"Standard limousine routine," Blancanales answered. "You own the road."

"See you, Able Team, in a few weeks." Then Brognola stepped out and immediately merged with the afternoon crowd.

"So be it," Lyons commented as he took the wheel. He found the switches of the German luxury car. He flipped the intercom switch. "Where to?"

* * *

Tapping on the window of the closed photography shop, Jorge got the attention of the owner, Senor Brillas. The elderly man waved him away. Jorge beat on the window with the film canister. Angry, Senor Brillas shuffled to the door, pointed to the "Closed" sign. Then he recognized Jorge. He opened the door for the young man. He knew why Jorge was there. "This is for El..."

"Silence, boy!" Senor Brillas glanced in both directions, saw no one out of the ordinary on the narrow street of shop fronts and apartments. He clutched at the youth and pulled him inside.

"What do you have for him?" The old man would not mouth the warlord's name.

"This." Jorge held up the can holding the roll of 35mm film. "Photos of North Americans. They went to a place where..."

Hands like bare bones clutched the film, then pushed him out the door. "It is not important I know. I will send the photos to him. You give him the information."

Leaning in on the door as the old man tried to close it, Jorge warned him: "No mistakes! This is life and death!"

Senor Brillas locked the door. He turned the small film canister in his hands. "Soldiers, cocaine, and death. Always."

From a nearby cafe's pay phone, Jorge called Zavala, lieutenant to El Negro. The chatter and laughter of four teenage girls forced Jorge to put his other hand over his free ear and speak closely into the mouthpiece.

"This is your friend with a camera. Can we speak?"

"Why did you not call this morning? What do you have to tell me?"

"They did not come until only an hour ago. I have photos of all of them."