The silent attack took mere seconds.

Scott stooped to retrieve the knife from the first man's forehead. He wiped it on the grass and slid it back into the sheath attached to his thigh. He repeated the motions for the other knife. Then he patted the disk taped to his side.

Walking away from the bodies, he stopped at the corner of the brick wall. He peeked around the corner and looked toward the opposite end of the embassy enclosure. He wondered if Sam had encountered any opposition.

A quick glance told him nothing, so he chanced another. Sam stood at the far end. Scott could make out his white smile. Scott sighed his relief.

He signaled to Sam to make his way to the front of the embassy. Then he stepped out and whistled.

Rosalie broke away from her hiding place.

All hell broke loose.

Shots were fired. They came from behind Rosalie.

"Run, Rosalie!" he shouted. "Keep your head down. Zigzag fashion."

Lights on the corners of the embassy walls flashed on, spotlighting Rosalie.

Scott turned and shot them out. He let out a rebel yell, then shouted, "'Semper fi.'"

An American voice shouted, "What the hell?"

Scott let out another rebel yell, another "'Semper fi.'"

An echoing rebel yell came from the embassy gates.

Confident that his rear was now covered, Scott turned. Rosalie lay in the middle of the street, firing her gun back at the men who shot at her. Scott aimed a swath of automatic weapon fire beyond Rosalie to where the men hid.

The attackers continued to fire.

Bullets sizzled past Scott. One caught the edge of his shirt. He slapped at the

smoldering cloth with one hand while he continued to fire his weapon. As he reached Rosalie, she struggled to get to him.

Her gasp and low moan told him she'd been hit.

He pulled her up under his left arm and backed away from the attack,

half-carrying, half-dragging her. He fired wildly in the direction of the shots.

"Senor Scott. I cover you."

Sam's voice came from close behind and to his right. He let Sam lay down a

cover fire while he continued to back up to the embassy walls.

Scott sensed rather than saw that Marines lined the upper walls of the

embassy. They waited, not firing. Waited to see who was friend, who was foe.

For a few precious seconds, Scott leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

Sam crouched next to him, still firing. Rosalie moaned and hung limply from his arm.

"Yo, Rebel. Identify yourself!" Someone shouted from above.

"Dr. Scott Fontenot. Former U.S. Marine, Desert Storm. I have a wounded woman here."

"Good enough for me, buddy."

The man yelled orders to lay a cover fire. The sound of automatic weapons thundered over their heads.

"Come on, Sam. Let's get our butts in that gate."

"'Si, si, senor'."

Scott moved laterally toward the gate, which was now open. A Marine showed his head around the corner of the opening.

"Doctor, you need help?"

"No. Stay back. We'll make it."

As Scott gathered Rosalie up into his arms, warning shouts came from above.

"The bad asses are making a move."

"Stop them, Marines."

"Lay protective fire, boys."

"Doc. Doc. Move it."

The gate marine's urgent voice wasn't necessary. Scott ran toward safety, Sam

close on his heels.

As he reached the gate, he urged Sam around him. One Marine pulled the native inside. Another reached to take Rosalie, while another grabbed Scott.

From the side of the embassy, out of the range and sight of the Marines on the

walls, a One World thug ran toward Scott.

Scott stiff-armed the Marine grasping his arm, shoving the man to safety.

Then he raised his gun and got off several rounds into the attacker. Before he took the man out, a bullet hit Scott high in the chest.

As the Marines pulled his limp body into the embassy, his last thoughts were

of Jeannie and Little Bits. At least the information he carried would protect them.

PART THREE.

The darkest hour is that before the dawn.

-- Hazlitt: English Proverbs.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE.

'December 27th, Manchac, Louisiana'

It had been a Christmas of mixed emotions.

Jeanette was thrilled to hear from Scott's partner that they were alive and well

and only a week away from their goal.

Yet, she hadn't heard anything since.

Rutherford and his attorney, Ruel Dubois, had managed to use power and

money to get the trial date moved up to January. Today Jeanette would answer questions in deposition. At least Evan had managed to move the location to a neutral place -- Slidell, Louisiana.

Rutherford's spies and hired muscle had been scouring the bayous around Manchac, but hadn't managed to find Jeanette's hide-away. Tony, Frenchy and the swamp-men assisting her wanted it to stay that way.

All in all, worry had become her closest companion.

The site chosen for the deposition was a small restaurant in Slidell, renown far

and wide for its home-cooked lunch specials. The owner of the restaurant was a friend of a friend of Evan's family.

Frenchy, Tony, and the other two men riding shotgun would hang around the

kitchen, chowing down on left-overs. Evan felt her protectors were over-reacting, but had enough common sense to see that she felt safer.

Jeanette felt her lawyer had a lot to learn about ruthless people.

"Jeanette, 'cher,' we're here," said Frenchy.

His heavily accented baritone nudged its way through the miasma of Jeanette's emotions.

She exited the car and was immediately surrounded by her four protectors.