"They didn't leave a patrol down there," Lyons said, pointing to the ridge where the Mexican army squad had been annihilated. "And we need to take prisoners. What now?"
Slipping the sling of his Springfield rifle over his shoulder, Vato looked around to the vast expanse of the Sierra Madres. He glanced to the western horizon. Then he said, "Be patient. We know they will come. Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. But they will come."
For the return to the concealed Yaqui village, Vato reorganized the scouts and main group into a skirmish line several kilometers wide. Scratching a straight line and a curved line in the sand, Vato explained to the foreigners that the skirmish line would sweep the mountains in a wide arc. The slowest foreigner, acting as the line's pivot point, would return directly to the cave village by the easiest trails. At the opposite end of the line, the fastest Yaquis, who could run at twice the speed of the foreigners, would range through the mountains, searching for patrolling Blancos.
Vato matched Yaquis to the foreigners. Coral — who as a Mexican counted as a foreigner in the Sierra Madres — would be the pivot, walking with a middle-aged Yaqui who still limped from a bullet wound. A young man who spoke some English would walk and jog with Gadgets. A young woman who spoke excellent Spanish would guide Blancanales.
After mentally totaling the weight of his weapons, Lyons decided to run with the Yaquis.
"Can you run for six more hours?" Vato asked.
"I've done it."
"Then you'll run with me in the center."
Staying close to Vato, Lyons observed the Yaqui chieftain's techniques of command. When Vato spoke with other Yaquis, he took the time to carefully explain details — as he had with the foreigners — by sketching maps and formations in the sand to illustrate his instructions and by pointing to landmarks. The Yaquis nodded and followed his orders. Vato never lost patience.
As they ran, Vato watched the horizons for aircraft and flashing signal mirrors. The Yaquis who ran from the valleys to the ridgelines to the mountaintops maintained contact with one another using their mirrors. Points of light flashed from mountain to mountain as the line moved across a wide swath of the Sierra Madres. Vato acknowledged the flash codes from time to time, breaking pace for a moment to flash back with his own mirror, then continuing.
On a mountainside, Lyons saw why the Yaqui patrol maintained their continuous observation of the sky. They ran through a forest of tall mesquite trees, many over thirty feet high. Then suddenly, as they went over the ridge, all life disappeared.
Black mesquite stood like grotesque sculptures. Ashes made the earth black. Lyons scanned the spot of devastation for an explanation of the fire. He noticed nothing extraordinary.
"What happened here? Napalm?" he called out to Vato.
"We saw the plane drop the bomb. But there was no one here. Maybe it was a coyote they saw. Or a coludo."
"A what?"
"A magic coyote. A spirit coyote."
Lyons knew the Yaqui jived him. "Who knows?"
For hours, Lyons and Vato ran without a break. The heat became intolerable at midday. To protect himself from sunstroke, Lyons stripped off his black long-sleeved fatigue shirt and fashioned a turban, folding and rolling and knotting the shirt to create a visor to shadow his eyes. As Lyons squatted in the cool shade of rock overhang to make his hat, Vato watched.
"You should have brought a sombrero, americano."
"Should've brought a lot of things," Lyons answered. "But I didn't plan on getting shot down in the desert."
"You entered the territory of the enemy without calculation. You were very lucky to live."
"Sun Tzu?"
Vato nodded.
"What would Sun Tzu say about the DEA promising my team full cooperation in investigating the dope war, then sending us into an ambush?"
"All war is based on deception."
In the next hours, as they ran through the mountains of the Sierra Madres, Lyons, the ex-cop from Los Angeles, considered the concept of war as deception expressed by the ancient Chinese philosopher-warrior. In crime, deception concealed and confused.
War required other deceptions. Lyons thought of his missions with Able Team. He realized he had never systematically analyzed the role of deception in the actions. From Able Team's first counterstrike on terrorism in Manhattan to the Mexican army's rocket strike on their DEA Lear jet, deception — not weapons, not personnel, not information, not opportunity — created each action.
Deception created threats: the explosives packed into a passenger car, the silent pistol in the purse of the teenage girl, the trusted diplomat, the plutonium generator deep in the Amazon jungle.
Deception created responses: counterterrorist groups masquerading as taxi drivers and drunks and beggars, elite soldiers as diplomats, Able Team as international businessmen or tourists or mercenaries.
Running through the Sonora desert, sweat salt crusting his face, Lyons accepted the truth of the ancient precept of Sun Tzu.
The principle of deception applied to every military action or terrorist attack in Lyons's personal experience. Even now, he had told the DEA he would investigate the dope gang known as Los Guerreros Blancos; in truth, he wanted only revenge. The DEA had promised full cooperation; in truth, they prepared to murder him.
Thinking of these things, Lyons ran throughout the day, following the young Yaqui from Tucson who read ancient Chinese philosopher-warriors. At dusk, a signal mirror flashing from a mountain stopped Vato.
Vato stood in the trail, watching the point of sunset-red brilliance blink in code. Lyons disentangled his sweat-soaked shirt from his head and slipped it on, the wet shirt cold on his overheated body. The temperature of the desert air dropped sharply with the approach of night.
"What is it?" Lyons asked.
Without looking at the American, Vato motioned him to wait. The message continued. Lyons drank the last of his water with a few salt tablets. Soon he would have the comfort of taking off his boots. Soon he would have the comfort of a cold-water bath. Only another few minutes, he thought to himself, over and over again as he waited. Finally Vato turned to him.
"A plane spotted a pueblo, a village of many families. They think the Guerreros will return with soldiers," he said
"They're positive the plane saw the village? It wasn't just an overflight?"
"The plane circled. The messenger fears that the soldiers will already be there."
"Then let's go." Lyons reached for his hand radio. If the distances permitted, he would brief his partners immediately.
"It is another five hours running."
14
Beneath the dome of stars, mountains floated in the moonlight. The sand of the trails shimmered pale blue. Lyons no longer felt his boots striking the earth as he ran. He floated over the trail, unaware of his body, his breathing or the pain of the hours of running without rest.
After learning about the spotter plane, Able Team had lightened themselves by passing their weapons to Yaqui warriors. Yaquis from the cave village carried their packs and ammunition and back-up weapons, including Lyons's Atchisson and the 40mm grenades for Blancanales's M-16/M-203.
Able Team only carried themselves. Miguel Coral had surrendered to his fatigue and remained behind in the caves with Davis.
Blancanales and Gadgets had agreed to the crosscountry race on one condition: runners would go ahead to check the pueblo. They did not want to run all night for nothing.