"What?" Ramirez shouted resentfully. He took an angry step toward Morton, who brandished his semi-automatic menacingly. The infuriated lieutenant backed off, physically, but seemed no less outraged and upset. "That's wasn't the deal, and you know it!"Sorry," Morton said with a blatant lack of sincerity. His cocky attitude implied that he found the pilot's predicament amusing. "There's no chance you're getting the rest of the money, not until I'm one hundred percent certain that you're not pulling a fast one on me." His expression darkened, and menace crept into his voice, as he considered the mere prospect of deceit. "And you'd better hope, for your sake, that you've handed over the genuine article. Nobody cheats Joe Morton, at least not more than once."Ramirez shook with barely-contained fury. He pointed fiercely at the case he had so unhappily relinquished to Morton. "But you saw it yourself, right there in that briefcase! That's no fake! It's just what I promised!" His voice sounded hoarse, and increasingly desperate. "You can't do this to me! I came through with my side of the deal, I want my money-now!"Tough luck, flyboy," Morton said, not at all bothered by the lieutenant's indignant protests. Keeping the muzzle of his gun aimed squarely at Ramirez's chest, he took hold of one of the backpack's straps and carelessly lobbed the pack at the profoundly unhappy test pilot. The bundle landed with a thud at Ramirez's feet. "Sure, what's in the case looks kosher to me, but what do I know? I'm no rocket scientist, just a guy who has what it takes to make a buck or two." He reached over and picked up the briefcase by its handle. "Once my handpicked PhD signs off on the merchandise, then you'll get the rest of the cash, not before."His anguished face slick with sweat, Ramirez snatched the backpack from the rocky trail and fumbled with its flaps, in a panicky rush to check its contents. Finally getting the pack open, he balanced the canvas parcel on his knee as he groped inside the pack with his free hand. "It's not fair," he muttered sullenly. "I did my part!"Using the binoculars, Max zeroed in on the open backpack just in time to see Ramirez's trembling hands pull out a wad of hundred dollar bills bound together with rubber bands. He riffled the stack of green paper bills with his thumb, making sure there was cash all the way through, then tossed it back in the bag and pulled out another wad. He eyed the bundled hundreds lustfully, like an addict hungry for a fix, or a Skin in need of a fresh husk. "It has to be here," he croaked hoarsely. "All of it…"Don't fool yourself, Ramirez," Morton scolded the other man smugly "You can count it yourself, if you like, but I'm telling you, there's exactly half of your payment in that pack." He spat tobacco juice in the perturbed lieutenant's direction, "The rest of the cash isn't even here tonight. I've got it stowed away miles from here, where you can't possibly get at it."The Motel 6, I'm guessing, Max thought. Across the street from where Liz and the others are staying. Ironically, he knew more of Mortons recent movements than Ramirez did, but not what all this wheeling and dealing was about. We've got to find out what's in that briefcase, he realized, but how? "Damn you, Morton," Ramirez cursed his back-stabbing partner. Finally realizing that he had lost this battle, he gave up counting the loot and crossly threw the first few bundles of bills back into the pack. "Can't you at least tell me who you're working for, then?" he pleaded pathetically "I don't know about you, Morton, but I'd sleep better nights knowing that I haven't turned that so-called merchandise over to any terrorists or enemy nations, that this is just industrial espionage, and not anything that really damages America's security?" A sob caught in his throat; he sounded like a man trapped in his own private hell. "If I can't have all the money now, at least give me something for my conscience!"Morton shrugged. "Not my problem, Ramirez. I don't give a flying saucer how you sleep, and the people I work with pay me good money to keep their names out of it."like whom? Max fretted. "Without even knowing what Ramirez was so reluctandy selling, he couldn't help worrying about whom Morton was representing in this illicit and unsavory business. China? Libya? Iraq? The Skins? His paranoid suspicions weren't all that was bothering him, however. After crouching in the same position for several minutes, his legs were killing him. He felt his arching limbs going numb as his static vigil cramped their circulation. Handing the binoculars to Michael, he tried to quietly shift his weight, but shooting pains made him gasp involuntarily at his first modest attempt at movement. Ouch, that hurts! he thought. Too bad there's no top secret alien trick to waking up your legs after they've fallen asleep. Wincing, he braced himself against the stone outcropping and laboriously attempted to lift first one leg, then another, despite the excruciating sensations that resulted as the blood started rushing into his inert lower limbs.

And then it happened: The dusty rock upon which he had placed the bulk of his weight came loose without warning. Max tumbled forward, losing his balance, while the dislodged boulder rolled down the side of the ridge, precipitating a mini-avalanche of falling rocks and rubble that noisily descended on the canyon below while throwing up a cloud of dust and sand.

Oh, crap! Max thought, throwing himself flat against the ground, then rolling quickly until he was safely behind one of the surviving boulders, only inches from where Michael looked on, aghast. Holding on tightly to the binoculars, Michael gulped and ducked beneath the ledge he had been peering over. "Oh, man, we're in trouble now," he predicted.

The cacophonous rockfall interrupted the tense, unequal confrontation between Morton and Ramirez. "What?" Morton shouted fiercely. "Who's that? Who's up there?"Looking about nervously, Ramirez hastily slung the cash-filled backpack over his shoulders. "Maybe it's just some animal," he said hopefully, sounding like he was ready to bolt at any moment.

Morton, on the other hand, sounded more offended than anxious. "Show yourself, damnit! I'll teach you to spy on me, you sneaky bastards!"Facedown against the gravel, holding his breath, Max found himself wishing desperately that he possessed Tess's gift for warping human perceptions. If only he could project a realistic illusion of a coyote, or maybe a couple of mule deer, into the minds of the two men below! Alas, he had yet to master that trick.

"Oh God," Ramirez moaned, facing imminent exposure and ruin. "We've gotta get out of here!"But Morton wasn't listening to him. "Show yourself!" he demanded again. Max heard the heavy man climbing toward the ridge, his feet slipping and sliding in the loose rubble. "Give yourself up, or I'll blow you to pieces!"Wordlessly, Max and Michael looked at each other, both hoping that the other knew what to do next. Max was torn; part of him wanted to throw Morton's threats back at him, pitting scathing psychic energy against hot lead, but the lifelong imperative to conceal his powers helped him resist that reckless impulse. But what else can I do? he agonized. Keep low and hope Morton doesn't find us? Michael had another, crazier idea. Throwing back his head, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and let out a feeble imitation of a coyote's howl. Max stared at his friend in disbelief, but Michael merely shrugged in return, his defiant expression plainly asking if Max had any better ideas.

The intent, clearly, was to trick Morton into thinking there was nobody up on the ridge except maybe a harmless coyote or two. It might have worked, too, if Michael had been able to pull it off convincingly; unfortunately, to Max's ears, Michael's heartfelt howl had sounded just like what it was: a desperate teenager trying unsuccessfully to mimic the real thing. Nice try, Max thought, but, geez, Michael, Wile E. Coyote sounds more believable than thatl Morton wasn't fooled for a second. "Yeah, right!" he laughed nastily; apparently all Michael had succeeded in doing was insult the hot-tempered gunman's intelligence. "Take this, smart guy!"Gunshots rocked the night, and bullets slammed into the stony crags, chipping off bits of stone and dusting the two teenagers' heads with pulverized rock. Instinctively, Max threw up a force field between them and the disintegrating outcropping; a concave bowl of shimmering green energy blocked the bullets while casting an uncanny emerald radiance upon the hillside.