The very sight of Morton brought Max's simmering rage to a frothing boil once more, throwing him back mentally to all the anger and fear of that terrible day at the diner. Adrenaline flooded his system and every muscle in his body felt primed to explode into action. Veins throbbed at his temples, the rapid, arrhythmic pulse making him slightly queasy. He felt an overpowering compulsion to smash Mortons piglike face in, to wipe him off the face of the Earth and any other planet he could think of. Without thinking, he started to rise up from behind the ridge, his clenched fist emitting an eerie silver glow.
"Max! What are you doing?" Michael frantically grabbed onto Max's arm, tugging him back down behind the rough concealment of the rocky ridge. "Have you lost your mind?"Michael's blurted words hit Max like a splash of cold water. What was he doing? Morton hadn't even met up with the lieutenant yet, let alone revealed the secret of his nefarious scheming, yet he had almost given away his and Michael's position in a moment of unthinking hatred. Max blinked in confusion, staring in shock and disbelief at his own glowing fingers. Resting his back against the stone outcropping, he struggled to regain command of his temper and higher faculties. He panted raggedly, hyperventilating, and Michael worriedly clasped a hand over Max's mouth, forcing him to breath through his nose. Max felt light- headed, out of control, and, for the first time since Liz spotted Morton in the caverns, he wondered if Michael had been right all along, if there really was something wrong with him.
Gradually, though sheer willpower, Max forced himself to come to his senses. His breathing slowed, and the pounding in his veins and temples diminished to a dull throb. He held his hand up before his eyes and watched as the silver glow slowly dimmed until it disappeared entirely. Michael sighed in relief as the eldritch light faded, and he looked quizzically into Max's eyes. Reassured by the re- stored sanity he found there, he withdrew the hand covering Maxs mouth. "Sorry about that, pal," he apologized, "but you looked like you were losing it."I was," Max confessed. "Thanks."Michael smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "No problem, you crazy kid. I dimly recall you've done the same for me."Many, many times," Max reminded his impetuous pod-brother. Michael had been a loose cannon for as long as he could remember.
"Hey, who's counting?" Michael said with a grin. Confident that Max wasn't going to go berserk in the next few minutes, he raised his head to check on events over by the cave entrance. "Heads up," he alerted Max in a low voice. "Looks like it's show time."Although anxious to see what was happening in the canyon, Max took a couple of deep breaths first. His temporary mania appalled and disturbed him, and he didn't want to risk losing control again at the sight of Morton. Keep cool, he counseled himself, trying to remain focused on tonight's primary objective. This is a fact-finding mission, not a rumble or assassination attempt. I need to stay cool, keep quiet, and find out what Morton's up to. He could always stage a showdown with Morton later, after they all had a better idea of what was at stake.
Stealthily turning around behind the ridge, he crouched down and peered over the piled rocks. His eyes widened as he saw that Morton was no longer alone; another man was coming up the trail to Slaughter Canyon Cave, carrying a black attache case in one hand. Although the newcomer was clad in strictly civilian garb, a leather flight jacket and jeans, Max guessed from Alex's and Isabel's descriptions that this was the mysterious Lieutenant Ramirez. Guess that lab guy from the 1ms Cruets isn't showing up for this meeting, he inferred, still wondering how a particle physicist fit into this byzantine puzzle.
Morton did not waste time with pleasantries or small talk. "Is that it?" he demanded, spotlighting the lieutenant with the beam of his flashlight. He clumsily lurched his heavy body off the boulder he had been using as a seat, then pointed at Ramirez's briefcase with the muzzle of his pistol. The braying sound of his voice sent a fresh eruption of white-hot wrath through Max's body, but he bit down hard on his lip and merely kept watching. "Have you got it?" Morton challenged Ramirez.
Max wished he knew what "it" was. To hell with pronouns, he thought furiously, tell us what's in the stupid briefcase! Snatching the binoculars off the ground, where they had fallen during the altercation with the rattlesnake, he pressed the viewpieces against his eyes and tried to get a closer look at both Ramirez and his coveted case.
It took him a few seconds to get either of the clandestine pair in the binoculars' sights, during which time his eyes were treated to highly magnified views of cacti, yucca, and gravel, until, all of a sudden, he abruptly found himself staring into Morton's scowling, ill-shaven face and bloodshot eyes. The gunman's hated and hateful visage gave Max a momentary start, but then, using Morton as a guidepost, he managed to shift the view to the other participant in this midnight conference.
Ramirez looked just as clean-cut and well-groomed as he'd been described. He also looked extremely unhappy and distraught. Sweat beaded on his bronzed forehead, and a stray muscle twitched spasmodically beneath his cheek. Max could practically hear the mans teeth grinding together convulsively as the lieutenant climbed die last few yards to the cave's entrance. I'd be worried, too, Max thought, if I had to deal with Morton, especially in a lonelj canyon late at night. No wonder Ramirez looked so troubled.
"Well," Morton repeated, shining his flashlight directly in the lieutenant's face. He glared at the other man irritably "Have you got the merchandise?"Yes, damnit," Ramirez said, squinting through the glare of the harsh white beam. He held up his hand to shield his eyes. "I've got it all right, although I wish to heaven I didn't."Sounds like the lieutenant is having second thoughts, Max guessed. He lowered the binoculars so as to examine Ramirez's attache case more closely. Unfortunately, the matte-black finish of the case provided absolutely no clue as to its contents.
"Quit whining," Morton barked at the lieutenant, "unless your superiors at White Sands find out what you've been up to." He sneered sadistically, clearly enjoying his hold over the officer, and spat another mouthful of tobacco juice onto the trail. "You'd be looking at court-martial for sure, I figure, so don't go having any last-minute changes of heart now. You're in way too deep, flyboy."Sure, Max thought restlessly, but too deep into what? Temporarily taking off the binoculars, he exchanged a frustrated look with Michael, who looked equally in the dark. All they could tell for sure was that Morton was somehow blackmailing the lieutenant.
"Fine, okay!" Ramirez conceded. He ran an agitated hand through his bristling military crew cut and looked away from Mortons blinding spotlight. "Just turn off that damn light!"Having established who had the upper hand, Morton clicked off his flashlight. The crescent moon shining overhead provided sufficient illumination to complete their shadowy transaction. He placed the inactive flashlight on the flat-topped boulder and nodded toward the black leather case in the lieutenant's grip. "Hand it over," he ordered. "The key, too."His cheek muscle twitching like a Mexican jumping bean, Ramirez surrendered both the briefcase and a small metal key to Morton, who plopped the case down on top of the boulder and unlocked the latch. Max peered intently through the binoculars, fiddling compulsively with the focus in his determination to get a glimpse of what was lurking inside the case. To his frustration, however, Morton's expansive back blocked his view completely. He looked over at Michael, offering him the binoculars just in case Michael had a better view, but the other teenager shook his head glumly. Damn! Max thought. If only he and Michael had set up shop on the opposite side of the canyon! "You see," Ramirez said bitterly. His arms hung at his sides, his fingers uselessly clutching at the empty air, as though wishing that the precious briefcase was still in his possession. He swallowed hard, forced to digest the sour taste of treason. "Where's my money?" he demanded.