Lyons looked back. Within the wide gates, a long, lighted driveway crossed an immaculate lawn. The glare of floodlights around the mansion created an all-night noon. Mercury-arc security lights bathed the landscaping and garages behind the big house.

A spiked iron fence, eight feet high and topped with concertina wire, enclosed the estate. As the taxi cruised past, dogs ran along the fence. Dogs barked from adjoining estates. But Lyons saw no sentries at the other gates on the avenue. He keyed his hand-radio.

"It's a high-security mansion. It's got dogs. Lights. Razor wire. Two soldiers out front. This Lieutenant Garcia lives real well on army pay."

Questioning Colonel Morales, Able Team had learned the identities and duties of Lieutenant Garcia and his wife. Both served Unomundo as couriers. Garcia exploited his post in the Office of Army Intelligence to maintain contacts with other traitors in the army and government. Senora Garcia, a coordinator in the Department of Tourism, traveled throughout the nation to arrange Indian ceremonies and markets for tourists. She carried information to and from Unomundo's base in the mountains.

"Think we can go straight in?" Blancanales asked Lyons by radio.

"Three possibilities. A tunnel. Or parachutes. Or straight through the gate. I think I can take them quiet. There's no one else on the street to see it happen. You got any alcohol?"

"Huh?"

"Rubbing alcohol. In your medical kit."

"Come and get it."

"There in a minute."

Luis had listened to the radio conference. "You will kill the soldiers? With that silent gun?"

Lyons shook his head. "We don't know that they're Nazis. They look like eighteen-year-old draftees pulling guard duty."

"You must kill them. It is the only way. Any alarm will bring many trucks of soldiers."

"No. Why should they die for other people's politics?"