Infiltrator

sides.

Epifanio watched the big man go and shook his head. They'd been nervous when this European showed up to run the estancia. The rumor had been that he'd never run catfle before. More troubling, he turned out to be German; at least Epifanio thought von Rossbach was German. Things were different over there; it was all cities and snow, so how could he possibly know how to run an estancia?

Mennonites were good farmers—there were plenty of them in the Chaco—but von Rossbach was the other variety of German. And while the Germans the overseer knew were very fine people, honest and hardworking, they were also stubborn and determined to have their own way, as well as being very demanding employers.

But von Rossbach had worked out wonderfully. Better than wonderful. Epifanio had been certain that he, too, would end up covered with reeking muck. But here he was dry and clean. They didn't make many like Dieter von Rossbach.

He sat his horse, waiting for the cow to decide when she wanted to get up and sucked his teeth as he thought.

The boss was always polite. Especially to Marieta, the housekeeper, Epifanio's wife. For instance, von Rossbach took care never to swear in her presence. The overseer had heard him swear and the big man knew some colorful curses, so it was definitely a matter of courtesy. Even though Marieta herself swore like a trooper.

Epifanio wondered how long the boss would stick around. He learned fast and he had plans for the estancia, but it was obvious that after only six months he was becoming bored.

The cow heaved herself to her feet and stood for a moment on wobbly legs. She gave a juicy snort, then began to nibble some grass. The overseer dropped a rope over her head again and turned to lead her back to her paddock.

'Come on, girl,' he said. 'I'll hose you down and you'll feel much, much better.'

Clean, but still sensing a ghostly whiff of the swamp about his person, Dieter sat at his desk, prepared to pick up where he'd left off. The casa grande was old, massive adobe walls, rafters of thick quebracho— ax-breaker—trunks. That was one reason he'd bought it when he came looking for a peaceful, quiet place to retire. It had character; the tiles on the roof and floors had been handmade, you could see the slight ripple. This office had windows that opened onto an interior patio, with a fountain and a pale crimson sheet of jacaranda running up a trellis on the opposite wall. Hummingbirds hovered around it. The whole thing was soothing… until you'd been thoroughly soothed.

His workspace was utterly modern by contrast, with a state-of-the-art IBM, a nice little satellite-uplink dish to give broadband access to the Web, and a full suite of equipment. His answering machine was blinking, so he hit the play button and picked up his pen.

'Senor von Rossbach?' a young female voice inquired. She paused as though she expected him to answer. 'This is the Krieger Trucking Company? We've received a shipment for you from the King Ranch in the United States?' She

hesitated, as if unsure the message was clear. 'It's waiting here for you to pick it up?' Another nervous little hesitation. 'All right, good-bye.' And she hung up.

Dieter checked his watch. Two o'clock—siesta would be well over by the time he got there. Anyone who expected Paraguayans to do anything during siesta went mad in short order—and he had to admit, in this climate the custom made sense. He looked at his neat desk and decided there wasn't anything that desperately needed his attention right now.

'Senora Garcia,' he called out, rising from his chair. 'Do you need anything in Villa Hayes?'

He found her in the kitchen, where she was plucking a chicken for dinner. She wanted him to call her Marieta and pretended she didn't hear him when he referred to her as senora.

'Do we need anything in Villa Hayes?' he asked again.

' Si. Laundry soap,' she said, not looking up. 'The kind in the yellow box with the red letters, and matches for the stove.'

'Anything else?' She usually had a list a foot long.

Marieta shook her head. 'I'm going in to town myself on Monday with Epifanio,' she said. 'My grandnephew is coming on the bus from Tobati.

He's going to work here for you this summer.' She grinned up at him. 'You'll like him, he's a good boy.'

If he was as likable as her local nephews, he probably would. But if he was like her local nephews, there would also probably be as much soccer playing as cattle ranching. Dieter's lips quirked up in a smile. What the hell, he could afford it, and they were good kids. Sometimes, just lately, he'd had wistful thoughts about children. Not something you even thought about, in his previous profession, where the phrase 'giving hostages to fortune' had an unpleasantly literal meaning.

'See you later,' Dieter said, and headed for his Land Rover.

Sarah stared at the second drawer of her desk and sighed. As long as it's there I'll never get any work done, she told herself. She tightened her lips, and quickly, so that she couldn't change her mind, opened the drawer, took out the flask, and went into the washroom. Without allowing herself to think about it, she opened it and upended the contents into the sink.

Sarah came out screwing on the cap and looked up to find Ernesto giving her a huge, sunny smile. He raised one grease-blackened hand in salute and she returned it, her own smile a little ironic.

One thing that this little struggle had taught her was that she had a fight on her hands. I didn't realize things had gone this far, she thought. Sarah bit her full lower lip and considered the flask. 'You want this?' she asked her chief mechanic.

His eyebrows went up. ' Si, sefiora,' he said coming over to her. ' Gracias.'

It was a nice flask, smooth steel with a cap that could be used as a cup.

'No problemo,' she said, smiling as though it wasn't. But Sarah found that she hated to give it up, and had to stop herself from yanking it back with a snarl.

'I will take good care of it, senora,' Ernesto said anxiously, noting the look in her eyes.

Sarah blinked. 'I know you will,' she said with a wave of her hand. 'Enjoy it.'

She smiled at him. Then she walked back to her office, her heart pounding.

At four-thirty Sarah went to the reception area to cover for Meylinda's break.

She needed a cigarette. She also needed a drink, but she needed a cigarette more.

Maybe it was a good idea to give up drinking and smoking together, have one big torture session instead of two smaller ones.

Maybe they'll each cancel out the other's cravings, she thought. I'll be so paralyzed trying to decide which unhealthy thing I want more that by the time I make up my mind, I'll have kicked both habits.

She picked up a stack of papers for filing and noticed that her hands were shaking. Would this day ever end? And she was jumpy. If someone dropped something…

Ernesto slammed the hood of one of the trucks and she jumped a foot. Sarah held her breath and counted to twenty before her heart rate went back to normal. Then she was suddenly furious, first with Ernesto for slamming and banging things around, then with herself. What was I thinking? How could I let myself get like this?

Somewhere deep inside her was the absolute conviction that one day she would

need to be on her game, strong and focused. One day it would happen and she had to be ready.

But the logical, sensible, everyday side of her had talked her out of it, at least on a conscious level. She and John and the Terminator had taken care of the problem. They were safe, everyone was safe, it was over. The bad days were behind them, the running, the asylum, the stockpiling, all over.

A crooked smile twisted her lips. Those stockpiles of arms and food baking in deep, well-camouflaged holes throughout the southwestern U.S. and northern Mexico would bring in a lot of cash if she were interested in selling