"And you, American? You would torture him? Then murder him? In the street a few minutes ago, in combat, I saw you as a soldier. You fought, you risked your life for your friends, then you risked your life for my soldiers. You would not escape without searching for wounded or men left behind. I respect you. But now you would torture and murder? If you did not say it yourself, if I did not watch you say the words, I would not believe it."

"Illovich is a Soviet. An officer of the KGB..."

"And in El Salvador, the death squads say 'Soviet' and they murder teachers and doctors and campesinos."

"Yeah, but we know, we're positive, absolutely..."

Blancanales cut Lyons off. "The captain won't allow it. This is, in fact, his operation. It became his operation when we entered Mexico."

"Yeah, yeah, all right..." Lyons thought about the problem for a moment. "How about if I kind of terrorize him? Don't actually touch him?"

"How?" Soto asked.

"I've got my ways. And then later on, we let him go?"

Again, Blancanales stopped the argument. "Illovich is a professional. Do you believe, even if you tortured him, he would break? I believe, that if we approach him correctly, he may cooperate."

"You're kidding! Why do you think so? "

"Understand. He had a plan worked out. His men would destroy the Iranian gang that wants to kill our President. To cover up the Soviet Union's role in the action, he intended to leave our bodies there. The bodies of two dead Americans and a Lebanese — all past or present employees of the United States government. If we take his explanation of 'world peace seriously, he would therefore accomplish his objective without seeming to involve the Soviet Union in the problems of the United States and Iran. I can understand that."

Lyons nodded. Pulling on a clean shirt over his bandages, he called into the garage. "Hey! Mr. Marine! Come here."

"What do you want, crazyman?"

"Just come here, will you?" Lyons turned to Blancanales. "He heard Illovich give that speech. We'll get his opinion on a straight-out request for continuing cooperation."

The Texan bebopped into the office, snapping his fingers to a beat only he heard, singing the words, "Kill, kill, kill. Make the world safe. Kill, kill, kill..."

"Cut it out," Lyons told him.

"So what's the plot?" Powell asked. He swung his hand to slap Lyons's back. "How you feeling, tough guy?"

Reflexively, Lyons's left hand flicked out and hit Powell's arm precisely above the elbow, on the inside where the nerves and tendons controlling hand motor function passed through the joint. The flick stopped the slap before it touched his wound.

"Excellent block!" Powell grinned. "Shotokan?"

"Shotokan street style. What's going on with Frenchy? She staying away from the Russian?"

"Crowd of vatostrying to romance her. She's still shaking from the cowboy movie. And don't worry about Illovich hearing you all. The Wizard's got head-phones on Illovich, blasting him with Mexican radio. Old man's rocking 'n' rolling, shaking his bones."

"Everyone in Texas talk like you?"

"The Wizard from Texas?"

Blancanales interrupted the banter. "When Illovich delivered his world-peace speech, you think he was sincere?"

"I don't know. I know I got some peace for him. Peace by .45 Colt automatic pistol."

"That will not happen," Blancanales stated. "You think he would help us get those Iranians?"

"Maybe if you say, 'Please.' And then put a flare up his ass..."

Lyons laughed. "A rifle flare or a highway flare?"

"A rifle flare would kill him too quick. And it would most definitely get my rifle dirty."

"What we will do," Blancanales spoke over their laughter, then lowered his voice, "is offer him his life if he helps us preserve world peace."

Powell snapped his fingers. "Kill, kill, kill! Those wacky Eraquis, they got it right! Hit those Eranies with insecticide!"

"Get serious!" Lyons faked a punch for Powell's solar plexus.

Hands flashed, the Marine officer enfolding Lyons's arm in a graceful aikaido block. Powell applied pressure to the nerves in Lyons's wrist, then released him.

"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."