"It would seem that Fuentes was not involved," Cortez noted even before the sound reached them.
"That could have been us in there!"
"Yes, but it was not. I think we should leave,
"What's that?" Larson asked. Two automobile headlights appeared on a hillside three miles away. Neither man had noticed the Mercedes pull into the overlook. They'd been concentrating on the target then, but Clark reproached himself for not remembering to check around further. That sort of mistake was often fatal, and he'd allowed himself to forget just how serious it was.
Clark put his Noctron on it as soon as the lights had turned away. It was a big -
"What kind of car does Escobedo have?"
"Take your pick," Larson replied. "It's like the horse collection at Churchill Downs. Porsches, Rolls, Benzes..."
"Well, that looked like a stretch limo, maybe a big Mercedes. Kinda odd place for one, too. Let's get the hell out of here. I think two trips to this particular well is enough. We're out of the bomb business."
Eighty minutes later their Subaru had to slow down. A collection of ambulances and police cars was parked on the shoulder while uniformed men appeared and disappeared in the pinkish light from hazard flares. A pair of black BMWs were lying on their sides just off the road. Whoever owned them, somebody didn't like them, Clark saw. There wasn't much traffic, but here as with every other place in the world where people drove cars, the drivers slowed down to give it all a look.
"Somebody blew the shit out of them," Larson noted. Clark's evaluation was more professional.
"Thirty- cal fire. Heavy machine guns at close range. Pretty slick ambush. Those are M3 BMWs."
"The big, fast one? Somebody with big-time money, then. You don't suppose...?"
"You don't 'suppose' very often in this business. How fast can you get a line on what happened here?"
"Two hours after we get back."
"Okay." The police were looking at the passing cars, but not searching them. One shined his flashlight into the back of the Subaru. There were some curious things there, but not the right size and shape to be machine guns. He waved them on. Clark took that in and did some supposing. Had the gang war he'd hoped to start already begun?
Robby Jackson had a two-hour layover before boarding the Air Force C-141B, which with its refueling housing looked rather like a green, swept-wing snake. Also aboard were sixty or so soldiers with full gear. The fighter pilot looked at them with some amusement. This was what his little brother did for a living. A major sat down next to him after asking permission - Robby was two grades higher.
"What outfit?"
"Seventh Light." The major leaned back, trying to get as much comfort as he could. His helmet rested on his lap. Robby lifted it. Shaped much like the German helmet of World War II, it was made of Kevlar, with a cloth camouflage cover around it, and around that, held in place by a green elasticized cloth band, was a medusa-like collection of knotted cloth strips.
"You know, my brother wears one of these things. Heavy enough. What the hell good is it?"
"The Cabbage Patch Hat?" The major smiled, his eyes closed. "Well, the Kevlar's supposed to stop stuff from tearing your skull apart, and the mop we wrap around it breaks up your outline - makes you harder to see in the bush, sir. Your brother's with us, you said?"
"He's a new nugget - second lieutenant I guess you call him - in the, uh, they call it Ninja-something..."
"Three- Seventeen. First Brigade. I'm brigade intel, Second Brigade. What do you do?"
"Serving two-to-three in the Pentagon at the moment. I fly fighter planes when I'm not driving a desk."
"Must be nice to do all your work sitting down," the major observed.
"No." Robby chuckled. "The best part is I can get the hell outa Dodge right quick if I got to."
"Roger that, Captain. What brings you to Panama?"
"We got a carrier group operating offshore. I was down to watch. You?"
"Regular training rotation for one of our battalions. Jungle and tight country is where we work. We hide a lot," the major explained.
"Guerrilla stuff?"
"Roughly similar tactics. This was mainly a reconnaissance exercise, trying to get inside to gather information, conduct a few raids, that sort of thing."
"How'd it go?"
The major grunted. "Not as well as we hoped. We lost some good people out of some important slots - same with you, right? People rotate in, rotate out, and it takes awhile to get the new ones up to speed. Anyway, the reconnaissance units in particular lost some good ones, and it cost us some. That's why we train," the major concluded. "Never stops."
"It's different with us. We deploy as a unit and usually don't lose anybody that way until we come back home."
"Always figured the Navy was smart, sir."
"Is it that bad? My brother told me he lost a really good - squad leader? Anyway, is it that big a deal?"
