"Great liaison connections the Feds made for us," Lyons laughed. "Delivered us straight to a gang of Guatemalan Nazis. Next time I make my own reservations."

"Who says they're Guatemalan?" Gadgets asked. "Morales and Merida met us at the airport. There was no one else in the hangar, they had their own man at the guard post, they took us in a slow circle until their death squad was ready to take us. They could be anyone from anywhere."

"They've got some kind of official connection," Lyons responded. "When Merida kicked that old man around, he was flashing a badge to keep the crowd back. I saw an official card."

Gadgets laughed. "Hey, Politician. How many sets of official cards do wehave?"

Blancanales shook his head in disagreement. "Those bus drivers at the terminal, they recognized Merida as a hardman cop. And they thought we were cops, too."

"No," Lyons said, "it was something else, don't know what. Everyone thought I was a tourist until they saw me with Merida. Wizard, you said four goons came at you. What did they look like? What happened?"

"Four big dudes. Dark hair, tailored suits. They came to get me, but I got them. A Beretta 93-R makes a great urban equalizer. Three of them didn't know what hit them. The fourth one had on a Kevlar vest. He got in a swing with a machete. But he should've worn his Kevlar hat, too. Then I put a burst into the colonel's car as he beat it. Pol, you hear him complain of any upper-body discomfort? Maybe like a nine-millimeter headache?"

"No points, Schwarz," Blancanales smiled. "You missed."

"Bullshit! Had him dead in my sights, double-hand grip. Glass must've deflected the slugs."

"You tried a through-the-windshield shot with nine millimeter?" Lyons asked. "Why'd you bother? Windshields will deflect even 5.56 military rounds."