers. I see that. But if we successful, cartels will guard shipments better, there be fire fights."

"If they do that, they make them easier to spot, maybe even obvious, to both the government and the D.E.A. not to mention the media.

You could put them in a no win situation."

Panther was tempted by the idea, so much so he didn't dare let himself believe it. He kept looking for the flaw that would ruin it.

"My people, they good warriors, but not city people. They not educated. They not know how act in city. They be spotted. And, they know how fight, but do what you say, they not that good."

"They lack training." Yankee countered. "They don't have to be educated to act educated, and they lack neither the courage nor the brains to become the type of fighters we need. I can teach them to speak Spanish well enough to pass as city dwellers. Out of all your people there must be someone who comes from the city and can teach them manners and customs enough to fit in. What do you say?"

"I like it." Panther responded. "I like it. You think you do this?"

"Do you think I can?" Yankee answered.

"Yes. You train my people. When you start? What you want me do?"

"I want you to stay out of my way." Yankee thought, but he didn't say it. He was more diplomatic in his answer. "I need you to choose someone to help me with the city lessons. Then you have got to start building your network of informers to gather intelligence on the cartels and their drug movements. That will be the harder job. I can have your men ready to strike in about three months, but I doubt you can have the information we need by then."

"I have it. I have it." Panther boasted. "You start training tomorrow. You figure out which men to guard, and which to train. I choose school teacher for city lessons."

"I will repeat all the lessons, twice a day so that all your men can be trained." Yankee proposed. "That will give you greater flexibility in your use of men."

"That good. Two lessons. You begin tomorrow."

With a wave of his hand he dismissed Yankee. Yankee was glad to go, and he smiled as he stepped out of Panther's tent into the darkness.

He had just made sure that he would not be sent on any missions for three months, and when he did, it would be to a city from which he could easily escape. He would have to work it so BD was with him, but he had time to work on that.

142

He went to his hut, but he didn't sleep for a long time. He began planning what he would teach the men. He wanted to teach them more than Spanish. He wanted to help them remain human through all of the horrors of war. He wanted to make them honorable, willing to fight for a cause, rather than revenge.

"Se単or?" He opened his eyes, and the light hurt. There was a figure in the doorway of his hut.

"Do I call you Little Panther, or Yankee?"

It was a woman's voice, and in perfect English. He sat up and motioned the woman in. She stepped hesitantly over near him. She appeared to be in her mid twenties. Slim of figure and fair of face she was definitely pretty by white men's standards. Clinging to her leg was a child, probably about two years old. She sank to her knees and sat back on her heels. She carried a bundle on her back.

"My name is Nina. I was raised in the city and schooled to be a teacher. Panther says I am to help you train the warriors to act like city folk. He also says I am to take care of you and make you happy in every way. I have brought all my things."

Yankee didn't know what to say.

143

144

Sixteen The airport was a madhouse. It was officially closed due to the fighting, but for those that spoke the language tickets and flights were available. This time it was Captain who spoke the language. Gold coins were accepted and seats assigned without the pain of paperwork. The flight they left on was unlisted. The passengers were all desperate to get out of town, and they all had the money to get the flight. There had been no security check so Captain had to assume that many of them were armed as he was.

That ended any thought he had of hijacking the plane to go where he wanted. In fact, he didn't know where the plane was going. He hadn't asked. None of the people bidding for seats had asked. They all just wanted to get away from the government forces fighting the cartel.

"Speaks, see if you can find out where this thing is going." He said to Speaks. Speaks didn't answer, he just complied. He got up and went to the front of the plane. He returned in less than five minutes. The message he had for Captain wasn't encouraging.

"The original destination was Bogota. They won't take us. Lima was the next choice, but they threatened to shoot the plane down if we enter Peruvian air space. Everyone knows what is going on back there, and they all know this plane is full of drug people. They don't want their images tarnished."

"Excuse me." A man from the seat behind them leaned forward and interrupted. He spoke fair English with a heavy Spanish accent. "I heard what you said. Where are we going now?"

"Back." Speaks replied. "It is the only place that will take us."

The man fell back into his seat and began talking loudly, explaining the situation to his companion. Others overheard him and began talking. Soon people were leaving their seats, talking, gesturing, even arguing. Finally a consensus seemed to be reached and three men headed for the cockpit.

"What is happening?" Captain asked.

"The men who went forward are pilots for the cartels. They know of landing strips all over the place. They will work with the pilot to find a place to put the plane down."

"What if the pilot doesn't agree?" Captain asked.

145

"The three men are armed and two of them can fly a plane this size." Speaks answered.

Apparently the pilot was cooperative. The "No Smoking" and "Fasten Seat belts" signs lit up. Shortly thereafter the plane went into a sharp descent, leveling off just above the trees. For two hours they skirted mountains, staying low to avoid radar. Then the pilot picked up a little altitude as he banked into a sharp turn.

"This is it." Captain said. "He is coming around to land."

He was right. The strip was narrow, and too short for such a large airplane, but the pilot got it down, stopping just short of the river. The door was opened, and people began jumping to the ground. The three men who had directed the pilot gave some advice to the crowd, then walked off.

Most of the crowd followed them.

"There is a town five kilometers that way." Speaks filled in Captain. "The police are friendly to the cartels, as long as the money flows.

There are buses out of town three times a week, and the train comes once a week. Or we can go that way. There is a village ten kilometers off, toward that peak. The bus comes once a week. The people are known to be sympathetic to the rebels."

"Personally, I would prefer the rebels." Captain said. "Except for one thing. It will be obvious that we came in with this group and will be considered a part of them. I guess we stay with them long enough to get some transportation to a city big enough to shake them."

"What happens if we meet somebody from Padre's group?" Speaks asked. "Will they still accept you as the boss?"

"No." Captain answered flatly. "They all know by now that Padre is dead, and that my plan got him killed and his organization decimated. If they see us, they will try to kill us."

Speaks watched Captain start off after the group trudging down the trail to the city. He shrugged his shoulders and double timed to catch up with Captain.

The jungle gave way to fields, and the fields to huts. The strange group attracted some attention from the children, but the adults all knew who they were and stayed away, acting as if they saw nothing. All attempts to hire some transportation were useless until they got closer in to the city and a cab was found.

Captain stayed out of the struggle to get the cab. In stead he pulled Speaks after him around the group and continued walking into town.

Speaks didn't say anything as they walked.

"I figure there will be more cabs when word spreads that there are people out here with money." Captain said. "Since we are the first ones down the road, we will get the next cab available. I hope this place has an airport, even a small one. I don't like the idea of a bus or train ride with drug people all around. The longer we are around them, the greater the danger that we will be found out."

146

Speaks still didn't respond. Captain stopped and turned to him.

"Is something wrong?" Captain asked.

"No." Speaks said, a bit surprised at the question. "Why?" "Yankee was the silent type, not you." Captain answered.

"Oh. I was just thinking about Yankee." Speaks said as they resumed their hike. "Did he ever talk to you about the meaning of life?"

"Yankee was smart, but he was no philosopher. I doubt even he had figured out what this is all about." Captain stated.

"He said he knew." Speaks said. "I think he did. He said he would tell us about it sometime. He just never got the chance. I wonder how he knew. I wonder how I can find out."

"There's the cab." Captain said, ending the conversation. He hailed it as he gave directions to Speaks.

"Ask if there is an airport, even a small one where a private plane might be available for rent. If not, find out which would be faster, the bus, or the train."

It turned out to be the train. It was due two hours after the cab dropped them off at the station. They bought some food from a vendor, and a couple of papers to catch up on the news while they waited. Speaks dropped his paper and while he was picking it up he noticed two men who quickly looked away to avoid his gaze. He held the paper back up to cover his face as he spoke to Captain.

"There are two men to the right of the ticket window. I think they are watching us."

Captain took a quick glance as he turned the page, then he swore softly in French. He too pretended to read as he spoke.

"The one on the right is Padre's personnel man. Padre introduced me to him in case I wanted to request that he hire a special type of female employee. I don't know the other one."

"I think we have more company." Speaks said, shifting his paper so Captain could see him nodding toward the door. Four policemen were coming through the door.

Captain let the paper drop as he instinctively felt for his gun. He never reached it though as he thought better of engaging in a gun fight in a crowded room. He grabbed the suitcase full of money with one hand and the paper with the other. He stood up and started to stroll quietly toward the exit. Speaks joined him.

The two men by the ticket window pointed at them and began shouting for the police to get them. The police tried to push their way quickly through the crowd, but not as quickly as Captain and Speaks who bolted out the door onto the platform. Captain didn't even look back as he picked out his path. He leaped from the platform across the tracks and headed for the building about twenty meters away. He and Speaks barely cleared the corner when a shot smashed into the wall behind them.

147

"This way." Captain shouted as he continued the run down the street, taking the first turn he came to, then the next. That put him on a street filled with people. People meant witnesses to tell where they went, but it also meant that gun play was unlikely, and right now he didn't want any bullets coming his way. The suitcase was weighing him down, crimping his fighting ability, but he surely didn't want to give up that suitcase. He plunged into the crowd.

"They're still coming." Speaks said. He was more mobile than Captain and could keep an eye on their rear. The four policemen were pushing through the crowd, shouting all the time for someone to stop the fugitives, but no one tried.

"Do as I do, and follow me." Captain said. He suddenly stooped over so he couldn't be seen by the policemen behind. He darted quickly down a side street and behind a vendor's cart. Speaks joined him. The vendor looked down at them, then started to speak angrily at them. Captain ignored him as he pulled out his pistol. The man shut up immediately. He started to sweat as he glanced down the street where one policeman could now be seen looking into the side street. Then Captain pressed something into his hand.

The man looked gingerly at the gold coin in his hand. His whole demeanor changed. Men who could buy silence wouldn't shoot him if he cooperated. He relaxed and started to sing as he prepared bean burritos and wrapped them in newspaper. The policeman went on.

"You can come out now, Se単ors." the vendor said. "The police are gone."

Captain checked before standing up. He tucked his pistol away as the vendor held out the two burritos.

"I made them with cheese, special for you." The vendor said.

Speaks took both of them and thanked the man. The vendor began pushing his cart toward the busy street. He called back over his shoulder some words of advice.

"The street on the left is a dead end. The one on the right will take you to the bus station."

They went to the bus station, but didn't go in. There were two policemen at the door.

"Are they looking for us?" Speaks asked as they took cover at a secluded table at a sidewalk cafe across the plaza from the bus station.

"Yes." Captain answered. Even as he spoke two policemen pulled up and talked to the men. Then they drove off, only to be replaced by another car. Three men got out of the car and talked to the men by the door.

After some pointing and discussion the three men walked off in different directions.

"Probably local drug enforcers." Captain commented. "I think we had better withdraw."

148

Captain led them down another street, but paused as a car stopped at the end of the street and two men got out. They started down the street, one on each side. Captain turned around, but stopped short. One of the men from the bus station was coming toward them.

"In here." Captain said, stepping into the doorway of what looked like a warehouse. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened the door cautiously and stepped into a ramshackle office. There was a desk covered with neatly stacked papers. Half a dozen dog eared magazines covered the wooden crate that served as a coffee table in front of the threadbare couch and two non matching chairs in the corner. There were two other doors in the room, one behind the desk, the other in the right wall.

Captain stepped in, letting Speaks close the door.

"Lock it." Captain ordered.

"I can't." Speaks replied after a second of trying. "The lock is broken."

"Captain slipped the pistol out and set the suitcase in the middle of the room. He nodded to the door on the right and stood ready as Speaks opened the door. It was a closet with one broom and a stack of newspapers in it. Captain motioned Speaks to the other door. Speaks was almost there when the door opened. He jumped back, but the woman jumped higher.

"Oh, who are you?" She asked in heavily accented Spanish. Then she noticed Captain in the middle of the room. He had quickly returned the pistol to his belt and dropped his sweater over it, but she may have seen it.

If so, she didn't let on.

"How can I help you?" She said, closing the door behind her and going to the desk. Captain sized her up.

She was a black woman, mid twenties, the same height as Speaks.

Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she was dressed in a long sleeve white pullover and faded blue jeans with blue tennis shoes. Her comely face and nice figure intrigued Captain, but he knew he had to stick to business.

"What did she say?" He asked Speaks. Speaks translated.

"Just ask her if there is a back way out of here? She doesn't need to know why."

"Who are you running from?" The woman asked. Captain was startled at her English response.

"You speak good English." Captain said.

"Thank you. I had to learn to. Good English wasn't used in East L.A. where I grew up. Who are you running from?"

"L.A.? Los Angeles? What are you doing in a place like this?"

"Working. Who are you running from?" She sat down at the desk and crossed her arms in front of her. Her demeanor told Captain she wasn't going to forget her question, but the patience in her voice prompted him to try and avoid it again.

"Whom do you work for?"

149

"The church. Who are you running from?"

"What church?"

"Catholic. Who are you running from?"

"Catholic? What are you, a secretary? Cook? Receptionist?"

"Yes to all of them. I am a nun. Who are you running from?"

"A nun?" Captain was a bit surprised. It must have showed on his face because the woman answered his unvoiced question.

"Habits are not required of all orders, and even if they were, they would be too costly here. We have a much greater need for money than special clothing. Who are you running from?"

Captain left the suitcase and approached the desk.

"What do you do here? What is this place? And who are 'we'?"

"For someone who never answers a question, you sure ask a lot."

She answered. "I do whatever is needed here. This place is a care center for victims of the drug wars, mostly children. 'We' is Father DeCanus and myself. Since you won't tell me who you are running from, would you at least tell me who you are?"

"I am called Captain, this is Speaks." Captain replied. The nun started to say something when voices were heard at the door. Captain's hand went to his gun, and he moved back to the suitcase.

"In there." The nun said, pointing to the closet as she headed for the main door. Speaks got in the closet. With a slight hesitation, Captain followed. Once inside he put the suitcase on the floor and drew his gun.

He pushed Speaks to one side, away from the door. He drew back to the other side and waited. He hoped Speaks could hear the dialogue at the front door better than he could. He wanted a translation of what the woman was saying. Then he heard the front door close and everything was quiet.

Either the men had gone away, or they were in the room waiting.

"You can come out now." The woman's voice came through clear and steady. "They are gone."

Captain held the pistol up while he reached down suddenly and turned the knob. He exploded out of the closet diving for the crate by the couch. He was met by a chuckle from the nun standing all alone in the middle of the room.

"That was a policeman and two local thugs. If they are who you are running from, I would like to help you." She said as Captain got up and put his gun away. He looked at Speaks, a question in his eyes.

"She didn't tell them anything about us." Speaks said. "When they asked to come in she asked them for donations for the cause. They left then."

"It works every time. I am Sister Elizabeth, but around here I answer to Betty. Who are you, really, and why did those guys want you?"

"I told you our names." Captain answered, getting the suitcase from the closet. "As for why they want us, I guess it is because in the last month we have killed two cartel leaders and disrupted their organizations."

150

Betty took that in, and then returned to her seat at the desk. This time she leaned forward as she spoke.

"We heard that Boss was dead, and the aggas plant destroyed. I have prayed that was true. I have also prayed that the good men who did this thing would be safe and blessed. Did you kill Boss, and what is going on over in Padre's territory?"

"Boss is dead, and so is Padre." Captain answered. "I thank you for your prayers, but I do not feel safe, nor very blessed at the moment."

"Here you are safe." Betty said firmly. "And when Father DeCanus returns, you will be blessed. But, for now you can not stay here in front. I will put you back with the wounded. With a blanket over you, you will look like just another casualty."

She took them trough the other door and down a hall. Not only was the paint peeling, but it was taking the plaster with it. As they passed two doors Betty explained what was behind them.

"This if Father DeCanus' office. There is a phone in there. And this is the bathroom. I am sorry there is only one, with so many to share it, but it is better than the alternative."

She opened the door into a large room. A warehouse, with concrete floors, high walls, and a tin roof. The windows, up near the roof line were all open, but it was still stifling hot. There were no beds, but blankets were laid out on the floor in neat rows, and on each blanket was a casualty.

Captain was used to war and it's wounded, even when the victims were children as were most of these. He was not used to what he was seeing here. There were no bloody bandages, no amputations, no festering sores. Instead there were scores of children staring back at him from behind faces shriveled with age. These were all aggas victims.

It seemed each child broke into chatter as Betty approached them.

Hands were stretched out to her. She touched them all, spoke to them as they moved on toward the back wall where an old wood stove had been set up with the stack running out a window. Clean pots hung on the wall near the stove. A single faucet with no drain came out of the floor. A group of children were gathered around it, filling and passing around a tin cup.

As they neared the end of the row Betty talked to some of the children. They quickly scurried to double up on some blankets to free up four for Betty. She handed these to the two men.

"We also care for adults here from time to time, so if someone comes, just lie down and cover yourselves with these. I don't think anyone will come though. Even the most hardened cops and drug soldiers can't stand to see what they have done here."

"Will the kids get something to eat soon?" Speaks asked. There was concern on his face as he spoke.

"You understood the children, didn't you?" Betty said. "I wish I did better. My Spanish is not very good, and some of them hardly speak it 151

at all. I wish I could say that they would all have their fill soon, but I can only pray for that. Each day Father DeCanus goes out begging. When he returns in the evening, if he has had a good day, we all eat. If not, we share what we have left over, which today is nothing. I hope you can be content to partake of our poverty with us."

"We'll be fine." Captain said, spreading out a blanket. He put down the suitcase and dropped down beside it. He suddenly felt very tired and wanted to sleep, but before he could even lay down a little girl from the next blanket walked right over and sat in his lap.

He fought to control himself. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was repulsed by this child. From her height he figured her to be six or seven, but she had the look of a small woman ninety years old. Her skin hung from her protruding bones; the flesh had withdrawn from her fingernails making them stick out like some witch in a horror show, and her hair was smoke gray, straggly, and thinning. He took it all in and resisted the urge to throw her off his legs and bury himself in the blanket.

The girl held out a piece of newspaper. Captain could tell that it had been torn into a crude doll shape. The child spoke.

"She says you are new here, and she will share her doll with you.

She wants you to be happy here." Speaks translated. It was difficult for him to speak.

Captain forced himself to look at the little upturned face. Then he saw something he had ignored before. Surrounded by shriveled skin were two dark eyes. While they too showed the ravages of age, what was inside them was different. In those eyes Captain could see all the brightness of the soul. He saw a young girl full of life, of joy, even of youth. He blinked and looked again at the child on his lap. She was still wrinkled and shriveled, but she was no longer a horror to him. She was just a child. He took her hand to shake it. She jerked and let out a sharp cry. He let her go and looked up, confused.

"She has arthritis." Betty explained. "A lot of them do. Aspirin would help, but we have none. So they learn to endure. See, she doesn't blame you. She understands."

The child had snuggled up against Captain's chest and again held up the doll for him to take. He took it and gingerly pretended to make it walk up his leg to where she could grab it and hold it out for him to take again. She laughed.

"That is so good to hear." Betty said. "We don't get much of that from them anymore. There are so many of them and we are so busy just providing we just don't have time to play with them. Mr. Speaks, if you know any stories and can translate them, they would love it."

Speaks didn't know any stories, but he made some up. He started talking to a small group of children, then more gathered around, until soon he had to stand and almost shout so all could hear. Betty left them, and Captain took out his pistol and kept it near, but he didn't force the child to 152

leave his lap. When she finally moved off, another child replaced her, and then another. Captain held them all carefully, and marveled at the experience. For all of his war experience he had never seen such potential for suffering, and such joy in the midst of it.

When Betty returned it was with a bear of a man who looked more the traditional role. His busy beard cascaded down onto the worn brown robe that was tied with a length of rope around his middle. He wore no socks, and his left sandal was in need of repair, forcing him to walk with a slight flip of the foot to keep it from falling off. He waded into the sea of children, talking and touching them as he made his way to the center of the group. Captain gently helped a small boy off his lap and stood up. The priest opened his arms wide and took both Captain and Speaks in one large hug.

"Bless you, my sons." he said in passable English. "Sister Elizabeth has told me of your deeds. May God keep you safe always for what you have done for my little flock."

"I'm afraid we didn't do much for them." Speaks said, indicating the crowd of children that were moving back to their places under the direction of the young nun.

"Ah, but you have." DeCanus continued. "You have made sure they will be the last we will have. Their brothers, sisters, cousins, will not have to come here. They want that, and if they understood, would thank you a million times for it."

"Did you get some food for them?" Speaks asked.

"Food, yes. I almost forgot. The Lord was generous today. We will have carrot soup, with a few onions, and bread. I will get started on the soup. My cart is right outside."

"May I help?" Speaks asked.

"Me too." Captain spoke up. "I'm not much of a cook, but I can peel carrots."

"We do not peel them, my son, only wash them, but the more help I get, the sooner we eat."

The soup needed salt, but none of the children complained, and none of them asked for more though the portions were small. The bread was hard, but the children knew how to soak it in the soup to make it soft.

Betty dished up large bowls for Speaks and Captain, but they both refused to eat more than was allotted to everyone else. DeCanus and Betty carefully tied in bags the carrots they hadn't used and put them in a broken refrigerator. Then the priest brought out a large Bible and read to the children for ten minutes, after which he blessed them, and sent them off to sleep. Not one child disobeyed, or struggled as they stood in line for the bathroom.

"Why aren't these children in a hospital?" Speaks asked as the four adults washed the pots and bowls.

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"First, there aren't enough hospitals." Betty answered. "And second, these are Indians." She didn't need to say anything more.

"Look, Father, Sister Elizabeth," Captain said as they finished the last bowl. "I am grateful for the shelter here, but we are endangering you, and the children. You got rid of those men today, but when we don't turn up elsewhere, they will be back. We can't use the bus or train to get out of town. Do you know of any private means we can use? If not, could you write us a letter of introduction for that village up the way where we can contact the rebels for help?"

"I know of one private car that can help you." DeCanus said cheerily. "Do you have any passports or official papers? Can I take them to my office?" Speaks and Captain handed over the passports and the big priest went into his office. Betty took the two men back into the front office as it was getting too dark to see in the warehouse, and there were no working lights.

"I bet Yankee could get this place fixed up and working in no time." Speaks commented as they sat down in the office.

"Who is Yankee?" Betty asked.

"One of our team mates on this mission." Speaks answered.

"There are more of you? Is he still out there? We must get him in here. This is the only safe place in the whole city." Betty exclaimed with alarm. Speaks sat quietly. Captain had to answer.

"I don't think Yankee made it."

"Oh, I see." Betty replied softly. "Still, to die for such a cause is worthy. I will pray for this Yankee. Were there any others?"

"Pilot." Speaks said.

"I will pray for Pilot too. I see you have paid a dear price for the good you have done. I don't know how we will ever thank you."

"But I may have a good start." DeCanus said, coming through the door. He handed back the passports he had taken, and sank into the remaining chair.

"It is all arranged. I have talked with Bishop Masters and explained your situation. He is sending a car for you, his private car. It will not be stopped or searched. You will be taken to his home. There he will prepare the necessary papers for you and provide you with tickets to Miami.

In two days, maybe three, you will be home. Oh, I hope you have no objections to being men of the cloth for a few days."

"You're going to smuggle us out as priests?" Speaks asked.

DeCanus smiled and nodded.

"That's okay, I can live with it." Speaks said.

"Me too." Captain answered. "How much will this cost, and how do we pay you, or the bishop?"

"Payment?" DeCanus laughed. "Payment has been made. Bishop Masters confirmed that Boss and Padre are no more, and there will be no 154

more aggas. You have risked your lives for us and our people. Please, let us give you a free ride home."

"Fine." Captain sighed. "When?"

"The car has been sent. It is a six hour drive here, and the same back. You should sleep now. I will awake you when the car arrives, and get you some carrots to eat on the way."

"The nap I'll take, Father, but you need the carrots more than us. If you don't mind, I'll bed down with the children."

"Yeah, me too." Speaks said.

As tired as they were, neither of them could sleep. They talked softly of what they had been through, and then Speaks spoke of getting home to his wife and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, the changes he wanted to make.

"I sure see things differently now than I used to." Speaks said.

"And I see even more strongly what evil bad men can do." Captain said, thinking of the Mad Man and his quest to kill him. He pulled the suitcase full of money closer to him and drifted off to sleep.

"It's time." DeCanus said as he gently touched them both. He continued as they got up quietly.

"The car is here. Bishop Masters came himself. Your safety is guaranteed. But, before you leave, you must say goodbye to the children.

Sister Elizabeth is going to awaken Fiona. You can tell her goodbye, and she will tell the other children for you when they wake up. Come into the office."

In the office Bishop Masters greeted them like old friends. His decorum was that of a bishop, but his dress was that of a man who had hurried out late in the evening. His sleeveless white shirt was wrinkled, as were his slacks, but his outstanding feature was the carpet slippers he wore.

He noticed Captain's glance.

"Time was of the essence, my son. They will turn this city upside down in the morning looking for you. To protect you, and Father DeCanus' little flock it was necessary to move quickly. I neglected a few minor points in my rush. You must forgive me."

"More than forgive you, I thank you." Captain replied. Then Betty brought in Fiona. It was the girl Captain had first held. Captain knelt down, and Speaks joined him, translating for the girl.

"I have to leave you now." Captain said. "I want to thank you for being my friend, you and all the others. Will you thank them for me. I need all the friends I can get right now."

The child nodded when Speaks finished translating. Betty took her hand and started to lead her back, but she pulled free and came back to Captain. She tucked her paper doll into his hand and returned to Betty.

"My driver says it's all clear." Masters said from the front door.

Captain looked at the now closed door. Next he looked at the crumpled paper doll in his hand and knew the child had given him everything she 155

owned. He looked at the suitcase in his other hand. Then he turned to DeCanus. Taking the big man's hand he wrapped it around the handle of the suitcase.

"There are some valuables in here, Father. Use them as you see fit, but I insist on a doll, a real doll for Fiona, and some aspirin." He turned to follow Speaks out the door, but turned back for a second. "And some shoes for you." He climbed into the waiting car. The driver closed the door behind him and got behind the wheel. They had just started moving when they heard an extremely loud shout from inside the building.

"I didn't think priests knew those kinds of words." Speaks said as they started down the darkened street.

"They are not supposed to." Masters said. "I shall have to speak with him about his language. I wonder what could have provoked such an outburst?"

"He probably saw what was in the suitcase I donated to his flock."

Captain said.

"What was in it?" Speaks asked.

"I don't know for sure," Captain answered, "but I'm sure there was several hundred thousand dollars."

Bishop Masters sore.

156

Seventeen "Is your husband one of the men I will be training?" Yankee finally asked. This time it was Nina who lowered her eyes.

"He died in battle six months ago. He was a brave warrior. I want this son to grow up and be like his father."

"I hope so too." Yankee answered. He didn't want to offend the young woman, but he also didn't want her services, beyond her help as a teacher. He took her hand and held it until she looked him in the eye, a thing she was hesitant to do.

"I need any help you can give me in training the men, but that is all the help I want, or will accept from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." She smiled as she spoke and Yankee understood she had not come willingly. "But Panther will be angry with me. He may punish me. He told me to move my things here from the women's house.

What will I tell him?"

"Tell him nothing. I will handle Panther. Do you understand what you are to teach the men?"

"Yes. Panther made it clear, but I do not think it will work."

"Why not?"

"The men will not listen to me. I am just a woman. Warriors do not listen to women."

"I see. Where did you learn English?"

"It was required at the teacher's college. You would call it a high school. I taught there when I met Rahoul. I loved him dearly. I still do.

He wasn't like the other warriors. He listened to me. He said everyone should be judged on their ability, not their bodies. He said that is one of the reasons we are fighting."

Yankee felt he would have liked the man, and he felt sorry for this woman. She had much to offer the world. Instead she was a widow in a rebel camp. He also knew he needed her to teach the men. If they wouldn't listen it could double his work load and he needed his time to prepare his own lessons, as well as plan a future escape.

"When you were in the doorway I couldn't help but notice your slim figure, Nina. Are you athletic?"

"I exercise daily, and I was on the girls football, you would call it soccer, team at school. Why?" 157

"I want to show you something. I think you have the will power to use it, and the ability to carry it out. And call me Yankee."

She did call him Yankee, and she learned the lesson he taught her.

When Panther called her before the men and presented her as their teacher there was a ripple of humor that swept the group. Panther insisted that they pay attention, but anyone could tell they didn't take it to heart. Then Nina took over. She pointed at Radu, a man built about like Panther, but half a foot taller. She asked him to come to the front. He took some ribbing from the men as he made his way up. He waved at everyone and tried not to look at Nina as he stood next to her.

"Hit me." Nina ordered. Radu just looked at her, then realized she was serious. He lifted his arm to backhand her across the face. She did just what Yankee had showed her. Radu landed face down on the dirt with his arm pinned behind him. Nina had him by the hand. She applied a little pressure and he screamed. She let go and he let out a loud sigh followed by a groan as he tried to roll over. Nina stepped over him toward the men.

"Who wants to be next?" She asked. The men sat in stunned silence. Some looked away or at their laps.

"Is not your job beat them up." Panther spoke up. "Is your job teach them manners."

"An impossible job." Nina snapped. She pointed at one man.

"You, sit up straight. Put your legs together. Sit like a man, not a blob of mud." The man snapped into the stated position. She ordered everyone to sit like he was. Everyone complied. She stalked back and forth in front of them as if checking them out. When she got to the side where Panther was standing she stopped and looked at him.

"Stand back on your heels like you mean to stay, not bolt off. Let your arms hang loosely by your sides. Try to look like a human being, not a soldier." She barked the order. Panther looked shocked, but he complied.

She turned and walked to the other side where Yankee was standing. With her back to everyone else she winked at him.

"You look just fine." She commented. "But you need something to do. You take the men on the left and pound some sense into them. After lunch we'll trade."

"You heard the lady." Yankee ordered. He jerked his thumb upstream. The chosen men scrambled to obey. He smiled as he went with them. They didn't have any idea of what was in store for them. While he shouted Spanish lessons at them he made them do calisthenics and shout back the answers. He knew that to give them honor he first had to give them discipline.

For the next few weeks things were very quiet around the camp.

The men folk were too sore to be as loud as they normally were, and they were too tired to put up with anything so the women kept the children away from them. As the men got used to the training and the schooling they tried to return to their normal loud and boisterous selves, but Nina would rove 158

the camp scolding them for acting like savages. She also announced that she would be starting an evening class to teach the children to read and that any man who couldn't read a newspaper well enough to pass in the city should be there. The men outnumbered the children in the class.

"This go too far." Panther finally complained to Yankee one night as they gathered around the rock for stories and skits. "This was fun. We shout, dance, drink. Now look. We get stories. We get skit by children.

And worse. Women join us. Nina go too far. I get you another teacher."

"I agree." Yankee said. "Look at your men. After two weeks you would hardly know them. They are taking care of their clothing better.

They try to groom themselves. They are speaking respectfully to each other. There have been no fights now for about six days. If you invited all the other group leaders here, what would they think of this?"

Panther stared at the group for a minute. Then he answered honestly.

"I would think people like each other and have pride and respect.

It impressive."

"Exactly." Yankee said. "And she has done it in two weeks. I am not doing nearly so well with my training program. It is embarrassing. I think you should replace her with someone who will not show me up."

Panther was silent for a moment again. Then he took Yankee by the elbow and pulled him down so he could speak into his ear.

"I think you work harder." He walked off before Yankee could reply.

Yankee smiled and walked away. He would skip the entertainment tonight. He wanted to be alone to think and to pray. His plan was working very well. He was able to control Panther through the man's ego. The warriors were progressing and would soon be a disciplined, precise team. If Panther's plan to send out the widows, into the cities, to form a core of informers and to recruit others, worked, then he could be on a plane headed for home in a few months.

"A nickel for your thoughts." It was Nina. She held her child in her arms. He was asleep.

"I normally only get a penny." Yankee said. "Why aren't you at the entertainment? You organized it."

"Only as part of the lessons. The men need to know how to act in group settings, around women and children. I felt I needed to be with my son, even if he isn't aware of it."

"I'm sure he knows." Yankee said.

"What about you, Yankee, why aren't you there?"

Yankee didn't answer for a minute. He didn't know if he should tell her. He had been able to confide somewhat in BD, but the doctor had been sent out with a patrol three days before. He wouldn't be back till tomorrow morning, and the need to talk was now. He spoke from the heart.

"I am lonely, Nina."

159

"If you are lonely, shouldn't you be back there with all those people?"

"It's not that kind of lonely." Yankee answered. Nina stood there, quiet for a moment. Then she moved softly to a nearby hut and laid the child down gently. She returned to stand near Yankee.

"I understand, Yankee. I too have been lonely. I like you, Yankee, and I do not want you to be lonely."

"No. I'm sorry Nina. I didn't say that very well. I miss my wife, and my family. I miss reading the scriptures. I miss attending church with all those good people who feel like I do. I miss the opportunity to go freely amongst other people intending to do good, to help, to cheer and heal. I miss a whole way of life that I can not ever have here. I'm sorry. I shouldn't burden you."

"You have not burdened me, Yankee. You have lifted me. You made me a teacher of men. You have let me feel what I really have inside.

I too want to go amongst my people and do good. Only our worlds are different. Here, the good involves fighting. I want to fight for my people. I want to reach the potential that I feel inside."

"I'm glad." Yankee said when she paused. "It is nice to know that my being here has done some good for someone."

"You have touched many lives." she said softly. "I hear the women talking. They know you are different. They question the men about what you say. The say that if being a Mormon makes men like you, they wish all men were Mormons."

Yankee fought back a tear at that. He had tried to teach care and concern as much as he had discipline and language skills, but he didn't know if any of it was getting through to the men. He knew that if the men could talk of it to the women, it was getting in."

"You want to go home, don't you, Yankee? Panther intends to keep you forever, and he thinks you are as dedicated to this war as he is, but he is wrong, isn't he?"

"Dead wrong." Yankee said, wondering if he should answer that, but knowing she already knew the answer.

"Well I am as dedicated to this war as he is." She said, giving Yankee a pause for thought. "Only I know that it can never be won with slaves, not even talented ones like you. If you want, I will tell you how to walk out of here."

"You know how to do that?" Yankee perked up at that news.

"My husband was trusted here. He knew of the escape route. He had no secrets from me. I know where it is. I have even walked it part way when I considered running from here after his death. Now I know I want to stay. I want to do what I can to help win this war. Not just to end the killing like you want, but to free my people from the cartels and the traditions that bind us and enslave us."

160

"You are quite a girl." Yankee said. She didn't acknowledge the compliment. Instead she knelt down and drew a diagram in the sand with her finger. Yankee knelt down to see it in the dark.

"This is the stream." She explained. "And this is the upper end of the cavern. You go about forty meters upstream. On your right you will see a large boulder. Behind that bolder is a large crack that runs right up the slope. It looks rough, but the loose rocks have been removed so the remaining rocks are tight and make good footholds. You go up the crack thirty or forty meters. On your right there will be another crack. It is narrow so you will have to go through sideways. Just past the opening it widens. The crack runs right across the face of the mountain on the other side of the stream. You have seen it a dozen times and never noticed it because from here it looks like a thin crack in the stone. Actually it is wide enough for a man to fit through, wider in some spots. It is sometimes deep enough to stand up and not see over the edge. In other spots you will have to crawl. It runs slightly uphill, taking about three kilometers to reach the summit. Then go south about two kilometers. There you will find a trail that leads down the mountain. From there you know where Nespa is.

Nespa is a drug city, but on the north side is a small church with a window picture of the Virgin. Find Father Faustin. He is a true man of God. Tell him your story. He will help you."

She stood up and erased the drawing with a swish of her foot. She went over and gently retrieved her son. Without a word she started for the women's house.

"Nina." Yankee called after her. She turned around. "Thank you."

"You are a good man, Yankee. You would be good for our people, but you do not belong here. Go to where you belong, and pray for us." She turned and walked away.

Yankee struggled to sleep that night. His mind was on the journey he hoped to make the next day, but he fought the excitement. He didn't want to be disappointed if it didn't work out, and he knew he couldn't leave until BD got back.

He arose early and prepared what he would be taking with him.

He decided to take only the gun, ammo, and the canteen. To take the bedroll or a bag of supplies would be a potential tip off. These items he could carry and no one would get suspicious. He ate all he could get for breakfast, and then went to work as usual. He tried to give the men a capstone lesson without them knowing it. In his heart he did want them to succeed in their war. He did want them to strike at the cartels in a way to hurt the drug-money channels. For a second he considered staying longer, but it didn't feel right. He had to get home.

The patrol returned just before noon. BD wasn't with them.

Panther took the patrol leader into his tent to debrief him. After he felt he was knowledgeable he would take the rock to tell everyone. Yankee didn't 161

want to wait. He had done a head count of the men as they came in. In addition to BD they were missing three men. He walked right into Panther's tent. Panther glared at him.

"We are missing four men, Panther. This was to be a raiding party to get medical supplies. They were to avoid fighting. That was the idea, remember? Let the Panther group seem to drop out for a while, then hit them hard in the city." Yankee said, trying to stay calm and not give away his desire for information about BD. "They do, they do." Panther replied. "They get supplies, and they get out no fighting. Two men get sick on way back. Ramon stay with doctor to help. They come tonight. I make sure plan is followed. You not worry ."

"Sorry." Yankee said with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

BD was safe, but it be another day before they could leave. At least that would give him a chance to give the afternoon lessons.

The sun had set and the light was leaving the sky when the radio message came up the canyon that four men were on their way up. Yankee held back as BD and Ramon finally appeared out of the dark. Each was supporting another man. The sick men were taken to BD's tent. Ramon went to report to Panther. Yankee slipped into BD's tent. The doctor was stretched out on one of the cots, opposite the two men.

"Are you alright?" Yankee asked.

"No." BD said, not opening his eyes. "I have walked eighty kilometers, practically carrying a man for half of that. I have had cold meat and hard bread to eat. Bad water to drink. Little sleep or rest, and finally find a bed, and you want to know now if I am alright. Ask me in the morning."

BD rolled over to face the wall of the tent. Yankee lit a lantern and checked the two men. They were both sweating heavily, but appeared to be asleep.

"What is wrong with these guys?" Yankee asked.

"Are you still here?" BD griped, slowly sitting up. "I think they have malaria. At least that is what I am treating them for. I gave them sedatives at the bottom of the canyon while we waited for clearance, so they should get a good night's sleep, which will help them a lot. It would help me a lot too."

"Yes, I think we should both get a good night's sleep." Yankee said. "Can they be treated if you are not here?"

"Of course. I have made fair nurses of half a dozen of the women.

If I get some sleep, I will probably be here."

"Not if you come with me." Yankee said softly. "I found the trail out of here."

"You what? How? Where is it?'

"I found the trail. I got the information from someone who knew, and it is in plain sight."

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It took BD a second to realize those were the answers to his three questions. He thought it over for a second, then punched Yankee in the shoulder gently.

"Nina. You found out from Nina, didn't you? Here I work on half a dozen women, and you pick the right one the first time. I wondered about her in the past, but figured I didn't have a chance with her, seeing as how she was so recently widowed, and so young, and pretty. I guess I was wrong. She was pretty lonely, eh?"

"She told me because she felt it was the right thing to do." Yankee stated. "That is all there is to it. Tomorrow, before breakfast, take a short hike up the canyon, only a dozen yards or so. Don't carry anything that would make it look like you planned to leave. No bags, no bedroll, no supplies. I will join you."

Yankee blew out the lantern and left before BD could press for details.

He was up early the next morning. He sat in his darkened hut and oiled the rifle lightly. He even removed each bullet from the clips and cleaned them with a lightly oiled cloth. In three or four days he would be burying the gun, but he wanted to make sure it worked perfectly in the meantime. As the first light started to filter down into the bottom of the canyon he left the hut without the rifle. He walked around the camp. Few of the men were stirring. There was the guard by Panther's tent, and another by the creek where he could pick up the radio messages from the lookouts at the top and bottom of the canyon. Several of the women were up, fixing breakfast on the small hot fires near the back wall of the cavern.

Yankee stood and watched the light smoke roll up the stone roof, cooling and fading to nothing before it reached the edge of the cavern.

Then he saw BD emerge from his tent. He waved, and BD waved back, rather awkwardly. Then BD strolled off toward the creek. Yankee headed back toward his hut to get the rifle and bullet bag.

The emergency whistle sounded just as he emerged from his hut.

He wondered how they knew he was trying to escape. He also wondered if he should resist or fight. The penalty for escaping was death, so he had nothing to lose by fighting, but that meant killing others. He popped the clip out of the rifle and waited for the running men to converge on him.

They didn't. They converged on Panther who had ran from his tent to the guard with the radio. Panther shouted some orders and the men scattered back to their huts, emerging with their weapons and clothing.

Panther came out of his tent pulling on his shirt which was hard since he had a pistol in one hand and a rifle in the other. Content with the shirt half on he shouted and ran for the creek, splashing downstream. All the men followed him.

"There is an attack at the bottom of the canyon." It was Nina speaking softly in English. She came and stood by Yankee, staring toward the creek as he did.

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"We will take standard emergency preparations." She said. "That is Panther's phrase for 'pack up and get ready to run.' Since the cartels seem to have discovered this place we will have to move."

"They can't have enough manpower or firepower to get up the canyon." Yankee reassured her.

"I know, but having discovered the canyon, they may figure out where this cave is. Aggas would flow right down the angled wall opposite the creek right into this place. We have to leave. At least no one will notice you slipping away. Goodbye Yankee."

"Goodbye Nina." Yankee said as the young woman walked away.

He snapped the clip back in the rifle and ran for the creek. He splashed up the canyon to where BD was leaning against the left wall, trying to blend into the rock.

"Relax." Yankee said. "They aren't after us. The cartels have launched an attack at the bottom of the canyon."

"Then we had better hurry." BD said, pealing himself off the wall.

"Panther will make short work of them and be right back. There will be a roll call, and we will be missed. Where is this trail?"

Yankee found the boulder, and the crack. It looked steep and dangerous, but with all the loose rocks gone it was actually like climbing a ladder. He found the crack leading off to his right. It was narrow, forcing him to turn sideways to get through, but it opened up immediately. In fact, there was a pocket large enough for a man to stand in and just peek over the edge down to the water. He took one look then turned to see BD emerge and look up the crack bewildered, wondering how Yankee could have moved fast enough to get out of sight. Yankee stepped up from the pocket and BD almost screamed. Yankee stifled a laugh and led out.

The crack was probably a very deep one, but over the years had filled with rocks. In most places it gave them six or seven feet of clearance so they could walk upright, but in a few places it became so shallow they had to crawl. They were in such a spot when Yankee heard something familiar. He stopped crawling to listen. Then he remembered the sound. It was from air shows back home. It was the sound of parachutes opening.

He looked up.

A dozen rectangular chutes filled the sky right over his head. He dove down against the wall, into the shadow. BD did the same, but without knowing why.

"What is it?" BD asked, his face in the dirt.

"Parachutes." Yankee answered. He rolled so he could see upward. "There are twelve of them. The airfoil type that can be flown precisely. Do the cartels have paratroopers?"

"Yeah. The men anyway. They've never used them as paratroopers though." BD answered. He looked up as Yankee got to his knees and peered over the edge.

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They were just opposite the cavern. In the shade he could see the women packing. He looked up. There was about 120 feet of sheer rock above the cavern, then a plateau. The first paratrooper touched down on the plateau as he watched. Then others landed near him, near the edge. They all wore pea green uniforms and black berets, except two men who had red ones on.

"Get your head down, they'll see you." BD said. He had taken one quick look and ducked again. Yankee didn't move. He knew the men weren't looking for them and probably wouldn't even glance his way. If they did, and he didn't move, and stayed in the shadows, they would never see him. He was debating what to do when the men started over the edge.

They had each secured ropes at the top and began to repel down the wall, letting out their own rope as they went. They moved fast, dropping at least twenty feet with each bounce. They hit the water running.

In seconds they had the cavern under control. Half of them rounded up the women and children and began tieing them together in a large group. The other six dug two quick machine gun placements complete with earthworks for shields. The whole thing took mere minutes.

"They are good." Yankee said, finally pulling his head below the edge to talk to BD. He couldn't hear the screams and cries of the women and children down there. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he knew what he had to do. He turned to BD. "I want you to stay here. You should be safe if you keep your head down." He explained. "They have laid the perfect trap for Panther. He will repel the fake attack down below and meander back up here to the safety of home, only to walk into those heavy machine guns and what ever traps they can set. I am going to move on until I am past the cavern, then try and slide down this rock in one piece to warn Panther."

"You're crazy. You'll be killed." BD protested. "Why don't we just press on?"

"Because that would be wrong, BD. We can't let them die like that." He looked up again as he got ready to move. He froze at what he saw. The women and children were all tied together between the women's house and the creek. A man with a flame thrower and one of the men in the red hats were advancing on them.

"They're going to burn the house, hoping the smoke will draw Panther back up." He said, then realized that was stupid. That would bring Panther up ready for a fight. Suddenly he understood the horror he was about to watch. The flamethrower wasn't for the house, it was for the women and children.

A thousand thoughts filled his mind and it raced to sort them out.

All his memories of the violence he had seen in the past few weeks filled his mind. In an instant he relived each and every one feeling all the fear and revulsion he had felt. He wanted to just drop into the crack and try to blend into the rock, to forget that any of this was real, but he couldn't. He 165

considered fighting, but he knew that was certain death. One man against twelve was an impossibility. He might get some of them, but they would get him and still carry out all their plans. BD was probably right, they should just press on, but he didn't know if he could live with the memory of what was about to happen to the women and children. He had to make a decision, and fast.

He decided to die.

The man with the flame thrower was just raising it to shoot when Yankee fired a single shot. The bullet did not hit the soldier in the chest as he planned. It smashed into the flame thrower right between the man's hands. The impact knocked the man to the ground and did a lot of damage to the flame thrower. It was spewing high pressure fuel all over the place, soaking both the man wearing it, and the officer next to him. The officer tried to back away while the man fought to get out of the harness.

Yankee fired another shot, this time at the officer, hitting him in the shoulder. The man was slammed to the ground, then struggled up to seek shelter. He dove for the cooking area by the rear wall. As he hit the ground he rolled to get behind a crate used as a table and in so doing he put his foot too near one of the cooking fires. He went up like a torch.

He jumped up and started to run, then regained his senses enough to drop and roll, but it did no good. The fuel carried it's own oxygen and couldn't be snuffed out. After a minute he lay still, but not before igniting the puddle of fuel around the downed man still trying to get away from the tanks. He didn't succeed. With a "whoosh" the whole area went up. The man's screams were drowned in the flames. With a loud "whump" the tanks exploded in a fireball that reached the cavern roof.

Yankee was stunned. There was no return fire, and the fireball had created a wall separating the women and children from the other soldiers.

The group of women and children had surged back against the cavern wall, and were struggling to get behind the women's house and BD's tent.

Several of them were working on the ropes that tied them.

Yankee almost dropped down into the crack to hide again, feeling he had succeeded in protecting the women and children, but then he knew he wasn't done. The fire would burn out. The soldiers, who hadn't located the source of his attack yet would simply gun down the helpless people. He licked his lips and waited for another target.

The remaining officer was behind the rock. Yankee couldn't hear him, but could see by his hand signals that he was directing the men.

Suddenly a man broke from cover and dashed to the goat pens where he dove out of sight. Yankee knew the man was a decoy to draw his fire, and there would be more. A minute later another man broke to run for the rock.

Yankee dropped him before he made ten feet. He also gave away his position. The officer had seen him. He opened fire, and Yankee wanted to duck, but he could actually see the bullets hitting the rock below him. The 166

men were armed with light, high speed guns for close in fighting. They just didn't have the range to be accurate or deadly at this distance.

The officer knew it too. He turned around and was shouting orders without realizing he had leaned out from the rock when he turned. Yankee hit him in the back of the head. His orders were carried out even as he died.

One of the machine guns was moved up out of it's pit onto the earthworks where it could fire upward. Of the two men setting the gun, one died trying as Yankee again found his mark. The other man opened up with the machine gun. At the same time the man near the goat pens dashed down the canyon before Yankee could aim at him. Two more men suddenly broke from cover and ran after him. Yankee hurried both shots. He missed the lead man, but dropped the second one. Then the machine gun found it's range.

Yankee dropped into the crack as bullets smashed the rock all around him. His stomach was in a knot, and he swore his heart was beating like a war drum in his throat, but he ignored everything except the desire to take out as many of the soldiers as he could before they got him. It was the only way to save the people down there. He couldn't poke his head up now, he knew that, not as long as the machine gunner knew where he was. But the machine gunner didn't know where he was going to be. He crawled as fast as he could ten yards up the crack and popped up, gun ready.

Three men were running across the cavern, heading for the creek to skirt the wall of flame that was still burning, though less fiercely. They were headed upstream. He fired quickly at the fleeting targets. He got the lead man who fell dead in the water. He missed the second man. He hit the third, who went down, but got up and continued running. Yankee then responded to an inner feeling to duck. Bullets from the machine gun sprayed the rock.

He had two men headed downstream and two upstream. He quickly decided that the two going down would have a hard time getting up the mountain, but the two others might find the crack. He had to deal with them first. He crawled down the crack, going right over the top of BD. "Keep your head down." He said as he crawled over the doctor.

BD didn't answer, but he didn't have to. Yankee realized it was a stupid order as soon as he said it. The doctor was doing his best to sink through the rocks to the base of the mountain.

Where the crack deepened Yankee got into a crouching position and ran. He wanted to get to the crack that ran up the mountain. It was a straight shot down to the creek, and he would be able to control the entire length from the top. As he neared the opening, he heard something he didn't understand. Instead of bursting into the vertical crack, he ducked into the little pocket and listened. It sounded like a periodic metallic scrape on rock, and it was coming closer. Then it stopped for a second. He was about to leave the pocket when there was another scrape and he saw a gun barrel poke through the opening of the crack.

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Using all the strength his size and training gave him he reached out and grabbed the gun barrel and pulled. The gun fired harmlessly up the crack, and then came free. A man tumbled after it. Yankee would have shot him, but the crevice was too narrow for him to get his gun off his shoulder where he had slung it to have his hands free for climbing. He hesitated, not wanting to kill the man, but the soldier wasn't going to give him any time to think. He was pulling a pistol from it's holster when Yankee did what Killer had trained him to do. When he stood up he looked at the lifeless man lying on his back at his feet. This was different than shooting at a helicopter, or even at running figures. This was a man whose face he could see. The knot in his stomach gave way to churning. He lurched into the pocket and threw up twice.

He had forgotten all about what he started out to do. He just felt sick and weak. He leaned against the wall of the pocket feeling spent. He couldn't see down into the canyon from that position, but he could see along the face of the mountain he was in, and what he saw shocked him back to reality.

It was hard to see, but it was a man, going up the face of the mountain. If he kept going he would find the crack and that would lead him to BD. Yankee jerked up his rifle. He knew the shot was impossible at that range, but he had to try. He took his time, aimed carefully, trying to correct for distance, and fired.

He missed, hitting the rock a few feet in front of the man, but it startled the soldier so bad he jerked backward, and began to tumble down the rock. He was able to turn it into a controlled slide, trying to get his feet under him to give the rock grippers on his boots a chance to dig in, but it didn't work. With a shower of sparks the grippers just slid, but slowed his feet enough to cause him to flip over. He slid headfirst out of Yankee's sight.

Yankee took a deep breath, wondering where the second man was, then he jerked himself into action. That may have been the second man.

The first man may have already found the crack and could be killing BD while he hesitated. He pulled himself out of the pocket, pausing only to rip the pistol from the dead man's hand. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and tucked the pistol into his belt and ran up the crack. He was painfully aware that the machine gun was no longer firing bursts at the two spots he had fired from. He figured they had stopped shooting to protect their own man.

He let out a sigh of relief as he climbed high enough to see BD still hugging the earth. He paused, wondering what to do. There was still one more man downstream, and one upstream. He wasn't sure what way to go.

Then he heard that sound again. Metal scraping on rock. Then it hit him.

The man he had just killed was wearing rock grippers on his boots. They made the sound he heard now, and it was above him, getting louder.

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The soldier had found the crack, and crossed it. From his uphill position he could see into the crack as he moved parallel to it. It was a smart move as anyone in the crack would be checking downhill where the machine gun was, or maybe hugging dirt the way BD was. The man had moved just past BD, not seeing Yankee. He slid down the rock and dropped into the crack between Yankee and BD. He was facing BD, and had his gun ready. BD had looked up at the sound, and horror filled his face as the soldier took aim.

"No!" Yankee shouted as he jerked out the pistol. The soldier could see that BD was no threat, but assumed the voice behind him was. He spun and fired, but Yankee fired first. The bullets from the soldiers machine pistol fanned out harmlessly in the air. Yankee's bullet had done its job. The soldier fell at BD's feet.

"Help him if you can." Yankee said weakly. Then he turned and raced back down the crack, slowing at the many turns to check for the other man who had made it up the canyon.

He had to step right on the dead man by the pocket in order to get into the vertical crack, and he didn't want to. He had no choice and forced himself to do so without looking down. He poked his head into the vertical crack, pistol in hand. There was no one in sight. He entered the crack and began moving down cautiously, taking his eyes off the entrance below only briefly to scan his path for foot holds.

He stepped into the water quietly and moved around the boulder.

He could see the other soldier. The man was lying in the stream struggling to keep both his gun and his head out of the water. Yankee approached him cautiously, rifle ready. As he got closer the man became aware of him. He tried to get his gun into firing position. Yankee took a few quick strides and jerked the gun away from the man.

The man was lying face down, and Yankee could tell from the blood on the back of the man's shirt that he was shot through the lung. Even as he watched, the man lost his struggle with the water and let his face sink below the surface. Yankee quickly slung his rifle over one shoulder and the soldier's gun over the other. Then he grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him to the side of the creek and sat him up against the rock wall.

The man coughed blood, then opened his eyes. He stared right at Yankee, then tried feebly to grab one of the hand grenades hanging on his shirt.

Yankee gently took the grenade from his hand, and the other from the shirt.

He put them in his pocket as he stood up. There was nothing more he could do for the man, and there was still a group of women and children in a cavern with a hostile machine gun. He turned and ran to the edge of the cavern.

The fire had burned out, leaving black sand where it had been.

From where he was he could not see the machine gunner, but that meant the gunner couldn't see him. He stepped into the cavern, signaling the women who could see him to be silent. He dashed to the edge of the women's hut 169

and took stock of his options. He looked at the machine pistol he had taken, but liked the feel and the power of his rifle. He tossed the machine pistol away. He took out the two grenades and had an idea. He advanced to the corner of the house, but didn't look around. He leaned his rifle against the wall and took a grenade in each hand.

He had no training with grenades, but he only wanted them to give him time to use his rifle, and he couldn't do that with a man sitting with his finger on the trigger of a machine gun. He stepped out where he could see the machine gun and threw the first grenade. The man saw him and spun the gun, but didn't fire as he saw the grenade land. He dove backward into the gun pit that had been dug. Yankee threw the second grenade. It too fell short, but between the two blast it gave him time to grab the rifle and drop to one knee. He took a steady aim right at the top of the machine gun.

After the second blast the gunner popped up behind his weapon.

As he grabbed it's handle he moved right into Yankee's sights. He died quickly. Yankee saw the man drop. He had been too busy to keep count, and didn't know how many men were left. There had been no fire from the second machine gun that he could remember, but that didn't mean it was unmanned. He was debating what to do when the women, who had freed themselves, began to peek around the corner of the house at him. He waved them back, and knew what he had to do to protect them.

He set his rifle on full automatic and put in a fresh clip. Then he burst around the corner and charged the nearest machine gun. He tripped going up the earthwork and fell near the top, but scrambled up, gun ready.

Two dead men lay near the bottom. He hardly paused to look as he charged the second gun pit. It was empty. He lowered his rifle and felt all his energy sink with it. He let the gun drop and sank to the ground next to it.

He didn't understand what he had just done, nor how he had accomplished it. He was alive and he shouldn't be. The women and children were safe. All he knew was that he had performed beyond his capacity, and he wanted to be alone to thank God for it, but even as he sat there the women were flowing out from behind the house, heading toward him.

One of the women suddenly stopped and put a hand over her mouth as if to stifle a scream. She pointed downstream. Yankee turned to look. The soldier who had slid down the mountain was charging toward him. He was bloodied and his uniform was in tatters, but the gun looked fine, and he was within range. Yankee grabbed for his rifle but was slammed sideways as if he had been hit by a baseball bat that knocked him off the earthwork.

He was dazed as he picked his face out of the sand. His rifle lay a foot from his head. He wanted it, but his hands didn't seem to obey him.

They moved so slowly. Finally his hand touched the butt of the gun and slowly slid up to the hand hold. Before he could clutch the gun a black combat boot stomped down on his hand, but he didn't feel it hurt. He turned 170

his head slightly to look up. All he saw was the muzzle of a gun. Then everything went black.

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172

Eighteen He hadn't driven a car up that hill in the dark without headlights since he was courting and the overlook was the place to go. That seemed like a long time ago. A gate now closed the road, but the lock had presented no problem to him. The road had been mostly washed out, forcing him to drive slowly, not just to protect the rented car he was in, but because he felt every bump and jar with stabbing pains.

It had been six weeks since he had been shot, but to him it was an eternity. He hadn't remembered anything when he first awakened. All he knew was he hurt, and he didn't know where he was. It was dark, and musty. His cries had brought BD to his side with a lantern. The doctor had tried to comfort him, then had began asking questions. After the first few he understood what the man was getting at.

"You think I have lost my mind, don't you?" he had asked. BD checked his eyes before answering.

"You have been unconscious for three days, Yankee. You were shot four times. The leg wound was minor, as was the one in your arm.

The one in your side took some good surgery, better than I knew I was capable of, given the situation. The one in your head I could do little for. I controlled the bleeding and closed the entry and exit wounds. Then I waited. The brain is a funny thing, and I know the bullet did some damage in there. I didn't dare probe for fear of doing more. I just waited. To be honest, Yankee, I never expected you to survive the chest surgery, let alone the head wound. You must be meant to live."

"Will I be alright? Will this pain go away?" Yankee asked.

"I can't answer that right now, my friend. Are you hungry, sleepy?"

"I just hurt." Yankee had answered, then paused as he assessed what he was feeling. "I am hungry."

"Good. I'll get you some soup." BD said and disappeared from view. Yankee checked out what he could see in the limited light of the lantern. At first he thought he was in a cave, then he noticed the marks on some of the walls and knew he was in a mine. When BD returned he had some questions.

"What happened back there?" he asked.

"You turned into a one man army and saved everyone's lives, including mine."

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"I remember that." Yankee said, a bit curtly. He paused to get control of himself, fighting the irritability and the pain he felt. "I remember being shot. I remember seeing the man and knowing I was going to die. Is that when he shot me in the head?"

"You do remember. That is good." BD seemed cheered by Yankee's memory. He held a cup of warm soup to Yankee's lips as he answered. "You dropped a gun near the women. A machine pistol I think.

Nina picked up that gun. That soldier was so intent on you he never even saw her coming up. She pumped the full clip into him, and then kicked him to make sure he was dead. I saw it all from the crack on the mountain. By the time I made it back down the women had you laid out on a table in the women's house and were cutting your clothes away from the wounds. I had them bandage your arm and leg while I prepared for surgery. Then Panther arrived. He took one look at you and ordered the women out and told me to put away my things. He pulled out his pistol and was going to shoot you.

"You should have seen the women. Not only did they not leave, but they mobbed Panther, pushing him away. When he screamed for his men the women formed a circle around you and announced that there would never be another child born to any man there if you died. Everyone got the message. Panther said that if I didn't save you I would be buried with you.

While I operated he moved out everyone except six men to stay with me. I didn't move you for two days, then we carried you here just this morning."

"You could have left." Yankee had said after pondering all that BD had said. "You could have been free from Panther and all this."

"You do remember everything, don't you? This is marvelous, Yankee. You stand a chance of complete recovery. As for my leaving, I could tell you what my chances would have been on my own, but to tell you the truth, the thought never occurred to me until Panther threatened to kill me if you died. I guess I just did what I had to, like you did."

"Where are we? Where is Panther?" Yankee asked.

"We are less than a kilometer from the last base. This is part of a played out mine that only a few Indians seem to know about. It is not as comfortable as the last camp, but it is secure. Only two of Panther's men have even figured out as yet how to get in and out of this maze of tunnels, and Panther is keeping it that way. He says he can't trust anyone anymore, not since I led those soldiers to the last camp."

"If he thought that, you'd be dead." Yankee said, gingerly reaching for the cup of soup BD had set down. BD quickly lifted it to give him more as he talked.

"I didn't mean to lead them there. There is one cartel base that has always had a good supply of medical supplies. We hit it when we need certain things. This time, in addition to the drugs, I grabbed two of these neat portable electronic blood pressure meters that were there. How did I know they had been rigged with radio tracking senders. Panther knows that I didn't mean to, and except for the loss of the camp, no harm was done. In 174

fact, in addition to the men you nailed, his men got eight more at the mouth of the canyon before they withdrew, so it looks like the type of victory he likes."

"How many men did I kill." Yankee asked softly, turning his eyes away as he waited for the answer.

"Don't you know? You got eleven. Nina got one. You should hear the stories they are telling about you around the campfires. Panther has even sent messengers to the other rebel groups with the tale of your heroism. He has invited them all to meet here in a week. He is still planning on hitting the cartels in the pocket book, but he feels he no longer has to wait to start unifying the groups. Alive or dead, what you have done will shine as the rallying cry. He has even adopted you. You are now his son, heir, and have the new name of White Panther. And you are my ticket out of here."

"Could I have some more." Yankee asked as the soup was gone.

BD disappeared quickly and returned just as quickly with another cup of soup. He held it for Yankee as he spoke in a whisper.

"I had to tell them you were awake to get this. Panther will be here soon. Listen carefully. I have already told them that while I could maybe save your life, I could never make you whole without a modern hospital.

You are not to walk, or even use your arms much, understand. Panther will be forced to send you out, to a hospital, and I will have to go along to tend to you. Got that? Here he comes."

In better days Yankee would have laughed at the idea. There was no problem appearing to be an invalid, he felt like one. The last thing he wanted to do was to move, it hurt too bad.

Panther burst into the light in his usual form. He leaned over Yankee and opened his arms wide.

"Please," Yankee begged, "Don't let him hug me."

Panther laughed and straightened up, pulling in his arms. He took a small cloth bag from his pouch and dumped the contents into his hand. He lowered it for Yankee to see. There was a gold chain with an ornament on it, and a ring, also of gold.

"These for you." Panther bellowed. "Necklace with panther make you my son. Ring has four point star. That be symbol of new Indian nation. Together we get people from four points of compass to stand against cartels, as you bravely done. I prepare rings like this for leaders who join on council of chiefs. With all groups work together we drive cartels out. You see, plan go forward. Now rest, get strong. You be first speak to council of chiefs."

With that he was gone. BD came quickly to Yankee's side and gave him more soup.

"He is an overbearing, egotistical,...." Yankee trailed off. Not for a lack of words, or even strength, but he knew he shouldn't even have such feelings, let alone give vent to them. He went on more calmly.

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"Does he know we were on our way out back there?"

"No." BD answered. "He thinks that you suspected something and held back, finding the escape route by accident. The fact that you could have fled, and choose to fight instead supports his idea."

"Will he let us go, as you plan?" Yankee asked, feeling suddenly weak.

"Oh, yes." BD said. "Now that I know who to work with, I am able to plant ideas with the women. Nina thinks a lot of you, and will make sure that the women insist on you getting proper medical care. But first, you have to get stronger. Try to sleep now."

Yankee did sleep. He did get stronger, but hid it as BD had suggested. He almost betrayed himself when he spoke to the new council of chiefs on behalf of their cause. He spoke with enthusiasm and moved most of them, convincing them of the need to unite, to train, to win.

Panther was so delighted that he offered no objection when BD went before the group and asked for their united help in getting Yankee to a hospital in Mexico or the U.S. for needed care. It was decreed on the spot that BD should pick the hospital and the council would get him there. BD choose Dallas, Texas.

BD had stayed with Yankee for a week in Dallas as doctors ran tests. The field surgery had been good, and Yankee was told he would recover fully, but it would take time. Physical therapy was prescribed, but as BD left for Mexico, Yankee headed for Denver.

He wanted desperately to go home, but he hadn't even dared to call his wife. In order to protect his family he had to remain "dead" for a while longer. The Senator had to be dealt with.

The council had provided him with enough funds to get home, get treated, and have something left over. In Denver he had rented the car and purchased the supplies he needed to go after the Senator. He had considered how easy it would be just to kill him, but that thought worried him. Not because he had it, but because it appealed to him. As he healed he found it easier to control himself, but he was still not all the way back yet. It was his intent to expose the Senator and let the law deal with him for what he had done to him, as well as for the deaths of Pilot, Speaks, and Captain.

He was sure Captain and Speaks were dead, because if they were alive they would have gotten home by now, and Captain wasn't one to play games. He would have killed the Senator and been on his way. The Senator was alive and free, and he posed a threat to Yankee and his family as long as he was. If he found out Yankee was alive he would have him killed if he could, so Yankee intended to make it so he couldn't. To end the threat to his family he had to have legal proof, and he figured he knew where to get it, the Senator's safe.

The safe was an antique. Big, heavy, with the name of the mining company founded by the Senator's ancestor still on it. The lock was no 176

antique though. Yankee had installed the latest and best. He had even showed the Senator how to program in a new combination, but he was sure he hadn't. The Senator never did anything for himself. He was sure he could open the safe quickly using the four test numbers he had put into the program ten months before.

To get to the safe he had to go over a six foot tall stone wall, get past automatic lights, motion detectors and alarms, and then contend with the latest in internal security devices inside the house. He did have an ace in the hole though. He had installed all that for the Senator over the years and knew all the weak points. All the gear he had bought in Denver was to help him exploit it.

He had questioned the need for such security until the Senator had shown him a "bug collection" of listening devices that had been planted in the mansion over the years, normally in election years. Some were put there for political purposes, but others were from over zealous journalists looking for a scoop. At least that was what the Senator had told him, and he had believed it. Every election year the one motel in their small town had many visits from "tourists" who never went fishing or rock hounding, only bird watching around the mansion.

Yankee had always considered it just a stupid game, but now he resented it. The easiest entrance would have been over the front wall, but there was a van parked down the road where it had no purpose being, unless it was to keep an eye on the Senator. That meant they could keep an eye on him too unless he came in from the other side, the hill side.

That was why he was sitting on the hill, waiting for it to get a little darker. As he waited he reached up and snapped the cover off the dome light. He removed the bulb and set it on the dash so he could replace it later. He got out of the car and pulled on the black skimask and gloves he had bought to finish out the outfit he wore. He opened the rear door. The pack he pulled out weighted over a hundred pounds. It was hard for him in his weakened condition, but with a mighty effort he hefted it and started down the hill.

At the base of the hill he stopped, letting the pack slip to the ground. He removed a two foot long spike and a plastic dead blow mallet that he used to drive the spike firmly into the ground. Then he took out a belt with a wire spool on it. He dropped a spool of aircraft cable into the holder and fed the end out the hole. He attached the end to the spike and drug the pack to the wall. From the pack he removed the gear he needed to fool the light beam on top of the wall and the motion sensors on the other side. He stood on the pack to set up the gear, tested it, and decided it was working.

He had a hard time getting over the wall, and had to rest before moving on to the house where he removed the roll of cable from it's holder wrapped it in a cloth bag and tossed it onto the balcony above his head.

Then he used an electromagnet to fool a window sensor so he could open it 177

and slide into the basement. There he opened the door to the large control center for all the security systems in the house. He carefully removed selected fuses and replaced them with identical fuses that he had intentionally blown. Then he removed the backup battery pack and put in a discharged one. When he had finished it looked as if the fuses had blown and let the system run down. Then he picked up the pack and crept up the stairs to the kitchen.

It was Thursday, the night when all the servants were off, and the Senator turned off the phone to be alone, or to entertain special guests, so Yankee wasn't surprised to find the kitchen empty. He moved quickly to the servants stairs and went upstairs. Again, he saw and heard no one. The hard part was next. He had to traverse an open mezzanine to get to the office. He was halfway there when the doorbell sounded. He froze as a door opened right below him. The Senator came out of the library and headed for the door. When that door opened Yankee would be visible to who ever was at the door. Yankee threw caution to the wind as he dashed to the end of the hall and pasted himself against a wall just around the corner where he could listen in on the Senator below.

"Se単or Sandor?" The Senator asked. The man nodded and stepped in.

"Senator, we have much to talk about." Sandor said. He was about to continue but the Senator hushed him. He pointed to the wall, then to his ear.

"If you will, Se単or, please come in to the library, where we will discuss this article you are writing on me for your paper. I realize what a risk you are taking, writing something against the cartels when they are so powerful in your country. I admire your courage and will do all I can to make your article worthy of the risk."

"Thank you, Senator, though the risk is not so great since I am on long term assignment in this, your country. What I really need from you is something hot, something new to inspire those of my people who resist the cartels. Tell me, do you plan any...."

His voice faded as the Senator closed the door to the library.

Yankee sighed with relief and retraced his steps out onto the mezzanine.

He stopped at the office door, pick ready, but he didn't need it. The door wasn't locked. He went in, leaving the lights off. He made his way quickly but quietly to the balcony doors. He opened them wide and stepped outside.

He found the cable he had tossed up and expertly anchored it to the stone wall around the balcony with a clamp from his pack. Then he removed a handful of pulleys he had put together with hooks on them. He removed a small bag from the pack and then put one of the pulleys on the cable he had pulled tight and hung the pack on the pulley. When he let it go it rolled off into the night. He could tell by the slight "chunk" when it had hit the stake and fell off on the other side of the wall. He picked up his small bag and went into the office, right to the safe.

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Even though the lock was electronic, it had a conventional dial on it, to maintain the antique appearance of the safe. He knelt down by the safe and opened his little bag of tools. He removed a pen light and turned it on. As he turned to shine it on the dial he knocked it against the old wooden swivel chair the Senator used at the desk. The blow knocked the flashlight from his hand, It hit the floor and rolled into the knee hole of the desk, going out in the process.

Yankee held still for a minute. The office was right above the library. He hardly took a breath as he listened. He couldn't make out the words at all through the thick floor but he could make out two voices continuing the interview. They hadn't heard him.

He lay on the floor as he stretched into the knee hole to get the light. As he picked it up the light came on and the beam played on the bottom of the Senator's chair. Something about the chair was wrong. The Senator had brought the chair to him when the swivel failed. He had built a replica of the swivel and installed it with four bolts. There were five bolt heads showing on the swivel now. He gently grabbed the extra bolt head and gave it a slight twist. It came off in his hand. He held it under his light.

It looked like the head of a bolt, but had a sticky underside, the type that can be used over and over.

He knew it was a bug, and he was interested in taking it apart to see what was in it, but he knew now was not the time. He stuck the bug in his pocket as he turned his attention to the safe.

He was right. The Senator hadn't changed the combination which saved him the trouble of trying to crack the safe. He closed the tool bag after removing a black cloth sack into which he hoped to place the papers he would select. He quickly went through the papers on the top shelf of the safe. He found stock certificates, bonds, deeds, even the Senator's will, but nothing incriminating. He turned his attention to the larger bottom shelf of the safe. There were several plastic shoe boxes and an attache case. He rifled the boxes first, finding nothing but things any wealthy man would be expected to keep in a safe. He was beginning to despair when he removed the attache case. It was locked.

Two minutes later it was open, and Yankee's hopes were dashed.

There were no documents of any type in the case. It was filled with bundles of $100 bills. That did not surprise him. The Senator was known as a cash man. He always paid his bills in cash, frequently in advance. He was even known for running his campaigns on a cash basis, refusing all but small contributions from within the state. It was a part of what made him popular.

He balanced his budget, why couldn't the government was one of his campaign tactics. Yankee closed and locked the case and was about to put it back when something dawned on him. He pulled out a ledger from the top shelf that he had glanced at. It was a list of contributions. He played the light down the pages. There was a steady $100 pattern to the donations but the names changed. Then he saw his name listed. He had never voted 179

for the man, let alone gave him money. The Senator was a fraud in more ways than one.

Yankee knew the money was drug money. It funded the Senator's campaigns, and probably his life style. Yankee realized that the other ledger he had seen, which listed the Senator's holdings was too small to support the mansion here, let alone the apartment the Senator was famous for in D.C. It was all drug money, but he couldn't prove that. The ledgers would prove campaign fraud, but Yankee wanted more than that. Then he remembered the type of people the Senator's bosses were.

He closed the safe after returning the ledgers to their places. He kept the attache case. In a minute it was on a hook sliding down the cable.

Yankee sent his tool kit down next, followed by the clamp as he held the cable. Then he let the cable fall. He would reel it in from outside the wall and there would be no trace of his being there. The Senator would know somebody had been, but he would have no proof. No forced entry. No signs of a break-in. Not that he would go to the police, but his employers would want to know where the money went, and if unhappy with the answer would give out their own type of justice. The Senator was no fool.

He would know what was waiting for him, and would know that his best hope would be government protection that he could only get if he told why he needed it.

Yankee knew he had the Senator, but he didn't feel elated. He did feel relieved. Another week, maybe two, and the Senator would disappear into the justice system, and he could come home. Until then he had to find a place to stay and try to get stronger.

He shook himself mentally to get his mind back on the here and now. For any of it to work he had to get out unseen. If he had been feeling well he would have gone over the edge and dropped to the ground, but he knew his leg still wouldn't take that and his arm and side wouldn't let him make a controlled jump. He went back out onto the mezzanine and made his way to the servants stairs. There was an outside door in the kitchen that he could open now with no alarm. In a few moments he would be finished.

He was three fourths the way down the stairs when he heard the library door open and the Senator's voice, coming nearer.

"My servants have the night off, Se単or, so we must retire to the kitchen for a snack. Be assured, I have a well stocked pantry with delicacies from around the world, and drink to please Bacchus himself."

Yankee had halted at the sound of the voices. From where he was he could actually see the two men's feet as they entered the kitchen. He slipped over to the wall and pondered his options. If he went back up stairs he could go down the main stairs and out the front door, but the van had the front under surveillance. That left the French doors in the library. If the two men stayed put he could give that a try. He slowly backed up one step then paused as he heard what the Senator was saying.

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"Here we can talk freely. The old lady who does my cooking is as honerey as a wildcat, but she cooks well and keeps the kitchen spotless. No bugs, real or mechanical survive the day in here."

"I do not understand this situation." Sandor said. "In this country why do you put up with this? Always watching what you say. Even our lowly dealers can speak freely."

Yankee stopped inching up the steps at that. He heard chairs slide on the floor as the two men sat at the table. He inched back down one stair to hear better. Then he remembered the bug he had taken. No matter who was listening in, if this conversation went the way he expected, they would be interested. He removed the bug from his pocket and reached out as far as he dared and stuck it on the wall right next to the corner.

"When you are in politics, you always watch what you say, and never mean any of it anyway." The Senator laughed. "What would you like? Bread and cheese? Caviar? Wine? Name it."

"Nothing." Sandor snapped. "Enough time has been wasted. The cartel heads have reviewed your report on the affair. They find it hard to believe that you did not know the capabilities of these men when you recruited them. They still want to blame this all on you."

"I only recruited the local man." The Senator replied calmly, getting up. "I'm going to have some bread and cheese. Boss, through one of his people handled the telegrams that brought all the others here. And, as I said in that report, I assumed he was working with the full knowledge of all the cartel members. I had no idea this was a maverick plan. After all, you don't pay me all that money to question the orders I get through official channels."

"We pay you all that money to do the will of the cartels, jointly.

You did not even check with me." Sandor complained.

"My instructions are to never contact you." The Senator replied, sitting back down with his snack. "It is fine for a foreign journalist to contact me, I am the most loved Senator in the most powerful legislative body in the world. Everyone wants to interview me, but why should I ever contact a reporter for some small rag in South America. To do so would draw suspicion. Even now, I can only have you here in person because this is an election year and I am expected to grab all the press I can get."

Sandor sat quietly for a minute before continuing.

"Okay, I can see that. I can probably convince the cartel leaders too. I will see if I can stall the next hearing awhile. That will help. Right now they are all uptight. With Boss and Padre out of the picture production is down almost 20%. That has already shown up in shortages on the street.

That has upped prices which in the short run is producing more violence which is causing greater police crackdowns, but the real damage is in the long run. Higher prices means fewer new customers. Short term profits will hold, but the long term market could be hurt. That, plus this Indian thing, and a lack of aggas to control them may cut production severely. I 181

don't need to tell you what a crimped cash flow could do to the fragile bonds that hold the cartels together."

"I understand the problem." The Senator mumbled through a full mouth. "All this has been brought out in the hearings before my committee.

Even the code names of these guys I sent in, Captain and Yankee, plus this new fellow, the White Panther, have come up. I know all the possible ramifications, but you, and the cartels need to understand that I have cash flow problems too. The voters of this state are getting just a bit tired of my face. That young fellow running against me is gaining fast. My manager has suggested that I lay low for a while and use media hype to counter him, but that costs a lot more money than I have been getting from you boys."

"You received a delivery yesterday, did you not?" Sandor countered.

"Sure did. Two million, as agreed. But, that was laid out to cover my personal appearances over the next month. Buying media hype will cost a lot more, a lot more."

Sandor was quiet for quite a while. Then he spoke.

"You have always been a personal campaigner. Why change now?

The cartels will not like this. It will look like an attempt to extort more money."

"My manager says I need to look more business like. Tend more to my senate duties. Give the taxpayers their money's worth. That sort of thing. I have some personal reasons to want to stay low for a while too."

"Such as?"

"Tell me, Se単or, did your people ever turn up Captain or Speaks?"

"No. They were seen, but not taken. You have nothing to worry about from them though. They could not have gotten out of the city without help, and no one would dare help them. The city is full of thugs and cut throats. I suspect these two met their death at the hands of the locals."

"But, you can not assure me of that. Look, I know the Major. I worked with him for six weeks. If he has any idea at all that I was involved, he will come for me. How do I know that is not him out there in that van watching this place right now? Maybe you had better talk to your cartel leaders and see how badly they want to retain all that information I send them from my committees, as well as what I glean from my contacts over at Defense as well as the D.E.A. and the C.I.A., not to mention those in State."

The Senator had played his trump card, and it was enough. Sandor didn't even hesitate.

"Yes, Senator, you are a valuable asset. They all agree. I will talk to them. We will raise the bounty offered for the major and his linguistic friend. I will also get you more money for your media hype. Say, I have an idea. If you must be holed up, perhaps we can turn that to our advantage. If I get the cartels to put a bounty on your head, and leak it to the media, how will your voters respond?"

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"They would eat it up." The Senator almost shouted. Then he thought twice. "What if somebody tried to collect on it? That could give me more worries than the major."

"No. No one would try if he didn't know how to collect, and we can control all those that do. It would just be more of your media hype."

"Yes. That would be good. I could stay out of sight because my life is in danger. It would show how strongly I have defended America from the drug invasion. It would also make it so I could demand constant protection, which would keep the major away if he is out there. Yes, I like it. The voters will like it. And if you do get the major for sure, I could go out freely, showing my courage in defying the cartels. I could even get rid of Hans. I like it. Let's do it."

"Who is Hans?" Sandor demanded.

"My bodyguard. When I learned for sure what had happened down there I did what I could to cover myself. I paid the widow of the local what I told her was insurance money so she would be well enough off to not attract any attention, and I put out feelers to my friends in intelligence about a bodyguard who would be loyal and tight lipped. Five weeks ago one of them sent Hans to me. He is a surely brute, but he takes orders without question and hardly says a word. I think he is German."

"I want to see him." Sandor demanded. "When will he be back?"

"He is here now. I told him I want him near me at all times. He has never complained, or asked for time off, back in Washington, or here.

He stays in his room when I don't need him. I can call him for you."

"Yes, now." Sandor said. The Senator had been using a large butcher knife to slice the cheese. He now stretched it out and used the tip to push the button on the intercom.

"Yeah." The intercom carried the slurred word.

"I am in the kitchen. I need you." The Senator laid the knife on the table and folded his arms across his wide girth. Sandor sat quietly the minute it took Hans to come from the servants section to the kitchen.

Hans said nothing as he entered the kitchen. He stopped just inside, awaiting orders. Yankee could see only his legs, but he knew if Hans turned, he would be able to see his legs as well. He had been too interested in the conversation to work on his exit, but now he knew he had overstayed. He backed up one step, very slowly. Then he took one more.

This time his heel bumped ever so slightly against the stair. He froze.

Hans turned. He was a man of medium height and build, but he looked small as he stood with his back slightly arched and his shoulders hunched. He had long scraggly hair and a beard to match. He seemed to hesitate for a minute, then he lunged into the stairwell.

Yankee tried to back quickly up the stairs, but Hans was faster. He grabbed Yankee by the ankle and jerked hard. Yankee slammed down on his back on the stairs and pain shot through him from every direction. With 183

a mighty pull Hans propelled him down the stairs in a bouncing slide, right into the kitchen where both the Senator and Sandor jumped to their feet.

Yankee was fighting to recover his breath, and to stifle a scream as Hans seized him and forced him to his feet with his arm pinned painfully behind him. Sandor turned on the Senator.

"How long has he been there? What has he heard? What happened to your vaunted security systems?"

"I, I, I." The Senator stammered. He swallowed, then offered a limp explanation.

"Maybe it is one of my servants. I don't know. Let's see who it is."

Hans reached for the ski mask. It was a move Yankee welcomed.

He had regained his breath and his presence of mind. As soon as Hans was stretched out Yankee struck. Unfortunately he was forced to use his weak side, and while his move broke the hold Hans had on him, it merely knocked Hans away, it did not drop him as it should have.

Hans regained his balance and attacked. Yankee blocked and struck, landing a blow that probably hurt him more than Hans. Hans' next few moves told Yankee he was in trouble. The man was an expert in martial arts, and he wasn't hurting. For a full three minutes the two men spared. Yankee did his best, but Hans did better. Yankee had the impression the smaller man was playing with him. Twice Yankee missed crucial blocks, but the blows he took seemed to be pulled. Then he understood that Hans wasn't trying to kill him. It didn't make sense, but he knew it offered a way out. On the next attack he intentionally slipped his guard, leaving himself open. As he expected the blow came to his neck.

He dropped to the floor and didn't move.

"What a fight." The Senator crowed. "Did you see that? Right here in my kitchen. What a fight. See, Sandor, that is why I need Hans."

Sandor didn't answer. He picked up the butcher knife and tossed it to Hans.

"Kill him." Sandor ordered. Hans grunted and looked at the Senator who nodded his agreement. Hans bent over Yankee, taking him by the throat with one hand as he held the knife ready in the other. Then he straightened up.

"He's dead." Hans mumbled. He dropped the knife back on the table and grabbed Yankee, hauling him onto his shoulder.

"I'll get rid of the body." Hans said. He left by the door that went to the servants' quarters.

"You will have to get rid of him." Sandor said, retaking his seat at the table.

"Hans will do that."

"I mean Hans. He knows now that I am not just a journalist. He must be killed. I will arrange it. Your job will be to deliver him."

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"But, I need him." The Senator protested. "What if he hadn't been here tonight. That man might have killed me."

"I will arrange for a body guard for you. One we know. Here, I will explain how."

Hans had stopped when the door closed behind him, to listen to what was said. He had heard enough. He carried Yankee down the hall to his own room and laid him on the bed. Yankee opened his eyes.

"Stay put." Hans ordered. He opened the night stand drawer and took out a pistol to back up his order. Yankee sat up slowly, then reached up and removed the ski mask.

"Yankee? I thought you were dead."

"I am. You just killed me." Yankee said. "I never would have recognized you, Captain. Your style of fighting was familiar, but it wasn't until you felt for my pulse that I knew it was you. I saw you do that many times when you were training us, and you are the only man I know that does it with just one finger. Are you going to kill him?"

"I want to." Captain said. "I would have, but Speaks insisted we do it this way, out of respect for your memory. I posed as another mercenary with a story to sell to the D.E.A. I gave them the whole scoop on the Senator. They were interested, but not believing. They set up this little act, and hired me to play this part since the Senator has a passing knowledge of most of their operatives. He runs the oversight committee on the agency, so they needed an outsider. I knew it would be hard, being with him like this, but I took the job hoping he would do something I could shoot him for. Even in that fight, I was trying to figure out a way to land an accidental blow, but the table was in the way. What about you? Did you come for him?"

"Yes, but not to kill him. Why didn't you let me escape back there?"

"I thought it might just be a test of my loyalty, especially when you pulled all your blows. I was surprised when he told me to kill you. I... just a minute."

Captain touched his watch, as if turning off something. Then he went to the head of the bed and took a set of earphones off the bedpost. He plugged them in to the stereo unit opposite the nightstand and put them on.

He listened a moment, then pushed in the record button on the set and spoke into it.

"No Sir. He's just a burglar. No, I only stunned him. I will carry him out as if he were dead, and then drive out of here. My usefulness here is ended, so I will be coming out for good. What?"

Yankee understood then that Captain wore a vibrating watch that signaled him to call in when he could, and the radio was in the stereo.

Captain turned to him.

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"Did you move a bug from upstairs to the kitchen?" Captain asked. Yankee nodded. "Yes sir, he did. They did? You're coming in?

When? Great. Get him out? Yes sir. You don't need him? Let me see."

"Yankee, how long will it take you to get off the premises?"

"Fifteen minutes." Yankee answered.

"He can be gone in ten minutes." Captain said into the stereo. He jerked a thumb at the window. Yankee pulled on the ski mask and headed for the window, fighting the pain he felt. He knew something big was up, and that news gave him the strength to clear the wall, haul in his cable, and drag all his stuff up to the car. He began to change clothes as the action started.

Captain waited, gun in hand, as he stared at the clock. At the appointed time he stepped into the hall. He stood erect, proud, as he walked toward the kitchen. He paused at the door.

"What is that? It sounds like a helicopter." Sandor demanded, apprehension in his voice.

"It probably is." The Senator replied. "We get lots of night flights from the base over yonder. There is nothing to be alarmed about."

Sandor settled down, but the sound increased rapidly. Sandor jumped up.

"That one is coming in. What the..." Sandor trailed off as a muffled "WHUMP" was heard. When Sandor realized what it was, he started shouting.

"They've blown the front gate. We have to get out of here. Do you have a car?"

"Several, in the garage." The Senator also shouted. He jumped up, leading the way. "We can get there through the servants wing."

He jerked open the door and gasped as a 9mm pistol barrel was slammed against his sternum.

"Get back to the table." Captain ordered. The two men retreated and he advanced. "Get your hands up, high. Keep them up where the others can see them. Go ahead, mister. Please try."

Sandor had backed right into the table. He had looked down longingly at the knife. He wisely decided not to try.

The Senator looked at his bodyguard, standing tall and straight. If that hadn't been enough to jar his memory, the green turtleneck sweater Captain had slipped into was more than enough.

"It's you." The Senator said weakly. He didn't get to say more as his attention was diverted by the action.

Simultaneously the door was kicked in and two windows were smashed in. While four men in swat gear poured through the door rifle barrels came through the windows. The first man through drew a bead on Captain and ordered him to drop the gun, but the second man in changed that order.

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"He's with us." With a snap of his fingers the other men split up.

One went down the stairs to the basement. Another dashed up the stairs.

The fourth went into the servants wing. The officer helped cover the two men as the team members from the windows dashed in. One went up the stairs, the other headed for the main floor. The sounds coming from the front door told of the entry there. In a minute two men in suits came strolling into the kitchen. One of them carried a small radio and kept talking into it.

"All clear, chief. These guys are it." The man said.

"Good." The first man said. "Pull out the hardware. Get the evidence boys in here."

The order was relayed and the men who had come in through the kitchen left that way as quickly as they had come. When the commotion ceased the man turned to Captain who hadn't taken his eyes or his gun off the captives the whole time.

"I'm Bo Reams, the agency chief, Mr. Tulmac. When I approved this operation I felt it was a mistake to put you in here, but you certainly did the job. I'll see if I can find a bonus for you."

Reams them turned to the captives, and smiled.

"Oh, Senator, the times you roasted me in front of your committee, twice on national television. How I hated that. How I am going to love this." He started to pace back and forth triumphantly as he reveled in the catch.

"Now it will be my turn. Before I'm through with you you'll be forty pounds lighter."

"Sir, there is some mistake here. I am just an humble journalist who..." Sandor tried to protest.

"The only mistake is yours." Reams snapped. "We have the whole conversation from this kitchen on tape. It holds enough evidence to convict you both, not to mention all the leads it has given us. You really had us fooled, Sandor. We though you were an occasional mule, petty change, not the cartels' joint liaison. What a catch."

"I demand a lawyer." Sandor barked.

"Oh, you'll get one." Reams continued, obviously enjoying himself very much. "But don't worry. I know your kind, and I won't waste much time on you. I really won't need to, because I know your kind too, Senator. Your head is full of things we can use, and you will talk. You will be glad to for the deal I can make you."

Reams' pacing had been steady, but now he moved to glare at the Senator, and his path took him right in front of Captain. Captain saw the danger, and moved to avoid it, but Sandor had seen the opportunity and used it. He seized the knife and plunged it into the Senator's heart at the same instant that Captain got clear of Reams and fired. The impact of the bullet slammed Sandor back onto the table. The Senator just slumped straight down onto the floor. Reams just stared for a moment as all the 187

glory he had hoped to gain ran out with the blood from the two dead men.

Then he began to cuss.

Captain lowered the gun for the first time. He surveyed the scene for a second, then turned to Reams' assistant and handed him the gun.

"This belong to you folks. I think my job is done." Captain said and left by way of the front door.

The long drive was filled with police cars, vans, unmarked cars, and people everywhere. Captain ignored them as he made his way to the road. It was a country road, normally only lightly used, but word spreads quickly in small towns, and now there were cars lined up and down the road as people tried to see what was happening. Captain noticed one man leaning calmly against his car, instead of up against the fence. He headed for him.

"I heard a shot. Is he dead?" Yankee asked as Captain approached.

"Yes." Captain said.

"You?" Yankee asked.

"No." Captain replied. "Sandor got him. I got Sandor. Nice suit."

"Thanks. I got it in Denver. I thought after all this I should at least go home decently dressed."

"You haven't been home yet? No, of course not. That could have been dangerous." Captain asked and answered his own question.

"Now it is over." Yankee said softly. "At least I think it is. Do they know about us? I know you wouldn't work with them using your real name." Yankee indicated all the cops as he spoke.

"Did the Senator talk about us?" Captain asked.

"Only our code names." Yankee answered.

"Then it is over. Go home Yankee. When I see Speaks I'll tell him about you. He'll be relieved. We both thought you were dead."

"Do you need a ride?" Yankee asked.

"Yes, but not from a man who's wife thinks he's dead. Go home, Yankee. And just a suggestion, stop on the way and call her. Phone calls are less shocking than ghosts walking through the door."

"Drive me home, and you can have the car." Yankee replied. "It is a rental. You can leave it in Denver, at the airport. I think we are about to have some company."

They were both silent as Reams' assistant approached them.

"Am I interrupting anything, Mr. Tulmac?"

"No." Captain answered. "I was just trying to find a ride to the Denver airport. Are you going that way? This guy wants too much money."

"I can offer you a ride all the way to Washington on an agency jet.

I also want to talk to you about a job suited to your talents and experience."

"No." Captain answered with a shake of his head. "I pulled that off, true, but I am not suited to these petty fights. I prefer the big battles."

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"Mr. Tulmac," the man protested, "I don't think you understand what you have accomplished. Did you know that for every dollar increase on the street price of drugs there will be one thousand people who won't start the habit? There will also be one thousand addicts who will seek treatment for the first time. With the events in the supply side over the last few months, the street price has gone through the roof. What just happened in there, with the Senator and the liaison will probably keep the supply reduced for months to come. Your actions may not have involved a battle of thousands, but in the long run you have probably saved thousands of lives. It is a big battle. Now what do you say?"

"Lead on." Captain said. He put his arm around the man's shoulders and turned him away from Yankee and started walking back toward the mansion. He put his free hand behind his back and gave Yankee a thumbs-up. Yankee smiled.

"Goodbye." Yankee said quietly as the two men went back into the grounds, right toward a helicopter that had just landed on the front lawn.

He opened the car door and climbed in as Captain hopped into the chopper.

As the aircraft left the ground he started the engine and pulled onto the road, headed for home.

He decided to take Captain's advice. There was a convenience store less than five minutes from his home. He would call from there. Then he would walk through his front door in the only nice suit he had ever been able to afford.

He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop right in the middle of the road. Fortunately there was no traffic. He stared in the rear view mirror. He knew it was too late, but he had an attache case with two million dollars in it sitting in the back seat. He couldn't turn it in to the police without answering some questions best left unasked. Captain could probably best make use of the money for his war chest, but he didn't even know how to contact him. He didn't even know Speaks' real name.

He restarted the stalled engine and drove on. He had to decide what to do with the money for now, but somehow he knew Captain would be around for his share. Something told him he hadn't seen the last of the gallant Frenchman.

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