Winthrop recognized him now that she heard the corn pone in his voice.

"Platt!"

"You look much better in person than you do in VR, honey. How about you put those guns down?"

"How about I just shoot you instead?" Winthrop said.

"Bad idea. Ask your jig friend there why."

She glanced at the colonel.

"He's holding some kind of a grenade," Howard said.

"Yep, a gen-u-wine World War Two po-tato masher. Shoot me and I drop it, and even if your armor stops most of it, you still probably get stung pretty good. Maybe a piece gets through and punches a hole in an artery and you bleed out. And old Tommy boy here, well, he surely gets turned into hamburger."

"I don't think so," Howard said. "I think if I shoot you, both you and that grenade will fall off that balcony behind you."

"Ah," Platt said. "But then I would die, and you don't want that, now, do you?"

"Why not?"

d.a.m.n, Winthrop thought. She knew Platt was right. And so did Colonel Howard. She'd heard Commander Michaels telling him all about the dead-man switches. But she also knew that the colonel didn't necessarily want Platt to know they knew... or that, even now, Jay Gridley was working furiously to defuse the things.

G.o.d dammit, Gridley, she thought. Hurry up Hurry up.

"I'm surprised you haven't found my little surprises yet, boy," Platt said, "but then maybe you Net Force folks aren't as good as ole Tommy-boy here thought. Let's just say that if I don't make it back to my ride out of here-and the little ole computer with its satellite uplink-by a certain time, well, things will happen that will make those last a.s.saults on the net look like kid's stuff."

"What do you want?" Howard said.

"Well, we need to come to some kind of... arrangement," Platt said.

He smiled.

Chapter Forty.

Wednesday, January 19th, 2:05 a.m. Bissau, Guinea-Bissau At the helicopters, the pilots were relaxed, laughing and joking. Michaels and Toni weren't so animated. They stood a short ways off, swatting at the bugs that swirled around them. The bug dope was enough to keep the insects from landing, most of them, but not enough to keep them from buzzing close enough to be annoying.

Michaels was beginning to get worried. The others were supposed to be back by now.

Even as he thought this, the sound of a truck motor reached them.

Two of the pilots moved away from the copters, a.s.sault weapons held at the ready.

The truck rounded a curve a couple hundred yards out, and as soon as it did, it blinked its lights off and then on again.

"It's them," Toni said.

Michaels felt himself relax a little.

The truck pulled to a stop ten feet away from where Michaels stood, and Sergeant Fernandez stepped out. He frowned. "Beta Team is not back." It was not a question.

"We thought they were supposed to meet you, and you'd all come back together," Toni said.

"That's how it was supposed to go. We waited until 0150 hours as planned. The deal was, if for some reason they ran long, they'd meet us back at the Hueys by 0200. I don't like this. The colonel is never late. I think we have to give him a call."

"We're not supposed to break radio silence except in an emergency," Michaels said.

"Sir, we're supposed to lift in twenty-five minutes," Fernandez said. "It's an emergency."

Michaels nodded. "Yeah."

2:06 a.m.

Howard felt the com vibrate soundlessly against his left hip. That would be Julio calling. But he couldn't answer him right now. Their suits' long-range broadcast radio had been put on standby, to make sure n.o.body who might be listening for such things picked up stray signals. LOSIR was up, and GPS transponders were on, but that wouldn't be much help-they knew where where he was, just not why he was still he was, just not why he was still there there.

Howard had his pistol trained on Platt, as did Winthrop. Platt, meanwhile, waved the grenade back and forth as if it was a spinning reel and he was fly-fishing for ba.s.s in a pond.

"Thing is, Colonel, we can't hang around here all night in this Mexican standoff," Platt said. "We don't leave pretty soon, El Presidente's boys are gonna come up here pokin' around, and we don't want to be here when they do."

"Put that thing away," Hughes said. "Are you crazy?"

"No, sir, what I am is p.i.s.sed off. You owe me thirty million dollars and I want it."

"Thirty million?" million?"

"Yeah, I figure I'm due a little extra, for all my trouble. Trouble you caused me."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

" 'Course not," Platt said.

From the hall, Martin called: "Colonel, is everything okay in there?" He couldn't see them, because the kicked-in door had shut behind him when Howard had come into the room.

"Affirmative!" Howard called back. "But listen up! I want you and Hull to go downstairs, collect the rest of Beta Team, and take the truck back to the rendezvous point ASAP!"

"Sir? What about you and the package?"

"We are involved in some... delicate negotiations in here, Martin. Get back to the rendezvous, you copy?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good move," Platt said. "We'd better be going ourselves." He waved the grenade at the door. "We can leave through the kitchen. It's pretty quiet back there now."

"Maybe not," Howard said.

"Listen up, Colonel Sambo, here's the deal. I need Hughes because without him, I am up Poor White Trash Creek without a paddle. You want him for your own reasons. Let's go somewhere I can get what I want, then you can have him."

"Dammit, Platt-!"

"Shut up, Hughes. You ain't part of this discussion."

"You turn me over to them, why should I give you the money?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because if you don't, I'll poke out your eyes or cut off your family jewels?"

"I don't much like your deal," Howard said.

"Only one I'm offering. I got a ride out of this stinkin' country. I'm gonna take an account code with me or I ain't goin'. Grab that laptop there off the bedside table, would you, darlin'? We got to move. You object to that, Colonel?"

Howard shook his head. This guy was dangerous at the very least, maybe crazy enough to let that grenade go and kill or maim them all.

"If that thing is from World War II, what makes you think it will still work?" Winthrop said. "Maybe I shoot you, it drops and fizzles out like a wet match."

"Maybe so," Platt said. "But you know them krauts, they build to last. You want to risk fat boy's a.s.s on maybe it won't blow up?"

"Let's move," Howard said. "He's right about one thing, if we don't we're all for sure dead."

"Age before beauty," Platt said.

As Howard turned to leave the room, he reached down with his left hand, while it was hidden from Platt's view, and triple-tapped the panic b.u.t.ton on his com.

2:10 a.m.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Fernandez said.

"What?" Michaels and Toni said together.

"My com just started a beeper pulse. The colonel has pushed his panic b.u.t.ton. That means he's down or captured, he can't talk."

Michaels said, "Can we locate him from the signal?"

"Yes, it's a GPS pulse."

"Then let's go."

"We're supposed to lift in twenty minutes," one of the pilots said. "Sooner or later the local army is going to get its pants on and come looking for whoever caused all the trouble."

Michaels said. "We don't leave until we bring our people out."

"Sir, the colonel's orders-" the pilot began.

"Negative," Fernandez cut in. "If the colonel's been captured, then I'm in charge, and I say we're not leaving without Colonel Howard. Understood?"

The pilot looked at the ground.

Fernandez said. "If the local army comes around, then you can take off. Otherwise, you wait until we get back."

"I'm going with you," Michaels said.

"And so am I," Toni said.

"Not a good idea, sir," Fernandez began.

"Why does everybody keep saying that? Let's move, Sergeant. Time is running out."

2:15 a.m.

The rest of Beta Team had left by the front gate, which was opened and unmanned. The guards who had been fogged were still on the ground, bound in plastic wrist and ankle cufftape.

Howard, Platt, Hughes, and Winthrop moved out. There was still a big commotion at the diversion fire, less than half a mile away, and n.o.body seemed to be standing around gawking at the presidential compound.

"He's crazy," Hughes said quietly to the colonel. "He hates black people, or at least black men. He'll kill us all if he gets the chance."

Platt moved over and tapped Hughes on the back of the head with the grenade he held.

"Ow!"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? You burned all your goodwill up with me."

"Why do they call it a potato masher?" Winthrop said, trying to distract the man.

"Because of the shape," Platt said. "See, narrow here, on the handle, but fat down here. You take your cooked potatoes and pound away at them, like this."

He moved the grenade up and down, as if using it to smash things under the heavy end. "See?"

G.o.d. he was crazy. Look at him grin. And what was that stain all over his skin? He couldn't possibly think he was pa.s.sing for a native, could he?