"It's a deal," said Liz, grinning at the thought of Bes confronting some petty official. He didn't really need WWF-size support, being, as he was, a dwarf-god from Egypt, Punt and Carthage. He was his own army. "If I can wake the night owl we should be there in forty-five minutes."

"Good. I'm expecting Lamont and Marie too," said Tremelo.

Liz brightened at that. "Did he buy that stretch limo?"

A chuckle came down the line. "I know he used one to tender his resignation from the campus staff. So how is your arm, by the way?"

"Cast came off two days ago. I've kept it for the artwork," said Liz.

"It's probably the only serious attempt at Dali on a plaster cast I have ever seen," admitted Tremelo.

Two minutes later Liz set about the interesting task of waking Jerry. Like most non-morning people, he didn't believe that he was hard to wake.

"I'm afraid you don't have any choice about it, Sergeant," said the PSA senior agent. "You either come along or we take you along. Those are our instructions from the highest level. Ask your colonel." He jerked a rather scornful thumb at Sergeant Anibal Cruz's commanding officer. "But don't waste too much of my time. You've got five minutes to get your personal kit."

Anibal studied the man thoughtfully. "And you're threatening my wife and kids with la migra," he said, in a flat voice that would have worried someone less full of their own self-importance. The tone just bounced off the senior agent. It was a cool, overcast morning, and the jerk was wearing shades. He probably slept in them.