Gradually, though sheer willpower, Max forced himself to come to his senses. His breathing slowed, and the pounding in his veins and temples diminished to a dull throb. He held his hand up before his eyes and watched as the silver glow slowly dimmed until it disappeared entirely. Michael sighed in relief as the eldritch light faded, and he looked quizzically into Max's eyes. Reassured by the re- stored sanity he found there, he withdrew the hand covering Maxs mouth. "Sorry about that, pal," he apologized, "but you looked like you were losing it."I was," Max confessed. "Thanks."Michael smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "No problem, you crazy kid. I dimly recall you've done the same for me."Many, many times," Max reminded his impetuous pod-brother. Michael had been a loose cannon for as long as he could remember.

"Hey, who's counting?" Michael said with a grin. Confident that Max wasn't going to go berserk in the next few minutes, he raised his head to check on events over by the cave entrance. "Heads up," he alerted Max in a low voice. "Looks like it's show time."Although anxious to see what was happening in the canyon, Max took a couple of deep breaths first. His temporary mania appalled and disturbed him, and he didn't want to risk losing control again at the sight of Morton. Keep cool, he counseled himself, trying to remain focused on tonight's primary objective. This is a fact-finding mission, not a rumble or assassination attempt. I need to stay cool, keep quiet, and find out what Morton's up to. He could always stage a showdown with Morton later, after they all had a better idea of what was at stake.

Stealthily turning around behind the ridge, he crouched down and peered over the piled rocks. His eyes widened as he saw that Morton was no longer alone; another man was coming up the trail to Slaughter Canyon Cave, carrying a black attache case in one hand. Although the newcomer was clad in strictly civilian garb, a leather flight jacket and jeans, Max guessed from Alex's and Isabel's descriptions that this was the mysterious Lieutenant Ramirez. Guess that lab guy from the 1ms Cruets isn't showing up for this meeting, he inferred, still wondering how a particle physicist fit into this byzantine puzzle.

Morton did not waste time with pleasantries or small talk. "Is that it?" he demanded, spotlighting the lieutenant with the beam of his flashlight. He clumsily lurched his heavy body off the boulder he had been using as a seat, then pointed at Ramirez's briefcase with the muzzle of his pistol. The braying sound of his voice sent a fresh eruption of white-hot wrath through Max's body, but he bit down hard on his lip and merely kept watching. "Have you got it?" Morton challenged Ramirez.

Max wished he knew what "it" was. To hell with pronouns, he thought furiously, tell us what's in the stupid briefcase! Snatching the binoculars off the ground, where they had fallen during the altercation with the rattlesnake, he pressed the viewpieces against his eyes and tried to get a closer look at both Ramirez and his coveted case.

It took him a few seconds to get either of the clandestine pair in the binoculars' sights, during which time his eyes were treated to highly magnified views of cacti, yucca, and gravel, until, all of a sudden, he abruptly found himself staring into Morton's scowling, ill-shaven face and bloodshot eyes. The gunman's hated and hateful visage gave Max a momentary start, but then, using Morton as a guidepost, he managed to shift the view to the other participant in this midnight conference.

Ramirez looked just as clean-cut and well-groomed as he'd been described. He also looked extremely unhappy and distraught. Sweat beaded on his bronzed forehead, and a stray muscle twitched spasmodically beneath his cheek. Max could practically hear the mans teeth grinding together convulsively as the lieutenant climbed die last few yards to the cave's entrance. I'd be worried, too, Max thought, if I had to deal with Morton, especially in a lonelj canyon late at night. No wonder Ramirez looked so troubled.

"Well," Morton repeated, shining his flashlight directly in the lieutenant's face. He glared at the other man irritably "Have you got the merchandise?"Yes, damnit," Ramirez said, squinting through the glare of the harsh white beam. He held up his hand to shield his eyes. "I've got it all right, although I wish to heaven I didn't."Sounds like the lieutenant is having second thoughts, Max guessed. He lowered the binoculars so as to examine Ramirez's attache case more closely. Unfortunately, the matte-black finish of the case provided absolutely no clue as to its contents.

"Quit whining," Morton barked at the lieutenant, "unless your superiors at White Sands find out what you've been up to." He sneered sadistically, clearly enjoying his hold over the officer, and spat another mouthful of tobacco juice onto the trail. "You'd be looking at court-martial for sure, I figure, so don't go having any last-minute changes of heart now. You're in way too deep, flyboy."Sure, Max thought restlessly, but too deep into what? Temporarily taking off the binoculars, he exchanged a frustrated look with Michael, who looked equally in the dark. All they could tell for sure was that Morton was somehow blackmailing the lieutenant.

"Fine, okay!" Ramirez conceded. He ran an agitated hand through his bristling military crew cut and looked away from Mortons blinding spotlight. "Just turn off that damn light!"Having established who had the upper hand, Morton clicked off his flashlight. The crescent moon shining overhead provided sufficient illumination to complete their shadowy transaction. He placed the inactive flashlight on the flat-topped boulder and nodded toward the black leather case in the lieutenant's grip. "Hand it over," he ordered. "The key, too."His cheek muscle twitching like a Mexican jumping bean, Ramirez surrendered both the briefcase and a small metal key to Morton, who plopped the case down on top of the boulder and unlocked the latch. Max peered intently through the binoculars, fiddling compulsively with the focus in his determination to get a glimpse of what was lurking inside the case. To his frustration, however, Morton's expansive back blocked his view completely. He looked over at Michael, offering him the binoculars just in case Michael had a better view, but the other teenager shook his head glumly. Damn! Max thought. If only he and Michael had set up shop on the opposite side of the canyon! "You see," Ramirez said bitterly. His arms hung at his sides, his fingers uselessly clutching at the empty air, as though wishing that the precious briefcase was still in his possession. He swallowed hard, forced to digest the sour taste of treason. "Where's my money?" he demanded.

Satisfied with what he saw, Morton slammed down the lid of the attache case and locked it shut, then stowed the key in the front pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. "Oh, that's right, your money," he said snidely. His Smith amp; Wesson remained pointed at the lieutenant. "You're not so proud and guilt-stricken, I see, that you don't want to get paid for delivering the goods and committing a major breach of national security."Ramirez's cheek jumped as though an alien was about to burst from his skin. "Just give me the cash, Morton, and get out of here." His eyes hungrily focused on the canvas backpack resting on the ground near Morton's feet. "I never want to lay eyes on your ugly face again."But Morton was in no hurry to finish their business. "About that money, Lieutenant," he taunted Ramirez maliciously. "You only get half now, and the other half after 1 have this merchandise"-he patted the top of the closed briefcase-"authenticated by an expert."A-ha! Max thought, finally guessing how one piece of the puzzle fit into the whole. That must be what the science guy back at the motel is for, to verify that the "merchandise" whatever it is, is the real deal. Now all he needed to do was figure out what kind of classified contraband needed an expert physicist to give it a seal of approval. So much for the idea that this was just some sort of mundane drug deal…