"Sendero."

The commander nodded. He saw the V-shaped stick. "Don't move," he said. He picked it up carefully, then the box of chips and the black box. He examined the stick and said, "It's not armed."

"What is that?"

"HMX. These are nitro-chip primers. Thirty grains of nitroglycerin in silicon. The computer chip inside is coded not to accept any radio signals except one coming from this"-he held out the detonator box.

"This is powerful?"

"Yes," said the commander. "Very powerful. Four million psi."

A shot. They ran out onto the deck. The native was lying dead from a bullet hole in his forehead. The JUNC leader was bolstering his sidearm.

"What the fuck happened? What the fuck happened?"

"He figured out who we were, thanks to you, Diatri. You spoke English in front of him and he figured out who we were."

Diatri lunged. The SEALs pulled him off.

"You fucking asshole, you killed him!"

"My orders are to leave the area undetected. You killed him, Diatri, not me."

"You fuck!"

"Diatri!" The commander took him by the shoulder and walked him forward. He was a strong man, the commander. He took him back to the bridge.

Diatri hit the chart table with his fist.

"It shouldn't have happened," said the commander.

"Oh, great."

"But it did happen. So what are you going to do about it? You're going to do nothing. When we get back, I will report this… crime. Be assured of that. Now you get yourself organized, mister. Is that understood?" The commander left.

Diatri stayed on the bridge, watching the river run past the ship. Her bow was pointed into the current. It seemed as if she were still moving upriver. He stood there watching the river. I hear you're going to Congressional Relations… Congratulations. Should have known. They were just keeping him happy until this was over.

"We've been ordered back." It was the commander.

"You told them?"

"The mission is scrubbed."

"We didn't find any bodies. They could be at this, this Maotown, alive, for all we know."

"The mission is over, Frank. Get moving."

"Wait a minute. These are-these are citizens. You're going to leave them?"

"Orders, Diatri. Do you understand?"

"No. I don't."

"Let's go, Frank."

"Fuck it. You go."

The commander said, "If necessary, I will have you carried back."

Diatri looked at him. "I would not advise you to try that, Commander."

They stared at each other. The commander took a step forward, Diatri put his hand on his pistol. The commander pushed past him and picked up the stick of HMX.

"All right, listen up. You take the primer, you insert the primer in the explosive. The explosive is malleable. These are the safeties, there are six. They must all be switched off or it will not detonate. This is the selector switch. The positions match the numbers on the nitro-chip primers. This is the test light here; if that's lit, you have power. This is the det button."

Diatri nodded. "Okay."

"This is a twelve-hundred-grain stick. The blast radius would be about a hundred meters. Do not be inside it."

"Okay."

"There's an inflatable life raft on deck."

"Yeah, I saw."

The commander started to leave. He said, "You are going to die, you understand that?"

Diatri stared.

"Do you want me to give a message to anyone?"

"Actually, that would be very helpful," said Diatri. He tore off two pieces of the chart and scribbled the same thing on both. "I leave it all to you. Frank." He folded them and on one wrote the name and address of his first ex-wife, and the other's on the second. He handed them to the commander. "Obliged."

The commander nodded. Diatri thought: This should be interesting. He said, "Could you do one other thing for me?"

The commander nodded.

"There's this priest, a Father Rebeta, at St. Mary's on West Thirty-ninth Street, right down by the Hudson River. Could you tell him… tell him that he should quit smoking."

The commander turned to leave. The seaplanes' propellers were turning. Diatri said, "Just tell him that I said hello. Tell him that."

41

He was in his private cable car eyeball-to-eagle-high over the Alps. She was skiing down a long, steep slope beneath him, her scarf trailing behind her. It was a stunning day, cool sparkling air, bright sun. Flawless. He was having coffee, settling down with The Wall Street Journal. He looked down. She waved up at him, he waved back. There was an explosion. The ridge of snow above her began to fall in slow motion. He tried to open the cable-car window to yell at her, to warn her. He pounded on it but it wouldn't open. He was yelling. Margaret looked up from her needlepoint and said, "Hush now, Charley." The wall of snow overtook her. She disappeared. All he saw of her was the scarf. He ran at the cable-car door and put his shoulder into it. It gave and he fell. An eagle flew by with a cigar in its mouth, scowling. He reached for the eagle and missed and went into the snow, bracing for impact, but kept going and broke through into clear blue sky. The snowbank was really a cloud. He fell. He yanked the ripcord. Nothing happened. He looked down at his hand and saw he was holding a watch fob and chain. He fell and fell. He saw the blue planet loom beneath, with hurricane-whorl eyes and typhoon mouth. The mouth bared wide, revealing rows of snowcapped teeth. His feet were starting to catch fire from the heat of reentry. Damnit, Margaret had forgotten to pack his ceramic shoes!

The blue planet turned into a face. The face said, "Tranquilo, billonario."

He was buried in snow up to his neck. No… no… it was a clean sheet that stretched before him, sloping gently upward at his feet.

He heard, "Otra inyeccion." He felt the cool alcohol rub on the inside of his arm, the prick of the needle, a warm river flow into his arm and chest.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"A sus ordenes, billonario."

"Do you have The Wall Street Journal!" Someone laughed. Why was that funny?

Charley reached for the phone to tell Miss Farrell to bring in The Wall Street Journal. They felt very heavy for hands.

"Your hands were cut, billonario. They were full of gold splinters. You should be happy."

He held them up. Something metallic tugged at his right wrist. It looked like a heavy-gauge fishing leader.

"Rest, billonario. We have a busy day tomorrow." The lights went out.

Charley murmured, "Just orange juice and black coffee, thanks."

Kipu's body lay in front of the stone, where he had died from his wound after telling what had happened at Yenan. Kagkui, his mother, held his head and rocked it as she spoke to his spirit. The shaman blew tobacco smoke over the body so that his soul could leave his body without being seen.

Eladio sat at a distance, cross-legged, grinding achiote pods into a wet, red dust with his thumb against the sacred yuka stone from the stomach of a panther. He painted himself and went into the forest to sing the anen songs and fast while the men rubbed darts on the backs of frogs and dipped arrow tips in the fang milk of the jararaca.

Reynoso knocked, put his head in. "He wants to see you."

El Niño stood. Soledad was curled up fetally on the bed facing away from him, still holding her cheek where he had struck her. She had not moved since it happened. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. She stared past him. He said, "They betrayed me, don't you see? They let the pistacos kill my men. If I had not killed Zacari, my men would have killed me out of anger. They would have killed you. It was necessary. Tomorrow I will send a gift to your father to make peace."