Lyons lay in the rocks at the side of the road, the dust-caked blanket over him. Only a hundred yards away, the sentries talked. Occasionally he could hear a word or two.
For the next few minutes he considered the situation. Lyons knew he had been lucky. He had gone into the estate, overheard the conference, managed to get out. Also, Furst had made a mistake: he had not ordered a roll call before sending out the four platoons to search for the spy. It had not occurred to the mere commander that the spy might come from the ranks of his soldiers. Perhaps the detection of the two federal agents had lulled him to overconfidence. But Lyons could hardly count on the commander's confidence continuing through the night.
He decided he had two options. Wait until the search shifted to the area near the base, then join it and return with the soldiers to the base. Or hope for an empty truck returning to the base. But how would he know it was empty? He would have to chance that.
Flat in the roadside dust, Lyons looked at his watch. Five hours till dawn.
* * *
The jeep took Gadgets and Blancanales to the mansion's front door. They saw soldiers everywhere, some searching the grounds with flashlights and rifles, others searching with leashed dogs. Gadgets grabbed his box of tools and makeshift equipment, then went to the door with Blancanales one step behind. A soldier wielding an M-16 barred the entry-way.
"At ease," Furst called, emerging from within the house. "This man has an assignment. Why are you here, Marchardo?"
"I need a helper," Gadgets replied.
"Then come in, gentlemen. What's in the box?"
"You had no detectors down in the storeroom, so I put one together." Gadgets held up a mass of wires and circuitry wrapped in black electrical tape. A nine-volt battery hung from the unit. "Doesn't look too good, but it'll find anything electronic."
"Where do we start?" Blancanales butted in.
"Okay, Marchardo, you go around the side," Furst ordered. "The men there will show you where the intruder stood under the window. Schwarz will be on the other side."
Blancanales gave the commander a quick salute and went out the front door.
Furst and Gadgets were alone in the entry hall. Furst lowered his voice to a near whisper: "I don't want Marchardo or anyone else to know why you're going to El Paso tomorrow."
"Sure, no problem."
"And after you put together what I need, you'll be coming up here to install the equipment. No one will need to know about that, either. Do we understand each other?"
"You're the head man, you give the orders."
"Good. Come on, the study's down here."
Following Furst, Gadgets scanned the rooms and doorways that they passed, trying to memorize the floor plan. Furst glanced back and saw him studying the house.
"Like what you see?"
"Where do I get mine?"
"Should see his house in Dallas. He only had this place built so he could stay near the action. Here's the study."
A hand-radio clipped to Furst's belt buzzed. He acknowledged the call, listened for a moment. "Be there in a minute, over. Schwarz, I want you to start near the windows. The creep could have planted something there. Then cover the entire room. When you come up to install the new equipment, I'll have you look over the rest of the house for bugs also."
"You think someone could have slipped mikes inside the house?"
"Why not? Report to my office tomorrow when you're ready to go. If you find anything, I'll be down at the base. Later."
As soon as the door closed behind Furst, Gadgets planted his first miniature microphone-transmitter. In another minute, he would have the room wired for stereo transmission.
* * *
The Mercedes drifted through the mountain road's curves. Pardee stared out the passenger window as if still searching for the intruder who had violated the security of the Monroe estate. Ahead of them, the taillights of the truck that carried the two burned men flashed from time to time. The hand-radio buzzed, snapping Pardee out of his thoughts.
"Captain Pardee here."
"One of the men died. The one that was burned real bad."
"Get the survivor to the clinic. Pick up the other set of dogs, take them to the men at the bottom of the hill. Mucho pronto." He put down the radio and turned to Furst. "You heard?"
"Two dead. And a spy on the loose."
"When I get that Fed, I'll burn him alive, I'll..."
Furst cut him off. "Right. That's your specialty. But we still have a security problem out there somewhere."
"We'll find him. Come daylight, he's dead."
"But he's the third agent. Maybe this one hiked in overland. Senor Rojo should get his act together quick, because I don't think the Feds are thinking of waiting."
"Getting shaky, Commander Furst? Don't you worry, we have a constitutional right to free assembly and the right to bear arms. Until we make the hit, the worst they can indict us for is the automatic weapons — Class Three violation. Monroe would have us out before the fingerprint ink was dry."
"What about murder?"
"What murder?" Pardee responded, grinning.
The Mercedes pulled up behind the truck at the gate to the base. In the glare of the headlights, they saw a soldier standing on the tailgate of the truck. Pardee slipped his Colt automatic from its holster, told Furst: "Hit the high beams. That man wasn't there when the truck left the house."
Pardee leaned out the passenger window and called out to the man: "Who are you? You! ON THE TRUCK!"
The man turned to face them. Pardee eased down the hammer of his automatic, called out again.
"What're you doing out here, Morgan? Can't stay away from the action, can you?"
"I got bored!" Morgan called back.
Pardee reholstered his pistol, rolled up the window. "That's Carl Morgan, a good soldier. You met him..."
He saw Furst staring at Morgan. The handsome man's face was white. On the steering wheel, his hands were knots of tendons and white knuckles. Pardee whipped out the Colt again, jumped from the Mercedes. He pointed the .45 at Carl Lyons' face.
"Drop the rifle! And get off the truck, Morgan. Or whatever your name is, Mr. Federal Agent."
14
Squinting into the headlights, Lyons saw the Colt .45 ACP pointed at his chest. The M-16 he held had a round in the chamber. Could he flick up the safety and raise the rifle before Pardee put a .45 slug through his chest? No.
But neither would he surrender to be tortured to death. Furst had identified Lyons, his luck had run out, time to die.
"Drop the rifle, Morgan!" Pardee shouted again, the pistol steady on Lyons' chest. "Sentries! Disarm this man on the truck."
Lyons pushed up the safety. He flexed his knees, tensing his muscles to throw himself backward as the sentries reached for his rifle. He would try to spray Pardee and Furst before the sentries killed him.
A sentry started toward him, his hand reaching out to take the rifle...
"At ease, Pardee!" Furst shouted, leaving the Mercedes. "At ease! Why the hell you pointing that pistol at that man?"
"I thought..." Pardee looked from Lyons to Furst. The pistol pointed at Lyons did not waver. "When you saw him, you looked like you recognized him!"
"At ease! Lower that pistol, Pardee," Furst ordered. "You can't shoot a man simply on suspicion. Get back in the car." Easing down the hammer, Pardee jammed the Auto-Colt into its holster. Not taking his eyes from Lyons, Pardee got inside the Mercedes and slammed the door.
"Thanks, commander," shouted Lyons. "I thought I was going to get shot."
"Don't go joyriding around during a security alert! Captain Pardee has every reason to be jumpy."
* * *
In the Mercedes, Pardee watched the truck lurch over the speed bumps, Lyons clinging to the back. Pardee turned to Furst.