"Roberto Quesada," Holt informed him. "Ex-colonel Quesada. He resigned his army commission in December 1979..."

Senor Rivera nodded. "Yes, after the first junta."

"He opposed the voting rights and land reforms," Holt continued. "Now he directs the Army of White Warriors from Miami..."

"Why does your Immigration not deport him?" Senora Rivera asked.

" 'Cause he's a rich man," Jefferson answered.

"Do you recognize any of the others?" Holt asked the Riveras.

"Perhaps this one…" Senora Rivera picked up one photo. "I think… I think maybe I saw him in the village. But… I cannot be sure."

Senor Rivera waved a hand over the photos. "Why do we look at these? They do not show what happened that day. Pictures from Miami prove nothing."

"If we can link Quesada to the murder, if Quesada gave the order from Miami to murder Ricardo Marquez in Sonsonate, he is then subject to prosecution under the laws of the United States," Holt said. "And for the period of the investigation and trial, you and your family will receive protection as witnesses."

"And perhaps we will not. Perhaps they will come to kill us. If I had not called your embassy in San Salvador, my son would be alive. Now you want us to trust your justice?"

"Yes. I want you to trust our laws. In the United States, no one is above the law. Not even wealthy colonels."

"Not even the White House?" Senora Rivera asked.

Holt repeated his words. "No one is above the law. The law protects us all."

"In El Salvador, there are many laws," muttered Senor Rivera. "There are courts and lawyers. There is a constitution. But the law does not stop the squadrons of death."

3

Agent Gallucci of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, impatiently drummed his fingers on the desktop. As David Holt detailed the information his firm had gathered on Colonel Quesada, Gallucci stared out of his office window at the smog-gray skyline of Los Angeles.