"If you gentlemen are done," Blancanales said, "we can go speak to Illovich."
"You do the talking, Pol," Lyons said.
"I'll bring him in here," Blancanales continued as he looked first to Lyons, then Powell. "We are agreed? We attempt to persuade him without violence or threats?"
"Oh, sure. We'll treat him as if he were a human being."
Powell nodded.
Blancanales left the office. As he walked through the garage, they heard him speaking to the young soldiers, joking with them, congratulating them on their fighting. Powell asked Lyons, "How come he jives with them and shuts us down?"
"They're teenagers. We're adults."
"So we can't have a good time?"
"I've got to match you up with the Wizard. You two could do a jive duet."
"No one can keep up with me. I'm a jive artist. I'm a master of jive. Ask Akbar. I taught him to talk. He came back from California speaking as though he were a professor of English. I set him straight."
"Oh, yeah, no doubt..."
Lyons cut his reply short as Blancanales led Illovich into the office and eased him into a straight-back chair. The Russian wore a blindfold, and his hands were bound with rope.
The blood of his driver and guard had hardened to black clots on the cultural secretary's gray suit. Bits of tape covered small cuts on his face. His head turned slowly, as if he studied the men around him through the cloth of the blindfold. No one moved, no one spoke but Blancanales.
"You said you wanted to stop the Iranian terrorists from attacking our President. Was that in fact your intention?"
"You are the Latin one?" Illovich asked. "Are you of Mexican descent? Perhaps Spanish?"
"We want the information on the Iranians."
"And if I refuse to give you that information? Do you... interrogate me?"
"You talked of preserving world order. If we do not have the information on the Iranians, then there is a chance we may not succeed in our mission to stop the terrorists. If they succeed in killing or even attacking our President, I'm sure there will be..."
"I understand. You are presenting my own explanation. Very well. The cause of world peace will be served."
"Where did you intend to take us?"
"They will be gone. But the man that we questioned was an officer. He knew of the next link in the organization. I suggest your force immediately goes to that place."
"Where is that?"
"A village in the northern deserts. A village named El Tecolote, on the highway north of Matehuala."
Blancanales looked to Captain Soto. Soto made the motions of dialing a telephone and started out. But Blancanales motioned him to wait.
"And what is at that village?"
"The Iranian did not know. He knew only that he would transport his units north to that village."
"And you realize, Illovich, you will accompany us to the village."
"I know."
"It will be good if you are lying to..."
"You Americans! Can't you believe that it is not in the interest of the Soviet Union for your President to die?"
Lyons silently shook his head. Blancanales disregarded the disbelief of his partner. "We'll have to trust you. Take him back to the truck."
After Powell led the Soviet away, Blancanales asked, "Now what about the woman?"
"If we're taking Illovich, then why not her?" Lyons responded. "I say we watch her, wait for her to do something interesting. Then we jump on her."
"She conspired with Illovich," Captain Soto added, "to kill you and the others. And make it appear as if you died in an attack on the terrorists."
"Powell thinks she's got some kind of inside info on them," Lyons continued. "She's been to Syria, she's been into the Bekaa Valley. Powell said she's got a snapshot, and he wants the story on it. She keeps saying he'll get the info when they close in on the crazies. But this changes it. Maybe she doesn't have information. Maybe she's in on it. That's what I want to know. We take her with us, maybe we'll see."
"When she talked with Illovich," Soto countered, "she said nothing about the Iranians."
"Doesn't mean anything," Lyons continued his argument. "Terrorism is completely insane. She could be working for the Soviets and the Iranians. She could be working against both of them and for someone we don't even suspect. We leave her, we'll never know. Wetakeher, maybe we'll see."
"Can we do that?" Blancanales asked Soto. "Does the woman create any problems for you?"
Soto laughed. "Much less problems than you do. Now I go. I will speak with my superiors."
Minutes later, as the Americans and Mexicans assembled their gear for the long drive, Captain Soto returned. He spread out a map on the desk in the office.
"Here is El Tecolote. Here is Matehuala. This highway comes from Mexico City and continues to the border."
"How long until we get there?" Lyons asked.
"Only a few hours..."
"No way!" Gadgets interrupted. "That looks like a day or two's cruise."
"We will take helicopters to Matehuala. They will have trucks for us there."
"Great!" Lyons told him. "Helicopters and trucks. Quite an operation, for only a few minutes' notice."
"We will be joining an operation already in progress. Last night a transport plane appeared on the coastal radar. It did not respond to requests for identification. It did not land at an airport. It continued inland and disappeared. We will join the forces searching for that plane."
17
Dust erupted into dense clouds as the four helicopters descended to the soccer field. Lyons slid open the door of the command Huey and the dust and chill December air swirled into the crowded interior, carrying away the stink of kerosene, sweat and tobacco. He shoved his shipping trunk of equipment to the edge. Though the flight north had taken only three hours, traffic and fueling delays in Mexico City had delayed the takeoff. Now Lyons wanted to move.
Parked trucks lined the soccer field, their headlights serving as landing lights for the helicopters. Drivers sat on the bumpers, waiting for the soldiers and the North American "specialists."
The skids touched the field of red dirt and Lyons jumped out, jerked out his shipping trunk after him. Three forms appeared against the headlights, the silhouettes shifting and leaping as they approached the helicopters.
Soldiers shouted to one another as they assembled in squads. Akbar led the bound and blindfolded Illovich from one helicopter. The Soviet also had rags taped over his ears to prevent his overhearing the talk around him. Blancanales, Powell and Anne Desmarais left another helicopter.
Captain Soto rushed to the three silhouettes. He saluted. After a moment he called out to Lyons. "North American!"
Carrying his weapon-heavy trunk, Lyons lurched across the field to Soto. He saw two Mexican officers in uniform, a third man in slacks and a sports coat. The plainclothesman had an Uzi hanging over his shoulder. They shook hands with Lyons as Soto quickly introduced the officers. Soto avoided names.
"This is my commander. This officer commands this task force. This gentleman works with the federales." Soto used the phrase mi amigo norteamericanoto introduce Lyons.
The Mexicans talked in rapid Spanish. Lyons stood grinning and nodding, understanding nothing. Finally Soto turned to him again. "They know of you because of General Mendez and the International. We all owe you our gratitude for breaking that gang of Fascists."
"We didn't break it. We made it bleed, but the International's still strong. It's still out there."