'Come on, Marchardo,' Pardee ordered Blancanales as he climbed into the jeep. 'Looks like Morgan misses the movie.'
* * *
Staring at the screen without seeing the images, Lyons waited. The film's story followed the recruitment of a mercenary force to attack an African nation. After corporate executives struck an agreeable deal with the nation's leaders, the executives abandoned the soldiers of fortune to the mercy of thousands of Cuban-led Simba cutthroats. The scenes of death, dismemberment and heroism brought bursts of laughter from the real-life mercenaries in the audience. Soldiers guzzled their rations of beer, then threw the cans at the screen. Storms of popcorn flew in the air. Soldiers ad-libbed, shouting advice to the actors. Other soldiers argued with the advice.
Chaos and noise, so no one noticed Blancanales slip into the seat beside Lyons. 'How's the flick?'
'No one's started shooting yet,' Lyons replied.
Bursts of machine-gun fire, mortar blasts and screaming came from the screen. Blancanales pointed. 'Then what's that?'
'I mean in here.' Lyons indicated the audience of mercenaries around them. Both of them laughed briefly. Lyons asked: 'What's going on?'
'Your shooting impressed Pardee, so you've got a chance. They want you and me to go on an operation tomorrow night. Furst went over to the electronics shop to see what Gadgets can do. Pardee's waiting outside. We're supposed to go out to the firing range and check you out on a Starlite. You sure Furst would recognize you?'
Lyons grinned. 'You bet your life. And Gadgets' life too.'
'Furst won't be out at the firing range. I think we should risk it, it'll be dark soon. You got a chance.'
'What about tomorrow?'
'Tomorrow's another day.'
They left the seats and wove through the shouting, beer-drinking, popcorn-heaving mercenaries. At the exit, Lyons stopped Blancanales: 'The way we have our stories worked out, I'm the newcomer. You and Gadgets can deny it all. Turn me in, and you've got a chance.' Blancanales shook his head, no.
* * *
Searching through racks of components, Gadgets made a list. A plastic bucket containing discarded solid- state circuit boards toppled from the top of the rack and crashed to the floor. Gadgets glanced at the spilled circuit boards. He picked one up and scratched a component from the list.
Televisions filled the workshop. Remote-controlled pan/tilt/zoom units lined one wall. A technician cleaned a mass of gears with a fine brush as he talked with Furst:
'It's the sand. We can't keep it out of the housings. We have two or three units a day go down. And then we get sun-flares burned into the videcon tubes. We put on filters, we can't use the cameras at night. Without the filters, the cameras burn. I tell you, Texas is a rough place for this equipment...'
Furst ignored the technician. He called out to Gadgets: 'You find what you need?'
Gadgets left the racks. 'Here's what I can do for you.'
* * *
Scanning the darkness of the firing range and the rocky foothills beyond, all of it green through the optics of the Starlite scope, Lyons found the bottles. He paused to fix each in the cross hairs, then popped each with a single round from the M-16.
'That's six,' Pardee told him.
'Just a second...' Lyons saw a shape scurry through the rocks. He waited. When it moved again, he fired.
'What was that?' Blancanales asked.
'A rat.'
'A head shot, I suppose,' Pardee joked.
'Nah, nothing fancy,' Lyons replied. 'I shot him through the heart.'
'Okay, you're going south. Rest your feet tomorrow. In twenty-four hours, you got a twenty-mile hike, then target practice on Mexican dopers.'
Slipping out the magazine and clearing the chamber, Lyons handed the rifle to Pardee. 'I don't want to knock the equipment, but how about getting that scope on an M-14? Mattel's swell, but...'
'Heavy rifle. You willing to carry it?'
'Dopers need the heavy stuff. Might not notice a five-five-six.'
Pardee laughed and slapped Lyons on the back. 'That's the attitude! You have to meet Colonel Furst, he'd like you.'
Headlights flashed on the road from camp. In the quiet of the rolling desert, the whine of an engine came to them.
'Well, there, Morgan. Looks like you meet the man immediately. Here.' Pardee returned the M-16 to Lyons. 'I think you'll be doing some more shooting.'
As Pardee walked downslope to the parking area, Lyons snapped the magazine into the receiver and eased back the action to chamber a round. He looked at Blancanales and muttered: 'Maybe so.'
* * *
Schwarz rode in the passenger seat. Despite the darkness and the slipwind of the open jeep, Gadgets was sketching a design in a notebook. He finished a detail, held the drawing up for Furst as he drove, a shaky flashlight beaming onto the drawing.
'That's what it would look like,' Gadgets told him. 'I can put that together from the materials in the shop.'
* * *
On the range, Lyons looked down to the jeep, gripped the top-heavy M-16. Blancanales stepped close to him: 'We'll wait for him up here. If he recognizes...'
'
'Okay, when he recognizes you...'
'Bang, bang.'
* * *
In the jeep, a beeping cut off Gadget's tech talk. Furst touched a pager on his belt. He braked as he pulled up to Pardee and the other jeep.
'Urgent call,' Furst told Pardee as Gadgets stepped out of the jeep. 'Take Schwarz back to the base. I'm going up the hill.'
Pardee guffawed, slapped the side of the jeep as it pulled away. He watched the taillights streak in the direction of the Monroe mansion. He laughed again. 'Urgent!'
* * *
Wearing a white silk kimono splashed with patterns of red waves, Availa Monroe stood in the road. She raised her arms to stop the jeep, the headlights making the red and white silk blaze against the night. The soft desert wind flagged the silk. As he braked, Furst stared: in the wind and headlight glare, the woman looked like a saint seen in a dream... a beautiful girl writhing in flames, or flags, or the bloody rags of a shroud.
'Here, I want you here.' She clutched at him, tried to pull him from the seat of the jeep. 'Stop now. Get out and take me.'
'Wait! Just...' He idled the vehicle off the asphalt a few car lengths and parked it against rocks. He jumped out, the sand soft under his feet.
Availa rushed to him, her kimono a pale fluttering around her. There were no embraces or kisses. She clawed her red lacquered nails into his fatigue shirt, dragged him down onto her. She tore the silk of the kimono aside and threw her body against him.
The sand was warm beneath them. She took him with her violent passion. In their few weeks as lovers, she had wanted more of him every time she called him. Now, her lust demanded every ounce of his force. She clutched, implored, commanded. She sneered when he tired. It drove him to anger. He beat her with his body, slamming into her as if to murder her. He did not slacken his pace or violence until she gripped him with her legs, spasmed and thrashed.
He slowed. She dug her nails into his back, hissed into his face: 'Again. Again!'
