The odd part was that he was right. But Cortez was more impressed with the fact that his reflexes - even forewarned, he had reacted with commendable speed - had saved his own life. It had been a long time since he'd had to pass the physical fitness test required by the DGI. It was moments like this that can make the most circumspect of men feel invincible.
"Who knew that we were going to see Fuentes?" he asked.
"I must - " Escobedo lifted the phone receiver and started to punch in a number. Cortez gently took it away from him and replaced it in the holder.
"Perhaps that would be a serious mistake,
Escobedo had never been so impressed with Cortez than at that moment.
"You will be rewarded," he told his faithful vassal. Escobedo reproached himself for having occasionally mistreated him, and worse, for having occasionally disregarded Cortez's wise counsel. "What should we do?"
"Jos ," Cortez told the driver, "find a high spot from which we can see the Fuentes house."
Within a minute, the driver found a switchback overlooking the valley. He pulled the car off the road and all three got out. Jos inspected the damage to the car. Fortunately neither the tires nor the engine had been damaged. Though the car's body would have to be totally reworked, its ability to move and maneuver was unimpaired. Jos truly loved this car, and though he mourned for its defacement, he nearly burst with pride that it and his own skill had saved all their lives.
In the trunk were several rifles - German G3s like those the Army carried, but legally purchased - and a pair of binoculars. Cortez let the others have the rifles. He took the field glasses and trained them in on the well-lit home of Luis Fuentes, about six miles away.
"What are you looking for?" Escobedo asked.
"
"What of those who fired on us?"
"You think they know that we escaped?" Cortez shook his head. "No, they will not be sure, and first they will try to prove that they succeeded, that our car struggled on for a short while - so they will first of all try to find us. Jos , how many turns did you take to get us here?"
"Six, se or, and there are many roads," the driver answered. He looked quite formidable with his rifle.
"Do you see the problem,
"Danger makes me thirsty," Cortez explained, passing the other bottles around.
"It has been an exciting night," Escobedo agreed, taking a long pull on his bottle.
But not for Commander Jensen and his bombardier/navigator. The first one, as with the first time for anything, had been a special occasion, but already it was routine. The problem was simply that things were too damned easy. Jensen had faced surface-to-air missiles and radar-directed flak in his early twenties, testing his courage and skill against that of North Vietnamese gunners with their own experience and cunning. This mission was about as exciting as a trip to the mailbox, but, he reminded himself, important things often go through the mail. The mission went exactly according to plan. The computer ejected the bomb right on schedule, and the B/N tracked his TRAM sight around to keep an eye on the target. This time Jensen let his right eye wander down to the TV screen.
"I wonder what held Escobedo up?" Larson asked.
"Maybe he got here early?" Clark thought aloud, his eye on the GLD.
"Maybe," the other field officer allowed. "Notice how no cars are parked near the house this time?"
"Yeah, well, this one is fused for one-hundredth-of-a-second delay," Clark told him. "Should go off just about the time it gets to the conference table."
It was even more impressive from this distance, Cortez thought. He didn't see the bomb fall, didn't hear the aircraft that had dropped it - which, he told himself, was rather strange - and he saw the flash long before the sound reached him.
