"Nothing," the sergeant answered. "The beggar boy might have lied."
"We will know soon. I am entering the building now."
Clicking off the transmit key, Lieutenant Soto slipped across the alley.
Bullets slammed sheet metal, then an explosion of tiny cubes of tempered glass filled the interior of the rental compact. A bullet had smashed out the back window and continued on to spider-shatter the windshield. Lyons turned in the back seat. Smashing out the shards of fracture-patterned glass with the short barrel of his assault shotgun, he pointed the Atchisson at the pursuing car.
He aimed above the left headlight of the swerving, speeding car and fired, but an instant too late. The number-two and double-ought steel shot tore away the driver's side mirror and shattered the window. The driver whipped the steering wheel in the opposite direction, the tires screaming across the wide boulevard. Sideswiping a delivery van, the sedan accelerated to parallel Able Team's compact. Two gunmen pointed Uzis out the right side windows to strafe Able Team.
Jacom accelerated from behind the sedan. He pointed a Mini-Uzi out his window and fired one-handed, the machine pistol spraying a 30-round magazine in a fraction of a second, slugs breaking windows, hammering sheet metal. As the gunmen swiveled to return the fire, Jacom hit the brakes and turned to the left, putting his car behind the sedan.
The distraction gave Lyons time to plan his shots.
He lined up the white tritium dots of his Atchisson on the front passenger-side window of the sedan and fired. Steel shot tore metal and flesh. The impact threw the gunman in the passenger seat against the driver. Lyons fired through the window again and again, until the assault shotgun's bolt locked back.
Wheel rims shrieked against concrete. The doomed car jumped the curb and plowed into the marble base of a monument. Glass and chrome flew everywhere.
Whipping his small car past the wreck, Jacom accelerated and closed the gap between the two compacts. He flashed his high beams, then Vato powered Able Team's car through a skidding left-hand turn, then a right. He leaned on the horn to speed through a neighborhood, Jacom only a car's length behind him.
Lyons kept his Atchisson below the level of the windows.
"They were most definitely monitoring," Gadgets told his partners. "This morning, too, I'll bet."
"No more calls home." Lyons changed Atchisson mags. He propped the selective-fire assault against the door and unholstered his silenced Colt. He cleared the chamber, then jammed in another standard-issue 7-round magazine.
"And that means they know what we know," Blancanales added. "They'll know exactly what we got from Gunther and what we didn't. If there's an address on the tape, they'll be gone tomorrow."
Lyons looked at his watch. "Tomorrow's four hours away."
"It'll take me that long to go through these tapes!" Gadgets protested. "I can't decode it in a flash, you know."
"Then get with it now," Lyons said.
Gadgets snapped a salute. "Yes, sir. Immediately. Switching into target-acquisition mode."
As Vato drove back to the warehouse, Gadgets put on miniature headphones and skipped through the tapes. "Wow, man, this Gunther dude gets around. Chile, Argentina, El Salvador, Guatemala. Everywhere the Nazis hang out."
"Where's he now?" Lyons demanded. "Forget the travelogue."
"Jawohl, Herr Ironman! Working on it."
Vato swerved through the narrow streets, speeding through the boulevard traffic, Jacom a car length behind him. Lyons watched for pursuit units. It looked as if they had lost the International.
In the industrial section, the compacts sped past factories and diesel trucks. Vato announced that they neared their rented warehouse. Lyons leaned forward.
"Don't go the front way. Circle around the block and then go in by the back alley."
Vato nodded. He drove for a minute more, then turned into an alley. As he sped through the narrow lane, Vato hit the high beams. Lyons saw a shape dart into the shadows.
Throwing open the door, Lyons stepped out running. The black-clad form reached for a holstered pistol. Lyons dived. Breath exploded from a man's lungs as Lyons hit him, then locked a left arm around the man's throat. Lyons took the automatic from his prisoner's holster and put the muzzle against the man's head. He thumbed back the hammer and flicked up the safety.
Voices shouted. Forms blocked the alley. Flashlight beams found Lyons where he struggled with the soldier. Vato switched off the headlights as Blancanales ran to Lyons and crouched beside the prisoner.
"We're surrounded!" Blancanales yelled.
Forcing his prisoner flat on the concrete, Lyons pressed the muzzle of the battered Colt Government Model against the head of the soldier. "Who are you?''
"I am Lieutenant Soto of the army of the Republic of Mexico. You are under arrest. Surrender now, or you die."
"Cut the talk, Mexican. I got you."
"And he's got us," Blancanales added.
"You work for the International?" Lyons demanded.
"What?" the lieutenant asked.
"The Reich. The Nazis. The International Group. The Guerreros Blancos. Who are you with?"
"What do you talk about?"
Vato and Gadgets crouched behind the compact, their weapons ready. But they held their fire.
Two soldiers stopped Jacom, putting the muzzles of their M-16 rifles through the car's window. The Yaqui kept his hands on the steering wheel as one of the soldiers reached in and switched off the engine.
Gadgets called out to his partners. "It's a Mexican standoff!"
"Surrender or we kill you," the lieutenant threatened.
"Tough talk, Lieutenant," Lyons warned. "Any of your men shoot and you' re gone.''
"May I attempt to negotiate this problem?" Blancanales suggested.
"You are my prisoners," the lieutenant stated. "My sergeant has another twenty men watching the streets."
"Lieutenant," Blancanales said calmly, "there is a conspiracy operating within the Mexican army and various offices of the regional governments. This conspiracy also employs agents within the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. We are special antiterrorist operatives. We came to your country to participate in a bilateral investigation, and it's been one long fight. We fought a battalion of the Mexican army called the International Group. We fought Federates. We fought drug-syndicate gunmen. We'll cooperate with any legitimate Mexican authority, but you must recognize our problem. We've been tricked and betrayed by everyone, in your government and in ours. Is it possible you could call your commanding officer? I'm sure if we discuss this, we can resolve the situation."
"American antiterrorist operatives?"
"We came to investigate links between an international death squad, Los Guerreros Blancos, and the international drug syndicates."
"Did you have a helicopter?"
"We captured it from the Mexican army unit called the International Group.''
The Lieutenant shouted out to his soldiers. "No dispare! Esperan. Me dijeron que son agentos de anti-terrissimo de los Estados Unidos." He turned to Blancanales. "Release me. We will talk. Remember, escape is not possible.''
"Not for you!" Lyons countered.
"Release him," Blancanales instructed his partner. "But remember this," he said to the lieutenant, his voice rising. "We have been tricked by your government and ours. Betrayal is everywhere. Seriously, how do you expect us to take such insanity? You think we should just take this shit?" His eyes glared with fury and determination.
Lyons broke his lock around the lieutenant's throat. But he kept the man's automatic.
Lieutenant Soto spoke into his walkie-talkie. A voice answered. As the lieutenant whispered into the radio secured to his chest strap, the scene remained otherwise motionless.
The soldiers watched Able Team, Able Team watched the soldiers. No one risked a sudden move.