"Guess not," Gadgets commented, looking down at the remains of Pete Marchardo. Three point-blank shotgun blasts had ended his life. One had taken away his left arm above the elbow, the second had torn away a section of ribs. The third was a ragged two-inch-wide hole precisely through his heart: the coup de grace.

"So what's he got to do with us?" Gadgets repeated.

"He's our ticket to Texas," Blancanales replied.

Gadgets looked at Marchardo's face, then at Blancanales. "Might have to change your nose a little," he said. "Add a couple of scars." He looked at Brognola. "How did you... arrange this?"

"We didn't murder this man..." Brognola protested.

"It's more complicated than that," Blancanales explained. "The Feds have an informer in a gang. The informer gave us this information about Marchardo getting a Texas offer. So we hired Marchardo to bodyguard a drug shipment, so that we can watch him, monitor his phone conversations..."

"The Feds?" Lyons shook his head. "Now the Feds are running drugs? They need money that bad?"

"Lyons, it's a scam, honest," Brognola told him.

"Best way to know the trade is to get in the trade," Blancanales continued. "And it works out. Now we take the shipment north, Marchardo makes his connection in the Caribbean, and he — that's me — goes back to Texas with you two as the other two guys in the routine last night. Perfect."

"How well do people know Marchardo?" Gadgets asked Brognola. "The Pol looks like him, but does he sound like him? Does he act like him? If Marchardo has friends in Texas..."

"We don't know about the friends," Brognola admitted, "but the physical aspects are right. We intended to switch Blancanales for Marchardo, so we videotaped him, sound-taped him, everything."