"Continue searching. We must determine the whereabouts of the other helicopters and the bomber plane."

The sergeant pointed to a scorched hillside. Straightening the Piper's flight path, he crossed the narrow canyon, then circled again. Below them, they saw a tangle of heat-distorted scrap metal. Burning fuel had denuded the hillside, leaving only ashes and black rocks. A rotor blade identified the wreck as that of a helicopter.

On a hilltop above the wreck, vultures fed on the bodies of soldiers in gray uniforms. Two corpses lay on the top of the hill. Others sprawled in the brush on the steep hillside. Vultures had found them all.

Studying the hilltop through the binoculars, the lieutenant saw no weapons. He reported his observations to Colonel Alvarez.

"We see another helicopter. And the bodies of the advisers from Mexico City. All dead. And their rifles and equipment are gone."

"They are dead? Incredible. I cannot believe they fell into a trap also."

"It is very strange. It is as if they were ambushed. But they died on a hilltop. Ambush would have been impossible."

"They are highly trained, veterans of many wars."

"But someone killed them all."

"Find the others," commanded the voice from the radio. "Perhaps Colonel Gonzalez escaped somehow. Perhaps the pilot of the plane survived. We must learn exactly what happened. Has the helicopter carrying the soldiers arrived yet?"

"In a few minutes, Colonel."

"They will search the area. Assist them."

The lieutenant switched off the microphone. He said to the sergeant, "We will assist them. We will tell them to stay away from this cursed place. And perhaps they will live."

Landing in an arroyo outside Culiacan, Davis switched off the turbine. He turned to his passengers.

"We still got some fuel, but not much," he said. "How about if we get volunteers to hitchhike over to the airport? There's a dirt road a couple hundred yards that way..."