Clear and Present Danger

back up. They were both half in the bag from smokin' grass all day. I don't think they ever figured out what we did to them.'

No, they didn't . 'Grass?'

'That was Red's idea. They had their own pot stash - looked like real cigarettes. We just gave 'em back to 'em, and they got themselves looped. Throw in the ether and everything, and I bet they never figured out what really happened.'

Almost right , Stuart thought, hoping that his tape recorder was getting this.

'I wish we really could have hung 'em,' Riley said after a few seconds. 'Matt, you ain't never seen anything like what that yacht looked like. Four people, man - butchered 'em like cattle. Ever smell blood? I didn't know you could. You can,' the bosun assured him. 'They raped the wife and the little girl, then cut 'em up like they was - God! You know, I been having nightmares from that? Nightmares - me! Jesus, that's one sea story I wish I could forget. I got a little girl that age. Those fuckers raped her an' killed her, and cut her up an' fed her to the fuckin' sharks. Just a little girl, not even big enough to drive a car or go out on a date.

'We're supposed to be professional cops, right? We're supposed to be cool about it, don't get personally involved. All that shit?' Riley asked.

'That's what the book says,' Stuart agreed.

'The book wasn't written for stuff like this,' Portagee said. 'People who do this sort of thing - they ain't really people. I don't know what the hell they are, but people they ain't. You can't do that kinda shit and be people, Matt.'

'Hey, what d'you want me to say?' Stuart asked, suddenly defensive, and not acting a part this time. 'We got laws to deal with people like that.'

'Laws ain't doin' much good, are they?' Riley asked.

The difference between the people he was obliged to defend and the people he had to impeach, Stuart told himself through the fog of alcohol, was that the bad ones were his clients and the good ones were not. And now, by impersonating a Coast Guard chief, he too had broken a law, just as these men had done, and like them, he was doing it for some greater good, some higher moral cause. So he asked himself who was right. Not that it mattered, of course. Whatever was 'right' was lost somewhere, not to be found in lawbooks or canons of ethics. Yet if you couldn't find it there, then where the hell was it? But Stuart was a lawyer, and his business was law, not right. Right was the province of judges and juries. Or something like that. Stuart told himself that he shouldn't drink so much. Drink made confused things clear, and the clear things confused.

The ride in was far rougher this time. Westerly winds off the Pacific Ocean hit the slopes of the Andes and boiled upward, looking for passes to go through. The resulting turbulence could be felt at thirty thousand feet, and here, only three hundred feet AGL - above ground level - the ride was a hard one, all the more so with the helicopter on its terrain-following autopilot. Johns and Willis were strapped in tight to reduce the effects of the rough ride, and both knew that the people in back were having a bad time indeed as the big Sikorsky jolted up and down in twenty-foot bounds at least ten times per minute. PJ's hand was on the stick, following the motions of the autopilot but ready to take instant command if the system showed the first sign of failure. This was real flying, as he liked to say. That generally meant the dangerous kind.

Skimming through this pass - it was more of a saddle, really - didn't make it any easier. A ninety-six-hundred- foot peak was to the south, and one of seventy-eight hundred feet to the north, and a lot of Pacific air was being funneled through as the Pave Low roared at two hundred knots. They were heavy, having tanked only a few minutes earlier just off Colombia's Pacific Coast.

'There's Mistrato,' Colonel Johns said. The computer navigation system had already veered them north to pass well clear of the town and any roads. The two pilots were also alert for anything on the ground that hinted at a man or a car or a house. The route had been selected off satellite photographs, of course, both daylight and nighttime infrared shots, but there was always the chance of a surprise.

'Buck, LZ One in four minutes,' PJ called over the intercom.

'Roger.'

They were flying over Risaralda Province, part of the great valley that lay between two enormous ridgelines of mountains flung into the sky by a subductal fault in the earth's crust. PJ's hobby was geology. He knew how much effort it took to bring his aircraft to this altitude, and he boggled at the forces that could push mountains to the same height.

'LZ One in sight,' Captain Willis said.

'Got it.' Colonel Johns took the stick. He keyed his microphone, 'One minute. Hot guns.'

'Right.' Sergeant Zimmer left his position to head aft. Sergeant Bean activated his minigun in case there was trouble. Zimmer slipped and nearly fell on a pool of vomit. That wasn't unusual. The ride smoothed out now that they were in the lee of the mountains, but there were some very sick kids in back who would be glad to get on firm, unmoving ground. Zimmer had trouble understanding that. It was dangerous on the ground.

The first squad was up as the helicopter flared to make its first landing, and as before, the moment it touched down, they ran out the back. Zimmer made his count, watched to be certain that everyone got off safely, and notified the pilot to lift off as soon as they were clear.

Next time , Chavez told himself, next time I fucking walk in and out! He had had some rough chopper rides in his time, but nothing like that one. He led off to the treeline and waited for the remainder of the squad to catch up.

'Glad to be on the ground?' Vega asked as soon as he got there.

'I didn't know I ate that much,' Ding groaned. Everything he'd eaten in the last few hours was still aboard the helicopter. He opened a canteen and drank a pint of water just to wash away the vile taste.

'I usta love roller coasters,' Oso said. 'No more, ' mano! '

'Fuckin' A!' Chavez remembered standing in line for the big ones at Knott's Berry Farm and other California theme parks. Never again!

'You okay, Ding?' Captain Ramirez asked.

'Sorry, sir. That never happened to me - ever! I'll be okay in a minute,' he promised his commander.

'Take your time. We picked a nice, quiet spot to land.' I hope .

Chavez shook his head to clear it. He didn't know that motion sickness started in the inner ear, had never known what motion sickness was until half an hour earlier. But he did the right thing, taking deep breaths and shaking his head to get his equilibrium back. The ground wasn't moving, he told himself, but part of his brain wasn't sure.

'Where to, Cap'n?'

'You're already heading in the right direction.' Ramirez clapped him on the shoulder. 'Move out.'

Chavez put on his low-light goggles and started moving off through the forest. God, but that was embarrassing. He'd never do anything that dumb again, the sergeant promised himself. With his head still telling him that he was probably moving in a way that his legs couldn't possibly cause, he concentrated on his footing and the terrain, rapidly moving two hundred meters ahead of the main body of the squad. The first mission into the swampy lowlands had just been practice, hadn't really been serious, he thought now. But this was the real thing. With that thought foremost in his mind, he batted away the last remnants of his nausea and got down to work.

Everyone worked late that night. There was the investigation to run, and routine office business had to be kept current as well. By the time Moira came into Mr. Shaw's office, she'd managed to organize everything he'd need to know, and it was also time to tell him what she'd forgotten. She wasn't surprised to see Mr. Murray there, too. She was surprised when he spoke first.

'Moira, were you interviewed about Emil's trip?' Dan asked.

She nodded. 'Yes. I forgot something. I wanted to tell you this morning, Mr. Shaw, but when I came in early you were asleep. Connie saw me,' she assured him.

'Go on,' Bill said, wondering if he should feel a little better about that or not.

Mrs. Wolfe sat down, then turned to look at the open door. Murray walked over to close it. On the way back he placed his hand on her shoulder.

'It's okay, Moira.'

'I have a friend. He lives in Venezuela. We met... well, we met a month and a half ago, and we - this is hard to explain.'