Dick Stivers - Into the Maze

If captured by a unit of the International, the Americans would reveal the allegiance of the International's commander and the supposedly Paraguayan Colonel Gunther.

Perhaps General Mendez could explain away the story of KGB sponsorship of the International. Who would believe the truth? European and North American peaceniks denounced the armed forces of the conservative Pan-American nations as armies of fascist assassins. Voice of Moscow broadcasts labeled the governments of all Western Hemisphere nations — except Cuba and Nicaragua — as fascist regimes. The soldiers of the International would not believe they fought for the Soviet Union.

But what if the Americans played the tapes of Gunther's interrogation? What if International soldiers listened to the tapes and understood? What if the fantastic revelation started the soldiers questioning?

General Mendez armed his forces with weapons purchased on the international arms market — Israeli Uzis, American M-16 rifles, Belgian FN rifles. But some situations required more sophisticated weapons: explosives, or electronics, or antiarmor-antiaircraft rockets. Secrecy dictated a secure supply of high-quality weapons. The Soviet Union provided these weapons through intermediaries. The general then told his subordinates that he had purchased the Soviet ordnance from the Israelis, who had captured the materiel in Lebanon.

If an officer suspected the fascist-Soviet link, the officer might investigate. The simple procedure of matching the serial numbers of their weapons to the lists of serial numbers compiled by Israel after the Lebanese invasion would reveal a discrepancy. Perhaps the general could explain that away also...

And perhaps not.

The general knew he must act immediately to end the risk. He keyed a code into the intercom. A minute later, the technician who had supervised the interception entered the penthouse office. Like General Mendez and Colonel Gunther, the technician worked for the KGB.

"Who else heard this?" General Mendez tapped the roll of reel-to-reel magnetic tape.

"No one, General. I dismissed all the other technicians from the project. When I heard the interrogation, I... realized the significance immediately."

"Good. Return to the communications suite. Wait for my instructions. We may need to communicate with our friends."

General Mendez meant their friends at the Soviet Embassy.

"Yes, my commander." Saluting, the technician left the office.

The telephone buzzed. A static-scratched voice came through the receiver as one of the field units reported via the highest-priority channel, a secure-frequency radio-telephone channel that linked the unit leaders directly to their commander.

"The Ochoas captured one of the gringos," a unit officer reported.

"What of Colonel Gunther?"

"Nothing yet."

"And the others?"

"They are with the army."

"Does an officer loyal to the International command that army detail?"

"Yes. But he says he must wait to take the Americans. The time is not right for his move."

"Tell them to bring the captured American to the underground garage at this address." The general told the technician the name and number of an office building only a hundred meters away from the Trans-Americas tower.

"They want the reward, General. They say they will not deliver him until they see the money."

"Then have the Ochoas bring him. Our units will escort the Ochoas. Then they will receive their reward. Order ten men to take positions around the garage. They must be concealed and waiting when the Ochoas come."

"That is very close to these offices. Could that compromise our operations here?"

"I will supervise the... the payoff. I do not have time to travel across the city."

The general hung up the phone. He could not risk an interrogation of the American. He could not risk anything the American might have already told the Ochoas. The American and all the Ochoas who captured him must be annihilated.

When they came to deliver the prisoner, all would receive the same reward.

Death.

"I will explain."

Lyons lay on the concrete floor, his ankles tied, his hands bound behind him. Coral stood over him while other Ochoa gunmen searched Lyons for weapons. They found revolvers, the reengineered Colt Government Model, the Uzi, a knife and the Atchisson. The collection of weapons went into a burlap bag. The hand-radio went to Coral, who slipped it into his coat pocket.

"What is there to explain? How much Gunther promised to pay you?"

"I will explain how valuable you are to the International."

Lyons spun on his hip and kicked Coral with both feet. The Mexican staggered back. The other Ochoa men grabbed Lyons, immobilizing him on the floor.

"You are a fighter," Coral said, laughing. He limped back to Lyons. "The International hired many gunmen today. We joined them also. There is a reward for any of you Americans — one hundred thousand American dollars. Very good, yes? Now we take you to them."

The gunmen of the Ochoa gang carried Lyons to a panel truck. They threw him inside. Lyons thrashed and struggled, straining against the ropes that dug into his wrists. But the men sat across his legs and back.

A Mexican army colonel in uniform leaned into the truck. Behind him, Lyons saw soldiers in camou fatigues. The colonel grabbed Lyons by his hair and jerked his head back. Lyons twisted his head, tried to throw off the weight of the men on his back, and the colonel laughed at him.

Steel clanked. The warehouse doors opened. The colonel and his soldiers stepped back as Coral slammed the truck's cargo doors closed. Then they drove from the garage. The truck sped through crowds of curious people, its horn sounding.

"You believe I betrayed you, yes?" Coral asked Lyons.

"You Nazi scumbag," spat Lyons. "All your talk about understanding Mexico, about poverty, about troubles."

Coral laughed. "You do believe! Let us hope the colonel also believes I betrayed you, too. But it is not true."

"Then what is?"

"I took Gunther to my friends. We wanted information from him. We want revenge against the Blancos and Gunther knows who they are. But he told us nothing. He can tell us nothing..."

"You killed him?"

"No, it is that drug. When he is awake, he makes noises and sees things. Sometimes he sleeps. Until the drug is over, he is like an idiot. You will see. He will join us in a few minutes."

"And why do you do this?" Lyons demanded, arching his back to motion with his tied hands.

Coral smiled. "Because you, you we will take to the International. You and Gunther." Coral motioned to the men sitting on Lyons. He felt hands grip his wrists, then a knife cut the ropes on his hands and feet. Another man passed him the burlap bag containing his weapons.

Glancing through the windshield, Lyons saw unmarked police cars leading the panel truck through traffic. Other cars followed.

"Now do you understand? How else could we go directly to the headquarters of the International?"

"What about my partners?"

Coral passed the hand-radio to Lyons. "Inform them."

"What about the lieutenant and the sergeant? Are they with the International?''

"I do not know. You see, we told the fascists that we work for them. We told them to find you, to follow you. The truck that followed you this morning, from the old garage? One of our people. But you lost him in traffic. We searched everywhere in the city. One of our people told us of the soldiers and North Americans renting a warehouse. We had our men around the warehouse. We wanted to talk, so you did not think we betrayed you, but the army comes and then the Blancos come and the shooting starts. We watched the fight from the roof. The lieutenant and his men fought the fascists. They are honest. I don't know about the sergeant."