They ran through the darkness to the stream, which was swelled by the rain. As they carried the bound-and-gagged Syrian through the rushing water, sudden glare lit them.

Waiting for the contrateenager to transport the prisoner across the fence, Lyons and Gadgets did not move. High above them, a magnesium flare swung on a miniature parachute. They saw two jeeps of Sandinista militiamen speed from the complex. Spotlights followed the jeeps along the fence.

"Time to shortstop the pursuit," Gadgets told Lyons. He pointed to a small rectangle visible by the flare's light twenty meters away, hanging on the side of an aluminum shipping container.

"See that?"

"Yeah. A claymore?"

"Absolutely right! That's the pop covering this area." He keyed a series of numbers into the impulse transmitter. "What if I'd taken some of those claymores out of your pack? What if I'd gotten the sequence scrambled? You understand? Like what if I pressed the button..."

He touched a digital key. At once, all the claymores planted throughout the harbor complex exploded. Fragments of steel sprayed the two jeeps: their head-lights went black and they lurched to a standstill on flat tires. Flames spread as gasoline spilled. Nothing moved in the wrecks.

"What if I pressed the button and that one..." Gadgets indicated a claymore only a few steps away "...went off instead of those others? You understand?"

"No doubt about it. I understand."

"Technology's great," Gadgets jived, closing the impulse transmitter. "But you got to keep it straight."

The flare sputtered out. Gadgets and Lyons slipped under the flowing water and escaped into the darkness.