Smith whispered, "I'm gonna wax Subcomandante Verapaz."
Remo looked at him. In the darkness Smith waited expectantly, his grimy face shining with an inner pride.
"Why?" Remo asked.
"What do you mean-why? It's what the Extinguisher does."
"If you don't stop referring to yourself in the third person, I'm going to shake you so hard your nuts are going to drop out your nostrils. Now, answer my question."
"I'm on assignment," Smith said grudgingly.
"Working for who?"
"That's classified."
Remo gave Smith's bicep a hard squeeze. Smith gritted his teeth, and sweat popped from his forehead. But he fought back his pain with such grim determination that Remo relented slightly.
"No. Really, I can't say who sent me. It's the first rule of black ops."
"The first rule of survival is to tell the truth when a bigger dog has you by the hind legs. Meet the bigger dog. Me."
"Okay, I'm with the UN."
"Nice try. No sale. Try again."
"It's true. I'm working for the UN. It's quasiofficial right now. If I dust Verapaz, I'll have a solid gig."
"Well, you can dust off your resume. Verapaz belongs to us."
"Us! what do you mean us? Who are you guys?"
"That is classified," Remo snapped.
"You're kidding, aren't you? I mean, my Uncle Harold sent you down to haul my sorry butt back to Folcroft, didn't he?"
Remo shook his head. "He's not your Uncle Harold, and we're here after Verapaz. Never mind why."
"Look, we'll team up. How's that?"
"I need a partner like you need an imagination. Forget it."
Smith turned. "Okay. Fine. Let me go and may the best man win."
Remo arrested him by the collar. "Look, you were a SEAL, right?"
"Yeah. What's it to you?"
"You should know the score. You're a foreigner in a war zone loaded down with enough gear to get you stood up in front of a firing squad."
Winston Smith cracked a lopsided grin. "Yeah. That chicken-shit Mexican colonel tried that already. I still live."
"That girl save you?"
"She's not just a girl. She's guerrilla. There's no shame in being saved at the last minute by an ally."
"She saved your sorry butt and you conned her into taking you to Verapaz, am I right?"
"Right."
"And in the middle of making formal introductions, you're going to whip out that overgrown Pez dispenser of yours and blow them both away, right?"
"No. Just Verapaz."
"Then what?"
"What do you mean?"
"You heard me. After you blow Verapaz away, what are you going to do about the girl?"
Winston looked at his boots. His voice lost its bluster. "I haven't thought that part all the way through yet," he admitted.
"What if she pulls out her weapon and nails you?"
"She wouldn't do that! Would she?"
"You ask me, she's half in love with you."
Smith brightened. "You really think so?"
"Can the high school stuff. You shoot Verapaz, and she'll either nail you or make you shoot her. Is that what you want?"
"I don't know yet. This is only my second mission."
"Okay. Listen up. From now on, you follow my lead. Understand?"
"What're you planning?"
"Just follow my lead and stay out from underfoot."
Pushing the boy ahead of him, Remo rejoined the others.
The villagers were hanging back in fear. The dead were being pulled out of the shacks, and a fresh-blood smell hung in the air like a jungle miasma.
Remo lifted his voice for Assumpta's benefit. "Looks like we're joining the Juarezistas, Little Father."
And keeping his face away from the others, the Master of Sinanju, whose sharp ears had heard every word, winked broadly.