If Lyons went elsewhere in the camp, he risked Furst's spotting him. If he went into the hills again, he risked the suspicion of the other soldiers. Why did the newcomer avoid the others? Why did the newcomer hide in the desert?
He had to stay with his comrades, celebrating the perfect strike against the Mexican heroin gang. Lyons and Blancanales even pretended to drink and stagger and sing like the others.
Long after dark, Blancanales heard the car stop outside. He glanced through the door, saw Furst leave a Mercedes four-door sedan. Blancanales kicked a stack of beer bottles to alert Lyons. But Lyons was not at his bunk.
Blancanales hurried to the common washroom at the far end of the long barrack. He glanced inside, saw a soldier passed out in a shower stall, but no Lyons. Could he have gone outside? Blancanales rushed to the back door, checked the back steps. No one, only scattered bottles.
'Marchardo!' Furst called out. The athletic, immaculately groomed ex-con wove through the party's debris. He motioned for Blancanales to join him.
Blancanales faked drunkenness as he staggered to his commander. Watching him, Furst smiled, then put his arm over the middle-aged man's strong shoulders and walked him back to his bunk.
Furst sat on an empty bunk. 'Looks like there was a celebration here.'
'Sure was.' As Blancanales fell back on his own bunk, he hit his head on the steel frame. He straightened up, blinking, rubbing the back of his head. 'Had a lot to drink, had a lot to sing...' Blancanales sang a line from
'Maybe next week,' Furst laughed. 'You men deserved whatever rewards you wanted. But security, you understand. We can't risk...'
'We could make an airborne assault on Juarez. Raid the red-light district. Get us some female conscripts.'
'Wait another week,' Furst told him. He slipped something from his pocket, handed it to Blancanales. 'Then buy yourself a very special dame.'
It was a thousand-dollar bill. Blancanales grinned, sniffed it. 'This is my bonus?'
'Pardee briefed me on your role.' Furst glanced around, lowered his voice. 'I want to assure you, in the coming mission, that you will be rewarded in direct proportion to your participation. And I don't mean medals or combat ribbons. I mean money. Pardee told me he wished he'd recruited a hundred of you. And if he could have found good men, first-quality warriors like you and your friends, we would have paid. In this army, we do not concern ourselves with economy. Only with quality. So where's the shooter — what's his name? Morgan?'
Blancanales laughed. 'Last time I saw him, he had a fifth in each hand, and was heading for the mountains. Raving like a lunatic.'
'Tell him to report to my office in the morning. I'll have his money for him. And the other man, Luther Schwarz?'
'Haven't seen him in a long while. Said he had work to do. Said you gave him a promotion.'
'And I also have a promotion for his bank account.' Furst saluted as he left. '
After Furst's boots went down the steps, Lyons came out from under the bunk.
'You were under the?...'
'Nah, man. I'm up in the hills, screaming at the moon.' Lyons slipped a sheathed bayonet from under his bunk's mattress. 'This hide-and-seek with Mr. Movie Star has got to quit. See you soon.'
Silently leaving the barrack, Lyons saw the Mercedes parked in the road. Furst wasn't in it. A hundred yards away, in the direction of the camp's mess hall and offices, was Furst, barely visible. Lyons followed the man, staying in the shadows, yet not attempting to conceal himself. If someone saw him out of a window, Lyons would be just another soldier walking. He hoped Furst did not turn around.
Furst went to the one office where the lights were on.
* * *
As an afterthought, Gadgets added a self-switching interlock for a cassette recorder to the receiver. Once he planted the miniature microphone/transmitter, he could not expect to continuously monitor the conversations. He did not have the recorder yet, so he added cassette players to his list of needed components. He would have to dream up some device that used a tape-delay transmission in order to justify the recorder.
Looking around at the stacked components in the makeshift workshop, he thought of his own workshop back at Stony Man Farm. There, he had everything. No project was beyond his means. And if he lacked a component or tool or instrument, he only had to make a call. One time he'd been tinkering with a Soviet radar unit recovered from a Hindu gunship downed in Afghanistan. He needed a miniature socket wrench for a crazy Russian bolt. He called one of the numbers. Minutes later, an air force sergeant stepped out of a helicopter with the wrench. At four in the morning. That was good service.
Here, he had only needle-nosed pliers, micro-screwdrivers, a soldering gun. For components he had to scavenge parts from broken-down video systems, aircraft transceivers, all sorts of discarded electronic gizmos. Everyone had always told Gadgets he was inventive, resourceful, a genius, a wizard. This job in the Texas desert proved it. He wondered what kind of life he would have had if he'd stuck to trade school after the army. Most likely a job in a factory. Maybe a promotion to design or quality control. Maybe even a college degree on the company plan. All that driving to work in the morning. Driving home at night. Staring at a television. Wow, it made his Able Team work look like a spell in Paradise! Even if he did get shot at sometimes.
Boots scraped on the steel steps. Gadgets shoved the crude mini-mike and receiver into the table's clutter as Commander Furst opened the door.
'Don't you sleep?' Furst asked him.
'What? Yeah, I... what time is it?'
Furst glanced at his platinum Rolex. 'After ten.'
'At night?' Gadgets looked past Furst. Moonlight bathed the distant desert hills. 'Oh, yeah.
Guess I lost track of time. I thought I'd get straight to work on the ECM's.'
Unsnapping the hip pocket flap of his tailored uniform, Furst took out a fist-sized roll of bills and pulled one off. He laid it on the table in front of Gadgets. 'Payday.'
'Gee, I don't see a lot of these. They're out of circulation, but still legal tender.' Gadgets held it up to the light, snapped the crisp paper. 'Grover Cleveland, my favorite president!'
While Gadgets laughed, Furst stripped off another bill and laid it on the table. Another thousand dollars.
'That for Marchardo? Morgan?'
'You. I need a favor.'
His laughter gone, Gadgets waited. There was only one chair in the small room. Furst pushed aside assembled components and sat on the edge of the table.
'You seem to be able to do anything with electronics. Can you make miniature transmitters? Bugs? And a receiver?'
'Ah... sure. If I can get the parts. I don't have the parts here.'
'So you go to El Paso tomorrow.'
* * *
Lyons waited, invisible in a shadow, for some minutes before realizing his mistake.
Moving fast, Lyons returned to the barrack. He glanced at the Mercedes en route. Other than some dust on the tires, the luxury sedan was immaculate. Furst could not have come from the outside.
He was oh his way out. Lyons went into the barrack.
'Hey, you still awake?' Lyons whispered to Blancanales.
'You do it?'
'Not yet. I think he's leaving the camp. Therefore I am going to be an uninvited hitchhiker.'
'I'll stand by. Adios.'
Snatching a dark blanket from one of the bunks, Lyons hurried outside. He tried the driver's door. Locked. Then he tried one of the back doors. It opened. With a last glance down the base road, Lyons climbed into the car and dropped down into the back seat's footwell.
The Mercedes had dark leather upholstery and black carpeting. With the dark blanket over him, Lyons
