Glancing outside to the crowded plaza, the scarred doctor took a soft cap from his pocket. He put it on his head and pulled it down to shadow the right side of his face.

"Please put the pistol away. If you shoot me here… There is the National Palace — the President's offices, guarded by the elite of our country's commandos. On the other side, the headquarters of the National Police. There are sharpshooters and secret police guarding the president's offices and the police buildings every moment of the day and night. If I die, you will live only a minute longer."

Lyons realized that they had kept to the plaza since Dr. Orozco entered the taxi. The driver made only left turns, stopping for signals, slowing for crowded crosswalks and jaywalking soldiers, but never leaving the rectangle of four wide boulevards.

"Very smooth," Lyons admitted. But he did not holster the revolver. He covered it with his wind-breaker.

The doctor continued. "Though I always instruct my friends to be patient, to live with their anger and hatred, to discipline their emotions, I failed to follow my own preaching. I..." He thought of the correct word in United States English. "I snapped. It was fortunate that you stopped me."

Lyons smiled slightly. "Not too fortunate for your head. Or your balls."

"Pain is relative. The cuts and bruises you inflicted will heal in only a few days. In my rage, I did not even see you. If you had been one of Unomundo's mercenaries, I would again be Merida's prisoner. My previous experience with Merida was very bad. I could only expect worse on the second experience. Please, you avoided my question. Did you come to Guatemala to fight Unomundo?"

The hand-radio that was clipped to Lyons's belt buzzed. He keyed it with his left hand. He asked his partners, "What do you think?"

Blancanales's voice answered. "Ask Dr. Orozco to join us in this car. We'll talk."