The hell you have! Ritter shouted.

The hell I havent. Youre taking your orders from me, Ritter. Is that clear?

What about our people? the DDO demanded.

Ive taken care of that. You dont need to know how. Its all going to quiet down, Cutter said. You got your wish. There is a gang war underway. Drug exports are going to be cut by half. We can let the press report that the drug war is being won.

And Cortez takes over, right? Has it occurred to you that as soon as hes settled in, things change back?

Has it occurred to you that he can blow the operation wide open? What do you suppose will happen to you and the Judge if he does that?

The same thing thatll happen to you, Ritter snarled back.

Not to me. I was there, so was the Attorney General. The President never authorized you to kill anybody. He never said anything about invading a foreign country.

This whole operation was your idea, Cutter.

Says who? Do you have my signature on a single memo? the Admiral asked. If this gets blown, the best thing you can hope for is that well be on the same cellblock. If that Fowler guy wins, were both fucked. That means we cant let it get blown, can we?

I do have your name on a memo.

That operation is already terminated, and theres no evidence left behind, either. So what can you do to expose me without exposing yourself and the Agency to far worse accusations? Cutter was rather proud of himself. On the flight back from Panama hed figured the whole thing out. In any case, Im the guy giving the orders. The CIAs involvement in this thing is over. Youre the only guy with records. I suggest that you do away with them. All the traffic from SHOWBOAT, VARIABLE, RECIPROCITY, and EAGLE EYE gets destroyed. We can hold on to CAPER. Thats one part of the op that the other side hasnt cottoned to. Convert that into a straight covert operation and we can still use it. You have your orders. Carry them out.

There will be loose ends.

Where? You think people are going to volunteer for a stretch in federal prison? Will your Mr. Clark announce the fact that he killed over thirty people? Will that Navy flight crew write a book about dropping two smart-bombs on private homes in a friendly country? Your radio people at VARIABLE never actually saw anything. The fighter pilot splashed some airplanes, but whos he going to tell? The radar plane that guided him in never saw him do it, because they always switched off first. The special-ops people who handled the land side of the operation at Pensacola wont talk. And there are only a few people from the flight crews we captured. Im sure we can work something out with them.

You forgot the kids we have in the mountains, Ritter said quietly. He knew that part of the story already.

I need information on where they are so that I can arrange for a pickup. Im going to handle that through my own channels, if you dont mind. Give me the information.

No.

That wasnt a request. You know, I just could be the guy who exposes you. Then your attempts to tie me in with all this would merely look like a feeble effort at exculpating yourself.

It would still wreck the election.

And guarantee your imprisonment. Hell, Fowler doesnt even believe in putting serial killers in the chair. How do you think hell react to dropping bombs on people who havent even been indictedand what about that collateral damage you were so cavalier about? This is the only way, Ritter.

Clark is back in Colombia. Im sending him after Cortez. That would also tie things up. It was Ritters last play, and it wasnt good enough.

Cutter jerked in his chair. And what if he blows it? It is not worth the risk. Call off your dog. That, too, is an order. Now give me that informationand shred your files.

Ritter didnt want to. But he didnt see an alternative. The DDO walked to his wall safethe panel was open at the momentand pulled out the files. In SHOWBOAT-II was a tactical map showing the programmed exfiltration sites. He gave it to Cutter.

I want it all done tonight.

Ritter let out a breath. It will be.

Fine. Cutter folded the map into his coat pocket. He left the office without another word.

It all came down to this, Ritter told himself. Thirty years of government service, running agents all over the world, doing things that his country needed to have done, and now he had to follow an outrageous order or face Congress, and courts, and prison. And the best alternative would be to take others there with him. It wasnt worth it. Bob Ritter worried about those kids in the mountains, but Cutter said that hed take care of it. The Deputy Director (Operations) of the Central Intelligence Agency told himself that he could trust the man to keep his word, knowing that he wouldnt, knowing that it was cowardice to pretend that he would.

He lifted the files off the steel shelves himself, taking them to his desk. Against the wall was a paper shredder, one of the more important instruments of contemporary government. These were the only copies of the documents in question. The communications people on that hilltop in Panama shredded everything as soon as they uplinked copies to Ritters office. CAPER went through NSA, but there was no operational traffic there, and those files would be lost in the mass of data in the basement of the Fort Meade complex.

The machine was a big one, with a self-feeding hopper. It was entirely normal for senior government officials to destroy records. Extra copies of sensitive files were liabilities, not assets. No notice would be taken of the fact that the clear plastic bag that had been empty was now filled with paper pasta that had once been important intelligence documents. CIA burned tons of the stuff every day, and used some of the heat that was generated to make hot water for the washrooms. Ritter set the papers in the hopper in half-inch lots, watching the entire history of his field operations turn to rubbish.

There he is, the junior agent said into his portable radio. Southbound.

ODay picked the man up three minutes later. The backup car was already on Cutter, and by the time ODay had caught up, it was clear that he was merely returning to Fort Myer, the VIP section off Sherman Road, east of the officers club. Cutter lived in a red brick house with a screen porch overlooking Arlington National Cemetery, the garden of heroes. To Inspector ODay, whod served in Vietnam, what little he knew of the man and the case made it seem blasphemous that he should live here. The FBI agent told himself that he might be jumping to an inaccurate conclusion, but his instincts told him otherwise as he watched the man lock his car and walk into the house.

One benefit of being part of the Presidents staff was that he had excellent personal security when he wanted it, and the best technical security services as a matter of course. The Secret Service and other government agencies worked very hard and very regularly to make sure that his phone lines were secure. The FBI would have to clear any tap with them, and would also have to get a court order first, neither of which had been done. Cutter called a WATS line numberwith a toll-free 800 prefixand spoke a few words. Had anyone recorded the conversation he would have had a problem explaining it, but then so would the listener. Each word he spoke was the first word on a dictionary page, and the number of each page had three digits. The old paperback dictionary had been given him before he left the house in Panama, and he would soon discard it. The code was as simple and easy to use as it was effective, and the few words he spoke indicated pages whose numbers combined to indicate map coordinates for a few locations in Colombia. The man on the other end of the line repeated them back and hung up. The WATS-line call would not show up on Cutters phone bill as a long-distance call. The WATS account would be terminated the next day. His final move was to take the small computer disk from his pocket. Like many people he had magnets holding messages to his refrigerator door. Now he waved one of them over the disk a few times to destroy the data on it. The disk itself was the last existing record of the soldiers of Operation SHOWBOAT. It was also the last means of reopening the satellite radio link to them. It went into the trash. SHOWBOAT had never happened.

Or thats what Vice Admiral James A. Cutter, USN, told himself. He mixed himself a drink and walked out onto his porch, looking down across the green carpet to the countless headstones. Many times hed walked over to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, watching the soldiers of the Presidents Guard go through their mechanistic routine before the resting places of men who had served their country to the utmost. It occurred to him now that there would be more unknown soldiers, fallen on some nameless field. The original unknown soldier had died in France in World War I, and had known what he fought foror thought he did, Cutter corrected himself. Most often they never really understood what it was all about. What they were told wasnt always the truth, but their country called, and off they went to do their duty. But you really needed a perspective to understand what it was all about, how the game was played. And that didnt alwaysever?jibe with what the soldiers were told. He remembered his own service off the coast of Vietnam, a junior officer on a destroyer, watching five-inch-gun rounds pound the beach, and wondering what it was like to be a soldier, living in the mud. But still they went to serve their country, not knowing that the country herself didnt know what service she needed or wanted. An army was composed of young kids who did their job without understanding, serving with their lives, and in this case, with their deaths.

Poor bastards, he whispered to himself. It really was too bad, wasnt it? But it couldnt be helped.

It surprised everyone that they couldnt get the radio link working. The communications sergeant said that his transmitter was working just fine, but there was no answer from VARIABLE at six oclock local time. Captain Ramirez didnt like it, but decided to press on to the extraction point. There had been no fallout from Chavezs little adventure with the would-be rapist, and the young sergeant led off for what he expected would be the last time. The enemy forces had swept this area, stupidly and oafishly, and wouldnt be back soon. The night went easily. They moved south in one-hour segments, stopping off at rally points, looping their path of advance to check for trailers, and detecting none. By four the following morning, they were at the extraction site. It was a clearing just downhill from a peak of eight thousand feet, lower than the really big crests, and conducive to a covert approach. The chopper could have picked them up nearly anywhere, of course, but their main consideration was still stealth. Theyd be picked up, and no one would ever be the wiser. It was a shame about the men theyd lost, but no one would ever really know what theyd been here for, and the mission, though a costly one, had been a success. Captain Ramirez had said so.

He set his men in a wide perimeter to cover all approaches, with fallback defensive positions in case something untoward and unexpected happened. When that task was completed, he again set up his satellite radio and started transmitting. But again, there was no reply from VARIABLE. He didnt know what the problem was, but to this point there had been no hint of trouble, and communications foul-ups were hardly unknown to any infantry officer. He wasnt very worried about this one. Not yet, anyway.

Clark was caught rather short by the message. He and Larson were just planning their flight back to Colombia when it arrived. Just a message form with a few code-words, it was enough to ignite Clarks temper, so vile a thing that he labored hard to control it in the knowledge that it was his most dangerous enemy. He wanted to call Langley, but decided against it, fearing that the order might be restated in a way difficult to ignore. As he cooled off, his brain started working again. That was the danger of his temper, Clark reminded himself, it stopped him from thinking. He sure as hell needed to think now. In a minute he decided that it was time for a little initiative.

Come on, Larson, were going to take a little ride. That was easily accomplished. He was still Colonel Williams to the Air Force, and got himself a car. Next came a map, and Clark picked his brain to remember the path to that hilltop. . . . It took an hour, and the last few hundred yards were a potholed nightmare of a twisted, half-paved road. The van was still there, as was the single armed guard, who came forward to give them a less than eager greeting.

Stand down, mister, I was here before.

Oh, its youbut, sir, Im under orders to Clark cut him off. Dont argue with me. I know about your orders. Why the hell do you think Im here? Now be a good boy and safe that weapon before you hurt yourself. Clark walked right past him, again amazing Larson, who was far more impressed with loaded and pointed guns.

What gives? Clark asked as soon as he was inside. He looked around. All the gear was turned off. The only noise was from the air-conditioning units.

They shut us down, the senior communicator answered.

Who shut you down?

Look, I cant say, all right, I got orders that were shut down. Thats it. You want answers, go see Mr. Ritter.

Clark walked right up to the man. Hes too far away.

I got my orders.

What orders?

To shut down, damn it! We havent transmitted or received anything since lunchtime yesterday, the man said.

Who gave you the orders?

I cant say!

Whos looking after the field teams?

I dont know. Somebody else. He said our security was blown and it was being handed over to somebody else.

Whoyou can tell me this time, Clark said in an eerily calm voice.

No, I cant.

Can you call up the field teams?

No.

Why not?

Their satellite radios are encoded. The algorithm is on computer disk. We downloaded all three copies of the encryption keys and erased two of em. He watched us do it and took the third disk himself.

How do you reestablish the link?

You cant. Its a unique algorithm thats based on the time transmissions from NAVSTAR satellites. Secure as hell, and just about impossible to duplicate.

In other words those kids are completely cut off?

Well, no, he took the third disk, and theres somebody else whos Do you really believe that? Clark asked. The mans hesitation answered the question. When the field officer spoke again, it was in a voice that didnt brook resistance. You just told me that the commo link was unbreakable, but you accepted a statement from somebody you never saw before that it had been compromised. We got thirty kids down there, and it sounds like theyve been abandoned. Now, who gave the orders to do it?

Cutter.

He was here?

Yesterday.

Jesus. Clark looked around. The other officer couldnt bring himself to look up. Both men had speculated over what was really happening, and had come to the same conclusion that he had. Who set up the commo plan for this mission?

I did.

What about their tactical radios?

Basically theyre commercial sets, a little customized. They have a choice of ten SSB frequencies.

You have the freqs?

Well, yeah, but Give them to me right now.

The man thought to say that he couldnt do that, but decided against it. Hed just say that Clark threatened him, and it didnt seem like the right time to start a little war in the van. That was accurate enough. He was very much afraid of Mr. Clark at this moment. He pulled the sheet of frequencies from a drawer. It hadnt occurred to Cutter to destroy that, too, but he had the radio channels memorized anyway.

If anybody asks . . .

You were never here, sir.

Very good. Clark walked out into the darkness. Back to the air base, Clark told Larson. Were looking for a helicopter.

Cortez had made it back to Anserma without note having been taken of his seven-hour absence, and had left behind a communications link that knew how to find him, and now, rested and bathed, he waited for the phone to ring. He congratulated himself, first, on having set up a communications net in America as soon as hed taken the job with the Cartel; next on his performance with Cutter, though not as much for this. He could scarcely have lost, though the American had made it easier through his own stupidity, not unlike Carter and the marielitos, though at least the former President had been motivated by humanitarian aims, not political advantage. Now it was just a matter of waiting. The amusing part was the book code that he was using. It was backwards from the usual thing. Normally a book code was transmitted in numbers to identify words, but this time words indicated numbers. Cortez already had the American tactical mapsanyone could buy American military maps from their Defense Mapping Agency, and hed been using them himself to run his operation against the Green Berets. The bookcode system was always a secure method of passing information; now it was even more so.

Waiting was no easier for Cortez than for anyone else, but he amused himself with further planning. He knew what his next two moves were, but what about after that? For one thing, Cortez thought, the Cartel had neglected the European and Japanese markets. Both regions were flush with hard currency, and while Japan might be hard to crackit was hard to import things legally into that marketEurope would soon get much easier. With the EEC beginning its integration of the continent into a single political entity, trade barriers would soon start to come down. That meant opportunity for Cortez. It was just a matter of finding ports of entry where security was either lax or negotiable, and then setting up a distribution network. Reducing exports to America could not be allowed to interfere with Cartel income, after all. Europe was a market barely tapped, and there he would begin to expand the Cartel horizons with his surplus product. In America, reduced demand would merely increase price. In fact, he expected that his promise to Cuttera temporary one to be surewould have a small but positive effect on Cartel income. At the same time, the disorderly American distribution networks would sort themselves out rapidly after the supply was reduced. The strong and efficient would survive, and once firmly established, would conduct business in a more orderly way. Violent crime was more troublesome to the yanquis than the actual drug addiction that caused it. Once the violence abated, drug addiction itself would lose some of the priority in the pantheon of American social problems. The Cartel wouldnt suffer. It would grow in riches and power so long as people desired its product.

While that was happening, Colombia itself would be further subverted, but more subtly. That was one more area in which Cortez had been given professional training. The current lords used a brute-force approach, offering money while at the same time threatening death. No, that would also have to stop. The lust in the developed countries for cocaine was a temporary thing, was it not? Sooner or later it would become unfashionable, and demand would gradually diminish. That was one thing that the lords didnt see. When it began to happen, the Cartel had to have a solid political base and a diversified economic foundation if it wished to survive the diminution of its power. That demanded a more accommodating stance with its parent country. Cortez was prepared to establish that, too. Eliminating some of the more obnoxious lords would be a major first step toward that goal. History taught that you could reach a modus vivendi with almost anybody. And Cortez had just proven it to be true.

The phone rang. He answered it. He wrote down the words given him and after hanging up, picked up the dictionary. Within a minute he was making marks on his tactical map. The American Green Berets were not fools, he saw. Their encampments were all set on places difficult to approach. Attacking and destroying them would be very costly. Too bad, but all things had their price. He summoned his staff and started getting radio messages out. Within an hour, the hunter groups were coming down off the mountains to redeploy. Hed hit them one at a time, he decided. That would guarantee sufficient strength to overwhelm each detachment, and also guarantee sufficient losses that hed have to draw further on the retainers of the lords. He would not accompany the teams up the mountains, of course, but that was also too bad. It might have been amusing to watch.

Ryan hadnt slept at all well. A conspiracy was one thing when aimed at an external enemy. His career at CIA had been nothing more than that, an effort to bring advantage to his own country, often by inflicting disadvantage, or harm, upon another. That was his job as a servant of his countrys government. But now he was in a conspiracy that was arguably against the government itself. The fact denied him sleep.

Jack was sitting in his library, a single reading lamp illuminating his desk. Next to him were two phones, one secure, one not. It was the latter which rang.

Hello?

This is John, the voice said.

Whats the problem?

Somebody cut off support for the field teams.

But why?

Maybe somebody wants them to disappear.

Ryan felt a chill at the back of his neck. Where are you?

Panama. Communications have been shut down and the helicopter is gone. We have thirty kids on hilltops waiting for help that aint gonna come.

How can I reach you? Clark gave him a number. Okay, Ill be back to you in a few hours.

Lets not screw around. The line clicked off.

Jesus. Jack looked into the shadows of his library. He called his office to say that hed drive himself into work. Then he called Dan Murray.

Ryan was back in the FBI building underpass sixty minutes later. Murray was waiting for him and took him back upstairs. Shaw was there, too, and much-needed coffee was passed out.

Our field guy called me at home. VARIABLE has been shut down, and the helicopter crew that was supposed to bring them out has been pulled. He thinks theyre going to behell, he thinks Yeah, Shaw observed. If so, we now have a probable violation of the law. Conspiracy to commit murder. Proving it might be a little tough, though.

Stuff your lawwhat about those soldiers?

How do we get them out? Murray asked. Get help fromno, we cant get the Colombians involved, can we?

How do you think theyd react to an invasion from a foreign army? Shaw noted. About the same way we would.

What about confronting Cutter? Jack asked. Shaw answered.

Confront him with what? What do we have? Zip. Oh, sure, we can get those communications guys and the helicopter crews and talk to them, but theyll stonewall for a while, and then what? By the time we have a case, those soldiers are dead.

And if we can bring them out, then what case do we have? Murray asked. Everybody runs for cover, papers get shredded. . . .