"You don't think he can find the place?"

"I'll be surprised if he can find Houston."

"Yeah, sure, boss." Pelly smiled and nodded to the female professor as she started to set up some tools and supplies.

William "Ike" Floyd had trouble reading the street signs in this dark and dirty part of town. The lights all seemed to be in front of the big warehouses and nowhere near the street signs. He had a map from the slow girl at the Jacinto Arms, but it didn't seem to be helping him as he puttered up and down streets looking for the specific address.

The Ford pickup truck drove smoothly and attracted a lot less attention than the big rental truck.

It was just late enough that he couldn't find anyone to ask directions of either.

Finally he got a glimpse of the sign that looked like his street. He turned and slowed immediately when he saw the length of it and the number of giant warehouses lining both sides of the extra-wide road.

In the first parking lot, a small car sat under one of the parking lot's streetlights. A man stood outside the driver's door, looking down the street, too.

Ike pulled into the lot, hoping the man might have a better idea of where the address might be.

Ike rolled his window down as he approach the tall, fit-looking man with dark hair who was wearing a light-colored windbreaker.

"Excuse me," said Ike.

The man stepped closer to him and then seemed to stare for a moment.

Ike was startled when the man reached in the open window and grabbed him by the shoulder with a grip that stunned him.

The man said, "Get out of the car, William."

Colonel Lázaro Staub silently watched as Professor Tuznia carefully laid out tools from the large case she had retrieved from her Audi. The suitcaselike box opened out into trays, and she looked like she was preparing for surgery. He watched her slightly large bottom as it swayed, and then occasionally, when she turned, he'd catch a glimpse of her ample breasts. She reminded him of María Ortíz from his childhood more than any woman in Panama he had ever beaten. She hummed some unfamiliar tune as she stopped to wipe down a mirrorlike device.

Staub used his most impressive voice in his best English. "And what would a physicist use that for?" He smiled and stepped toward her.

She didn't even turn around to face him. "You would not understand."

Staub felt his left eye twitch. Who the hell did she think she was?

Then the professor stood straight and faced him. "Where did Pelly go?"

"Don't worry where he went. I am the one who hired you."

"And he is the one with nice legs and that wild, furry face." She smiled and placed one of her small hands over her chest.

Staub did not like the implication. Was this whore already thinking of cheating on him? He felt that familiar rage start to build in him. It didn't matter if he was not in Panama. He still had power. The power to cripple the U.S. She shouldn't speak to him like that. He looked at her more closely. How could a professional dress like that? The low-cut top, her muscled calves showing from under her skirt. His eye shifted into overdrive. He pulled out a cigarette and started to light it.

The professor didn't turn around, but, as if she had eyes in the back of her head, said, "Do not smoke."

He froze and stared at her shapely back. "I own this entire complex. You do not presume to tell me what to do."

"I'll tell you not to smoke while I am working, or you can find someone else." She stood and turned, leveling her dark, oval eyes at him. "Someone else familiar enough with these things to arm your weapon?"

He remained quiet and leaned back against the outside of the office, the unlighted cigarette still in his mouth. He glared at the professor, who had gone back to her precious tools. He picked up a thick yardstick that was lying against the wall where he was leaning. He flipped it between his hands, the whole time focusing his anger on the busy woman in front of him. He stood up and started to pace, occasionally coming close to the professor, the entire time imagining what it would be like to put the bitch in her place. Then, without even realizing it, as he walked past her, he swung the yardstick and broke it over her backside.

She flinched and stood up, spinning as she did. "You struck me."

He stared at her, the broken yardstick in his hands.

She said, "Are you crazy?" She just looked at him. "You are. You're insane."

Before he could control it, he felt himself take a step and his hands start to move on their own. "You think I'm crazy." He had his hands around her throat before she could react. He dropped his right hand and grasped the top of her blouse and yanked. The cotton top ripped off, revealing a tight black bra and plenty of breast. He hooked a finger in the front of the bra and pulled violently, popping the clasp and pulling it mostly off her shoulder.

She stood defiantly, no fear in her eyes. What had she been through before coming to the land of the free?

His right hand joined his left around her throat. He slowly applied the pressure as he ignored her slaps and clawing. Then, as her oxygen was cut off, little by little he saw fear start to spread onto her face. He enjoyed the look so much, he forgot how vitally he needed her special talents.

50

DUARTE USED HIS NATURAL SPEED AND DECISIVENESS TO REACH William Floyd before he could react. The ATF agent didn't even bother to draw his pistol. He had his right hand through the open window of the pickup truck and on Floyd's shoulder before Floyd could clearly see who it was assaulting him. With a quick squeeze on the truck's door and the right pressure on his shoulder, Duarte had "Ike" Floyd on the ground and immediately bitching about the treatment.

He just hoped Ike was the guy with the answers. As he patted him down roughly while holding his shoulder and pinning the larger man to the ground, he found a SIG-Sauer.380 tucked in the prone man's waistband. He tilted him and yanked out the pistol.

"We got a lot to talk about."

"Who the hell are you?"

Lina Cirillo had hardly noticed the pickup truck that pulled alongside their little rental Cobalt before Alex Duarte had sprung from the shoebox of a car and yanked the driver out of the truck. Félix Baez never stirred from his deep sleep in the backseat of the small car. She jumped out without waking him.

Now she had her pistol in her hand and rounded the far side of the truck to see Duarte holding down a larger man. As she got closer, her stomach tightened as she realized the man on the ground was William "Ike" Floyd.

Lina came to a stop in front of them and said, "How'd you subdue him so quickly?"

Duarte looked up. "He surprised me; I just reacted." He eased his hold on the prone man and then helped him to a sitting position. "Now we find out what's going on."

She saw the recognition in Floyd's face as he looked up at her. His eyes opened wide as she thought about her options.

Duarte said, "Okay, tell us what you brought out of New Orleans."

Ike looked up at Lina. "Why? The FBI never listened to me before."

Lina heard his bitterness and thought that it might even be justified.

Duarte was more confused. "What's that mean?"

Lina cut in. "Don't worry about it."

Duarte twisted his head to glare at her. "You're still going to keep your source and his information from us? After all we've done?"