Rosette Resolve

By Steeg Taylor

With the CIA and intelligence apparatus compromised at the highest levels, Jim Faithen, an ex-Navy SEAL, and John Delaney, a mining engineer, think they have established a safe new beginning in Rio de Janeiro seeking minerals and gold. That is about to change. Just as they are approached by four men in suits, sniper fire rings out from a nearby rooftop. It appears the two men have more enemies than they realized. In their escape from enemies, they uncover a carefully planned scheme by the Russian Mafia and the Iranian Muslim hierarchy who attempt nuclear annihilation of the Unites States. Entering conspiracies of treachery propel them through city scapes and Brazilian jungles along with delightful street urchins, a powerful jungle drug lord, and an enigmatic shaman leader, while spies and crooked government operators joust on the hidden battlefields of the world. Yet, the jungle can bend the laws of nature as they manifest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665727204

Steeg Taylor

Steeg Taylor is a pilot and accomplished veteran of adventure who has traveled extensively throughout South America and the world. He makes his home in Southern California where he enjoys scuba diving off Catalina Island, paragliding over the mountains, hang gliding the cliffs of Yosemite, and kayaking the rapids on the Kern River.

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Copyright © 2022 Steeg Taylor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2721-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2719-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2720-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913295

Archway Publishing rev. date: 7/7/2023

CONTENTS

Dedication

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2

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DEDICATION

An estimated eight million children are reported missing each year around the world. Of that number, according to the latest US Department of Justice research, an estimated eight hundred thousand children will go missing in the United States.

Hail the adventurers

in life who stand

and persevere in

the good fight.

CREDITS

Thank you Tom and Indi for your edit.

1

It was late in a January afternoon. A light breeze began to move inland from the ocean, meeting several clouds, which appeared above the hills in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, as Jim Faithen made his way through the small crowded marketplace. Brightly colored mats were scattered on the barrio path. Vendors displayed varied linens, handicrafts, and knickknacks. The scent of fresh mangoes, melons, and bananas mixed with the smoke from open fryers, garnished delights, and the steam of herbal soups. Odors of raw fish and meat that had probably been without refrigeration in the afternoon heat also filled the air. The sweet and sour odor of filth and sewage flowed through from several open trenches nearby. Jim breathed deeply as a changing wisp of clear ocean air filled his tall, strong body. Looking relaxed but keenly alert, Jim stepped around a beggar and stuffed a handful of cruzeiros in her tin. With deep wrinkles and darkened teeth, the old woman smiled.

Thank you, boss James, the old woman said, displaying her best manners.

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Dispatcher, this is Papa, the voice stated over the two-way radio. Eliminate subject with extreme prejudice.

A squat man with a thick graying mustache stood with a two-way radio in his hand on the edge of the black tar roof of the six-story hotel at Ipanema Beach in Rio de Janeiro. Dispatcher, leaning with both elbows on a towel on the eaves so the burning heat of the sun on the hot tar roof would not blister the skin, tensed up to steady his binoculars as he searched. Wearing a black baseball cap and T-shirt, he had arms that were beet red, and the back of his thick neck was pink from his white skin refusing acceptance of the recent sunburn. Beaded sweat from his brow and chubby cheeks slid down the gold chain that hung from his neck. It reached the tip of the crucifix and dripped on the roof. He moved for a moment to wipe his face and clean his binoculars, then he returned to the same position, concentrating on the view of the target walking through the marketplace on the street below. Smiling for a moment, Dispatcher picked up the two-way radio next to him, pressing the transmission key.

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Jim delayed another moment to pick up a hat as a child stopped running for a second, smiled at Jim, retrieved the hat, and disappeared into the crowd. Continuing his walk toward Ipanema Beach, which was several blocks away and would take him through a strip of hotels and restaurants, he expected he would soon encounter evening parties and entertainment. Much of the beach crowd was departing to gear up for night festivities. Chatter and enthusiasm among the locals permeated the afternoon air, as many had stopped working for the last few weeks to prepare costumes and dances for the big Rio Carnival.

At the market’s busiest corner, an unshaven beggar stood staring straight ahead, wearing very large dark sunglasses and old red tennis shoes that were too small for his large protruding toes. He held a long white stick with a red tip and, in the other hand, a tin cup with a few coins. Jim stuffed another handful of cruzeiros into the tin.

Good morning, Tío, Jim Faithen said cheerfully to the beggar.

Thank you, boss James, said Tío. You are a generous man.

Going to rain today? Jim asked.

Yes, boss. It’s goin’ ta rain. I feel it in my bones.

How are your two hundred kids on the street? Jim asked, as he suddenly felt the tug of small hands on his arm.

It was Pepe, a boy almost eight years old, or so Jim thought. Pepe, like so many others, was a child of the streets of Rio. He was a small boy of mixed race with rich brown skin, a handsome smile, and bright white teeth. Jim glanced down, and Pepe grinned. Jim curled and stiffened one arm so Pepe could hang from it. Pepe was pleased to remain quiet as he swung from Jim’s arm.

We’re doin’ all right, boss, Tío answered. Jus’ makin’ it day to day. I can see you found one of ’em.

Yes, Jim said. What happened to the money I gave you for new shoes?

Oh, boss, you know how it is when ya have lots of mouths ta feed. Money has a way of findin’ other needs when you’re poor, Tío said with a sheepish smile. Leaning in, he whispered to Jim, Besides, these are my lucky shoes. New shoes would be bad for business, if you know what I mean.

Have to run, Tío, Faithen said, heading toward the street crossing.

Are you in some kind of trouble? Tío asked.

Why do you ask? Jim stopped before returning to Tío.

Bruiser was saying some foreigners were showing around pictures of ya and askin’ if anybody knew you. He says it was a terrible picture, but it was you all right.

He didn’t say anything, did he?

No, boss. You can trust us on that. We don’t like people asking questions around here.

Thanks for the tip, Tío, Jim said, stuffing a few more cruzeiros in the tin, then leaving with Pepe still playfully hanging from his arm.

I’m your good friend, aren’t I, boss? Pepe asked Jim.

Yes, you’re my good friend, Jim answered, holding cruzeiros in his hand. As Pepe’s feet landed on the ground, the boy freed one hand to take the money.

Thanks, boss, Pepe said with a grin, tucking the money in his pocket. Ya know, Tío doesn’t have two hundred kids.

Yes, I know. Jim chuckled. And he’s not blind either.

I like you, boss. You know lots of stuff. Why do you give him money when you know he’s lying? Pepe asked.

Because he helps lots of people, including you.

I know, but sometimes he takes my money and won’t give it back. Where is your friend John?

I’m going to meet him now, Jim replied.

I’m surprised you are not with him. You guys are always together.

Well, John has a stewardess friend who I think he has fallen in love with, and he did not come home the last several nights. I am to meet him at Charro’s this afternoon on the strip. Are you staying out of trouble, Pepe?

Yes, boss.

You promised me no more stealing wallets because I give you money, right?

Yes, boss. I don’t do that anymore.

Decent people don’t do those kinds of things.

Yes, boss. I know.

I noticed that you and Rayo have the initials TOL tattooed on the back of your right calves, Jim said, concealing the thought that it looked more like a brand. Where did you get those tattoos?

That’s none of your business, Pepe snapped, before realizing he may have hurt Jim’s feelings. Sorry, boss, I don’t want to talk about it.

Okay. Where is your friend Rayo?

I don’t know. He’s around.

Suddenly, Jim’s eyes focused on a commotion down the street—a man chasing a small boy with short blond hair in a torn T-shirt who was running through the marketplace. The boy darted and dodged his way around and over baskets and tables with ease, and the man chasing the boy appeared close but stumbled several times. Irritated vendors complained and threw things at the man and the boy.

From the looks of things, Jim said, scolding Pepe, I’d say Rayo is coming with someone hot on his tail.

Right, boss, Pepe said, laughing, though he wasn’t tall enough to see what was going on up ahead. You are always joking. Rayo doesn’t have a tail.

In his darting pace, Rayo let loose with two bursts of shrill whistling from his tightened lips, repeating the whistle several times.

In an instant, Pepe released his hold on Jim’s hand.

Gotta go, boss, Pepe said, departing in a sprint toward Rayo.

You promised me, Pepe! Jim exclaimed. You promised no more!

Pepe paid no attention. Like in a carefully choreographed football play precisely executed, Rayo lateraled a wallet to Pepe, who was coming from the opposite direction. Both kids turned and departed in separate directions. The man chasing Rayo suddenly changed direction and began pursuing Pepe. Both kids disappeared from sight into the crowd.

Darn kids, Jim complained, realizing that if the conversation were to continue, it would be with himself. He continued toward the beach thinking what he would say when he saw them again.

At the strip of hotels, Faithen rounded a corner and crossed the street with a crowd of people.

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Positions one and two, Dispatcher said over the two-way radio, Faithen just turned the corner onto the beach area. Do you have him in sight?

Got him, position one answered. But no clear shot. Too many people.

Position two here, Dispatcher. Nothing clear yet.

Positions one and two, Dispatcher said angrily over the two-way radio, I don’t have you here because of your good manners. Take out the entire damn beach for all I care, but take him out!

Dispatcher to Papa, Dispatcher said over the two-way radio, while observing Jim Faithen enter an outdoor restaurant in the busy beach area. We’re bringing home the bacon, Papa.

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John Delaney, Jim’s friend, was sitting outdoors at Charro’s Restaurant with the studious pose of an engineer. He was several tables in from the walkway near the entrance to the Rio Plaza Hotel. Folding the daily newspaper, John looked out at the white sand and the deep blue gentleness of the rolling ocean. The waiter brought a menu to the table, but John hardly took notice as he stared out at the view.

Good afternoon, John, Jim said, pulling up a chair, seating himself at the place setting with a white linen cloth over the glass table, which was shaded by a white umbrella with decorative orange trim. Sorry I’m late.

That’s all right, buddy, John answered in a low tone. It’s difficult, isn’t it? I want to call you Jim Faithen, and you want to call me John Delaney.

True. It’s been only a few months since our grand escape from our lovely California prison, and we find ourselves yearning to have someone call us by our real names, Jim said, picking up the menu. We can keep our first names, but we will have to work on the last. Have you ordered yet?

No, just got here, John replied with a frown. You know I don’t really like using the last name of Hall.

It’s a good name. You’re not going to try talking me into using the name Falcon again, are you? Join the modern world. This is the new year of 1994. Jim teased with a laugh, cutting off John’s response. Don’t even think about it. We’re low-key here.

Are you ready to order, gentlemen? the waiter asked, having arrived at the table.

We would like a few more minutes, please, Jim answered.

Sir, don’t move! the waiter said, somewhat startled and surprised, staring at Jim’s shoulder.

Jim turned slowly to observe a beautiful large butterfly with fluorescent shades of pink, yellow, and orange, and with dark highlights of turquoise and ocean-blue spots on its wings, resting easily on the top of his shoulder, highlighted against the fading sunlight.

Very unusual, the waiter said. You are a special spirit. It will bring you luck. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.

We need more than luck, but thank you, Jim answered, looking back at the menu.

Everything is so incredibly beautiful here, John said pensively, observing the butterfly.

Jim took another several moments to review the menu before looking up to see John’s eyes still fixed on the beauty of the butterfly delicately perched on Jim’s shoulder. As Jim, too, turned to look at the butterfly’s luminescent colors, it lifted suddenly with a light flutter and disappeared toward the clouds above, allowing Jim’s eyes to suddenly focus upon a young woman smiling at him from several tables away.

She was wearing white tennis shorts, a yellow blouse, and matching yellow shoes and purse. A youthful woman, perhaps in her late twenties, Jim thought. She smiled, delightfully dimpled, with shoulder-length silken brown hair.

Gorgeous, isn’t she? Jim said, returning the smile to the athletic-looking young woman.

I wasn’t aware you had the biological skills necessary to differentiate the sex between male and female butterflies that flutter about.

Jim sat for a moment watching the woman with the pink and yellow flower in her hair.

The butterfly was awesome, Jim said with a chuckle, but I’m speaking of the delightful young woman several tables over with the yellow purse.

When John and Jim looked at the young woman again, she smiled, but now she was self-conscious with the attention from both men. She returned to paying her bill, while the waiter cleared several dishes.

I like a lady like that, Jim continued. She looks interesting, like she has a good personality. She looks Portuguese.

"Portuguese, Smortuguese, John replied, laughing. We’ve been here over three months, and every woman you see who is blonde or brunette is Portuguese. You just like her figure. Why don’t you go over and meet her?"

Not right now. I have too much on my mind.

Yeah, right! John said with a laugh. You’re shy. Admit it.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are.

I am not. It’s just hard for me to get serious when we’re always on the run.

Jeez, I pay you seven hundred fifty thousand dollars a year to protect me, and you live like a pauper. The only time I see you spend money is when you give money to your beggars and thieves.

Most of them are thieves in order to put food on the table, Jim replied. You pay me a ridiculous sum of money for saving your life, but if you want the money returned, I will be happy to return it to you.

You deserve it, John answered with firmness. You could’ve taken anyone with you when you escaped; instead you chose to help me, a guy who can freeze up in a heartbeat without my meds, risking your own survival in order to liberate me.

Maybe it’s not too much money, Jim said with a smile, considering your father did say that if you die of other than natural causes, he is going to kill me.

I will pay you more money.

One must help those less fortunate than oneself.

They are just taking advantage of you, John said, interrupting.

It’s not perfect, but I try.

But what’s the purpose of having money if you don’t spend a little?

Money for myself doesn’t mean very much to me. I don’t need much to exist.

You’re the one who always says you need to make a lot of money, John said, laughing. What for?

I have lots of people I want to help, Jim said, smiling, and you pay me too much for what I do. As for you, having millions of dollars, you don’t live so hot yourself.

Oh no you don’t. Just because I have a girlfriend now whom I’ve been spending so much time with, you think you are not needed anymore. First off, you saved my life. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if it hadn’t been for you. Second, you are my friend, and I’m going to pay you one million dollars a year. Third, you’re my partner. I’m going to show you how to make real money. Millions is nothing. You should see what my dad makes. Minerals, Jim. Think minerals. That’s where the money is. You are my partner, fifty-fifty on everything. Changing the subject, he said, I’m having lobster. What are you having?

Oh, I think I will have a bowl of clam chowder and—

Now you’ve lost it, John said, interrupting, as he looked across to the table to where the pretty woman had been.

Lost what? Jim asked.

The woman. You lost the opportunity to meet the gorgeous woman. She’s gone. I talked to my dad today, and he— John stopped his sentence because he no longer had Jim’s attention.

Looking across at where the young woman had been seated, Jim noticed that she had left her large yellow purse hanging by the strap on the chair. As Jim stood and began to cross to her table, he ran into the waiter, who was entering the floor area with a wheeled cart containing hot soups and a fryer, which appeared to have hot prawns cooking on the burner. Jim managed to catch himself somewhat ungracefully as he stumbled past the cart to retrieve the purse. His eyes searched the still busy two-lane boulevard, where a black sedan abruptly pulled to the curb and three large men in suits departed toward the restaurant. Several police officers in white uniforms with short pants and navy-blue accents passed by, along with numerous people walking in both directions. Jim saw Rayo nearby wearing his straw hat as a disguise, in search of a new pocket to pick. Looking carefully in both directions for a moment, Jim then thought he caught a brief glimpse of the woman in yellow and white shorts more than a block away.

Lady! Lady! Jim yelled, stepping onto the sidewalk, holding the purse over the crowd.

Embarrassed that every woman within hearing distance was staring at him holding the purse, Jim withdrew the purse and suddenly froze in terror, sure he had just heard the words he hoped he would never hear.

The three men in suits who had come from the black sedan parked at the curb approached John at the table. One of the men flashed a badge at John, who was seated in his chair.

John Delaney? Police, the man said gruffly. You will have to come with us.

John looked in the opposite direction as if he did not know to whom the officers were speaking.

My name is Tom, John said, attempting to maintain a blank look after the officer tapped him on the shoulder.

Suddenly, like a hand grenade exploding, the water glass detonated from a misdirected rifle shot fired with a silencer at Jim’s head from a third-story hotel balcony a block away.

A split second after the glass burst, the suited officer talking to John felt a surprisingly heavy yellow purse swinging from long straps hitting him squarely in the face, knocking him backward. Maintaining a grip on the purse with one hand, Jim picked up the tray of hot soups the waiter was serving from the cart and threw it at the second man in a suit.

Anticipating the arrival of the soups, the officer tripped over his own feet, and the bowl of hot liquid hit him in the face.

With the crashing of plates and bowls, the third man stepped back, with Jim overturning a table near vacationing tourists. The glass table shattered loudly, with screams from those eating in the surrounding areas. Jim and John quickly attempted a hasty retreat. John rose and made a run for an exit between two planters, but the third, rather bulky man caught him by the shirt, spinning him around. And now they could hear the shrill sound of whistles from the oncoming uniformed police officers on the street.

Prawns, anyone? Jim exclaimed, throwing the hot food boiled in grease in the direction of the first two suits, who were trying to regain their feet. Both men screamed, falling to the pavement with shouts of profanity. Two flowered pots of red clay in the planter burst, followed by the sound of high-powered rifles in the distance. A half dozen people turned away, too late, from the needlelike bits of clay. Jim swung around to face John’s attacker, who threw John to the ground. With a glance, the man saw Jim’s leg swing back one hundred eighty degrees. Expecting to block a karate kick, the man stepped back, but Jim’s foot never came up. Instead, the hot, weighty fryer connected with the man’s chest like a baseball bat to a hardball. The man fell over the planter, hitting the ground with a thud. The first two men rose to their feet again, as a fourth man from the car at the curb scrambled to assist his suited friends. Two policemen, blowing whistles from the busy boulevard, began to cross to the restaurant.

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A distorted transmission was blurted out over the radio to Dispatcher: Position one to Dispatcher, we have a problem.

While continuing to observe the action on the street below, Dispatcher pressed the talk switch. What the hell is going on down there? he yelled.

A voice screeched back in static: Looks like the subject has a few more enemies than we anticipated.

Don’t lose ’em! Dispatcher exclaimed, before slamming the radio on the roof, as if this would knock the static out of the receiver. Don’t lose ’em, dammit!

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Half a block away from Charro’s Restaurant, Rayo turned to hear the clatter of broken dishes and screams of distress. In an instant, recognizing Jim and John, Rayo sprinted to the street corner, losing the straw hat, which was too large for his small head, as it easily blew to the sidewalk. Quickly, Rayo turned the corner that led to the market several blocks away. While continuing to run, and raising his fingers to his lips, he let out a high-pitched whistle of warning.

One block from the marketplace, the shrill whistle was heard, and in a moment Pepe appeared through the crowd at a run, looking intently for Rayo. Seeing Pepe from a block away, Rayo immediately used numerous quick hand signals. Pepe, understanding, responded with one hand raised, and followed with a series of his own hand signals. Both children, understanding each other, stopped dead in their tracks. Rayo reversed and quickened his pace toward the beach, and Pepe went toward the marketplace, each weaving lithely through the crowded streets.

In the center of the marketplace, Tío continued to hold his tin cup at the busy corner. Several coins clanked in the cup. Suddenly, the walls of the narrow buildings carried the echo of the shrill whistle code. Tío lowered his cup and stepped away from the wall of the building to the curb. Taking off his sunglasses, he listened carefully. As if he were the leader of an orchestra before it began to play, silence fell over the square as several hundred vendors, neighbors, and street people watched Tío closely. A man weighing vegetables for a customer hesitated for a moment, looking at Tío. A neighbor grasped her child’s hand, stopping to consider which direction she should choose to make their hurried departure. Chatter began again, until Tío heard the special shrill sound of the whistle rippling from the shanty walls. Tío then made a signal, pretending to dip the hat on his head with his long gray hair, then made a fist. Pulling his arm down in a quick hand motion across his neck, he then showed his hand with five fingers spread apart and pointed toward the beach.

Bruiser, one hunk of a man standing with other men on the opposite side of the street, left with several of the men toward the beach, as Tío nodded commands to others in the area.

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Jim was holding on tightly with his teeth to the strap of the large yellow purse, as more men weighed into his rescue of John, who was attempting to rise from the ground.

Another man from the car at the curb arrived to rescue his other suited friends. Jim threw the yellow purse over his shoulder and flipped the cast-iron chair at the man. With his free hand, he reached to help John, who managed to get to his feet on his own, wavering with a limp between the planters, as rain began to pelt the pavement and the canvas of the overturned umbrellas. Both men ran down the street, with Jim fending off combatants, then following closely behind John.

Like a traffic cop giving directions from the corner, Rayo pointed with an air of attempted casualness, but with a concerned gesture of urgency in the wave of his hand. With a brief smile, Rayo noticed Jim was running with a yellow purse. John’s limp was becoming worse, and Jim was helping John toward the corner. Without stopping to ask questions, Jim followed Rayo’s hand signal and headed toward the market. Gaining ground with every step, the driver of the car was plenty close, and not far behind him were two angry men with soup- and grease-stained suits, two police officers, and a man from position one with a handgun and silencer under his lightweight raincoat.

Stop them! the waiter, following from the restaurant, yelled. Purse thieves!

Dispatcher saw Jim Faithen running awkwardly around the corner assisting his friend. Drawing his rifle from its leather case, Dispatcher leaned to steady his aim to shoot. Jim turned the corner, helping John through the crowd as they maneuvered toward the marketplace. Steam began to rise from the tarred eaves as drops of rain splashed on the roof of the hotel. Dispatcher sighted Faithen through the scope rushing between vendor carts. Feeling the comfort of the cool drops from the sudden shower, Dispatcher leaned farther over the eave to get a bead on Faithen, zeroing in for a head shot. As the mist and torrent of the rain began to blur his sight, Dispatcher lowered his arms to the metal edge of the eave to steady his shot, targeting Jim’s left temple.

Bam! Bam! Dispatcher fired twice. Squeezing the trigger, he jerked at the instant burn from the hot metal edge of the eave on his elbow; the aluminum, containing the day’s absorbed heat from the sun, had not yet cooled. On account of the pain, he had missed both his shots. He’d been forced to nudge them by the surprise of the heat, like fingers touching a hot stove. The bullets hit a vendor’s cart of clothing and a tray of souvenirs, with several of the vendors rushing to hide in nearby buildings.

2

As the sizable enemy driver approached the corner on foot at a fast pace, little Rayo, in the way of the man, stood his ground with his lips pursed and with a look of stubborn pride, the determined sense of confidence that only a child of the streets could develop at such an early age.

Out of my way, you little shit! the man exclaimed, breathing heavily while running with a roar at Rayo.

Rayo stood solid until the last second, just as the man was about to run him over. Then, agilely, Rayo stepped out of harm’s way. Observing for a moment the other men who might approach the corner, Rayo decided to pursue the man who had just passed him. Like a caballero riding a swift horse to chase down a plump ostrich, Rayo reached into his pocket, pulling out three crude pieces of cord tied together with rocks that were individually tied to the end of each string—a crude bolo. Rayo swung the tethered strings while holding one of the rock ends of the cord. The whirring, whipping sound cut the air as the bolo swung like a lariat over Rayo’s head. Focused, he released the spinning rocks, which looked like a flying saucer spinning through the air caught the muscular legs of the man.

Oof! Like prey captured by an octopus, the ankles of the man were entangled, and he fell with a smack to the pavement.

Running past the fallen man, Rayo slowed to see how well his weapon had tied up the man. The man’s hands and knees were skinned, and his pants had been torn from the fall. Still, the man unraveled the bolo and recovered, rising to his feet. Noting that the bolo had come from Rayo, who quickened his pace, the big man took a shortcut through several carts and reached for Rayo. With carts of fresh fruit spilling in the escape path of the child, the boy ducked under a cart and stopped for a moment. From the other side of the cart, the man’s large hand snagged Rayo by the back of his pants, raising him like a feather high into the air.

You picked the wrong people to help! the driver said, slapping Rayo with one hand while chuckling. Now you’re going to take me to them.

Even with the slap, Rayo’s feet and hands were trying to swing at the big man, but his punches were like raindrops bouncing off the large forearms of the man.

Can’t you talk? the big man shouted, holding Rayo out so he boy couldn’t hit him. Answer me, you voiceless little scamp!

The large man drew back his hand to hit Rayo with his fist. As he began to bring his hand forward, a crushing knuckled mitt from a muscular black man hit the suited man square in the nose, causing the driver to crumple to the ground, dropping the boy.

With his feet spinning rapidly in the air like a highly revved engine of a performance car with tires laying a patch of rubber, Rayo touched solid ground and began to run. Not looking back, Rayo raised his hand in thanks to Bruiser, before disappearing into the shops.

Go help Jim! Bruiser yelled with a smile to Rayo. Then the rippled bald head of the black man vanished into the shadows of the buildings and awnings covering the numerous shops.

Thanks to the practiced instruction of Tío, the wide, open street of the marketplace narrowed as if by way of a choreographed quick set change of a theater play onstage. Vendors moved their carts into place, while Pepe and a dozen of his childhood friends ran to lie under carts, tables, and fruit stands. Pepe noted that the limp from John did not look good. Jim had his arm under John’s shoulder, assisting him on their torturous circuitous route. As the men in food-spattered suits and the police in uniforms closed in behind, Pepe and his friends giggled with delight. Separately, each of the children had a cord tied to a cart, or to the root of an old tree, a car bumper, or an iron gate across the narrow path. When the men in suits and the uniformed policemen ran between the carts, Pepe and his team tightened their cords. Officers flipped and stumbled to the pavement as they were chasing Jim and John. The children then knew enough to scramble and depart once the loops had been tightened.

Several of the falling men tumbled with only one leg caught in the cord, but Pepe caught his man by both legs. What he liked best was that as the man was grabbing Jim by the shirt, the pursuer lost his grip, and for the moment Jim and John escaped.

John hobbled, grimacing, with the assistance of Jim through the center of the narrowed corridor of the marketplace. Tío closed the exit behind them with several carts and the help of a few friends. Carts were overturned by the rush of officers, and several old women with other vendors protested with loud voices, crowding around the officers with complaints. Bruiser also showed up to help.

Rayo moved along the walls of the buildings to escort John and Jim, with Pepe close behind.

The officers rose to their feet again, but against the tide of rejection, most were too confused to pursue any further.

Rayo pulled John and Jim between several small street vendors, up a flight of old wooden steps, and into a building where there was a long hallway leading to the back of the tired, aged structure. Another set of steep stairs led to small housing flats on the second and third floors. The hallway was filled with boxes and linens, apparently used as extra storage space by the linen shop that had an entry opening into the hall. John and Jim followed reluctantly. Pepe tugged on Jim’s hand to let him know it was all right as they looked over their shoulders to see a half dozen policemen running through the square, looking to see which entry they had escaped through. Feeling trapped in the poorly lit hall, Jim and John searched for a way out among the many closed doors of the musty and poorly constructed dwelling.

Go, go! Pepe exclaimed in a whisper, pointing to the end of the hallway. Then he ran to a small window to see where the police were on the street.

Jim released his hold on John as he stepped to look out the small window on the staircase with Pepe. With a brief chuckle to himself, Jim watched little Rayo attempt to help John to the rear exit. Rayo was trying to lift John by his waist, but because of the size difference, Rayo could only move his arm around John’s wounded leg. Perhaps it was the stern and very concerned look on Rayo’s face that seemed somehow humorous to Jim. It made no sense for a child of his age to have such a meaningful, determined look on his face.

Pepe and Rayo! the irritated voice from a woman sounded through the hall opening to the store. I can hear you both breathing hard, and that only means you young scalawags are up to no good. Go outside. I don’t want you playing in here.

Yes, ma’am, Pepe answered in a tone of compromise.

John and Rayo went out the rear exit, while Pepe and Jim peered out the small window to the street. More officers in uniform had arrived.

Have you seen two men come this way? one of the officers asked, demonstrating with his hand the height of one of the fugitives. One of the men is carrying a large yellow stolen purse.

Jim recoiled at the thought that anyone would think he was a thief. He stared at the purse with a blank look of wonderment on his face.

You are very funny, boss, Pepe whispered with a chuckle, trying hide his joy. You tell me not to steal, but you are the biggest thief of all.

I am not a thief, Jim replied defensively in a hushed tone.

Any good thief knows that you get the cash and dump the purse right away.

I didn’t steal the purse.

Then what are you doing with a woman’s purse?

Jim, looking at the purse he had strapped over his shoulder, immediately took it off.

I, I didn’t, Jim murmured, questioning himself and embarrassed at such a poor answer. It’s just difficult to explain right now.

I am just happy to hear that it’s not your purse, boss, Pepe teased with a short giggle. Maybe you’d better give me the purse.

No! Jim whispered, putting the purse behind his back, away from the twinkling eyes and reaching hand of Pepe.

Pepe, I can tell you’re in trouble again! the woman from the linen shop yelled, her voice echoing loudly through the store opening to the hall. And I want you and whoever you’re in trouble with to take your trouble outside. Do you understand me?

Before Pepe could answer, several police whistles blew with an ear-piercing screech from outside. Both Pepe and Jim stared for an instant out the window at police pointing up at them and running in their direction.

Quickly, out back! Pepe said, pushing Jim, who needed no prodding.

As Jim raced down the hallway, he nearly fell over Rayo when coming back inside again, who responded with a frustrated look on his young face. Both exited to the outdoors, an enclosed square at the center of the building. John stood frozen in the center of the yard. His face was blank and his body motionless with an unmoving stare toward one corner of the building. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were gazing two miles off in the distance, when the wall he was facing was only five feet away.

Oh, dear God! Jim exclaimed, alarmed, and grasping John by the shoulder. John, this is Jim. Everything is going to be all right.

Jim stood for a moment looking into John’s unconscious eyes with no change to his condition and no response. Rayo waved his hands wildly without sound and shrugged with his hands up, as if to ask what was wrong with John.

He freezes up sometimes, Jim said to Rayo. Perhaps it’s when he gets scared.

Looking toward the door and pointing, with fear on his face, Rayo heard the rumble of feet thundering up the stairs of the decaying entrance to the building. The sound of police whistles shattered the silence. Jim immediately threw John’s arms over his shoulders and lifted him in a fireman’s carry, while turning with his heavy load, looking for another exit, but there was none.

Rayo scurried to one corner of the courtyard to what appeared to be a large exhaust vent with dark metal grids crisscrossing the edges of the frame. It was surrounded by vines and roots that stretched from the small interior garden toward the chipped tiles of the roof. Dipping to one knee, Rayo reached down to a concealed latch on the grate. The frame popped open, revealing what seemed to be a cellar, and Jim wasted no time in heading toward his only retreat. Rayo dropped into the dark room below, and Jim tossed the yellow purse into the darkness, before sliding John down headfirst, as carefully as possible. Knowing that Rayo would not be much help, Jim held tightly to one of John’s hands as he leaned through the opening. Hearing voices from outside, Jim suddenly released John’s hand, watching him fall and disappear into the darkness of the room. From a sliver of sunlight at the opening, Jim observed Rayo doing his best to catch and cushion the lifelessly falling body, which knocked Rayo backward into the blackness. With no time remaining to reverse his own body’s movement, hanging irretrievably into the cellar, Jim desperately grasped what seemed to be a wooden step by the wall inside, and twisted to a fall. Whatever it was he was gripping, it broke. Jim dropped hard to the surface below. Rayo, recovering, stepped on Jim’s arm by accident as the boy was scrambling up what appeared to be a ladder, and closed the vent opening.

When uniformed police entered the building, Pepe was already at the top of the stairs of the hall below. To be sure the police would follow him, Pepe leaned over the railing of the first flight of stairs to briefly peek at an officer, who took notice and bounded up the staircase, taking several steps at a time. Reaching the third floor, Pepe found an apartment door partially open and slammed the door shut, hoping the officers would look for him in one of those rooms first, then continued his run down the long corridor to a window that was open a few inches.

Pepe pulled up on the rough edge of the window, but the decay of the old wooden frame caused it to jam. Shoving one foot out the window, he found his back did not fit through the small opening. Lifting with the arch of his small back on the window, he attempted to force himself through. Like a mole squeezing through an impossible exit, Pepe held the window with one hand, while reaching for the exterior drainpipe with the other. With the officers rushing down the hall, Pepe jolted the window open with his back, which allowed him the needed space. An officer reached through the opening of the window and grabbed Pepe’s hand, which was gripping the casement ledge. Pulling his hand away, Pepe, astonished that the grip of the police officer was not strong, freed himself to slip down the wobbly pipe and to safety below. Police whistles blew through the window of the third story, but by the time reinforcements arrived, Pepe was gone.

A block away and still dancing his way through the crowded marketplace, Pepe let out a sharp whistle to let Tío, Bruiser, and a few others know that everything was all right. As the thin building walls echoed his message, several responding whistles telegraphed their special code, and the marketplace returned to business as usual, just as a light drizzle of rain began again.

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An angry voice came over Dispatcher’s radio: Papa to Dispatcher.

We lost ’em, Dispatcher said, expecting the worst in response.

Have you done a thorough search? Papa asked.

Yes, position one answered. A woman at one of those shops said that one minute she heard them, and the next minute they disappeared into thin air. Said it was voodoo.

Thin air! Voodoo? Dispatcher answered in disgust. Did you get a line on who was after them?

No, Dispatcher, position one answered defensively, we were too busy trying to—

Return to base! Papa screamed over the radio, interrupting position one.

3

In the darkness of the cellar, a small round glimmer of light cast a blurriness against the opposite wall. Jim did not move, but he could see Rayo’s shadow move across the floor where the beam of light appeared to vanish. Several minutes passed with just the sound of heavy breathing in the room. Whenever voices were heard in the courtyard, the breathing stopped as the ears in the room strained to hear the muffled conversation outside. Rayo crossed the room in the dark, pulling on a long, thin chain, switching on a single incandescent bulb in the center of the high ceiling of the room without windows.

The room was spacious with several stained mattresses. Faded seat cushions with the name of Cabana Hotel lay strewn about the room with stuffing falling out. They appeared to be throwaways from one of the hotels along the beach. An old television sat on a rickety shelf with several wires stretching out from the back. The makeshift antenna had ample pieces of used tape attached to the deteriorating concrete wall. A hot plate was near the television, plugged into the only apparent electrical outlet in the room. Though the cracked walls were beige in color, they appeared pink in the dim light. There was a toilet in the corner without a seat that had not been cleaned for a long time. Next to the floor drain was half an oil drum, apparently used for bathing, with a piece of hose hooked to a nozzle in the concrete sink.

Jim was startled for a moment when a cockroach crossed the floor under his arm, before seeing Rayo with his finger to his lips, asking for quiet so no one outside could hear them. Jim stood to pick up John, who was lying on his side at the base of the ladder with the broken step that had caused Jim’s upended landing. Lifting John by his shoulders, Jim dragged him a few feet to one of the pads. Rayo struggled awkwardly to lift John’s legs, without success. However, he did manage to lift one leg of the motionless body to the pad, while Jim placed a blanket under John’s head.

Is this where you live? Jim asked Rayo in a low voice.

Rayo raised his hand for quiet again, listening to the sounds outside with a hand cupped to his ear, where faintly he heard a long shrill whistle from Pepe in the distance. With a thumbs-up to indicate that things were better in the marketplace, Rayo walked over to look through a hole in a small pipe. A moment later he snaps his fingers to get Jim’s attention. With Rayo waving for him to look through the pipe, Jim walked over.

This is ingenious, Jim said, looking through the hole of the pipe that ran four feet up the wall, then out into the courtyard through the concrete wall. This is a periscope.

Jim observed the courtyard for several minutes, marveling at the way the periscope could turn from side to side, giving him the ability to view everything that occurred in the courtyard above. Several officers appeared at the doorway. They lit cigarettes and made small talk about their superior officer’s being upset for not finding the brawling thieves and speculating about where they could have gone. In the interior of the cobblestone square, Jim heard an officer from the hallway call the officers, who at that moment were blowing smoke rings. The men put out their cigarettes and disappeared into the interior of the building.

When Jim took his eyes from the periscope, he noticed Rayo was covering John with a blanket, then holding John’s hand, with a concerned look on his face. Feeling self-conscious, Rayo gently placed John’s hand to the side and tucked the blanket around his feet. When Rayo was finished, he looked to see Jim observing him and shrugged his shoulders, glancing at John’s eyes, which remained in unflinching glazed stare as if he were a thousand miles away.

Don’t worry, Rayo, Jim said with a kind smile, there is nothing you could have done about it. He just does this sometimes.

Rayo shrugged his shoulders again with a puzzled look on his face.

He was in a car accident, Jim continued, with his wife and child, driving down a mountain. The only thing he remembers is a truck running him off the road. The car tumbled over a cliff, and John was the only survivor. Since the accident, doctors say that when John gets very scared or upset, his mind goes into overload. It seems to take him somewhere else, a place where he isn’t concerned about his fears or the problems of the real world.

Rayo thought for a moment before placing his hand on John’s stiff palm.

Yes, Jim said. Sometimes he’s rigid, and sometimes he’s not.

Rayo stood and crossed the room to a mattress in the far corner, dropping to his knees and reaching through a tear, deep in the mattress pad. He pulled out a stuffed sock and returned to Jim. Removing the contents from the sock and placing them on the concrete floor, he saw it was a wad of US dollars mixed with Brazilian cruzeiros and a few coins. He thought carefully for a moment. With a very businesslike expression, he took several of the bills, placed them in his pocket, and proceeded to push the remaining clump of money toward Jim with a hand gesture that indicated the money was for John.

Jim withheld a burst of laughter, curtailing his amusement, especially when realizing how serious Rayo was about the gift.

Thank you very much, Rayo, Jim answered warmly, but John has plenty of money. It’s just that doctors do not have all the answers yet about his condition or how to correct everything. However, he will appreciate your generous offer.

Rayo shoved the money closer to Jim, shaking his head with a determined look so that Jim would take the money.

What we need to do is wake him, Jim said. Sometimes I can do it. Other times, not. You hold one hand, and I’ll hold the other.

Rayo watched how Jim grasped John’s palm, feeling that some magic was about to be performed.

You must promise to make this our little secret, all right? Jim continued.

Rayo nodded his acceptance.

Hold his hand with me.

Rayo reached down and took one of John’s hands, while Jim held the other.

John, this is Jim and Rayo, Jim said in a calm tone. Everything is all right. Wake up. John, this is Jim. Everything is going to be all right, he repeated.

The clammy hand of John remained rigid as Jim reached, gently touching his shoulder. A few moments later Jim and Rayo could feel John’s rigid body relax, with his focus returning to normal.

Oh, man, John muttered, blinking his eyes several times before turning his head toward Rayo. Hello, Rayo. Are we out of trouble yet?

Rayo nodded his head.

What are we doing? John asked, looking at the small pile of money on the floor. Counting our life savings?

Yes, Jim answered with a grin. Rayo was counting his life savings so we could give a doctor money to make you well.

Rayo suddenly jumped to his feet, placed his hand near his ear, and held the other hand out, asking for silence. Another whistle could be heard some distance away. Rayo turned out the light and looked through the periscope again, before climbing the ladder, opening the vent, and returning the coded whistle call.

A half hour later, Pepe tapped on the vent in a run past it in the darkness. Rayo checked through the mirror at the hole in the pipe and could see Pepe hiding behind the entrance to the wall, looking inside the building from the wet patio to make sure no one was following him. Now Rayo opened the vent. Pepe sprinted for the cellar entrance and dove like a baseball player sliding into home plate. As Pepe came down the ladder, Rayo remained on the same step to lock the entrance, but Pepe fell into him, and they both tumbled to the cushion below. Unhurt, both kids stared at each other with puzzled looks on their faces, before breaking into giggles.

Who broke the ladder? Pepe said, breathing hard and looking like a drowned rat from the rain.

Rayo began speaking to Pepe excitedly with hand signs, and Pepe began to laugh.

Rayo says the woman with the yellow purse was returning to retrieve it and saw Jim hit a man with it, Pepe said.

That’s terrible! Jim replied with lament. I didn’t see her. I thought she was gone.

Yeah, but she can ID you now, boss, Pepe said, smiling. That’s not good.

The man whom you hit with the purse was about to show his badge, John said. He said he was a cop.

Did anyone see the suits talking with the police after the fight? Jim asked.

No, they split, Pepe added. When I was hiding, I overheard several uniformed officers saying they were also looking for the men in suits.

Maybe that makes sense, Jim said suspiciously. There are lots of guys running around with badges these days, and a lot of them, I suspect, are not cops. One thing is for sure, John and I owe you boys a lot of thanks for pulling us out of a very tight spot. Many thanks, kids.

You’re welcome, boss, Pepe replied with a gleam in his eye. What I don’t understand is what is in that purse that can knock a man down. Must be a lot of money.

Jim noticed Pepe eyeing the purse from across the room, beginning to move to grab it. Seeing that Pepe had a head start, Jim also made a speedy move. Pepe grabbed it first, but Jim’s big hand snatched the purse away. A gun along with contents dropped to the floor.

Hey! Pepe squealed with a disappointed giggle. We owe a lot of people for helping you. We want our share.

I will pay you and your friends, but not from any money stolen from this purse, Jim said, picking up the gun.

Whose money is this? Pepe asked, looking at Rayo’s money on the floor.

Rayo stepped in protectively to pick up the money, then placed it in the sock to return it to the hole in the mattress.

No wonder we aren’t getting any money, Pepe said with disgust, looking at Rayo, when somebody is showing off how much money we have.

Rayo glared back at Pepe, briefly conveying that the accusation was not true with a series of several sharp hand movements.

I will pay you, but that has nothing to do with why I’m looking in the purse, Jim said, replacing the gun and contents in the side that was open, before unzipping the top of the other half. I want to find her address so I know where to return the property.

Jeez, thanks, Pepe said with disappointment, leaving with Rayo to turn on the TV. Jim and John now sat alone.

With concern, Jim asked John, How are you feeling?

Oh, I’m all right. Just a few new aches and pains, and I feel a little tired from being in a stiff position, John answered, feeling his back with his hand.

You probably didn’t make the safest landing in the world when I dropped you in here, but—

You don’t need to justify it, John said with a smile. It could’ve been worse. I know you were in a hurry. I’ve been feeling so good lately that I decided not to take my medicine. Poor timing.

It all worked out.

When I was out this time, John said, I had a strange feeling that when I drove off the cliff, I looked up at the truck running me off the road, and I knew the driver.

Who was it?

I don’t know. I can’t remember, but I had this feeling I knew the guy.

You told me that the police could not even confirm that anyone had run you off the road.

Yes, it is probably something my mind has made up, but I’d still like to know what my brain was thinking.

Your mind will probably one day reveal that it was the bully you knew in the third grade driving the truck, and worse yet, he will look exactly the same as he did in grade school.

That would be all right because at least I would have an answer to the dream.

I know the feeling, Jim said pensively. I keep having dreams where I am running around all over the place searching for the guy who put the contract out on my wife and me.

I thought the guy who came at you with a gun is dead, John said.

That’s what got me in prison. Self-defense doesn’t work in California.

The guy who shot your wife is dead?

That’s what police tell me, but with him dead, we never got the person or persons behind it. Investigators could not connect the guy to anyone or any group or, even worse, to the murder of my wife.

Right now I’d settle for a little freedom to go live how and where we want, John answered wistfully.

Has your stewardess friend Shelly been, by chance, talking to you about marriage?

Kind of.

This is worse than I thought. So you’ve told her you’re in love with her and you would like to get married?

What’s wrong with that?

"Have you told her that there may be nights when you may not be able to come home for several years at a time because people may be chasing you?"

That’s been the tough part.

But she will understand? Jim joked.

Probably not. I hate to break her heart. She is such a sweet lady.

"More like you hate to break your heart?" Jim persisted, as John smiled solemnly.

You’re right. I thought a few years in prison had hardened my heart, when all it did was tenderize it. I would like you to meet her.

I’d like to meet her too, but she is from the United States, and I do not want her to identify me on one of those TV crime programs when she swings into a bad mood and rats us out.

She wouldn’t do that.

Yeah, right, Jim said, being playfully sarcastic.

Look who’s talking. I saw you look at that woman’s ID. You’re planning on returning a purse to a gun-toting woman from the US Embassy. Since when does the diplomatic corps carry guns?

Touché, Jim said defensively, with a short laugh. I admit I’m infatuated. It’s probably part of that forbidden fruit thing. We miss the United States so much because we can’t go back there. We can have any of a million women in the world, but what do we chase after? Women from the United States, because we think it will somehow heal our pain.

So you’re really going to try to see this woman? John asked.

Do you think you have the exclusive right to fall in love?

Pepe turned up the volume on the black-and-white TV. Hey, boss, he said to Jim. Look at this fire burning on the water.

Washington American Airlines on a flight from Washington, DC, to London, the newscaster said, "disappeared over the ocean twenty minutes after takeoff at seven twenty-two this evening. An airline spokesman stated that one hundred sixty-two passengers and crew are on the manifest. Rescue boats and aircraft have been dispatched to the area, and the FBI has been notified. A radio message from a ship’s crew in the area said that they thought they saw a glimpse of a missile rising from the ocean with bright lights and trail of smoke, streaming toward the aircraft, flying at thirty-six thousand feet. Then, with a flash that lit the sky, the plane disappeared off the radar screen. The FBI has stated that at this time, there is no direct evidence