But they were simple folk, peasants.
They didn't know that they were describing a thermonuclear explosion.
Back in Vilcafor, Nash ordered the Green Berets to bring the German team's radio satellite equipment out onto the main street.
'Let's see what your people in Chile have got to sa' he said to Schroeder.
Schroeder popped the lid on the portable radio console and began typing something quickly on its all-weather key board. Nash, Scott and the Green Berets crowded around him, watching the console's screen intently.
Race stood outside the circle, excluded yet again.
'How are you feeling?' a woman's voice said suddenly from behind him.
He turned, half-expecting to see Lauren, but instead found himself looking into the dazzling blue eyes of the German woman.
She was small, petite—and seriously cute. She stood with her hands resting lazily on her hips and a smile that dis armed Race completely. .
She had a small button nose and short blonde hair, and liberal doses of mud splotched all over her face, T- shirt and jeans. She wore a bulletproof vest over her white T-shirt and a black Gore-Tex holster on her hip— identical to the one Schroeder wore. Like Schroeder's, her holster was now empty.
'How is your head feeling?' she asked. She had a slight German accent. Race liked it.
'It hurts,' he said.
'It should,' she said, coming over and touching his brow.
'I think you suffered a minor concussion when your Humvee crashed into that helicopter. All of your subsequent acts of derring-do on top of the chopper must have been the work of pure adrenalin.'
'You mean I'm not a hero?' Race said. 'You're saying it was just the adrenalin talking?'
She smiled at him, a beautiful smile. 'Wait here,' she said, 'I have some codeine in my medicine pack. It'll help your headache.'
She moved off toward the ATV.
'Hey…' Race said. 'What's your name?'
She smiled at him again. That cute, nymph-like smile.
'My name is Renee Becker. I am a special agent with the BKA/
'I've got it,' Schroeder said suddenly from over by the portable radio.
Race went over to the small group gathered around the radio console.
Looking over Nash's shoulder, he saw a list printed on the screen in German. He translated it in his head. It read:
COMMUNICATIONS SATELLITE TRANSMISSION LOG 44-76/BKA32
NO.
DATE TIME SOURCE SUMMARY
1 4.1.99 1930 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
2 4.1.99 1950 EXT SOURCE SIGNATURE UHF SIGNAL
3 4.1.99 2230 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
4 5.1.99 0130 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
5 5.1.99 0430 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
6 5.1.99 0716 FIELD (CHILE) ARRIVED SANTIAGO, HEADING
FOR COLONIA ALEMANIA
7 5.1.99 0730 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
8 5.1.99 0958 FIELD (CHILE) HAVE ARRIVED COLONIA
ALEMANIA; BEGINNING
SURVEILLANCE
9 5.1.99 1030 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS
10 5.1.99 1037 FIELD (CHILE) CHILE TEAM URGENT SIGNAL;
CHILE TEAM URGENT SIGNAL
11 5.1.99 1051 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT
IMMEDIATELY
Race frowned.
It was a list of every communication signal that had been picked up by the BKA's Peruvian field team.
By the looks of it, they had received 'status update' requests from BKA headquarters every three hours from 7:30 last night, plus a few intermittent messages from the other BKA team in Chile.
