"When she talked with Illovich," Soto countered, "she said nothing about the Iranians."

"Doesn't mean anything," Lyons continued his argument. "Terrorism is completely insane. She could be working for the Soviets and the Iranians. She could be working against both of them and for someone we don't even suspect. We leave her, we'll never know. Wetakeher, maybe we'll see."

"Can we do that?" Blancanales asked Soto. "Does the woman create any problems for you?"

Soto laughed. "Much less problems than you do. Now I go. I will speak with my superiors."

Minutes later, as the Americans and Mexicans assembled their gear for the long drive, Captain Soto returned. He spread out a map on the desk in the office.

"Here is El Tecolote. Here is Matehuala. This highway comes from Mexico City and continues to the border."

"How long until we get there?" Lyons asked.

"Only a few hours..."

"No way!" Gadgets interrupted. "That looks like a day or two's cruise."

"We will take helicopters to Matehuala. They will have trucks for us there."

"Great!" Lyons told him. "Helicopters and trucks. Quite an operation, for only a few minutes' notice."

"We will be joining an operation already in progress. Last night a transport plane appeared on the coastal radar. It did not respond to requests for identification. It did not land at an airport. It continued inland and disappeared. We will join the forces searching for that plane."

Dust erupted into dense clouds as the four helicopters descended to the soccer field. Lyons slid open the door of the command Huey and the dust and chill December air swirled into the crowded interior, carrying away the stink of kerosene, sweat and tobacco. He shoved his shipping trunk of equipment to the edge. Though the flight north had taken only three hours, traffic and fueling delays in Mexico City had delayed the takeoff. Now Lyons wanted to move.

Parked trucks lined the soccer field, their headlights serving as landing lights for the helicopters. Drivers sat on the bumpers, waiting for the soldiers and the North American "specialists."

The skids touched the field of red dirt and Lyons jumped out, jerked out his shipping trunk after him. Three forms appeared against the headlights, the silhouettes shifting and leaping as they approached the helicopters.

Soldiers shouted to one another as they assembled in squads. Akbar led the bound and blindfolded Illovich from one helicopter. The Soviet also had rags taped over his ears to prevent his overhearing the talk around him. Blancanales, Powell and Anne Desmarais left another helicopter.

Captain Soto rushed to the three silhouettes. He saluted. After a moment he called out to Lyons. "North American!"

Carrying his weapon-heavy trunk, Lyons lurched across the field to Soto. He saw two Mexican officers in uniform, a third man in slacks and a sports coat. The plainclothesman had an Uzi hanging over his shoulder. They shook hands with Lyons as Soto quickly introduced the officers. Soto avoided names.

"This is my commander. This officer commands this task force. This gentleman works with the federales." Soto used the phrase mi amigo norteamericanoto introduce Lyons.

The Mexicans talked in rapid Spanish. Lyons stood grinning and nodding, understanding nothing. Finally Soto turned to him again. "They know of you because of General Mendez and the International. We all owe you our gratitude for breaking that gang of Fascists."

"We didn't break it. We made it bleed, but the International's still strong. It's still out there."

"But in Mexico, it is now disorganized. The drug gangs have no leadership. They are only gangs now, not an army."

"Until the International comes back. The heroin trade makes billions a month. That's too good to lose."

"We will try to stop that. My commander wants to offer to return a favor. When we fought with the International in the skyscraper of Trans-Americas, S.A., I asked you to leave and you left, leaving the glory and rewards to us..."

"You said you went to prison for a while."

"Only for a short time. It was only a political problem. Then I received a promotion. My commander received many awards from the president of the republic because of the capture of General Mendez. Now, he offers the Iranians to you."

"Oh, yeah? You got them?"

"We know where they are. My commander offers you the opportunity to make the arrests."

Lyons shook his head. "Won't happen. There won't be any arrests. Ones we don't kill go north for interrogation. Won't ever make the newspapers."

After Soto translated Lyons's response, the three officers shook hands with Lyons and left. Confused, Lyons turned to Soto. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Now we go get them. We have until morning."

"That simple?"

"Mexican forces will move in at dawn. We must be gone by then."

Lyons ran to his partners. "Things have changed!" He explained the gift of the Iranians. After he told the story, Powell laughed.

"These Mexicans are slick! Why lose soldiers when they can have gringos get killed? And here you are jumping and laughing about it, thinking they did you such a good deed."

"Whatever. This means we dump Illovich..."

"No, this means..." Powell paused, looking at the others. "We let the Russian and the Frenchy escape together. How's that? Put your microphones on them. We leave them while we go play bang bang with the Eranies, they get away. Good enough?"

"Thought you wanted information from her?" Lyons asked.

Powell held up a black-and-white photo of two men. "She doped herself out for the flight. So I searched her stuff and I got this. One's the Iranian we're chasing. The other one's a Syrian army officer. This is good enough. I think she's jiving me on all the other noise."

Lyons ended the conference. "That's it. No more talk. Time to do it."

A Mexican soldier drove a stake-side truck north through the desert. After a few kilometers, he turned onto a dirt road. He switched off the headlights and drove by the moonlight, the dust and rocks of the road luminous.

Hills appeared. The driver followed the road for several kilometers, then turned into the sand and brush of a riverbed. Flash floods had cut a wide spillway through the desert. Brush and grasses grew in the sand. Following the winding stream into the hills, the driver powered over the brush, the truck's double back tires assuring traction in the sand and gravel.

After another kilometer, the riverbed became a streambed walled by high banks of sand. The driver continued through moist darkness fragrant with mesquite.

In the back of the bumping, swaying truck, Able Team changed into their fatigues. Gadgets and Blancanales wore their camou-patterned uniforms, Lyons his faded black fatigues. Powell and Akbar wore borrowed Mexican army fatigues. Captain Soto and a squad of his men would accompany them to the attack on the Iranian airstrip.

"How will he escape?" Captain Soto asked, pointing to the bound and gagged Illovich.

Lyons leaned close to the Mexican to whisper. "We will take the woman on the walk. Sometime, she'll get away from us. On the walk into the strip or during the fight. She'll come back and free him." Lyons indicated the cab of the truck with a nod. "She's up there with the driver. She knows how to get back to the highway."

"An old man and a woman? In this desert?"

"It'll be a four— or five-hour hike. They'll be back to the highway before light. If you don't like that, we could shoot them and bury them out here."

"No, let them walk."

"It's the only thing we could think of. They have to believe they escaped." Lyons stepped across the lurching deck of the stakebed to Gadgets. He glanced toward Illovich. "You got him set up?"