"Quit the lip," Konzaki told Blancanales. "A straight answer."
Lyons shook his head. No.
"Hey, Ironman," Gadgets jived. "You dig it down south. Forests, mountains, papayas, tropical showers. Just like a vacation in Hawaii, except in Spanish."
"Just like a vacation in Dachau," Lyons answered. "Except in Spanish."
"Gentlemen," Konzaki pronounced, switching from his Marine voice to the voice of a capital spokesman. "You are disparaging a democratically elected government attempting to reform a feudal nation while fighting a civil war."
"You believe that?" Lyons asked.
"No," Konzaki said, "but it sounds good."
"Then plug in your headphones when you talk that shit," Lyons countered bitterly. "I don't want to hear it."
"Then hear this, you limp-wristed bleeding-heart pinko liberal..." Konzaki swore.
"The Ironman? A pinko?" Gadgets asked incredulously.
"You want Quesada?" fumed Konzaki. "Remember Colonel Roberto Quesada, recently of Miami Beach, Florida? Wanted for the murder of David Holt and Alfred Lopez?"
"I remember the FBI went out with a warrant twenty-four hours after we gave them the information."
"Now we got information. Where he is. How he travels. Times, routes, security details."
Lyons looked to his partners. Blancanales nodded. Gadgets grinned.
"The Ironman's interested all of a sudden," Gadgets said.
"What's the op?" Lyons asked.
"There are federal and state warrants on him," Konzaki told them. "If Quesada were to return to the United States, he would be subject to the courts of the United States of America."
"And no questions asked about how he came back," Gadgets added.
"Who knows about the mission?" Lyons asked.
"No one knows but you three."
"Then where'd the information come from? A box of Cracker Jacks?"
"A Salvadoran national gathered the information," Konzaki replied. "He flew to San Francisco and offered it to a Senor Rivera. You know him. Senor Rivera called the Justice Department and said he had information on a fugitive. As soon as Rivera identified himself, the department forwarded his call to Brognola's office. Only the Salvadorans and Hal know what the information is. No one else."
"What about your friends in the Agency?" Lyons asked, his voice cold.
"I don't work there anymore, Mr. Lyons," Konzaki stated. "Why would you think that Stony Man shares sensitive information with questionable allies?"
"I got no objections to flying south for a look-see," Gadgets told his partners.
"Maybe Quesada comes back," Blancanales told Konzaki, "maybe not."
Finally Lyons nodded. "This is it standard equipment, civilian clothes and ten thousand dollars in hundreds."
"Why so much money?" Konzaki asked. "You'll have a liaison man to provide what you need."
"Maybe we'll have to buy our way out," Lyons told him. "I don't speak Spanish, but everybody understands hundred-dollar bills."
"I'll have to call Stony Man to confirm the cash," Konzaki answered.
"Call, don't call. I don't care. No cash, no go." Lyons left his partners without another word. He went down the stairs to the basement.
"What's with him?" Konzaki asked the other two men of Able Team.
"Since Flor got wasted," Gadgets started to explain, "that man is cold. I mean, cold."
Blancanales continued the explanation. "Since Flor got wasted by a gang of crew cuts in suits with Agency equipment in an Agency car who identified themselves as agents of the United States government..."
"Not same lovable guy anymore," Gadgets added, trying to joke. "Tends to be son of suspicious."
No one laughed.
In the basement dojo, Lyons returned to training the beginners in the basics of karate. The group of advanced students sparred under Goldman's supervision.
Two of the older boys demonstrated excellent freestyle technique, sparring with full-speed punches and kicks but maintaining a polite distance from each other's body. None of the kicks or punches actually struck flesh.
Throwing a flurry of punches, one of the boys drove his opponent back, then aimed a hard straight kick at his solar plexus to take the victory. But his opponent skipped back, making distance from the kick, and crashed backward into the beginners. Lyons saw one of the older boy's heels accidentally slam into the calf of a young boy. The young boy the student Lyons had spoken to earlier cried out in pain and fell clutching his leg. Lyons went to him instantly.
"Is he hurt?" Goldman asked.
Lyons pushed up the cloth of the boy's homemade gi. The boy cried out again when Lyons examined his calf.
"He'll have a bruise. Limp for a few days."
Goldman pushed the gathered students back to their places. The class resumed. Lyons took the boy aside and massaged the knot forming in the boy's calf muscle.
"Is it broken?" the boy asked.
"If it was broken, you couldn't even limp. What's your name?"
"Milton."
"After the English poet?"
"My father taught English. He said Milton was a great poet."
"I wondered why your English was so good. You're lucky your father can help you. You can make more money in the United States speaking English and Spanish."
"I won't live here when I am old. I go back to Salvador."
"Then when you go back, you'll make more money. Smart kids who can speak languages make money wherever they go."
"My father said there can be no understanding if we do not know the language of other people."
"He's right," Lyons agreed, conscious of his own ignorance.
Words came quickly from Milton. Though he had not cried with the pain of his injured leg, now his eyes filled with tears. "On Sundays, he took me where the tourists were. We talked with many people, so I could speak English. Sometimes, I was a guide. I went everywhere with Americans. I took them to the ruins. Where my people lived before the Spanish came."
"Good way to make money. Is your leg hurting more? What's wrong?"
"I don't want money. I don't want to speak English. I want to be with my father, to fight with my father. So don't talk about money, mister."
"Your father's fighting in El Salvador?" Lyons asked quietly, trying to calm the crying ten-year-old. "Where?"
"Chalatenango. Where our village was. Until the soldiers and the bombers came and massacred our village."
"What soldiers? The guerrillas?"
Milton looked at Lyons with disbelief. "We don't have airplanes. Only the rich have bombers."
"Your father's a guerrilla?"
"He fights the soldiers. When I go back, I fight, too. I will kill all the soldiers."
"Not all soldiers are the enemy. What if I was a soldier? What if he was a soldier?" Lyons nodded toward Blancanales.
"But you're helping us. In Salvador, the soldiers would kill you for helping us."
Lyons smiled. "I don't think so."
"You are not Salvadoran. You know nothing."
A whistle came from the stairs. Lyons saw Gadgets give him a thumbs-up sign. Lyons helped Milton to his feet. The boy wiped his tears away and started back to the beginners' group.
"Hey, Milton," Lyons called. "Quit for the night."
"No. I must learn fast. Then I go back. Until we kill them all, the soldiers, the rich, the Spanish, we will fight. They are all the enemy. If you were Salvadoran, you would know."
Lyons gave the young boy a salute. "Thanks for the advice." Then the North American ex-cop followed his partners into the New York City night.
3
"You're setting up this colonel to be kidnapped by foreigners," Lyons said to Lieutenant Lizco. "Why? You're both officers in the same army, fighting for the same country."
After leaving New York City on an Air Force jet, Able Team had stopped first in Washington, D.C., for equipment and cash from Stony Man. They continued to San Francisco to pick up Lieutenant Lizco. After refueling the jet, they flew south for El Salvador. Now the lieutenant briefed them in the efficient and impersonal manner of a professional soldier on the details of Colonel Quesada's security.