g  a  set of
brilliant  white teeth  as she checked  the cigarette was still intact.  The
lenses turned  on  me again  and my reflection moved  up and down  with  her
shoulders as she started to laugh.
     "Got killed by  a  logger's truck after a  night  hitting  the bars. He
staggered out into the road, trying to stop the truck from leaving, claiming
that  the wood belonged to the forest and it had spirit.  Strangely  enough,
the truck seemed not to hear him, and that was that. Sawdust."
     I laughed  with her, seeing in my  mind's eye the absurd contest of man
versus truck. She  flicked the  Zippo deftly and lit up. The twisted  end of
the  roll-up flared as she took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled.
An unmistakable  smell filled  the air between  us. She chuckled to  herself
before finishing off the story.
     "He was the one who had spirit, but unfortunately for him that night it
was all in his bloodstream."
     I  took in more water as she turned her gaze once more to the building,
picking bits of Rastafarian Old Holborn from her lips.
     "He'd left  the house  and  the land  to the  university, for research.
We've been  here  nearly six years now. Cleared  the land out back  for  the
helicopter. Even put up the extension ourselves."
     She turned back and offered me the joint.
     I shook my head. If other people wanted to, that was up to them, but it
was something I'd never even thought of trying.
     She shrugged and took another  drag. We can only do it out of the house
so Luz doesn't catch us.  She'd freak if she knew what Mommy was doing right
now. Talk  about role reversal." She inhaled deeply, her face screwing up as
the smoke blew from her mouth.
     "I suppose someone like  you wouldn't do this, would  you? Maybe you're
worried you'll drop that guard of yours. What do you think?"
     "Aaron told me you met at the university ..."
     She nodded as I started to fill the magazine with more rounds.
     "Eighty-six.
     Without him I'd never have had the stamina to get my Ph.D. I was one of
his students."
     She  looked  at me  and smiled expectantly,  obviously well used to the
reaction  to  her  announcement.  I  probably  fell  in  with  the  one  she
anticipated.
     Her tone challenged me.
     "Oh, come on, Nick, have you never been attracted to an older woman?"
     Teah, Wonder Woman, but that was when I was the same age as Luz."
     I'd made her laugh, though maybe  the  giggle weed  had a little  to do
with it.
     "Half the university staff ended  up marrying a student. Sometimes they
had  to divorce one student to set up with another but, hey, why should  the
course of  true love  run smoother in  a  faculty building  than  any  other
place?"
     I sensed it was a well-rehearsed explanation of their relationship.
     "Staying  here  to study while the  folks  went  back up  north and got
divorced was great," she went on.
     "You  know,  straitlaced  Catholic  family  gone  wrong the  rebellious
teenage  years, father not  understanding that  sort of stuff."  Her glasses
pointed my way  and she smiled, maybe thinking about those good times as she
took  another drag. There's  even  a kind of convention about  sleeping with
your teacher, you know. Not exactly as a rite of passage, more a visa stamp,
proof you've been there. Someone like you would understand that, no?"
     I shrugged,  never having  known anything about  what went on at  those
places, but now wishing I did.
     She picked up the fully loaded rifle that lay between  us. The bolt was
back and she checked chamber before laying the weapon across her knees, then
slowly moved the bolt forward to pick the  top round  out  of the  magazine,
feeding it  into the chamber. But instead  of  locking down the bolt  as you
would  to fire, she  pulled  it back so the brass round was ejected from the
chamber with a clink and into the grass. Then she pushed the bolt home again
to repeat the action.
     "How does Luz  fit  in  here?"  Even as I  started to speak  I knew I'd
fucked up, but it was too late to stop the flow.
     "She isn't your natural child, is she?"
     She might have been: she could have had her with  somebody  else. I was
crashing and burning  here. I tried to recover. I  didn't mean that,  what I
mean is, she isn't-' She laughed and cut in to save me.
     "No, no, you're right, she isn't. She's kind of fostered."
     She took a long, reflective drag and  looked down, concentrating on the
slow ejection of another round as it flew out of the chamber on to the rough
grass. I couldn't help but think of Kelly  and what my  version of fostering
had added up to these past three or four years.
     "She  was  my dearest and only  friend  really,  Lulu ...  Luz  is  her
daughter ... Just Cause." She looked up sharply.
     "You know what that is?"
     I nodded.  Not  that  she  could see me:  she was  already looking down
again. The invasion. December 'eighty-nine. Were you both here?"
     She pulled back  the bolt on the third round and shook  her head slowly
and sadly from side to side.
     "No one can imagine what a war is like  unless they  witness one. But I
guess I don't need to tell you that."
     "Mostly  in places I can't  even  pronounce,  but they're all the  same
wherever they are shit and confusion, a nightmare."
     The fourth round tumbled out of the weapon.
     "Yep, you're right there. Shit and confusion ..." She picked one up and
played  with  it between her fingers, then took another puff of the  spliff,
making it glow gently.
     Her head was up now but I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or not
as she blew out smoke.
     "Months before the invasion things were getting really tense.
     There were  riots,  curfews, people getting killed. It  was  a bad, bad
situation only a matter of  time  before the US  intervened, but nobody knew
when.
     "My father kept  wanting us to move north, but Aaron wouldn't have  any
of  it this is  his home.  Besides, the  Zone was only a few miles away, and
whatever happened out here, in there we'd be safe. So we stayed."
     She dropped the round on to  the ground, picked up the water and took a
long swig, as if she was trying to wash away a bad taste.
     "On the morning of the nineteenth, I got called by my father telling us
to get  into the Zone  because it was going down that night. He was still in
the military then, working out of
     DC."
     She had a moment to herself and gave a fleeting smile.
     "Knowing George, he was probably planning it. God knows what he gets up
to.  Anyways, he'd  arranged  accommodation for us  in  Clayton."  She  took
another swig, and I waited for the rest of the story.
     She  put down  the bottle and  got the last out of her  herbal  roll-up
before  stubbing  it out into the ground, then picking up  another  round to
fiddle with.
     "So we  moved into the  Zone and,  sure enough, we saw  enough  troops,
tanks, helicopters, you name it, to take on Washington state." She shook her
head slowly.
     "That night we lay in bed, we couldn't sleep you know what it's like.
     Then just past midnight the first bombs hit the city. We ran out on  to
the deck  and saw bright sheets of light filling the sky, then the sound  of
the  explosions  just  seconds  behind.   They  were  taking  out  Noriega's
headquarters, just a few miles from where we were standing. It  was terrible
they were bombing El Chorrillo, where Lulu and Luz lived."
     TWENTY-FOUR
     Her voice was devoid of emotion now, her body suddenly still.
     "We went back inside and turned on the radio for news. Pan National had
music, and about a minute later there was an announcement saying that Panama
was being invaded, and alerting the Dingbats."
     "Dingbats?"
     The Dignity Battalions Noriega's private army. The  station was calling
them to arms, calling for everybody else to  go on  the streets  and  defend
their  country against the invaders,  all that kind of crap.  It was a  joke
nearly everybody wanted this to happen, you know, get Noriega out.
     "We  left  the radio on,  and  turned on the TV to the Southern Command
station. I  couldn't believe it,  they hadn't  even  interrupted the  movie!
Aaron got totally freaked out. We could still hear the bombing outside."
     I was listening intently, taking the occasional sip of water.
     "The Defense Department  seal  soon filled  the  screen on  all the Pan
channels, and a voice came on telling everybody in  Spanish to  stay indoors
and keep tuned in.
     And that's exactly  what we did. Not that they told us much  apart from
"Everything's fine, just stay calm." Soooo, eventually we  went back out  on
the deck, and watched  more explosions. They were  coming from all parts  of
the city  now. There were jets zooming around  in the dark, sometimes coming
so low we could see their afterburners.
     "This carried  on until  maybe about four, and then it  all went quiet,
apart  from  the  jets and  helicopters. We really didn't know what to do or
think1 was worried for Lulu and Luz.
     "At  dawn, the sky just seemed to be filled with helicopters, and smoke
coming  out  from  the  city.  And there  was  this  huge  plane, constantly
circling. In the end, it was there for weeks."
     The way she  described it,  it was  probably  a Spectre gunship:  those
things can  operate day or night, it doesn't matter; it's always a clear day
for  them. They would be up there, in  support  of the ground troops, acting
like airborne artillery. They have infrared and thermal imaging cameras that
can  pick  out  a  running man or  a  square inch  of  reflective tape  from
thousands of  feet up.  They have onboard computers, controlled by operators
who are protected inside a titanium cell, to help them decide whether to use
their  40mm  and  20mm cannons  or  machine-guns, or if the  shit was really
hitting the fan  below, a 105mm howitzer  artillery piece  sticking out  the
side.
     Carrie  continued  talking,  telling  me  about  the  Dingbats looting,
raping,  destroying everything in  their path  as they  tried to escape  the
Americans.  For her and Aaron it  wasn't until  the day after Christmas that
they went back to their house near the university.
     "It was fine ..." She smiled fleetingly again.
     "It  wasn't even  looted, though some of the locals had been out making
the most of the opportunities elsewhere. Somebody had stolen  a whole lot of
Stetsons  from  a  store  suddenly  there  were  about  thirty  guys in  the
neighbourhood thinking they were John Wayne."
     I smiled at the image, but her face was soon serious again.
     "The place  was  an  occupation  zone, checkpoints,  troops,  they were
everywhere. We were  so worried  about Lulu and Luz, we went to El Chorrillo
to check them out.
     It looked like  a newsreel of  Bosnia. There were bombed-out buildings,
troops  with   machine-guns  cruising   round   in  armoured  vehicles  with
loudspeakers."  She  mimicked their  words: "Merry Christmas, we're soldiers
from the United  States of America. We're going  to be searching your houses
very  soon, please leave your doors open and  sit in the  front part of your
home. You will not be harmed.
     Merry Christmas." It was so surreal, like a movie or something.
     Her face was suddenly drained.
     "We got  to  Lulu's  walk-up  and it  was  just a  heap  of rubble. Her
neighbours told us she'd  been inside. Luz had been sleeping  over at Lulu's
sister's place in the next block. That  was bombed, too,  and the sister had
been killed, but there was no trace of Luz. It was terrible, looking for Luz
after that. I had that feeling, you know, that frantic feeling like when you
think you've maybe lost a  child in a crowd. The idea of  her walking around
the streets without anyone to  protect her, you know, look after her. Do you
know that feeling?"
     I thought of last night's dream. I knew that feeling all right.
     We found her eventually in one of the reception camps, in a creche area
with all the  other parent less kids. The rest is kind of history. From that
day till this, we've looked after her." She sighed. We loved Lulu so much."
     I'd  been  slowly  nodding  ever  since  her  question, listening,  but
troubled by my own thoughts.
     "I have lost friends," I said.
     "All of them, really. I miss them too."
     "Lonely without them, isn't  it?" She picked up the  last of the  water
and offered me a share, waiting for me to continue. I shook my head and  let
her finish it. I wasn't going to let that happen.
     "Do you think the US did the right thing?" I asked.
     The bottle was back in her mouth for a couple of sips.
     "It should have  come earlier. How could we just sit and watch  Noriega
the deaths, torture, corruption? We should  have done something sooner. When
the word was out that he had turned himself over to the US, there were horns
sounding all over the city.
     There  was a lot of  partying that night."  An edge of bitterness crept
into her voice.
     "Not that it's done any  good. With the stand-down from the Zone, we've
given everything  away." She retreated into her own thoughts for a second or
two and I just watched her face get sadder. At length she looked up.
     "You know what,  Nick? Back  then, something  happened that I'll  never
forget. It changed my life."
     I carried on looking at her and waiting as she finished the water.
     We were back  in our house and it  was New Year's Day, nearly two weeks
after the invasion. I was watching TV with Luz in my  arms. Barbara Bush was
in the audience of some show and a group on stage started to sing "God Bless
America". The whole audience stood up and joined in. Just at  that moment, a
helicopter flew low over us, right over  the house,  and I could  still hear
the giant plane circling  overhead and I  started to cry. For the first time
it made me feel so proud to be American."
     A  tear ran  down her cheek from  behind  her sunglasses.  She  made no
attempt to wipe it away as another followed.
     "But you know  what? I  feel so sad for us now that we  could just give
away everything down here that people died for back then. Can you understand
that, Nick?"
     Yes, I understood, but I never went there. If I did, I wasn't sure that
I could navigate my way out again.
     "I  met  a guy  called  Johnny  Applejack,  a Delta  Force  captain, in
'ninety-three.
     Well, that's what we called him ..." I told  her about his patrol going
into  a Panamanian  government office during  the  first  night, and finding
three million  dollars there, in cash.  The only reason  all six of the team
weren't now driving Porsches was  that Johnny radioed it in without thinking
about what he was doing.
     "It was only after he got off the air that he realized he'd just kissed
goodbye to the patrol retirement fund. I don't know what he's like  now, but
back in 'ninety-three he looked as if his  lottery numbers  had come up  and
he'd just realized he'd forgotten to buy a ticket."
     She smiled.
     There was a pause I was aching to fill as I watched her place her index
fingers under her glasses and give  each eye a wipe. But I'd done the damage
I'd wanted to: I'd broken the spell.
     I pointed at the weapon still across her lap as I got to my feet.
     "Coming back to three hundred?"
     "Why not?"
     I waited as she got up. Her dark lenses zeroed in on me again.
     "The other stuff getting too close for you, Nick?"
     I turned and started counting off another two hundred paces in my head,
with her at my side. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.
     I filled the space with business.
     "I've been thinking. I  need to be back at  Charlie's by four  tomorrow
morning,  so I'll have to leave here at ten tonight and we're  going to need
to work out how I can return this." I held up the weapon.
     "I presume you'll want it back?"
     Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one.
     "Sure do,  it's  the  only  present my father ever gave me that had any
use. We'll work it out."
     I  realized I'd lost the  count. I started at  forty-five as Carrie's f
sunglasses turned to me.
     "Do you  know how  you're  going to  do it  yet  you know,  give him  a
reminder?" Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.
     "I've had one or two thoughts ..."
     Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight. I looked out at the clearing, then
had another.
     "You got any explosive left?
     I saw  the pictures,  on the  cork board." Seventy-three, seventy-four,
seventy-five.
     'You are nosy, aren't you?"
     She pointed towards the far treeline that faced the rear of the  house.
There's a stash of the stuff down there in the shack."
     I was amazed.
     "You mean you've just left it there? In a shed?"
     "Hey, come  on.  Where are we? There's  more to worry about round  here
than a few cans of explosives. What do you want it ' for, anyway?"
     "I need to make a lot of noise to remind him."
     I couldn't see any outbuildings, just greenery: because of the downhill
slope the bottom third of the treeline was in dead ground.
     "Do you know how to use it? Oh, of course stupid."
     "What kind is it?"
     She pulled a face.
     "It  goes bang  and blows up trees, that  kind. George  and some of the
local guys played with it."
     I'd lost  count again. I was guessing  eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one,
then Carrie stopped to announce: "First one hundred."
     She pointed towards the dead ground.
     "I'll  take you  down there  after we've-' "Mom! Mom!  Grandpa wants to
talk!" Luz was yelling for her from the rear of the house.
     Carrie put her hands to her mouth.
     "OK, baby." She sounded quite concerned as she put down  the bottle and
ammo box.
     "I've got to go."
     She emptied her  pockets of the tobacco  tin  and Zippo then threw them
into the ammo box. She turned to me and smiled.
     "She'd ground me."
     Jogging out into the sun to cover  the two  hundred metres or so to the
house, she pointed once more towards the invisible hut in the treeline.
     "You can't miss it.
     Later."
     I  left everything where it was and headed for the trees  at the bottom
of the cleared  patch, keeping  in the shade of the lot I was under. The hut
didn't come into  view for  a while, and even when  it  did I  couldn't face
walking  out into the sun  to  cut the corner. The heat  haze that shimmered
above the ground wasn't exactly inviting: I was a sweaty mess already.
     I scratched away at  my  back and  followed the shade  of the tree-line
round  two  sides of the square, eventually getting  to what  looked  like a
wooden outdoor privy. The door  hung  precariously on the lower  rusty hinge
and grass grew high right up against  the door. Spiders' webs  were spun all
over the hut as if forming  a protective screen. I looked through the gap in
the  broken  door, but didn't see  a toilet. Instead I saw two  square, dull
metal boxes with red and black stencilling.
     This was a  gift from  heaven: four tin boxes, eight  kilos in each.  I
couldn't  understand  the  Spanish,  but  made out  what  was important:  it
contained  55  per  cent nitroglycerine, a high proportion.  The higher  the
amount  of  nitro, the more  sensitive  it  is; a  high-velocity round would
easily detonate this stuff  as it passed  through, which  wouldn't have been
the case with military standard high explosive, which is shockproof.
     I  wrenched open the door and  stepped inside. Pulling off the  opening
key from the side of the top  box, I saw  the date  on  the pasted-on label,
01/99,  which I presumed  was its Best Blown-up-by  date. This stuff must be
old enough to have been used when Noriega was in nappies.
     I got to work, peeling the sealing strip of  metal just  below  the lid
exactly as if I was opening a giant can of corned beef.
     A plan was already forming  in my  mind  to leave a device by Charlie's
gates. If I couldn't drop the target as he moved outside the house, I  could
take him  out while his vehicle waited for the gates to  open by  getting  a
round into this shit, instead of him. My fire  position  would have to be in
the same  area I'd been in yesterday to ensure  a good view of  the pool and
the front of the house, as well as the road going down towards the gate. I'd
have to rig the device so  it was in line of sight of the fire position, but
I couldn't see that as a problem.
     Sweat was gathering on my eyebrows. I wiped it as it  was about to drip
into my  eyes and pulled back  the  lid of the  tin container to  reveal the
inner  wooden box  liner. I cut  the string banding  with my  Leatherman and
lifted that too. I found five sticks of commercial dynamite, wrapped in dark
yellow  grease  proof  paper,  some  stained by the  nitro, which  had  been
sweating in this heat  for years. A heavy  smell of marzipan filled  the air
and I was glad I was going to work with this  stuff outdoors. Nitroglycerine
can damage your health, and not just when it's detonated.  It won't kill you
when  you  handle  it, but  you're  guaranteed  the  mother of  all fearsome
headaches if  you work with it in a confined space, or if you get it into  a
cut or it's otherwise absorbed into the bloodstream.
     I took three of the eight-inch sticks  and wandered back  to the firing
point,  following the shade of  the  treeline  once  more, pulling  back the
grease  proof  paper  as  I   walked   to  reveal  sticks  of   light  green
Plasticine-type material.
     Minute grey crystals of dried-out nitro coated the surface. Passing the
weapon and ammo box, I continued the other two hundred  paces  to the target
area, where I placed them side by side at  the trunk  of the thickest tree I
could find near my paper targets. Then, back at the two-hundred point, I got
into  my  firing position and  took a  slow,  deliberate shot  at the  black
circle.
     The zero was good:  it went  in directly above  the one-shot zero round
I'd fired just as it should.
     Now came the  acid test,  both for  the zero  and  HE (high explosive).
Picking up the ammo, weapon and bottle,  I  took  another  hundred  paces to
roughly  the 300yard mark, lay down, checked the area to make sure Carrie or
Luz hadn't decided  to take a wander from the house towards the target area,
then aimed at the sternum-sized target of green dynamite.
     When I was sure my position and hold were correct, I had one last check
around the area.
     "Firing, firing!" The warning shout wasn't necessary, since no one else
was about, but it had become a deeply  ingrained habit from years of playing
with this kit.
     Aiming centre of the sternum, I took a slow, controlled shot.
     The crack of the  round and the  roar of the explosion seemed  to be as
one. The earth surrounding it was dried instantly  by the incredible heat of
rapid  combustion,  turned  into dust  by  the  shock-wave, and sent up in a
thirty-foot plume. Slivers of wood were falling all  around the high  ground
like rain. The tree was still  standing, and so it should be considering the
size  of  it,  but it was badly  damaged. Lighter-coloured  wood showed like
flesh beneath the bark.
     "NIIICK! NIIICK!"
     I jumped up and waved at Carrie as she ran from the back of the house.
     "It's OK ! OK! Just testing."
     She stopped at the sight of  me and  screamed at the top  of her voice,
easily covering the ground between us.
     "YOU IDIOT! I THOUGHT1 THOUGHT-'
     Cutting abruptly from her screams, she turned and stormed back inside.
     Luckily there was no need to do anything  more: the zero was on for all
ranges, and  the dynamite  worked. All  I  had  to do now  was make a charge
that'd take out a vehicle.
     Clearing  the weapon,  I picked up  all  the other bits and pieces  and
headed back to the house.
     TWENTY-FIVE
     The mozzie screen  slammed shut behind me and I felt the sweat start to
cool on my skin in the breeze from the two fans by the coffee table.
     I headed  straight for the fridge, dumping the  weapon and  ammo box on
the way.
     The   light  didn't  come  on  when  I  opened  the  door,  maybe  some
tree-hugging measure to save power, but I could still see what I was looking
for  another  couple  of  two-litre  plastic water-bottles like the one we'd
emptied. The long gulps of chilled water tugged at my  throat and gave me an
instant headache but was worth it. I refilled the bottle I'd brought in from
the garden-hose tap marked D and put it back in the fridge.
     My T-shirt and trousers were still sticking to  me, and  the rash on my
back  was itching big-time. I got  the cream out of my  pocket and gave it a
good smear  all over.  There  was no point  to  welling  myself off in  this
humidity.
     After washing my gooey hands and face and throwing  a couple of bananas
down my neck, it was time to start  thinking about the device I was going to
make with the HE. With the  half-empty water-bottle in my hand, and Carrie's
giggle weed and Zippo in my pockets, I  knocked on the door  of the computer
room as I entered.
     Carrie was sitting in the director's chair on the left with her back to
me, bent over some papers. The sound of  the two  overhead  fans filled  the
room,  a  loud,  methodical  thud-thud-thud  as they spun  on  their ceiling
mounts. The room was much cooler than the living area.
     The PC with the  webcam  was switched off; the other in front of Carrie
showed a spreadsheet full of numbers, and she was comparing the  data on her
papers with what was on the screen.
     It was Luz who saw me first, seated at her desk further down the room.
     Swivelling in her  chair to face  me, she gave  a "Booom!"  with  a big
smile spread over her face and an apple in her hand. At least she thought it
was funny. I shrugged sheepishly, as I  had so many times  to Kelly when I'd
messed up.
     "Yeah, sorry about that."
     Carrie turned in her  seat  to face me.  I gave her an apologetic shrug
too. She nodded  in return  and  raised an eyebrow at Luz, who just couldn't
stop smiling. I pointed at the storeroom. I'm going to need some help."
     "Gimme a minute."
     She raised her voice to primary-school level and wagged a finger.
     "As for you, young lady, back to work."
     Luz got  back down  to  it, using her  thumb and forefinger to  tap the
pencil on the table in four-four. She reminded me so much of Kelly.
     Carrie hit a  final few keys on the PC and stood up, instructing Luz as
she  did so,  still in schoolmistress mode, "I want to see  that math  sheet
completed by lunchtime, young lady, or no food for you again!"
     There was a smile  and a resigned "Oh, Mooom, pleeeease ..." in return,
and she took a bite from her apple as we headed for the storeroom.
     Carrie closed the door behind her. The outside entrance was open, and I
could see the light fading on the rows of white tubs. The sky  was no longer
an unrelenting blue;  clouds  were gathering, casting  shadows as they moved
across the sun.
     I passed over the tin and the Zippo and received a smile and a "Thanks'
as she placed a  foot  on  a bottom  shelf and climbed up to hide them under
some battery packs.
     I'd already spotted  something I needed  and was picking up a cardboard
box that told me it  should be holding twenty-four cans of Campbell's tomato
soup, but  in fact  had only two. Wanting just the  box, I took out the cans
and stacked them on the shelf.
     It was Little America up on these shelves, everything from blankets and
shovels to eco-friendly washing-up liquid, via  catering packs of Oreos  and
decaf coffee.
     "This is like WalMart," I said.
     "I was expecting more of a wigwam and incense sticks."
     I got a laugh from  her as she jumped  off the shelf and walked towards
the outside door.
     I looked at her framed in the doorway as she gazed out at the  lines of
white tubs, then walked over  to  join her, carrying the water and soup box.
We stood together  in the doorway for a few moments,  in silence but for the
generator humming gently in the background.
     "What exactly do you do here?"
     She pointed to the tubs and ran her hand along their regimented lines.
     "We're  searching  for new species  of endemic  flora  ferns, flowering
trees, that  sort  of  thing.  We  catalogue and propagate  them before they
disappear for ever." She stared at nowhere in  particular, just into the far
treeline, as if she was expecting to find some more.
     That's very interesting."
     She faced me and smiled, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
     "Yeah, right."
     I actually was interested. Well, a bit.
     "I  don't  believe  you,  but it's  very  kind  of you  to pretend. And
actually, it is very interesting..." She waved her arms towards the tubs and
the sky above them, now dark with clouds.
     "Believe it or not,  you're standing at the front line of the battle to
save bio diversity
     I gave her a grin.
     "Us against the world, eh?"
     "Better believe it," she said.
     We looked at each other for less than a second, but for me it  was half
a second longer than  it should have been. Our  eyes might have been locked,
but there was no way of telling behind her glasses.
     "A hundred  years  from now,  half the world's  flora and fauna will be
extinct. And that, my friend, will affect everything: fish,
     birds, insects, plants, mammals, you name  it,  simply because the food
chain will be disrupted. It's not  just the  big charismatic mammals that we
seem to  fixate  on," she  rolled her  eyes and held  her  hands up  in mock
horror, 'save the whales, save the tiger ... It's  not just those guys, it's
everything." Her earnest expression suddenly relaxed and her face lit up.
     "Including  the sandfly your  eye  has already gotten acquainted with."
The smile didn't last.
     "Without the habitat, we're going to lose this for ever, you know."
     I  moved outside and  sat on the concrete, putting  the  soup  box down
beside me and untwisting the bottle  top. As  I took a swig she came and sat
beside me, putting her glasses back on.  As  we  both stared  at the rows of
tubs, her  knee just touched mine as she spoke. This rate of  extinction has
only  happened five  times since  complex  life began. And all  caused by  a
natural disaster." She held out  a hand for the bottle. Take dinosaurs. They
became  history  because of  a  meteorite crashing  into  the  planet  about
sixty-five million years ago, right?"
     I nodded as  if I knew. The Natural  History Museum hadn't been where I
spent my days as a kid.
     "Right,  but this sixth extinction is  not  happening  because of  some
external force, it's happening because  of us the exterminator species.  And
there  ain't no  Jurassic  Park, we can't just  magic them back once they've
gone. We've got to save them now."
     I didn't say anything, just looked into the distance as she drank and a
million crickets did their bit.
     T know, you're thinking we're some kind of crazy  save-the-world gee ks
or whatever,  but-' I turned  my head.  'I don't think anything like  that-'
"Whatever," she cut in, her free  hand up, a smile on her face as she passed
the bottle.
     "Anyway, here's  the news: all the plant life on the planet hasn't been
identified yet, right?"
     "If you say so."
     We grinned at each other.
     T do  say so. And we're losing them faster than we can catalogue  them,
right?"
     "If you say so."
     "I  do. And that's why we're here, to  find the  species that we  don't
know  of yet. We go into the forest  for specimens, cultivate them, and send
samples  to the university. So many of our medicines  come from those things
out there in the tubs. Every time we lose  a species, we lose an  option for
the future, we lose  a potential cure for  HIV,  Alzheimer's, ME,  whatever.
Now, here's the cool part. You ready?"
     I rubbed the bandage on my calf, knowing it was coming regardless.
     The drug companies provide grants for the university to  find and  test
new  species for them. So,  hey, go  figure,  we have a form of conservation
that makes  business  sense."  She  nodded in  self-approval  and  got  busy
cleaning her nails.
     "But  despite all that, they're closing us down next year. Like I said,
we're doing great work, but they want quick results for their buck. So maybe
we're not the crazy ones, eh?"
     She turned once more to  gaze out towards the tubs, her face  no longer
happy or serious, just sad. I was quite enjoying the silence with her.
     I'd never had the tree-hugging case put to me like  that  before. Maybe
it was because it came  from her, maybe it was because she wasn't wearing an
anorak and trying to ram it down my throat.
     "How do you reconcile what you do here with what you're doing for me? I
mean, the two don't exactly stand together, do they?"
     She didn't turn to face me, just kept looking out at the tubs.
     "Oh, I wouldn't say that. Apart from anything else, it's helped me with
Luz."
     "How's that?"
     "Aaron's too old to adopt, and it's so complicated trying to get things
done here." I thought for a moment that she was going to blush.
     "Soooo, my father  came up with  the offer of a US passport for her, in
exchange for  our help  that's the deal. Sometimes  we do  wrong things  for
right reasons isn't that true, Nick whatever-your-name-is?" She turned to me
and took a deep breath.
     Whatever was about to be said, it changed,  and she gazed back out over
at the treeline as a swarm of sparrow-sized birds took flight and chirped in
frantic unison.
     "Aaron doesn't approve of us doing this.  We  fight. He  wanted to keep
hassling  for an  adoption. But there's  no  time,  we  need to head back to
Boston. My mother went to live there again after the  divorce. George stayed
on in DC, doing  what he's always done." She  paused, before going off at  a
tangent.
     "You know, it was only after the divorce that I discovered how powerful
my father is. You know, even the Clintons call  him George. Shame  he didn't
use some of it to save  his personal life. It's ironic, really. Aaron's like
him in so many ways ..."
     "Why go after so long because you're being closed down?"
     "Not  only that. The  situation  is  getting worse down here. And  then
there's Luz to think about. Soon if 11 be high  school, then college.  She's
got to start having a normal life. Boyfriends who  double-date,  girlfriends
who talk about you behind your back, that kind of stuff..." She smiled.
     "Hey, she wants to go, like yesterday."
     The smile soon died but her voice wasn't sorrowful, just practical.
     "But Aaron Aaron hates change just like my father. He's just hoping all
the  troubles  will go  away." Her  head tilted up and back as the flock  of
birds screeched by, inches above the house. I looked up as well, and tracked
them across the sky.
     She sighed.
     "I'll miss this place."
     I knew I was supposed to  say something, but I didn't know what. I felt
that the mess I'd made of my own life didn't exactly qualify me to help sort
out hers.
     "I love him very much," she said.
     "It's just that I've gradually realized I'm not in love with the man, I
guess  ...  Oldest  cliche  in the book, I  know.  But  it's so difficult to
explain. I can't talk to him about it. It's ... I don't know, it's just time
to go ..." She  paused for  a moment. I could feel the blood pumping through
my head.
     "There are times when I feel so terribly lonely."
     She used both hands to put her hair behind her ears then turned towards
me.
     There was a silence between us again as the pulse in my neck quickened,
and I found it difficult to breathe.
     "What about you, Nick?" she said.
     "Do you ever get lonely?"
     She already knew the answer, but I couldn't help myself...  I  told her
that  I lived in sheltered housing in London,  that  I  had no money, had to
line up to get free food from a Hari Krishna soup wagon. I told her that all
my friends were dead  apart  from one, and  he despised  me.  Apart from the
clothes  I was  wearing when  I  arrived  at  their  house,  my  only  other
possessions  were  in  a bag stuck  in Left Luggage  at a railway station in
London.
     I told her all this and it felt good. I also told her the only reason I
was  in  Panama  was that it would stop a  child being killed  by my boss. I
wanted to tell her more,  but managed to force the lid back on before it all
came flooding out.
     When  I'd finished, I sat, arms folded,  feeling uncertain, not wanting
to look at her, so just stared out at the tubs again.
     She cleared her throat. The child ... is that Marsha or Kelly?"
     I spun my head round and she mistook my shock for anger.
     "I'm sorry, sorry ... I shouldn't  have  asked, I know. It's just I was
there, I was with you all night, I hadn't just  appeared ... I was going  to
tell you this morning, but we both got embarrassed, I guess ..."
     Fuck, what had I said?
     She tried to soften the blow.
     "I had to stay, otherwise you would have been half-way to Chepo by now.
Don't you remember? You kept on waking up shouting, trying to get outside to
look for Kelly. And then you were calling out for Marsha. Somebody had to be
there  for  you. Aaron had been  up all  night and he  was out of  it. I was
worried about you."
     The pulse was stronger now and I felt very hot. What else did I say?"
     "Well Kev. I thought  it was your real name  until just now and-' "Nick
Stone."
     It  must have sounded like a quiz-show quick fire answer. She looked at
me a moment, a smile returning to her face.
     "That's your real name?"
     I nodded.
     Why did you do that?"
     I shrugged, not too sure. It had just felt right.
     When  I spoke next, it was as if I  was in a trance. As if someone else
was doing the talking, and I was just hearing them from a distance.
     "The girl's name is Kelly. Her mother was Marsha, married to my friend,
Kev.  Aida  was  her  little sister. They were all murdered, in their house.
Kelly's the  only one left. I was just minutes too late  to save them. She's
why I'm here she's all I have left."
     She nodded slowly, taking it all in. I was vaguely aware that the sweat
was now leaking more heavily down my face, and I tried to wipe it away.
     "Why don't you tell me about her?" she said quietly.
     "I'd love to hear about her."
     I felt  the pins and  needles return to  my legs, felt the lid  forcing
itself open, and I had nothing left to control it.
     "It's OK it's OK, Nick. Let it out." Her voice was cool, soothing.
     And  then I  knew  I  couldn't  stop it.  The lid burst open and  words
crashed out of my mouth, hardly giving me time to breathe. I told  her about
being Kelly's guardian, being totally inconsistent, going to Maryland to see
Josh,  the only sort of friend I had left, people I liked always fucking  me
over, signing Kelly  over  permanently to Josh's care, Kelly's therapy,  the
loneliness... everything.
     By the  end, I felt exhausted and just sat there with my hands covering
my face.
     I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder.
     "You've never told anybody that before, have you?"
     I shook my head, letting my hands fall, and tried to smile.
     "I've never sat still long enough," I said.
     "I had to give the therapist a few details about the way Kev and Marsha
died, but I did my best to keep the rest of it pretty well hidden."
     She  could have been  looking right through me. It  certainly felt that
way.
     "She might have helped, you know."
     "Hughes? She just made me feel like a like a like  an emotional dwarf."
I felt my jaw clench. 'You know, my world may look  like a pile of shit, but
at least I sometimes get to sit on top of it."
     She gave me a sad smile.
     "But what's the view like from your pile of shit?"
     "Not a patch on yours but, then, I like jungles."
     "Mmm." Her smile widened.
     "Great for hiding in."
     I nodded, and managed a real smile this time.
     "Are you going to keep hiding for the rest of your life, Nick Stone?"
     Good question. What the fuck was the answer?
     I  stared at  the  tubs for  a  long  while as  the  pins  and  needles
disappeared, and eventually she gave a theatrical sigh.
     "What are we going to do with you?"
     We looked at  each other before she  got  to  her  feet. I  joined her,
feeling awkward  as  I  tried  to think of  something, anything, to say that
would prolong the moment.
     She smiled again, then clipped me playfully across the ear.
     "Well, then, recess over, back to work. I have some math to check."
     "Yes, right. I need one of your tubs1 think I saw some empties near the
sinks."
     "Sure, we're maxed  out. They won't be  needed soon, anyway." The smile
was still there, but it had become rueful.
     I held up the box.
     "I'm going to play with that explosive down in the shack  for a  while,
and I promise, no more bangs."
     She nodded. That's a relief," she said.
     "I think  we've both had  quite  enough  excitement  for one day."  She
turned towards the storeroom but then paused.
     "Don't worry, Nick Stone, no one will know about this. No one."
     I nodded a thank-you, not just for keeping quiet, as she headed for the
storeroom.
     "Carrie?"
     She stopped and half turned once more.
     "OK if I have a mooch around in the stores and take some stuff with me?
You know, food and equipment for tonight."
     "For sure, but just tell  me what you've got so we can replace  it, OK?
And, of course, nothing that can identify us like that." She pointed  at the
soup box,  which  had a  white  sticky  label saying  "Yanklewitz 08/14/00',
probably the heli delivery date.
     "No worries."
     She gave that rueful smile again.
     "As if, Nick Stone."
     I watched her disappear into the  store before heading round the corner
towards  the  sinks,  then got  to  work. I peeled off  the label  in  three
stubborn  bits,  which went  into  one of the glasses. Then, after getting a
drink from  the D hose  and refilling my bottle, I wandered across  the open
ground to  the shack" swinging the  tub I'd just collected in one hand,  the
box and  water-bottle in the other, trying to think about nothing except the
job. It was  hard. She was right, I did have worries, but at least  I hadn't
gob bed off about who the real target was.
     The clouds were gathering big-time. I'd been right not to be fooled  by
the sun  this morning.  Just as I reached the gentle incline  and started to
see the  roof  of  the  hut,  I  heard  a succession of short  bursts from a
vehicle's horn and  looked back. The Mazda  was bumping along the track, and
Luz was running out to  greet her dad. I stood watching  for a  while  as he
jumped out  of the wagon to be hugged and talked to as they walked on to the
veranda.
     Sitting in the  still  humid shade of the hut,  I tore  off the top and
bottom  flaps of the Campbell's box, scrunched  them up in the bottom of the
tub, and was left with the  main carcass,  a four-sided cube, which I ripped
apart  at a seam and opened out so that I  had  one  long,  flat section  of
cardboard.  I  started fitting it  into the tub, running it round the  edges
then twisting it until I'd made  a cone with its apex about  a  third of the
way up from the bottom, with all the scrunched-up flaps beneath. If I let it
go now the cone  shape would spring apart, so I started to pack HE, still in
its wrappers, around the base to keep it in place. Then,  with the cone held
fast, I peeled  open the other  boxes, unwrapped more HE and played with the
putty-like substance, packing it into the tub and around the cone.
     I was trying to make a copy of the French off-route mine. These are the
same shape as the tub,  but a little smaller, and designed so that, unlike a
conventional mine, they don't have to be  directly  beneath the target  when
detonated to destroy it. It can be concealed off to one side of  a  road  or
track, hidden in the  bushes or, as I  was planning, up a tree. It's a handy
device if  you're  trying  to  mine a  metal road, say,  without having your
goodies laid out for everyone to see.
     One version of the mine is initiated by a cable  as thin as a strand of
silk  that's  laid  over the tarmac and crushed. I was  going to detonate it
with a round from the Mosin Nagant.
     Once triggered, the manufactured  ones instantly turn a cone  of copper
into a hot, molten slug, the shaped charge, propelling it at such speed  and
power  that  it penetrates the target's armour and rips its insides apart. I
didn't have any copper; in its place,
     and shaped very  much the same way, was the cardboard  cone, but  there
should be enough force in the HE alone to do the job required of it.
     I continued  squashing down  the HE, trying to make it  one solid  mass
over  the cone.  My  hands  stung as the glycerine got into my  cuts, and my
headache was back, really giving me the good news.
     Thinking  about the old German guy  who'd given me the  bayonet gave me
the  idea  of using  the explosive this way. He'd told me a story  about the
Second World War.
     German Paras had taken a bridge, stopping the Brits from demolishing it
as  they withdrew.  The  charges were still  in  position, but  the  Germans
disconnected the detonators so that a Panzer column could cross and kick the
shit out of the Brits.  A young British squaddie took  one shot with his bog
standard Lee  Enfield  3O3 rifle  at the  placed  charges.  Because  it  was
old-style explosive, just like this stuff, it detonated, and set off all the
other charges that  were connected by  the  det (detonation) cord. The whole
bridge dropped, stopping the Panzers ever getting through.
     As  I packed the last of the HE,  I was hoping that the squaddie had at
least got a couple of weeks' leave as a reward, but I very  much doubted it.
Probably  just a tap on the tin hat with  a riding crop and  a  "Jolly  well
done, that man', before getting killed a few weeks later.
     When I'd finished, I  sealed the top on the tub, left the device in the
shed, and  started  back to the house, thinking  about what  else  I had  to
prepare for a possible four nights on the ground.
     The sky had turned metallic,  the clouds every shade of grey.  A gentle
breeze was the only consolation.
     There was  a loud  rumble of thunder  in the distance as I crested  the
slope. Aaron  and Carrie were standing by the sinks,  and  I  could see they
were arguing again.
     Carrie's arms  were  flying about and Aaron  was standing with his head
jutting forward like a rooster.
     I couldn't just stop and go back: I was in no-man's land here. Besides,
my hands were stinging badly with the nitro and I needed to wash it off, and
to get some aspirin down  my neck.  Dihydrocodeine would do the  job better,
but I needed to be awake later tonight.
     I slowed down, lowered my head, and hoped they'd see me soon.
     They  must  have  spotted  me  out  here  in  the open ground,  looking
everywhere and  anywhere  apart  from the  washing  area, because  the  arms
stopped windmilling.
     Carrie went  to  the  storeroom  door and  disappeared as  Aaron  dried
himself.
     I got to him as he retied his hair, clearly embarrassed.
     "Sorry you had to see that."
     "None of my business," I said.
     "Besides, I'll be gone tonight."
     "Carrie told me you'll need dropping off ten, right?"
     Nodding,  I  released the  water pressure  and  soaked my  hands before
cutting the supply and soaping up to get all the nitro off me.
     "You said you had a map? Is it on the bookshelf?"
     "Help yourself, and I'll get you a real compass."
     He passed me to hang the green towel next to mine on the line.
     "You feeling better now? We were worried."
     I started to rinse off.
     "Fine, fine, must have picked something up yesterday.
     How's the jaguar?"
     "They promised they're going to do something this time, maybe the  700,
but I'll believe it when I see it." He hovered awkwardly for a moment,  then
said, "Well, Nick, I'm heading to  go catch up on some work  here. It's been
sort of backing up on me this week."
     "See you later, mate."
     I pulled my towel off the line as he headed for the storeroom door.
     TWENTY-SIX
     Now that the sky  had  greyed over completely the storeroom  was almost
dark.  I  eventually found  the  string-pull  for  the  light  and  a single
fluorescent strip flickered on,  dangling precariously from wires  about six
feet from the high ceiling.
     The  first  thing  I  saw was that the weapon and  ammunition  had been
placed on a shelf for me, along with a Silva compass and map.
     I  needed to make some 'ready rounds', so ripped about six inches off a
roll of one-inch gaffa tape,  placed a round on the sticky side, and rolled.
As soon  as  the round was covered I placed  another,  rolled a little, then
another, until four  rounds were in a noiseless bundle, easy to fit  into my
pocket. I folded over the last two inches of tape to make it  easier to pull
apart, then  started on another.  A box of twenty was still  going into  the
bergen; you never know how these jobs are going to end up.
     I rummaged  around  in  the medical case for the aspirin and threw  two
down my neck. They were helped on their way  with a litre bottle  of Evian I
broke from a new case of twelve, and I lobbed three on to the cot for later.
     My leg was starting  to hurt again but I really couldn't be bothered to
change the dressing. I'd be wet and covered with  mud later tonight  anyway,
and the aspirin would help.
     I had to prepare for as much as four nights in the  field up  to two on
target and two in the  jungle  before  popping out once the dust had settled
and making my own way to the airport. Come what may, I needed to make Josh's
by Tuesday.
     I found an old A-frame bergen in the storeroom, its green canvas patchy
with white haze after years of exposure to the elements.  Joining the bergen
and  water  on  the cot went  nine cans  of tuna and  an assortment of honey
sesame bars that looked as if they'd get me through daylight hours.
     Judging by what was on  the shelves, they had certainly got their hands
on enough of that military give-away. I grabbed a poncho and some dark green
mozzie nets.
     I could make a shelter from a poncho with the hood tied up and a couple
of metres of string through the holes at each corner, and the mosquito  nets
would not only keep the beasties off me at night, but also act as camouflage
netting.
     I took three one for protection, and  the other two for camouflaging me
and the tub  once we were in position. A large white  plastic cylinder  in a
tree, tilted down  at the road the other side of the gate, just might arouse
suspicion.
     Most  importantly,  I found a gollock,  an  absolute  necessity for the
jungle because it  can provide protection, food  and shelter.  No one  worth
their salt is ever without one attached to their body once under the canopy.
This  one was  US Army issue and much sturdier than  the  one Diego had been
swinging at me. It was maybe six inches shorter, with a solid wooden  handle
and a canvas sheath with a light alloy lip.
     I climbed up the angle-iron framework of the shelves and, holding on to
one of the  struts,  checked  out  the  goodies  higher up. Next  door,  Luz
suddenly sounded very pleased with herself.
     "Yesss!" Baby-G told me it was 3.46 probably her schoolwork ending  for
the day. I wondered if she was aware  of  the arguments Aaron and Carrie had
had  about  her. What did she know  about what  was happening  now? If  they
thought  she  didn't know  what  was going  on,  they were  probably kidding
themselves if she was anything like Kelly she never missed a trick.
     For a second or two  my thoughts wandered to Maryland: we  were  in the
same time zone, and right now Kelly would probably be doing the same as Luz,
packing  up  her  books. It was private,  individual, and expensive, but the
only  way forward until she  had adapted  between  the  one-on-one attention
she'd been receiving in  the  clinic and  the  push  and shove of mainstream
education  alongside  Josh's  kids. I had a flash  of worry about what would
happen  now that  I wasn't going  to make the second  half of the money then
remembered that that was the last thing to be concerned about.
     I realized what I was doing  and made the cut. I had to force myself to
get on with the job wrong, the mission.
     I knew what kit I wanted, which wasn't very much. I'd learnt the lesson
the hard way, just like so many holiday makers  who take five suitcases with
them, only to  discover  they only use the contents of one. Besides food and
water, all I  needed was the wet clothes I'd be  standing up  in, plus a dry
set, mozzie net,  lightweight blanket  and  hammock. All this would  be kept
scrupulously dry in  plastic in the bergen,  and  by  the poncho at night. I
already  had  my  eye on the string hammock on the  veranda if I didn't find
anything better.
     None of these things  was  absolutely  essential, but  it's  madness to
choose to go without. I'd spent enough time in the jungle on hard routine in
places like Colombia, so close to the DMP that no hammock or poncho could be
put up, sitting all night  in the  shit, back to back with  the rest  of the
patrol, getting eaten alive by whatever's flying around or mooching over you
from  out  of the leaf litter, not  eating  hot  food or drink for  fear  of
compromise  due  to flame  and smell,  while waiting for the  right  day  to
attack. It doesn't help if you're spending night after night  like that with
all your new insect  mates, snatching no more than a few minutes' sleep at a
time. Come first light, bitten to death and  knackered, the patrol still has
to get on with its task of watching and waiting.
     Some patrols lasted for  weeks like  that, until  trucks or helicopters
eventually arrived to pick up  the cocaine and we hit them. It's a fact that
these conditions degrade the effectiveness  of a patrol as time  goes on. It
isn't soft to sleep under  shelter, a few inches above the shit  rather than
rolling around  in  it,  it's  pure common sense. I wanted  to be alert  and
capable of taking that shot as easily on the second day as on the first, not
with my eyes swollen up  even more because I'd been trying to hardcore it in
the shit the night before. Sometimes that has to happen, but not this time.
     I carried on  rooting around, climbing  up and down the shelves like  a
howler  monkey, and was so happy to find the one  thing I was desperate for,
its clear  thick liquid contained in rows of baby-oil-style plastic bottles.
I  felt like  the thirsty Arlington Road  winos  must feel  when they find a
half-full  bottle in the bin, especially when the label said it  was  95 per
cent  proof. Diethyl-mtoluamide - I just knew it as  Deet  was magical stuff
that  would keep the little mozzies and creepy-craw lies away  from me. Some
commercial stuff contains only  15 per cent, and is  crap. The more Deet the
better, but the problem is it can melt some plastics -hence the thickness of
these bottles. If  you get it into your eyes it hurts; I'd known people have
their contact lenses melt when it had been brought into contact with them by
sweat. I threw three bottles on to the cot.
     After another ten  minutes of  digging in boxes and bags,  I started to
pack the bergen. Having  removed the noisy wrappers from the sesame bars and
put  them all into a plastic bag, they got stuffed into the  large left-hand
side  pouch for easy  access during the day. I shoved a bottle of Evian into
the right-hand one for the same  reason. The rest of the water  and the tuna
went into the bottom of the pack, wrapped in dishcloths to muffle any noise.
I'd only pull that food out at night when I wasn't in my fire position.
     I put  a large plastic  laundry bag into the long  centre  pouch at the
front  of the bergen. It would be taking any dumps I did whilst I was in the
jungle: I'd have preferred individual bags, but couldn't  find  any,  so one
big one  would have to take the lot. It  was important not to have any smell
or  waste around me because that would attract  animals and might compromise
my position, and I didn't want to leave anything behind that could be DNA'd.
     Into a similar clear plastic bag went the mozzie net I was going to use
for  protection at  night,  and  one of  the blankets that was  out  of  its
wrapping. The hammock would join the contents of this bag once I'd nicked it
from the veranda later on. All the stuff in this bag needed to be dry at all
times. Into  it also would go my dry clothes for sleeping in,  the same ones
I'd wear once out of the canopy and heading for  the airport.  I'd get those
from Aaron at the same time I got the hammock.
     I laid the other two mozzie nets beside the  bergen, together with some
four-inch wide, multicoloured  nylon  luggage straps. Black,  brown, in fact
any colour but this collection would have been better to blend into  a world
of  green. I placed them inside the top  flap, ready to make a sniper  seat.
The  design originated in India during the  days of  the Raj, when  the  old
sahibs  could sit up in  a  tree  in them for days with their Lee  Enfields,
waiting for tigers  below. It  was a  simple device,  but effective. The two
straps were fixed  between two branches to  form a  seat and you rested your
back against the trunk. A high viewpoint looking down on to the killing area
makes  for a great field of view  because you can look over the top  of  any
obstructions, and it  would also be good for concealment as long as I tucked
the mozzie net under it, to hide the rainbow holding up my arse.
     I sat on the cot, and thought about other stuff  I might need. First up
was  a shade  for the  front of the  optic sight, so  that  sunlight  didn't
reflect off the objective (front) lens and give away my position.
     I got a container of antifungal powder, again US Army issue, in a small
olive green plastic cylinder. Emptying the  contents, I cut  off the top and
bottom, then split it down the side. After wiping away all the powder on the
inside, I put it over the front of the sight. It naturally hugged  the metal
cylinder as I moved it back and  forth until the section protruding in front
of the lens was  just slightly  longer than the lens's  width. The  sunlight
would now only reflect off  the lens if the sun itself was visible within my
field of view.
     Next I needed to protect  the muzzle and working  parts from  the rain,
and that was going to be just as easy.  I fed a plastic bag  over the muzzle
and taped it to the furniture, then loaded up with rounds,  pushed the  bolt
action forward to make ready the weapon, and applied the safety.
     I ripped open the bottom of one of the clear plastic bags that had held
the blankets, so only  the two sides were still sealed, then worked  it over
the weapon like a  hand muff until it  was covering  the sight, magazine and
working parts, using the gaffa tape to fix  each open end to  the furniture.
Then, making a small slit in  the plastic above the sight, I pushed  it down
so  that the sight  was  now  clear, and  gaffa-taped  the plastic  together
underneath to keep the seal. Everything in that area, bar the sight, was now
encased in plastic. The weapon looked stupid, but that didn't matter, so did
I. The safety could still be taken off, and when the time came I could still
get my finger into the trigger by  breaking the plastic. If I needed to fire
more than one round, I'd  just quickly rip the bag to reload. This had to be
done  because  wet  ammunition and  a  wet  barrel  will  affect the round's
trajectory -not a lot, but it all counts. I'd zeroed this weapon with a dry,
cold barrel  and dry ammunition, so it had  to stay like that to optimize my
chances of a one-round kill.
     Next, I used the  clear plastic from the  last of  the blankets on  the
shelf  to protect the map, which said it had been compiled by the US  Army's
551st  Engineer Company for the Panamanian government in  1964.  A lot would
have changed on the  ground  since then Charlie's house  and the  loop  road
being just two of them.
     That didn't concern  me too much; I was interested in the topographical
features, the high ground  and water features. That was the stuff that would
get me out of there when I needed to head towards the city.
     The compass still had its cord on, so I could just  put it over my head
and  under  the  T-shirt.  What it didn't  have  was any  of its roamers for
measuring off scale:
     mozzie repellent had already been on this one and the  plastic base was
just a frosted mess. I didn't care, as long as the red needle pointed north.
     The  map, compass, gollock and docs would stay on  my body at all times
once under the canopy. I couldn't afford to lose them.
     The last thing I did  before getting my head down was thread the end of
a ball  of twine  through the slit drilled into the  butt designed to take a
webbing or leather sling, and wrap about four foot of it round the butt, cut
it and  tie  it secure. The weapon would never be over  my shoulder unless I
was climbing a tree.
     Only  then would I tie the string  into the slit in the stock and sling
it.
     I  pushed everything that was left off the bed, and gave the light cord
a  tug.  I didn't  want  to see the  others; it wasn't that  I  was  feeling
antisocial, just that when  there's  a lull before  the battle, you get your
head down.
     Lying  on my  back, my hands behind my  head, I thought  about what had
happened with Carrie today. I shouldn't  have done it. It was unprofessional
and stupid,  but at the same time,  it felt OK. Dr. Hughes had never managed
to make me feel like that.
     I  was  woken suddenly. I snapped my wrist in front of my face to check
Baby-G, and  calmed down:  it was just after a quarter past eight. I  didn't
need to get up until about nine.
     The rain  played a low, constant drumroll that accompanied the low thud
of the fans next door as I rubbed my  greasy, clammy head and face,  pleased
that there hadn't been any more dreams.
     The canvas and  alloy frame of the cot squeaked and groaned as I turned
gently on to my stomach, running through my bergen list.  It was  then, just
now and again above  the sound  of  the  rain  and fans, that  I  heard some
conspiratorial-sounding murmurs1 should know, I'd done enough of that stuff.
     The cot creaked as I slowly swung my  feet over the side and  stood up.
The sound was coming from the computer room, and I  felt my way towards  the
door. A sliver of light from beneath it guided me.
     I put my ear to the wood and listened.
     It was  Carrie. In a whisper she  was answering  a  question  I  hadn't
heard:  "They  can't come now ... What if  he  sees them? ...  No,  he knows
nothing,  but  how am I  going to keep them apart?  ... No, I can't... He'll
wake up ..."
     My hand reached for  the door handle. Gripping it tightly, I opened the
door slowly but deliberately no more than half an  inch  to see who she  was
talking to.
     The six-inches-by-six,  black-and-white image was  a little jittery and
fuzzed around the edges, but  I could clearly see  whose head  and shoulders
were  filling the webcam. Wearing a checked jacket and dark tie, George  was
looking straight into his camera.
     Carrie was listening via the headphones as his mouth moved silently.
     "But it wouldn't work, he won't buy that...  What do you  want me to do
with him? ... He's next door asleep ... No, it was  just a fever ... Christ,
Dad, you said this wouldn't happen ..."
     George was having none of it and pointed at her through the screen.
     She answered angrily.
     "Of course I was ... He likes me."
     In  that instant  I felt  as if a giant wave had  engulfed me. My  face
began to smart and burn as I rested my head on the door-frame. It was a long
time since I'd felt so massively betrayed.
     I knew I shouldn't have opened up to her, I just knew it.
     You've  screwed  up big-time  ... Why can you  never  see  when  you're
getting fucked over?
     "No, I've got to go get ready, he's only next door ..."
     I didn't have the answer to this, but I knew what I had to do.
     When I pulled the door open Carrie was clicking  away at  the keyboard.
She jumped out of her seat with shock, the headset wire jerking tight as the
headset pulled down round her neck and the screen closed down.
     She recovered, bending forward to take them off.
     "Oh, Nick -sleep better?"
     She knew, I could see it in her eyes.
     Why didn't you see the lying in them before?
     I'd  thought  she  was different. For once,  I'd thought...  Fuck it, I
didn't know what I'd thought. I checked that the living-room door was closed
and  took three paces  towards  her. She thought  she was about to die as  I
slapped my hand hard over her mouth, grabbed a fistful of hair  at the  back
of her head, and lifted.
     She let  out a whimper. Her eyes were bigger than I'd ever thought eyes
could be.
     Her nostrils snorted in an attempt to get some air into her lungs. Both
her hands were hanging on my wrists, trying to release some  of the pressure
from her face.
     I dragged  her into  the darkness of the  storeroom,  her feet scarcely
touching the ground. Kicking the door shut so that we both became  instantly
blind, I put my mouth right up to her left ear.
     "I'm going to ask questions. Then I'm going to let go of your mouth and
you'll answer. Do not scream, just answer."
     Her nostrils were working overtime and I made sure I pressed my fingers
even harder into her cheeks to make me seem more scary.
     "Nod if you understand."
     Her hair no longer smelt of shampoo: I could only  smell  coffee breath
as she gave a succession of jerky nods into my hands.
     Taking a  slow, deep  breath, I calmed down and  whispered into her ear
once more.
     Why are you talking to your dad about me? Who is coming?"
     I released  my grip  from her mouth a little  so she could suck in air,
but still gripped her hair. I felt her damp breath between my fingers.
     "I  can explain, please,  just let me  breathe-'  Both  of us heard the
noise of a wagon approaching as it laboured up the muddy track.
     "Oh, God, oh, please, Nick,  please just stay  in here. It's dangerous,
I'll explain later, please."
     I hit the light  and it started to  flicker  above us as I  grabbed the
weapon  from the  shelf, ripped the plastic from the bolt and rammed the two
bundles of ready rounds into my pockets.
     She was still begging as the engine got louder.
     "Please stay here, don't leave the room I'll handle this."
     I moved to the exit door.
     "Fuck you turn the light off, now!"
     The  roar of the engine was  right on top of the house.  I stood at the
door with my ear pressed against the corrugated iron.
     "Lights!"
     She pulled the switch.
     TWENTY-SEVEN
     I  eased the door open a couple of inches. With one eye pressed against
the gap, I looked  to the right, towards the  front of the house. I couldn't
see  a wagon, just the glow  of headlights  bouncing off the veranda through
the rain.
     I slipped  through the  door  and closed it  gently behind  me, leaving
Carrie in  the darkness. Turning  left, I made for the washing area  just as
two  vehicle doors  slammed  in  quick  succession,  accompanied  by  a  few
overlapping  shouts  not  aggressive,  just  communicating.  I  guessed  the
language was Spanish, though I couldn't tell from  this distance, and didn't
really care.
     As soon as I'd rounded the corner I set off in a straight line  towards
the  shack in the dead ground, using the house as cover. I didn't look back.
With the  weapon gripped tightly in my right  hand  and my left holding down
the ready rounds, I just went for it, crouched low, doing my best to keep my
footing in the mud and tree stumps in the darkness.
     I  moved for maybe  two hundred wet  and muddy metres before  risking a
glance back.
     The  house  was  silhouetted in the glow of headlights, and  the engine
noise had faded. I turned and moved on; another twenty paces and the lights,
too, slowly  disappeared  as I gradually dropped  down into the dead ground,
heading towards the hut.
     Turning right, I  ran for the other treeline. The back of my throat was
dry and I swallowed constantly, trying  to moisten it as  I fought to get my
breath back. At least I was out of the immediate danger area.
     Once I'd  got about half-way towards the trees I turned right again and
started  moving up  the  crest,  back  towards  the house,  my Timber  lands
squelching in the mud and pools of water.  I'd been concentrating so hard on
what I  was doing  that  I hadn't realized the rain had  stopped: it was the
racket of the crickets that made me aware.
     I slowed  when I was maybe a hundred and fifty metres behind the house,
and  started to move more cautiously, now with the  butt of the rifle  in my
shoulder, placing each foot carefully, keeping my body  as low as  possible.
There was still  complete  cloud  cover, and I felt  confident  I  could get
closer.
     My angle of  view gradually changed. I could  see the glow  coming from
the side bookcase  window, not strong  enough to reach the ground,  and then
the area in  front  of the veranda, caught in the headlights  of a large 4x4
parked next to the  Mazda. On the roof, upside down and strapped on tight, I
could see a Gemini, an inflatable rubber boat.
     I knew there were tubs in front of me somewhere and I'd be bumping into
them soon. Slowing even more, I crouched as  low as my legs  could bend. The
low revs of the engine became audible as I finally reached the rows of white
plastic. I  got on to my knees and  right hand and, with the weapon balanced
in  my left,  moved like a gorilla between  the rows.  I  made three or four
movements,  then  stopped  to observe. A  small animal  rustled  nearby  and
scuttled away between the tubs, which  were less than an inch apart. I could
hear frenzied scratching on plastic as it ran for its life.
     Making sure I didn't get tangled in the irrigation tubes trailing along
the ground, I carried on feeling my way through the grass and mud. The noise
of the crickets was horrendous, but with luck drowned out any sound I made.
     I  was  starting  to get sticky again from a combination of tension and
sheer physical effort as I  inched  forward. The scene on the veranda slowly
came into  focus: I was  about eighty metres  away  and could  see two  male
figures with Carrie. All three were bathed in  light and shadow. One man was
quite a bit  shorter  than  the other,  and all I could see of him  was  his
dark-checked  shoulders,  each  side  of  a supporting  pillar. He looked as
though he had skipped a good few sessions with his personal trainer.
     There  seemed  to be no weapons involved, and  I  couldn't  hear  their
voices.
     Keeping the  weapon in my left hand and out of the mud, I  eased myself
down into a fire  position between the tubs, making my movements as slow and
deliberate as possible. Gloop immediately began to soak into my front.
     The safety catch clicked gently as I  twisted it to the right and got a
blurred sight picture owing to the rain on the lenses.
     Carrie's head filled  half the optic through a haze of cigarette smoke,
with moths fluttering around the light on the  wall behind her. I focused on
her face, trying  to read  it.  She didn't  look scared  as she  spoke, just
serious.
     More smoke blew into  my sight  picture  from the  left.  I panned  and
picked up the taller of  the  two men taking another  drag  of his cigarette
before  speaking.   He  was  Latino,  round-faced,   with  a   crew-cut  and
rough-looking beard, and wearing a black collarless shirt.  I panned down to
see muddy green  fatigue bottoms tucked  into  equally dirty boots.  He  was
quite animated, pointing first at Carrie, then at the shorter man. Something
was wrong: I didn't need to lip-read Spanish to know that.
     The  movements stopped  and he  looked at Carrie again, expecting  some
sort of  answer. I panned right, on to her. She nodded slowly, as if not too
happy with what she was agreeing  to, and I followed her  as she pulled open
the mozzie screen and shouted into the house, "Aaron! Aaron!"
     I looked over  at the vehicle. Moths, and anything  else airborne, were
jiggering about in the  headlights.  It  was a CMC, its block shape high off
the ground and its body work  splattered with mud. All the doors were closed
and the engine was still running, probably for the air.
     The mozzie screen  squeaked and slammed shut. I aimed back towards  the
veranda  and saw Aaron.  There weren't any  greetings for him:  Carrie  just
spoke  to him for less than a minute, then with a nod  he went back into the
house, a worried-looking man. Carrie and the other two followed. Black Shirt
threw his finished  butt on to the veranda decking.  The  check-shirted  guy
carried an aluminium briefcase that I hadn't seen until then.
     He, too,  was  looking rough, with  a patchy bum-fluff  beard over  his
chubby face.
     I  watched  as they passed  the bookshelf window,  heading  towards the
computer room. There was nothing else to do now but wait.
     All of a sudden, to my left, there was a flash in my peripheral vision.
I turned to  see  the last  of  a match burning  in  the dark  of the  CMC's
interior, its yellow light illuminating the two dirt-free semicircles on the
windscreen.
     I brought the weapon  back into the aim, and saw a bright red glow from
the rear seat. Some long, hard drags were  being taken in  there. I  ran the
optic down the side windows  of the  CMC, but couldn't tell  whether or  not
they  were blacked out until  another  drag  was taken. That wasn't long  in
coming;  I  couldn't see anything  from  the  side apart from  a  gentle red
triangular glow in the  rear door  window. It  had  to be the  CMC  from the
locks. What  was  the chance  of  the  same  VDM?  Another  long, deep  drag
illuminated the triangle.
     I  watched  as  the  cigarette  was  sucked  to  death,  and  the  glow
disappeared, then slowly brought my weapon  out of the aim, resting it on my
forearms to  keep it  out of the mud. At that moment, the rear door furthest
from the  veranda opened and a body stepped out. I slowly  lifted the weapon
back into the aim, at the top half of a man taking a piss. I recognized  the
long features and nose, even without the CMC.
     This wasn't good, not good at all. The Pizza Man had been at the locks;
the locks were on the webcam here. He had been at Charlie's; I was on my way
there now. He knew George; George  knew about me. No, this definitely wasn't
good.
     The  mozzie screen  squeaked, followed  immediately  by  the  two  guys
stepping down from the veranda as he jumped back into the wagon mid flow The
little fat one was  still clutching  his briefcase. Carrie followed them out
but stayed on  the  veranda, hands on hips,  and watched as Blackshirt threw
what was left of a cigarette into the mud before they both climbed in.
     The  engine revved and headlights  flooded the area  around me  as  the
wagon turned.
     I hugged the ground, waiting for the light to wash over me, then got on
to  my knees and watched and  listened as  the  engine noise and tail-lights
faded back into the jungle.
     Pulling myself  out  of the mud, I applied Safe and  moved towards  the
house. As I let the mozzie screen slam back into position, I could see Aaron
and Carrie both in Luz's room, comforting  her  in bed. Neither looked round
as I went  to the fridge and pulled off the black-and-white beach picture of
the  Pizza  Man.  The round magnet keeping it  in place  dropped and  rolled
across  the  wooden floor. I stopped, had second thoughts. There had to be a
reason for him  not wanting to be seen. Could I make the situation worse for
myself if I  told them, and they told George? Maybe  even jeopardize the job
altogether?
     I found the magnet and  replaced  the photograph. I took a deep breath,
calmed down and thought business  as  I  headed for the storeroom. The light
was on now, and I placed  the weapon gently on the  cot as Carrie  came into
the computer room,  sat at the  PCs, and buried her  head  in  her hands.  I
closed the door behind her.
     Tell me."
     She just held her  face as  if  in another time  and space as  the fans
thudded above  us. She looked very scared as her face came up to look at me,
pointing out  towards the veranda. This whole thing is creeping  me out have
you  any  idea how crazy those people are? I hate  it when they come, I hate
it."
     "I can see that, but who are they?"
     They work for my father. They're doing some  sort of operation  against
PARC, on  the Bayanyo somewhere.  It's part  of Plan Colombia. '  She wasn't
just  scared but physically shocked.  Her hands trembled as she  brushed her
hair back behind her ears.
     "It's a drugs-surveillance thing .. . we have the relay board for their
communications. It's secure, so it comes through us, then to George. He said
to keep it from you for operational security."
     "So why did they break OP SEC by coming when I was here?"
     "The webcam ... they're monitoring ships suspected of  drug-trafficking
on  the canal. I was told to close it down before you arrived, but I forgot.
Good spy, huh?"
     She looked a sorrowful sight, eyes puffed up and red.
     "Make Daddy proud. It  seemed that when I eventually did close it down,
it messed  up their other communications,  something  to do with the relay."
She pointed to the mass of wires under the tables.
     "They had to  come and  fix it.  That's what George was telling me when
you came in. We didn't want it to get mixed up with the job he's sent you to
do-' "Hold on your dad sent me?"
     "Didn't  you know?  He's controlling  both operations. Nick,  you  must
believe me, this really is the first time we've done anything like this."
     I moved from pissed-off to depressed very quickly. It was just like old
times.  I sat in the other  chair as she sniffled herself back to normality.
Aaron  came into the room, his eyes darting between the two of us, trying to
assess the situation.
     She looked up at him, eyes red, wet and swollen.
     "I've told him," she said.
     "I've told him everything."
     Aaron looked at me and sighed.
     "I've always hated this. I told her not to get involved." It was as  if
he was talking to me about our child.
     He turned his attention to Carrie.
     "George should never have gotten  you into this.  It isn't worth it for
what you want, Carrie. There has to be another way."
     This was anger, his lips were wet, but it didn't last long. Taking  two
paces forward, he threw his arms around her, stroking her head when she laid
it against his stomach, making soothing sounds, just as I imagined he'd done
with Luz and I used to do with Kelly.
     I stood up  and walked back into the living room, following  my own mud
trail back towards the veranda. The mesh door squeaked open and I joined the
mozzies by the wall light as I threw the pillows on to the floor and started
untying the hammock, feeling quite sorry for both of them, and Luz.
     I was very clear about what was happening a total gang  fuck Everything
she'd said would have made sense, if it weren't for the Pizza Man. If he had
seen Aaron at the locks, or even the
     Mazda, it made sense why he'd  bolted so quickly:  if Aaron  and Carrie
didn't  know he  was on the ground, then of course he didn't want to be seen
by them. I was tempted to tell her, to pump her for more information on him,
but no. That would stay in my pocket in case I needed it especially as there
was still the question of his going to Charlie's that I couldn't work out.
     I undid the knot at the end attached to the hook in the wall and let it
fall, then started on the  thick rope wrapped  round  one  of the  veranda's
supports. The other tie  fell to the  floor,  and I left it and stepped  off
into the mud.
     What now?
     I opened up the back of the Mazda and saw in the light from the veranda
that everything had  been packed into an old  canvas bag.  I dragged out the
blue towrope, which reeked of petrol, and walked back towards the house.
     I still hadn't answered the question: What now?
     I stepped up  on to the veranda and  peered through  the  mesh into the
house. Aaron couldn't be  seen but Carrie was still in the director's chair,
bent  over, arms on her thighs,  studying the floor. I watched her for a few
moments as she rubbed her hair before dabbing her eyes.
     As I bent down to gather up the hammock I realized what I  was going to
do about it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I  didn't have the luxury of doing
anything other than I'd come here to do: keep Kelly alive.
     I had  to keep  mission-orientated; that was the  only  thing  I had to
concentrate on. Fuck everything  else.  My sole focus had to be keeping  the
Yes Man happy: he was the one  who  could fuck  life up big-time for both of
us, not whatever was going on down here.
     I cut away from all extraneous thoughts and mentally confirmed  what my
whole life should have been about since Sunday. The mission: to kill Michael
Choi. The mission: to kill Michael Choi.
     With the  hammock and tow-rope gathered  in my arms I pulled the mozzie
screen  open just as Aaron tiptoed out of Luz's darkened bedroom  and gently
closed the  door.  He put his hands together against the side of his face as
he walked towards me.
     I kept my voice low.
     "Listen, I  didn't know anything about  Carrie, her  dad, or any of the
other stuff until  today. I'm sorry if life is  shit, but I've come  to do a
job and I still need to be taken to do it."
     He rubbed his  face so hard that the bristles rasped, and drew a  long,
deep breath.
     "You know why's she doing this, right?"
     I nodded, shrugged, tried to get out of it, and failed.
     "Something to do with a passport, something like that?"
     "You got it. But you know what?  I think she would have done it anyway.
No matter how much she hates to admit it, she's just like  George, takes the
Stars and Stripes gig to the max, know what I mean?"
     He  placed a hand  on  my  shoulder and forced a smile.  I nodded,  not
really having a clue  what  the fuck he was on about, and not really wanting
to explore it further.
     There was a pause before he withdrew his hand and  held up his wrist to
show his watch.
     "Anything  you need?" He was right: it was nearly  ten o'clock, time to
go.
     There is. I put all of that explosive from the hut in one of your tubs,
and I've left it down there."
     'You taking it with you?"
     I nodded.
     He took another  of his deep breaths, trying  hard not to  ask why.  It
seemed there were other things apart from the move north that Carrie  didn't
talk to him about.
     "OK, gimme five."
     We parted, him to his bedroom  and me back to the storeroom. Carrie was
still sitting on the director's chair, her elbows on  the desk, cradling her
head.  I  left  her to it and packed  the hammock and  other stuff  into the
bergen.
     The mozzie  screen squeaked and  slammed as Aaron  left  to collect the
device.
     Remembering  that  I  still needed dry  clothes,  I went  back  to  the
computer room.
     "Carrie?" There was no reply.
     "Carrie?"
     She slowly lifted her head as I  walked into the room,  not looking too
good, eyes and cheeks red. Things had changed: I felt sorry for her now.
     "I need some more clothes." I pulled at my mud-covered sweatshirt.
     "A complete set of stuff."
     It seemed to take her a second to understand what I was saying.
     "Oh,  right." She  stood up.  'I'll, um ..." She  coughed  to clear her
throat as she left the room.
     "Sure."
     I  rummaged around under  the cot and  shelves for more  thin polythene
blanket  wrappers.  With  several ripped ones in  my  hands, I picked up the
rifle and checked chamber by pulling the bolt up and back slightly to expose
the  brass case and head of the  round. I  already knew it was there, but it
made  me feel better  to  see it and know that  when I fired I wouldn't just
hear a dead man's click. Satisfied, I swathed the  muzzle and  working parts
in polythene again, completing the seal with tape before checking the muzzle
protection was still intact.
     Carrie reappeared with  a thick brown  cotton shirt and matching canvas
trousers.
     She never seemed to provide socks or underwear;  maybe Aaron didn't use
them.
     They went into the  protective  plastic  in the  bergen,  which  I then
closed down with the other two mozzie nets on top.
     She watched as I checked my leg. The  bandage was covered with mud  but
that  didn't  matter; the important  thing was that  there  was  no sign  of
leakage.
     I gave my trousers a good squirt of  Deet  before tucking them  into my
very smelly socks, then  doused them as  well. Once I'd finished the front I
got  to work on my forearms,  my hands, all round my neck and my  head, even
getting it into my hair.
     I wanted to be armour-plated with the stuff, and I'd go on replenishing
it  all  the time I was on  the ground. I  carried on squirting it  over  my
clothing and rubbing it in. Anywhere that wasn't covered in mud got the good
news. I threw her one of the bottles as she stood, zombie-like.
     "Do my back, will you?"
     It seemed to snap her out of her trance. She started rubbing it roughly
into my sweatshirt.
     "I'm taking you."
     "What?"
     "It's my job, I'll take you. I'm the one who wants the passport."
     I nodded. I didn't want to  get involved and talk more about it. We had
done enough of that. All I wanted now was the lift.
     The rubbing stopped.
     "We ought to be going."
     The half-used bottle appeared over my shoulder.
     "But first I want to tuck my child in."
     She walked out, and I  packed  all the Deet bottles in the top flap and
started to wrap  the weapon in the blanket for protection, not too sure if I
was looking forward to the ride or not.
     TWENTY-EIGHT
     The  atmosphere was strained as Carrie and  I shook around in  the cab,
following the  beam as it bounced off the jungle around us.  The wet foliage
shone as if it had been coated with varnish.
     For several kilometres her eyes had been fixed  on the section of track
carved  out by the  lights,  trying  to negotiate  the  ruts that rocked  us
rhythmically from side to side. I let my head wobble but kept a  hand on the
rifle between my knees to protect the zero.
     We eventually  emerged from the forest and passed through the valley of
dead trees. At last she cleared her throat.
     "After all  that  we have said to each other ... this doesn't  need  to
change things, Nick."
     "Yeah, well, we all make mistakes."
     "No, Nick, it wasn't a mistake, I  need  you to believe  that. What you
said means something. I'll never abuse that trust."
     "Is that why you told your dad I had a fever?"
     "Like I said, no one ever need know. I don't lie, Nick."
     Thanks."
     "Am  I forgiven?" She glanced at me to check that she really was before
her eyes darted back to the track as we tilted left.
     "Can't your dad just give Luz a passport? Surely he can sort that out?"
     "Sure he can,  I  know that. But he  knows  I'm  desperate.  I've never
gotten  anything  from him for free. I always had to earn  it  first. It was
only going to be for locating the relay board. Then it got worse, some  food
and stores,  a few gallons of two-stroke. They didn't want to go to Chepo in
case they got recognized, I suppose ... Then you came along."
     I sat and watched her as her eyes concentrated on the driving  but  her
mind was elsewhere.
     "Aaron was right. He told me that once it started it'd never stop, he'd
keep using me. You know what? Maybe he's right, but as  soon as the passport
comes we'll be out of here."
     "You'll go to your mum's? Boston?"
     "She's got a house in Marblehead, on the coast. I have a job waiting at
MIT and Luz is set for school."
     What's the score with your  dad? I can't work out if you hate him, love
him or what."
     T can't either. Then,  sometimes, I  even  get a little jealous  of the
attention he gives Luz, and others I think he only does it to keep an eye on
me."
     Still concentrating on the road, it seemed it was her turn to open up.
     "I never knew who he really was, what he really did. He just went away,
came back sometimes with something he'd pick up for me last minute, normally
something totally unsuitable. Then he left  again as soon as I'd gotten used
to  him being around.  Mom just  waited till I'd left for university and she
left, too. He's a cold man, but still my father."
     I tapped the muzzle.
     "He gave you this."
     She turned for a second and a fleeting smile came to her lips.
     "His way of saying he loves you, maybe?"
     "Maybe, but maybe it was only because he forgot to pack it when leaving
the Zone after his tour."
     "Aaron  said  you're  very  much  like  him  something about stars  and
stripes?"
     She laughed: this was obviously well-trodden ground.
     "Aaron  only thinks  that because, for  once,  I  agree with  George on
what's gone wrong in this country.  Aaron's too  stubborn to see it,  that's
why he wants to  stay. He's hoping for a brighter future but it ain't coming
on its  own.  The Zone as he remembers it has  gone. We, America,  let  that
happen. It's disgusting."
     "You guys could come back if the canal was threatened.
     Isn't there a clause in the treaty, something in the small print?"
     "Oh, yeah, sure like the Russians are going to invade. I'm not planning
my future around it."
     "What's  the big deal? After  all,  you lot gave the thing back, didn't
you?"
     She bristled.
     "No Carter did."
     We nearly hit the roof as the wagon bounced out of a rut deeper than it
had looked.
     "We  built  the  canal,  we  built  the country.  Geographically,  it's
virtually part of the US coastline, for Christ's sake. People like Lulu died
for  it and  that peanut-munching inadequate threw it  away like a Kleenex."
She paused.
     "Do you really want to know why it's such a big deal?"
     I nodded.
     "Why not?"
     "OK, there  are two major problems to address."  Her right index finger
sprang upwards from the bucking steering-wheel.
     SOUTH COM drugs interdiction and eradication capability  is now about a
third of what it used to  be before  'ninety-nine. In  short,  it's history.
People like Charlie and PARC are getting a free run. Unless action is taken,
and quickly, we lose the drugs war for ever.
     If  you think there's a problem now, watch this space."  She  shook her
head in disbelief at her countrymen's folly.
     "You know what I mean, don't you?"
     I  did.  I'd  got  to know quite a  few of the victims  these last  few
months.
     "So, the only answer was what Clinton did throw a billion plus at  Plan
Colombia, with troops, hardware,  all to kick ass down there. You  know what
Plan Colombia is, right? Of course, stupid, sorry."
     The suspension creaked and things rattled under the wagon as she fought
with the wheel.
     "Without the  Zone, we had no alternative but to project further south,
take the fight to them in their backyard."
     I was studying the red glow on the side of her face as she concentrated
on the track.
     "But it ain't going to work. No way. We're just getting dragged  into a
long, costly war down there that's going  to have little impact on the  drug
trade."
     Her eyes, still fixed  on the  way ahead, gleamed with conviction.  Her
father would have been proud of her, I was sure.
     I'm telling you,  we're getting  pulled into their civil war instead of
fighting drugs.  Soon it'll spread into Venezuela, Ecuador and all the rest.
This is  Vietnam the Sequel. Because we have  given away  the Zone,  we have
created a situation where we now need it more than ever. Crazy, no?"
     It made sense to me.
     "Otherwise it'll be  like launching  the  D-Day invasion of France from
New York?"
     She gave me a smile of approval, between fighting the ruts.
     "Panama's going to be needed as a forward operating area  from which to
project our forces,  as well as a buffer to stop the conflict spreading into
Central America. What Clinton has done  is a very dangerous alternative, but
without the Zone and what it stands for, he had no choice."
     We lapsed into silence again as she negotiated  the last bit  of  track
and we finally hit the road to Chepo.
     "And the most scary, fucked-up thing of all is  that China now runs the
canal.
     When we left, it  created a  power vacuum that China's filling. Can you
imagine  it? Without one shot being fired, Communist China is in control  of
one of the  United States' most important trade routes, in our backyard. Not
only that,  we actually let the very country that could back PARC in the war
take control."
     I could see now what Aaron had been on about.
     "Come on,  it's just  a  Hong Kong firm who got  the contract. They run
ports worldwide."
     Her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth.
     "Oh,  yeah? Well, ten per cent of it is owned  by Beijing  they operate
the  ports at each end of the canal and some of  our old military locations.
In effect, we've got Communist China controlling fourteen per cent of all US
trade, Nick can  you believe we let that happen? A country that openly calls
the US its number-one enemy. Since 1919 they  have recognized the importance
of the canal."
     She shook her head bitterly.
     "Aaron's right, I do agree with George, even  though  his politics have
always been to the right of Attila the Hun."
     I was starting to see her point. I'd never look at Dover docks in quite
the same way again.
     "Charlie was one of the group instrumental in pushing the Chinese deal.
I wonder what  his kickback was freedom  to  use the docks for business? And
you know what? Hardly anyone knows up north the han dover deadline just sort
of sneaked up on America. And Clinton? He didn't do a thing."
     She didn't seem too keen on Democrat presidents.
     The threat  to  the US is real,  Nick. The hard reality  is that  we're
getting dragged into a South American war because  we gave away the canal to
China. The  Chinese, not  us, are now  sitting on one  of the  world's  most
important trade routes and they haven't  paid a cent for the privilege. It's
our bat and ball they're playing with, for Christ's sake."
     I started to see pinholes of light penetrating the  blackness ahead: we
were approaching Chepo. I gave her a long, hard look, trying  to figure  her
out as we rumbled over the gravel, and she kept glancing rapidly over at me,
waiting for some kind of response.
     "I guess this is where I fit in," I  said.  'I'm here to  stop  Charlie
handing over a missile guidance system to PARC so they can't  use it against
US helicopters in Colombia."
     "Hey, so you're one of the good guys." She'd started smiling again.
     That's not the way it feels." I hesitated.
     "Your dad wants me to kill Charlie's son."
     She jolted the wagon to a halt  on the gravel, the engine  ticking over
erratically.  I could now see her full face in red shadow.  I couldn't  make
out whether the look in her eyes was shock or disgust. Maybe it was both. It
soon became a mixture of  confusion  and  the realization that I had been as
economical with the truth as she had.
     "I  couldn't  tell  you  because of OP  SEC  I tried  to fight  it  but
couldn't, the lid was still completely off.
     "And  also  because  I'm ashamed.  But  I've  still got  to  do it. I'm
desperate, just like you."  I glanced  out at  the expanse  of  muddy, water
filled potholes caught in the headlights.
     "His name is Michael. Aaron teaches him at the university."
     She slumped in her seat. The locks ... he told me about-' That's right,
he's just a few years older than Luz."
     She  didn't respond. Her eyes joined mine, facing forward  and fixed on
the tunnel of light.
     "So, now you have  the  misfortune  of  knowing all that I know." Still
nothing.  It was time for me to shut up and just look out at the illuminated
mud and gravel as  the wagon moved  off.  Then  I turned  and watched as she
pursed her lips, shook her head and drove as if she was on autopilot.
     TWENTY-NINE
     Friday 8 September We'd  hardly  exchanged  another  word as we bounced
around in the cab for the next couple of hours.
     I  finished  getting the bergen out of the back and  pulled back on the
leaf sight as far as it would go to check that the battle sights were set at
400.
     "Nick?"
     I  leaned down to the half-open  window. Bathed by the red glow  of the
dash she was moving the blanket I'd thrown from the weapon, which had landed
on the selector.
     "Michael  is dying to save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. It's the
only way I can deal with it. Maybe it'll work for you."
     I nodded,  concentrating  more  on protecting the  zero than trying  to
justify myself. Charlie should be getting the good news, not his boy.
     "It's certainly going to save one, Nick. One that you love very much, I
know.
     Sometimes we have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons, no?" She
held  my  gaze for  another  couple of seconds,  then  glanced down  at  the
selector. I wondered if she was going to look up again, but she chose Drive,
and hit the gas.
     I  stood and watched  the red tail-lights fade into the  darkness, then
waited the three minutes or so it  would take for my night  vision  to start
kicking in. When I could see where I was putting my feet, I tied the gollock
around my  waist, checked for the hundredth time  that the map and docs were
still secure in my leg pockets, and  felt for the  Silva  compass that  hung
round my neck under my T-shirt. Then I shouldered  my bergen, heaved the tub
on top,  and held it in place with a straight arm, my left hand gripping the
handle.  With the rifle in my right, I moved down to the road junction, then
headed west towards the house.
     I  soon broke  out  in  a sweat under the weight of the load, and could
taste the bitterness of Deet as it ran into my mouth. Only  three and a half
hours of darkness remained, by the end of which I needed to be ready at  the
gate. As soon  as it was light enough to see what I  was doing, I  needed to
place the device and find a firing position in the opposite treeline. It was
pointless trying to rig it up in darkness; I'd spend more time rectifying my
mistakes at first light than if I'd just done it then in the first place.
     The plan was so simple that as  I pushed on, listening and looking  for
vehicles, there  wasn't much to think about until I  got  there. My mind was
free to roam, but I wasn't going to allow that. It was time for nothing else
but the mission.
     After  a  few changes of arm  supporting  the weight of the tub,  I was
finally at the gates. Keeping over  to the right, in cover, I dumped the tub
while I caught my  breath.  Ground-mounted  perimeter lights illuminated the
walls, making  it  look even  more like a hotel. When  eventually  I  looked
through the railings of  the gate, the fountain  was still  lit, and I could
see the glint of  light on  a number of  vehicles  parked haphazardly in the
drive beyond it. The gold side windows of the Lexus winked back at me.
     The house was asleep,  no light  shining  out, apart from the  enormous
chandelier,  which sparkled through a large window  that I took to be  above
the main entrance.
     There wasn't  going to be any finesse about this  device, but it had to
be set very precisely. As the vehicle moved through the gates, the force  of
the shaped charge had to be directed exactly where I wanted it. I would also
have to make sure it was well camouflaged with the mozzie net.
     I went back and collected the tub, then stumbled along the animal track
that ran  between the wall and the canopy. The wall ran out after just seven
or eight metres, and at that point I moved a few feet back into the trees to
wait for  first light.  There was no need  to  go further. Besides,  some of
Diego's traps might still be set.
     Keeping the bergen on my back, I sat on the tub  with the weapon across
my legs to protect  the zero, the plastic  protection  rustling gently  each
time I moved. I was just willing the mozzies to try to take a bite out of me
now I was 95 per cent pure Deet, but they seemed to know better.
     I  changed my mind about keeping  the bergen on. It wasn't serving  any
purpose and, besides, I wanted water  from  the side pouch. As  I  took slow
sips I unstuck the T-shirt from my itchy chigger rash and gazed enviously at
the house with its air-conditioning and refrigerators working overtime.
     The occasional animal made  a noise in  the jungle as the mozzies still
circled in holding patterns around me, sounding like kamikaze planes heading
for  my face  before changing course after a sniff of what I had waiting for
them.
     Once I'd put the water back into the bergen I gave myself  another  rub
down  with the Deet, just in case they discovered a gap in the de fences The
tiny bits of leaf and bark on my hands scrubbed against my face and stubble.
     I sat, scratched my back, felt the fur on my teeth with my  tongue, and
wished I'd hit the fire press el three times when I'd had the chance.
     About forty-five boring minutes later I began  to see  an  arc  of pale
light rising above  the treeline. It was going to  be a dull one.