Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Willy Tamarack
Title: Surfers Rule
Part: 2 of 11
Universe:
Summary:
Keywords: (love story, adventure, war viol)
Language: English


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   @(C) 1996-2015 Willy Tamarack Commercial use in any form requires the
written permission of the author and will ensure a portion of the proceeds
goes to the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML).

   Surfers Rule

   by

   Willy Tamarack

   With thanks to the founding fathers and the U.S.  Constitution

   Chapter Four

   November 1999

   Manaus, capital of the state of Amazonas, Brazil

   It was a warm morning in the central part of the city where the
cathedral was located.  The humidity was as high as the temperature with
not a bit of breeze.  The cathedral's doors were open as were the windows
in a futile effort to make the congregation comfortable.  And it was
packed, standing room only.  The cloying smell of incense drifted in the
still air, the smoke just hanging there.  The bishop was honored to preside
and followed the alter boys as they passed by the caskets on their way to
the alter.  The governor was present along with just about every important
functionary in the state.  Mourners had come from as far away as Brasilia,
the capital of Brazil.  Alfred Morales was a very important person in this
part of the world.

   Isabel Morales stood in the front row on the left side of the sacrament.
Her daughter Maria Barrias was standing between her and Senora Barrias,
Maria's mother-in-law.  They were all dressed in black from head to toe,
veils covering their faces.  Senoras Picos and Bahia sat across the isle
from them, dressed almost identically.  Four families of mourners filled
the pews behind them.  The bishop was starting the service.  The
congregation was going to it's knees.  There was a loud shuffling of shoes.

   The words of the Ave Maria drifted up to the rafters of the cathedral
but Isabel Morales could not concentrate on the words nor their meaning. 
Behind the veil, that covered her face, Isabel was seething with rage.  It
had taken them over five months to find the wreckage.  By then there was
little left of the bodies.  She had cajoled, bribed and threatened just
about everyone in government in this part of the country to no avail.  It
wasn't until just recently that they received the official word but she was
sure that somebody had known for a good while.

   She looked over at her daughter.  Isabel was sure she was still crying,
the tears being hidden by her veil.  Isabel had shed her tears that evening
when her husband failed to return from the estancia.  Senor Alfred Morales
rarely failed at anything.  Instinct assured her something horrible had
happened.

   The first unofficial word was that the airplane went down, probably
pilot error.  She didn't believe it.  Her son-in-law had been a very good
pilot with ten years experience, flying for the Brazilian Air Force.  He'd
been flying as an instructor when he left the service to work for her
husband and marry her daughter.  Some officials then tried to sell her on a
mechanical problem but she didn't believe a word of that either.  It wasn't
until recently that the government of the United States of America offered
her a million dollars for the accidental death of her husband.  No
explanation, just money.

   It was only at great monetary cost that she learned her husband and the
others had been murdered by the air force of a foreign county.  They were
suspected of being drug runners.  Her husband, a drug runner !?  Ridiculous
!  Her informant insisted that the government was given proof, pictures of
bundles of drugs were photographed in the wreckage of the Cessna 402.  The
bodies had already been removed.  The fury boiled within her.  She watched
the bishop going through the ritual of the funeral mass.  She was hardly a
participant, her mind way, way out there.....

   .....Just this morning her daughter had broken down and lashed out at
her, angry that the love of her life and husband for almost two years was
dead and gone forever.

   "If my father was still alive, he'd make them pay.  You...You do
nothing." She practically screamed across the dinning room.

   It was like a lightening bolt from a clear sky.  Isabel was stuck for an
answer.  The church had been no help, counseling her to let matters be,
move forward.  God did not want her to avenge her husband's death.  The
local politicians pleaded impotence in matters such as this and directed
her to higher ups in the federal beauracracy.

   It seemed that her husband's influence died with him.  She told the
politicians that they'd received the last of the Morales' money.  It was
difficult for her to maintain her emotions and at times she broke down.  In
the beginning, she lost it with any one of the functionaries she'd beg to
let her see their benefactors.

   All the boot lickers in government counseled her to go about her
business, grow the company.  Now the head of Morales Exporters, S.A.;
Isabel had inherited her husband's family company and responsibilities. 
She had plenty to do just to get up to speed, running the company.  What
could she do ?  How do you answer your child under these circumstances ?

   "And just what do you expect me to do, Maria, declare war on Peru ?"

   "Go to the narcos.  See if they can do something !?  That's what my
father...Your husband would have done.  Those bastards are the ones who
started all this..."

   "You're out of your mind, dear.  Your father would have nothing to do
with those bastards....."

   .....Senora Morales was outside the cathedral following the casket,
containing what remained of her husband, on it's way to his final resting
place.  She'd recognized many in the congregation.  One face stood out.  He
was crossing himself with a rosary in his hand.  A man who did his own
bidding, kept his own counsel.  That he was here today was not totally
unexpected.  His family had lived here for over a decade.  It was rumored
he had contacts, who were not quite who people wanted to associate with,
possibly with criminal connections.  But a lot of families around here,
possibly, had some criminal connections in their backgrounds.  This was one
of the last frontiers on earth, wild and dangerous.

   For the life of her she could not recall his name.  She would have to do
better at this business of hers.  He was crossing himself again as her
husband's casket was loaded into the hearst.  Isabel wondered why he was
even here as her husband had no connection to his business ?  The fact,
that he was here, lingered.

   It was several weeks later, well after the service and burial; when she
was conferring with one of her husband's most trusted advisors.  It had
first appeared the morning of the funeral and now it surfaced again.  She
would declare war on Peru !  She would extract her revenge by shooting down
one of their airplanes.  And to do that, she would have to consult with the
narcos.  Her daughter was right.  Her husband probably would consult with
the narcos if he had lived and others had died doing his business.  He was
fourth generation.  His family had lived in these parts for close to a
hundred years.  Her husband was a survivor and as such had learned to
attack an adversary with all available resources.  His family's survival
depended on it.  His employees were part of his family and he felt a strong
responsibility for their well being.

   She was consulting a list of those who had sent flowers and wreaths to
the funeral and burial.  Flowers were quite plentiful in this part of the
world and the grave site had been a floral rainbow.  His name jumped up off
the page.  She stared at it and was about to ask her husband's advisor to
contact him for her.  She didn't and instead shoved the list into her top
desk drawer.  It was several days before she found the time to call him and
then it took three attempts to get him on the line.

   "Senor...I wanted to call you personally to thank you for your tribute
to my husband...And your attendance at the services.  It was most kind but
I'll admit, a little unexpected." She was hesitant, knowing she wanted
something from him...Knowing she had nothing to offer him.

   "I regret the surprise, senora.  Your husband was a fine man.  He
deserved my family's tribute.  It was a shame what happened to him and your
employees." She sensed he knew more than the story published in the papers
about the airplane accident, so she pressed forward.

   "I mean no offense, senor, but would it be possible for you to put me in
touch with someone who has more experience with having their airplanes shot
down ?" Silence...Maybe he knew only the story printed in the papers after
all or didn't make the connection or didn't understand her request ?!  The
silence stretched to almost ten seconds or so.

   "No offense taken, senora, but I regret I don't have that ability.  If I
can offer you some other assistance in the future please don't hesitate to
get in touch with me."

   Her only avenue, a dead end.  She was more than frustrated.  And that
frustration did not dissipate with time.  What was she going to call this
insanity that she visited every night before she closed her eyes ?  Was it
just fantasy ?  Something to take the place of Alfred.  Whatever it was,
she kept it to herself and put it on hold until one bright, sunny afternoon
in early January 2000.  The new melinium !

   Isabel was downtown, patronizing her favorite restaurant for lunch.  She
was accompanied by three of her husband's executives.  Well, really they
were her executives now.  They had been instrumental in guiding Morales
Exports, S.A.  since her husband died.  It was a pleasant lunch and of no
consequence until the waiter brought her a message with coffee.

   He bent at the waist to speak quietly into her ear, "Senora Morales, a
gentleman wishes to speak with you in the lounge." This was not an unusual
request so she excused herself and followed the waiter.

   Isabel showed no surprise when she saw him seated in a far off corner of
the lounge and immediately excused the waiter.  He stood as she approached
his table.

   "Thank you for seeing me, Senora Morales.  I won't offer you a drink as
you just finished your lunch.  I hope you won't think me rude but we should
spend as little time together as possible."

   Isabel seated herself.  The man leaned forward across the table and
pushed a small note card toward her hand.  "This is the best I can do.  I
apologize for the short notice but this was a very dangerous request that
should be spoken about only face to face.  You must understand how
dangerous this is for both of us.  Do you ?"

   She covered the card with her hand.  "Yes, I believe I do.  What is it
you have given me ?"

   "A time and a hotel...Some directions.  It is all I could arrange.  I'm
sorry I can not do more.  My family had great respect for your husband. 
Someone will contact you there.  That is all I know.  The rest must be up
to you and the fewer people you inform of this the better."

   "You are the only one I have ever talked with about this.  That I can
assure you.  And this will be the last time we meet.  Do you understand
that, senor ?"

   "Yes, senora, I do.  Please excuse me." He stood and moved toward the
entrance.  "Buena suerte, Isabel."

   Chapter Five

   January 2000

   Cartegena, capital of department Bolivar, Columbia

   Senora Morales routed herself through Bogota, using the excuse that she
had some business interest there.  The sky was dotted with more than a few
thunderstorms even at this time of the morning and the connecting flight to
Cartegena was very turbulent.  Isabel felt ill for most of the trip.  Then
the airport was packed with people when she arrived and there was no way
she could avoid queuing up for the line of taxis that would take her to the
hotel.  She had changed clothes in Bogota and was now wearing jeans with a
long sleeved blouse.  Her hiking boots were new as were the rest of her
outfit.  Her long, dark hair was braided and fell down to just above her
waist.  Her business suit and some clean under things were packed in the
slim over-the-shoulder bag she was carrying.

   The taxi ride lasted over thirty minutes and she was bathed in
perspiration by the time she reached the hotel.  The sun was now shinning
brightly and it was quite warm and humid.  She was unaccustomed to taking
care of these issues; taxi rides, checking in to hotels but found it just
time consuming.  She was tense but relieved to be closeted in her room. 
She wondered how she would be contacted ?

   She remained in her room until shortly before the appointed time and
then descended to the lobby.  She took a seat in the lobby and kept track
of the time.  At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon she exited the hotel
and walked west along the street.  The vehicle appeared on her right a half
a block from the hotel.  A late model, four door American car had slowed to
a crawl beside her.  She leaned down to look at the driver.

   "Get in the car, senora." Her heart was beating rapidly as she opened
the door and slid into the back seat.  The car moved out into traffic.  Her
quest had begun !

   She studied the streets as the car continued west and then turned north
at the second corner.  Three blocks later the car turned back to the west;
a block later it turned to the south.  There were many stop lights.  After
turning to the south the car entered a residential neighborhood.  The
driver tossed a cloth bag into the rear seat.

   "Throw your purse into the front seat.  Put the bag over your head and
get down on your elbows and knees behind the front seat.  Don't make a
sound or get up off the floor until I tell you to.  If you don't follow
these directions, I'll take you back to the hotel.  Understand."

   Isabel tossed her purse into the front seat.  It was a small, brand new,
white laundry bag.  She opened the cloth bag.  Thought about it and then
began to get down on the floor behind the front seats.  She then put the
bag over her head and fumbled around for a few moments before was
comfortable.  She smelled fear and perspiration on her and was beginning to
have second thoughts about her plan to contact the narcos.  They could kill
her right here and now and nobody would even know where she'd gone.  But
why would they kill her ?  Her business had nothing to do with theirs...Or
did it ?  The thought brought chills to her as she hid on the floor of the
car.

   Was it possible that her husband did have dealings with the narcos ? 
Just the thought made her nauscious.  She knew next to nothing about the
business before her husband's death so it was a possibility.  But, no, that
couldn't be possible.  The others' reputations were impeccable.  Never the
less the thought stayed with her as the car continued changing direction
every few minutes.

   They changed direction again and were now on a highway, the car
traveling much faster.  She was cramped and uncomfortable, wondering how
much longer she would have to endure these conditions.  Suddenly the car
lurched to the right, throwing her against the driver's side of the car. 
The road was rough and very steep; she was pushed back against the back
seat.  The car bumped along for several minutes as Isabel tried to push
herself away from the door and get into a more comfortable position on her
knees.  The car slowed and the road didn't feel as rough as it had a few
moments ago.

   "Okay, senora, you may sit up on the back seat but don't take the bag
off your head.  We are still about ten minutes away." She figured they had
been traveling close to an hour.  Isabel struggled to get up on to the back
seat as the car bounced along a very unimproved road.  It seemed darker now
that they were off the highway.

   The car slowed and the sound of the tires changed.  It sounded like they
were traveling over crushed rock.  The ride was smoother.  The car rolled
to a stop.  The driver told her to remain where she was.  She waited.  It
seemed like forever.  She was tempted to remove the bag from her head but
didn't.  She felt she was being watched.  She heard foot steps.  The car
door was yanked open.  Someone took a hold of her upper arm, his other hand
on her head, and assisted her out of the car.  The ground was uneven and
they were climbing.  She almost fell a couple of times but the hand was
strong on her arm.  Twice his other hand had held her waist to guide her.

   "Steps," is all he said.  Isabel counted to ten.  They had entered a
building then a room.  She was guided to a chair and told to sit.  She did
as she was told.  Her purse was placed in her lap and the voice told her
she could remove the bag just before a door closed behind her.  The room
was well lit and she had to cover her eyes after getting the bag off her
head.  Her eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light.  It was a large room
and obviously an office of some kind.  The ceiling was over six, maybe
eight meters above her head with a string of halogen lights running down
the center.  The walls were masonry.  The roof was tin or aluminum
sheeting. There were windows up very high and they were open.

   Isabel was sitting right in front of a huge mahogany desk that easily
measured two meters wide by another meter deep and over a meter high. 
There were two ways in and out of the room.  The door off to her right
opened.  A man entered.

   He was very handsome with dark hair to his shoulders and much younger
than she had imagined.  Maybe close to two meters tall and very muscled,
wearing a dark gray coat with an open collared white shirt.  He was a
striking man.  She stood and then immediately wondered why ?  She was his
senior by over a decade.

   He started laughing.  She felt like a fool.  Her hands flew to her hair,
yanking at the braiding, knowing that it was all over the place after being
shoved in the bag during the trip out here.

   "I apologize for the long trip and all the subterfuge you had to endure
to see me, Senora Morales.  I wish I didn't have to live this way but you,
of all people, should understand.  Your husband was a fine man.  An honest
man.  I feel your pain.  I'm sorry for your loss, senora."

   "You knew my husband !?" It came out as a shocked expression of fear. 
Oh !  Jesus Christ !  Her worst fears were coming to be reality.  It was
like she was physically hit.  She sat and slumped back against the back of
the chair.  She couldn't imagine her husband being able to keep this from
her.  It wasn't possible !?  This struck at the heart of their marriage. 
She felt violated.

   "Senora Morales, you misunderstand.  Your husband and I met once.  At
some celebration we both attended.  It was ten years ago.  I was not as
unpopular back then.  Was seen more as a Robin Hood.  But then events got
so out of control.  No, senora, he never did business with me and from what
I've heard never would." He stopped to light a cigarette and then sat
behind his desk.  He offered the pack to her.  She shook her head 'no.'

   "If someone has told you that he did business with narcos or showed you
pictures of drugs in the wreckage...This is because, in this particular
instance, someone really fucked up." She was now looking right into his
eyes as if to gage whether he was lying.  "Yes, I have heard rumors about
the attack on your airplane.  I have lost many this way but then mine are
usually full of cocaine.  So, yes, I am someone who has more experience
with having their airplanes shot down.  Is that all that brings you here to
talk with a narco terrorist, senora ?"

   The relief flooded her, filled her with courage.  Her life was back to
normal.  Her husband was the man she knew him to be.  They all were.  And
those fucking Norte Americanos had made pictures of drugs just to cover up
their mistake.  Her husband's honor was intact and he was being smeared
just because it was convienent to do so.  If they'd take care of their own
population's problem, then this population would have one less problem and
be a lot more pleasant.  A lot more peaceful, she imagined.  She stared at
him, right in the eyes.

   "You know why I'm here...My husband and son-in-law were murdered because
of your business.  I want to know what you are going to do about it, senor
?"

   A frown burrowed his forehead.  "Not a fucking thing, senora.  Losses
like that are a cost of doing business.  I make sure my men's families are
well taken care of and then we push more product north."

   His harsh language didn't inhibit her.  She changed tact.  "What if I
offered you a million dollars to avenge my husband's death ?"

   "Isn't that what the Estados Unidos gave you for the death of your
husband ?  Your daughter got the same.  You've been compensated, senora."
He blew a couple of smoke rings into the air.  "But just for conversation
sake, what would you have me do with this million that you're going to give
me ?"

   "Shoot down one of their airplanes !"

   He laughed out loud.  Senora Morales rose to her feet.  Her face
flushed, her fists clenched at her sides.

   "You make billions off this product of yours; yet you allow those
chicken shit bastards from Norte Americana to come down here and kill your
employees and steal your product.  Maybe, senor, you're the chicken shit
bastard !?"

   "Watch your mouth, senora.  Lots of people disappear in my business. 
You would be just one of many."

   "My husband was twice the man you are.  He would never allow a
competitor to threaten his business...His employees...His family !"

   The younger man was about to speak but thought better of it.  He picked
up a rock from the desk top and slammed it down.  The door, through which
he had entered, was immediately opened.  He was still staring at her when
he called out.  "The senora will be staying for dinner.  Set another place.
Make up another room so that she may rest a little before dinner.  I think
the strenuous trip has affected her judgment." With that he rose from the
desk, turned and marched out the open door.

   Isabel Morales stared at his back as he left the room.  A man servant
entered immediately and instructed her to follow him.  It was a few moments
before she followed.  This wasn't the man who picked her up although they
were dressed similarly.  The place was more like a bunker.  She could hear
heavy rain on the tin roof.  She was led down a hallway and there he was,
standing outside one of the doors.  This was the one who drove her here and
was no where near as good looking as his patron.

   "Senora, I'm to insure you are not bothered while you rest.  Dinner is
at nine.  I will escort you to the dinning room then." He bowed a little
and Isabel moved past him into the room.  He closed the door behind her.

   Chapter Six

   Juan Motay made the short walk to his communications center.  He had to
make arrangements for some amounts to be shipped.  It was so different and
complicated today but so easy way back then.  Somebody would talk with
somebody and they trusted each other or were related.  And the deal was
done.  Load it up and off it went.  But that was the problem.  So much
money and so easy.  Buy the product down here for next to nothing then sell
it up north for astronomical amounts.  Only idiots would turn down a
business like this.  Well, there were the honest ones and the ones who were
afraid of guns.

   Shoot down a Peruvian jet fighter, senora, maybe even it's seeing eye
dog !?  Yea, sure why not !?  He wondered if Senora Morales was using his
product ?  He laughed out loud and then remembered an event years ago.....

   .....It was the early nineties...Winter down here.  Juan was supervising
the largest consignment they had moved north in one load.  This was a lot
of powder.  Over four tons...Four fucking tons in one airplane !  He had
two fork lifts ready and three trucks of pallets.  They were just idling,
waiting to go.  The window for the plane to arrive had just opened.  In two
hours he'd take it all back to the compound if the guy didn't show.  And
then there'd be hell to pay; wondering what the shit happened ?

   They had never used this particular pilot before.  From some town in
Southern California, some Spanish sounding name.  Had good credentials and
was vouched for by enough.  Rumor had it that he'd given his uncle a hell
of a sales pitch.

   Some of his men were pointing to the west.  He moved out from under the
dense jungle canopy and looked in that direction.  The plane was dropping
out of the sky at a steep angle.  He was glad that the product and his
equipment were at this end of the runway as he was sure the plane was going
to crash.  It was dropping like a rock.

   At the last moment the nose of the aircraft rose high into the air and
the plane touched down over a half a mile away with hardly a puff of smoke
coming off the tires.  The nose stayed in the air for a long time as the
airplane slowed but was still moving rapidly as it approached the east end
of the runway.  About a hundred feet from the turn around, the airplane
seemed to stop suddenly and pivot around on one of the landing gear,
engines screaming.  A huge cloud of dust rose into the air and several of
his men started to move deeper into the jungle.

   As the dust started to settle Juan noticed the cargo ramp was already
lowered and a figure was running down the ramp.  It was a woman and she had
two sets of large wooden blocks slung over her shoulders.  She was under
the airplane, shoving the blocks of wood in front of the tires.  The
aircraft engines remained idling.  She was now out in front of the aircraft
holding her crossed arms above her head.  Moments later she was trotting to
the rear of the aircraft.  Before she'd been running at a sprint.

   Juan Motay moved out into the clearing at the end of the runway.  She
was extremely attractive with long, blonde hair flowing behind her as she
moved.  An AK-47 was slung over her shoulder.  She came right toward him.

   In flawless Spanish she asked him if he was in charge.  He nodded yes
and she immediately asked permission to move the empty fork lift to the
rear of the aircraft.  Juan waved his arm and the fork lift started to
move. She rushed to intercept it.  Another figure was walking down the
loading ramp.  It was a man.  The two of them were dressed identically,
jeans, white "T" shirts with worn cowboy boots.  Both were openly carrying
weapons.

   The man was also carrying two heavy suitcases and heading right toward
him.  He stopped several feet away from Juan, dropped the suitcases and
held out his hand.

   "Malibu here.  You must be Felix.  I assume you're going to have your
people count the money.  It's all there.  Surfer Girl and I counted it on
the way down."

   Juan slowly held out his hand.  Behind the guy, the girl was backing the
forklift out of the aircraft; bringing out what looked like a two meter by
two meter by one meter rubber bladder on a wooden pallet.  She dropped it
behind the aircraft and went back into the plane on the fork lift.  The
pilot was pumping his hand.  Then he backed away.

   "There's two more.  I'll be back in a couple of minutes.  If you could
have your guys just drop the pallets in a line at the end of the runway."
He turned and sprinted to the airplane.  The woman was bringing out a much
larger pallet with a larger rubber bladder.  She ran it right up the side
of the airplane, right behind the wing; then jumped on top of it and
uncoiled some rubber tubing.  Up on to the wing with the tubing and she was
shoving it into the wing tank.

   The pilot was running back with two more suitcases.  Juan called for the
counters.  They rushed forward and then left with all the suitcases.  The
woman was now lowering an electric pump into the bladder, then hooking the
cord to the side of the airplane.  The tubing coming from the bladder and
up on to the wing filled rapidly.  The woman jumped up onto the bladder and
then on to the wing of the aircraft, checking on the refueling operation.

   "You counted it ?" Juan asked.  The pilot nodded his head while watching
the girl slide down on to the bladder and then wave for one of Felix's men.
Two of them went running toward her.

   "Yea, we counted it.  Damn good crew chief isn't she ?" The pilot was
still watching the girl.

   "Your wife ?" Juan asked.

   The guy shook his head.  "No, but then this will give us a real good
start on that, won't it !" He was staring at Juan, a pleasant smile on his
face.

   "Well, Senor Malibu, just what is it you do for money besides carrying
the largest consignment north that I've ever heard of ?" Juan had a great
big smile on his face.

   "Just Malibu and Surfer Girl, Felix.  I used to fly fighters for Uncle
Sam.  F-15s.  I was in the first wave on the first night of Desert Storm.
The only lieutenant in my squadron to go in on the first night.  Got two
confirmed kills.  Now that was a rush, Felix, not much money but a real
good rush.  Same rush here only it comes with the take off and then landing
where the DEA isn't waiting for you and all those nasty things.  But if you
live by the six 'Ps' you can normally overcome all but the most lucky
adversaries.  Always better to be lucky than good."

   Juan was watching the girl trot up to them, her breasts bouncing
enticingly.  All eight pallets were lined up at the end of the runway.  She
looked at her watch and then back at the bladder that was filling the wing
tanks.  "Ten minutes to go, Malibu."

   "Fine...Felix, this is Surfer Girl."

   "Nice to meet you, Surfer Girl.  Malibu was just explaining the six 'Ps'
to me ?"

   The girl answered immediately.  "Prior planning prevents piss poor
performance, Felix.  Don't leave home without them.  Okay to start loading,
Malibu ?" Malibu looked over at Felix.

   Felix nodded his head and told her.  "Sure, go ahead, Surfer Girl." And
she was gone, sprinting to the forklifts.  The tubing from the bladder was
starting to deflate, the bladder just a pile of rubber skin.  Malibu
excused himself, ran over to the airplane and stopped the refueling
operation by pulling the electric plug out of the airplane.  He disappeared
into the airplane and came out one of the pilot's windows and up on to the
wing.  The deflated tubing ended up on the ground and he put the cap back
on the wing tank.

   Most of the pallets were loaded.  She was much better than his men with
the forklift.  The pilot was running toward him.  The head counter was
approaching from the jungle.  They arrived almost together.  The pilot was
holding out his hand, "Good to go ?"

   The counter was nodding his head, the pilot shook his hand and walked
backwards toward the plane.  All the pallets were aboard and she was moving
the small fuel tank back into the aircraft.  "Remember the six 'P's",
Felix. Adios, amigo !" He waved and was gone, sprinting back toward the
plane.

   The takeoff was spectacular.  The pilot held the brakes until full power
was applied to the engines, all kinds of sand and dirt and stones flying
around behind the aircraft and then they were off.  The plane struggled for
several hundred feet or so before it started to pick up speed.  When
airborne it remained just three or four feet off the ground until just
before the jungle rose in front of them.  Then the airplane jumped above
the jungle and disappeared from sight in an instant.....

   .....Dinner was over.  They talked about nothing consequential.  The
weather up here.  Her business down there.  She was less tense and much
more relaxed.  It was obvious the minute she entered the room on her
escort's arm.

   Coffee was served and the man servant left the room.  Juan started
immediately.  "I have taken the liberty of moving you out of the hotel.  In
fact, you never checked in.  You disappeared between the airport and the
hotel.  Your bag will be in your room tonight.  When we are through here, I
will get you to the airport and on your way back home.  Agree ?  Yes or
no."

   "Yes !  Yes !  Of course, whatever assurances you want.  What are you
giving me ?  What am I getting myself into ?" She was excited, like a kid
at Christmas.

   "Well you're just attempting to shoot down a jet fighter plane that is a
direct extension of the military of the Estados Unidos...A very powerful
adversary.  I'm not giving you one chance in a hundred." He lit a
cigarette. "You know who will pay for this if you are successful ?" He was
pointing to his chest.  Isabel was nodding her head up and down.

   "Thank you, senor.  What is it you want from me ?" f

   "Your success, of course, dear.  Businesses have grown over the years
and it was not always because of competition but sometimes cooperation. 
The reputation you will earn me will be worth much more than you could ever
pay me." He sent a couple of smoke rings toward the ceiling.

   "I may need some advice or assistance.  I want a direct line, just to
you, no flunkies."

   "Impossible.  I will guarantee to be back to you in twelve hours.  That
must be good enough.  And I must know when so I can take appropriate
measures.  That you must promise."