Tower of Terror

training, and had no interest in the routine work of a political organization.

At the end of all the recruits' probationary periods, their officers had clearly recommended against advancement or weapons training. The officers decided the recruits were possibly federal agents or psychopaths, stamped their files 'Unreliable.'

Anthony Zuniga: 32, born in New York City, Vietnam veteran, trained in explosives, dishonorable discharge, one year in stockade while investigated for torture and murder of Viet Cong prisoners (evidence included severed body parts, snapshots of castrated prisoners). Served eight years in prison for armed robbery and mayhem. FALN sources discovered that Zuniga had worked as assassin for right-wing Cuban exiles. Has displayed charisma in attracting and influencing others.

Julio Torres: 19, born in New York, junior high-school dropout, bragged of 'making his first kill' at 13, no history of employment other than robbery and drug sales. Illiterate in English and Spanish,

Luisa Diaz: 20, born in Los Angeles, high-school dropout, graduate of California Youth Authority, served four years for armed robbery, murder, and participation in gang rapes (gang paid her to lure victims into the gang's trap). Heavy PCP user. Threatened FALN officer with physical violence when he told her there was no place for drugs in a revolutionary organization.

Felipe Parra: 21, high-school dropout, discharged from U.S. Army for striking an officer. Bragged of killing police officer in an ambush. Arrested for possession of sawed-off shotgun, jumped bail. Criticized organization, said: 'If I could steal an atomic bomb, I'd give the gringos a choice between keeping Puerto Rico or losing New York.'

Fernando Tur: 19, arsonist. Joked that his favorite sport was soaking derelicts with gasoline and burning them alive.

Ana Commacho: 23, five years in Youth Authority for murder of father when she was 13. One year in prison for ice-pick robbery of elderly. Bragged that she 'never got caught again, because now I kill them.'

Carlos Calazda: 30, Vietnam veteran. Dishonorable discharge. Trained as sniper, infiltrator. Investigated for atrocities; but investigating Staff Sergeant and Lieutenant died in an anti-personnel grenade explosion while visiting Da Nang restaurant: three other U.S. personnel killed in incident: friend of Calazda suspected of throwing grenade (Mario Silva).

Mario Silva: 31, Vietnam veteran. Trained in demolitions, indicted for murder of several U.S. personnel in Da Nang. Dishonorable discharge. Served two years for auto theft and rape. While in prison, attempted to join Mafia.

Rico Zavala: 19, five years in Youth Authority for torture of teenage girl. After release, went to armed robbery and murder. Clipped photos of victims from newspapers. Repeatedly asked FALN superiors to send him to assassinate U.S. government officials. Said to FALN officer: 'If we kill all the Yankee bosses, then we can be the bosses.'

Pedro Ortiz: 22, record of armed robbery. Fascinated by rifles. Self-trained sniper. Subject to fits of depression and rage. Respects only violence.

Jose Herva: 34, long-time FALN operative. Trained in organization and mission planning. Became compulsive gambler. Suspected of skimming contributions to FALN.

Of the 11, only Jose Herva had served with the FALN for any significant length of time. The others, denied advancement after their probationary periods, had been expected to drift away after their officers cut them off from pay, training, and meetings.

However, the 10, and Jose Herva as well, had apparently all disappeared at the same time.

The engrossing report he was reading, as he sat hunched in the back seat of the cab, distressed Blancanales for reasons not entirely to do with this mission. As counselor and volunteer organizer for a Catholic youth group back in his native Los Angeles, this man of action was known even to the kids as the Politician because of his ability to intervene in the lives of youths who were going bad. But there were some sad failures he seemed powerless to prevent, and this inventory of youthful corruption within the ranks of the FALN reminded him of it. He knew only too well that violent behavior would always, finally, meet with its violent fate. And this never ceased to cause him regret.

Now Blancanales understood why the FALN would help the Able Team: psychopaths murdering diners and elderly tourists did not produce good propaganda for them.

In a few minutes, the taxi made a turn into a narrow alley and stopped at the open door of a garage. Blancanales left the taxi without a word. He went into the garage.

He found his pistol, wallet, and the D.F. and minimike on the hood of a car. But before he could return his possessions to his pockets, he heard someone running in the alley. He spun, leveling his Browning at the entrance.

'What's going on here?' Gadgets ran into the garage. His canvas bag was wrapped around an Uzi, concealing it from witnesses.

'Now, nothing.' Blancanales holstered his pistol. 'I had my conference, they brought me back. And do I have information!'

'Yeah? Well, they got Lyons.'

'Shot him?'

'I don't know. But something's gone wrong. We thought you were in here. Twenty minutes ago we took out the sentries, then Lyons came down and was going to get in quiet, bring you back. And suddenly, no Lyons!'

They returned to the alley. Gadgets tried the hand-radio again, pressing the transmit button several times, shouting into the unit, 'Hey! Where are you? Come in!'

No response.

'When he checked in, he told me he was still on the street.'

'Those guys in there — the Puerto Ricans — they didn't take him. You won't believe it, but they're on our side. I'll explain later. Where's our backup?'

'On the other side of the block. Come on, we've got to backtrack him.'

Gadgets jogged away, clutching the canvas bag around the Uzi. He glanced at the doorways and fire escapes. Blancanales slipped the envelope into the waist of his jeans and followed his partner. He left his pistol in its shoulder holster: whatever was going to happen to Lyons had already happened.

Several fire escapes were suspended on the sides of the alley. Blancanales scanned the landings. On the higher floors of the buildings, he saw laundry, potted plants, furniture. He heard television voices and the rhythms of Latin music. But there was no one at their windows, no one standing in the back doorways.

Ahead of him, Gadgets spoke into his hand-radio, then went around the corner onto the avenue. Blancanales poked along, looking into doorways, glancing into trashcans. He saw something odd.

A textbook lay on the filthy steps of a basement's freight entrance. It was new, the pages stiff, unmarked by underlining or notes. Blancanales examined the area closely.

On the brick edge of a window, there were footmarks in the accumulated soot and dirt. At the top of the window's security bars, someone's hands had left two smeared spots in the filth coating the bars. There was a fire escape directly above the window. On the lowest rung of the steel ladder, there was a smear as if someone had clutched it.

And then he saw something else: on the bricks of the tenement, on the sheet steel of the basement door,