her hands, she turned his head toward her. "Look at me. We took our ease with one another. You thought ... you thought I was Jeannie."

Scott closed his eyes. "Rosalie, I..." "No! Don't you dare apologize. You did nothing wrong." She stroked the hair off his forehead. "It was good. No harm was done. You needed Jeannie, and I was here. And to be honest, I needed Julio -- and you were here. Neither of us has anything to be ashamed of. Nothing."

Scott nodded. He understood what Rosalie said, but he still felt disloyal to Jeannie. How would he explain this to her? Would he explain this to her?

"Here." Rosalie shoved a spoon in his hand. "Eat this. Get your strength back. You'll do the right thing when the time comes."

"What do you mean?"

"You were wondering how to tell your woman about us."

"How did you know?"

"You are an honorable man, like my Julio." Rosalie spread a napkin on his lap.

"He would have told me -- and like your Jeannie will do, I would have forgiven him. So, stop your worrying and eat. We need to get to Brasilia and finish this, so we can all go home and resume our lives."

Scott just smiled and shook his head. She was right. He would tell Jeannie -- and God willing, Rosalie called it correctly, Jeannie would forgive him.

'December 24th, outskirts of Brasilia.'

Scott glanced around the smoky cantina located on Lake Paranoa.

No one seemed to be taking undue notice of his travel-weary group. Sam and Rosalie were using the facilities to freshen up. They would eat one last meal

here before making their way across the various sectors of Brasilia to reach the Embassy Sector where the United States had its delegation.

In some ways, this could be the most dangerous part of their trip. The streets of most cities in Brazil were more dangerous than the rainforests. The predators here walked on two legs and often used the clothing of authority to commit the most heinous crimes. Scott would bet that many of the children's organs sent out of the country by One World were taken from the multitudes of street children who lived and begged on the avenues and promenades of one of the most modern cities in the world.

It wouldn't be much longer now. Rosalie and he would stop One World.

"Ready?" Rosalie said.

He hadn't heard Rosalie and Sam approach.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Scott stood up. Turning to Sam, he pulled a plastic wallet

filled with traveler's checks and held it out. "Here. Take this. I've endorsed

them over to you. Any of the banks here will cash them."

"Senor Scott." Sam's dark face turned red. "I no need your money. I bring you here so you stop the bad people from hurting anymore of my people."

"Rosalie and I will still do that, Sam. But I want you to take this. Buy whatever your village needs." Scott reached over and shoved the small wallet into Sam's shirt pocket. "My address and phone number are in there. If you ever need anything, get word to me or mine. We'll see that you get it."

"Thank you." Sam's eyes shined with moisture. "I will stay with you until you get to the Embassy."

Scott shook his head. "There's no need. You've done enough getting us here."

"I go to Embassy. Make sure you get there safe. Then my job will be done."

Scott could tell by the resolute look on Sam's face that he would follow them no matter what Scott said.

"Okay, but stay behind us. Don't take any chances."

Sam nodded. "'Si,' I will how you gringos say 'cover your ass.'"

"Yes, Sam," Rosalie said with a chuckle. "That is exactly how we say it."

With darkness on their side, the three set out for the United States Embassy.

Scott led the way. He held the automatic weapon close to his body. He hoped

he wouldn't have to use it. The CD-ROM with the files was sealed in plastic and taped to his side below his armpit. A stray shot would have less chances of hitting the vital info there. Rosalie had a companion CD-ROM taped in a similar matter. Hers contained the pictures taken of the victims of One World, along with photos of the drug operations.

The information they carried on the two, small disks should be enough to start the investigations that would lead to the arrest and incarceration of One World's administration.

More important, it would discredit Dr. Byron Rutherford and force the New Orleans' federal prosecutor to charge the doctor with a myriad of crimes. Jeannie would be safe -- for Rutherford was sure to spend time in jail.

Silently, the threesome moved through the shadowy streets of Brasilia. An occasional shout of laughter floated through an open window. The rustling of little feet betrayed the presence of some street children as they scurried away from the strangers in their midst. But on the whole, deathly silence accompanied their journey. At times it was so quiet that Scott could hear the accelerated breathing of his companions.

As they got closer to the embassy sector, the atmosphere changed. Now, open doorways of bars and houses of prostitution allowed the raucous noise of people to escape into the streets. Intermittent street lights cast long shadows.

Then they acquired an extra set of shadows -- ominous ones that moved from place to place, following, then stopping, then following. Never quite close enough for Scott to see who they were. They could be robbers. They could be the body police looking for fresh organs. One World was not the only body mafia in the South American country. They could be common criminals out to see what they could get.

Or, they could be from One World.

Scott sensed Rosalie close the gap between them. Sensed Sam move in to back up Rosalie. The trackers would have to make their move soon -- before the embassy appeared.

"Stay close." Scott's harsh whisper carried no further than his companions. "We're going to lead them on a merry chase. When we get within sight of the embassy walls, I want you both to run for it. I'll hang back and create a diversion that will bring out the Marines to see what's going on."

"But Scott..."

"Just do it. I'll be fine. If I don't make it, make sure the Marines get the disk off my body before the bastards get it."

Brasilia's streets were shaped like boomerangs. Evenly spaced cross-streets intersected the parallel streets. From the map Scott studied, he knew that as long as he kept the main curved street in his sights he could not get lost. He might have to back track some to get to the cross-street that led to the U.S. Embassy, but get there he would.

There were many potential ways of reaching his goal, so he could keep his pursuers guessing.

For the next ten minutes, Scott wove his way through the streets and alleyways of the main part of town. Soon he would have to make the perpendicular cut to the Embassy's cross-street. He hadn't heard or seen his pursuers for a few minutes. It was highly likely they would have some people lying in wait at the embassy. Scott only hoped he would see them and could take them out before the pursuers caught up.

He held his hand up, then pulled his companions into a shadowed doorway. He listened. No sounds of close pursuit.

"We have a small lead," he said.

A rustling noise close by. Scott paused. Listened. A rustle then a squeak. He let out the breath he'd held. Only a rat.

"If my calculations are correct, the next street over is embassy row. The U.S. Embassy should be half-way down the street on the right-hand side."

"Won't there be some of them waiting for us?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes. That's why I'll go first to take them out."

"No, Senor Scott." Sam spoke for the first time since they left the cantina. "I will also help take out the watchers."

"Okay. Sam, you parallel the embassy from the next street over and come at the embassy from the far side. I'll take the side closest to this position. You see anyone who doesn't look like a U.S. Marine, take them out quietly."

Rosalie said, "Where will I be?"

"You stay with me. I'll hide you so you can see the embassy and my approach." Scott tipped her chin up and caught her gaze. "Don't make your move to the front gate until I signal you."

"How? How will you signal?"

"I'll whistle."

"Okay."

"If the ones who are following us manage to catch up, they'll not be quiet when they realize we are close and their compatriots have fallen. So shoot to kill. I'll yell for help."

Scott placed a hand on each of their shoulders and squeezed. "I couldn't have asked for two better traveling companions. Thank you. God bless you both."

Sam nodded and left to make his way to his assigned task.

Scott pulled Rosalie next to him. "Stay close. Keep your gun at hand. Ready?"

"Ready."

Scott set out, hugging the walls of the buildings. The next cross-street was labeled Via N-1 Este. He turned right, once again staying in the shadows as much as possible.

While not as brightly lit as the main streets, the gas lights and gate lamps on each embassy shined enough to light their way. He and Rosalie approached the U.S. embassy from the opposite side of the street. When they were two houses away, he halted and pulled Rosalie into an alcove on what was the entryway to the Canadian embassy.

All was quiet.

Scott signaled for her to stay and to keep her eyes open. Rosalie nodded.

He crossed the street and cut into a small esplanade of trees between the U.S. facility and the neighboring embassy. The preternatural sense that had saved his skin so many times in the Marines told him that someone was hiding in the bushes that lined the brick wall of the embassy.

He stopped. Listened. Sniffed.

Smoke.

Stupid, stupid.

Scott stalked the careless hunters.

There were two of them. He could tell by the small red ash on their cigarettes.

Carefully, soundlessly, he drew his knives. If he timed it correctly, he could take both of them out with no one the wiser.

Stealthily, he moved. His feet caused no more sound than the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. From somewhere within the United States embassy, music played. Sounds of quiet laughter filtered through the trees. The clink of glasses and silverware carried clearly on the night air.

The ambassador was entertaining.

The noise from the open windows would aid in covering his approach.

When he was within ten feet, he stopped. Again, he listened. No one approached him from behind. His only enemy lay ahead.

Timing was everything. They would not cry for help, because they were in a place they shouldn't be. Their counter-attack would have to be as silent as his assault.

Taking in a slow deep breath through his nose, Scott let it out in a silent rush of air. His knives at ready, he attacked.

The last ten feet crept by in slow motion. Both men faced the street. His approach was on their flank side. At the last minute, the man closest to him must have sensed his approach. He turned and aimed his weapon at Scott.

Scott threw his larger knife.

It hit the man in the forehead. The man and his weapon fell to the ground.

The second man rushed to meet Scott. The flash of silver indicated he also had a knife.

Scott's body flowed into the offensive moves of Krav Maga, the Israeli street-fighting he'd learned during Desert Storm. His boot hit the man's elbow. The knife fell to the ground. Scott knew the man's arm would be numbed from the harsh kick. With no conscious effort, Scott reached for the man's head and slashed at the same time. The second man dropped to the ground, his life's blood draining rapidly from the surgical slash across the carotid.