Breathlessly, he conversed in restive, low tones with the armed men. Then he looked up at the two Americans.

“There is no time. You must come with us now, please.”

“We’re pretty tired,” Ross told him. “We’ve been walking for a long time and we’ve had a couple of pretty tough days.”

“I am sorry. We will slow down as soon as we are safely beyond the town limits.” He nodded back the way he’d come. “Government patrol.”

Santos was all but wringing his hands. “Please, my friends, I have tried to help you. Do what you will, but do it somewhere away from my cantina.”

Ross Ed and Caroline were escorted across the street and through a park overgrown with weeds and encroaching jungle vegetation. Half-naked children giggled as they played on a few sorry pieces of homemade playground equipment. Used tires had been employed inventively and were much in evidence.

Behind them, they could hear the cantina owner calling a farewell. “When you are all tired of fighting, please come back! I am always open for good customers!”

The old man grumbled. “Santos takes money from both sides. He is neither a revolutionary not an oppressor, but a businessman. He is not to be trusted.” A grin appeared on the grizzled face. “But his pollo molé is wonderful.”

The park was separated from true rain forest by a small stream, which they crossed as silently as possible. On the far side a narrow trail presented itself. This led uphill into dense jungle.

The teens had vanished into the verdure. In their absence the four men maintained a wary watch, their dark brown eyes flicking constantly over trees, bushes, and openings. They no longer held their weapons casually.

A little less than an hour into the hike a dull boom echoed behind them. It could have been caused by a falling tree, but Ross Ed thought otherwise. One sound a man quickly becomes familiar with out in the oil fields is that of explosives. He found himself hoping that the congenial cantina owner was all right.

It took the rest of the day for them to reach the rebel encampment, a carefully camouflaged collection of simple huts and lean-tos. There was no clearing for aerial spotters to locate. Fresh green leaves and branches concealed the dry thatch beneath.

The arrivals were greeted by a dozen comrades. Among their number were several women and children. All had the high cheekbones, dark brown skin, and prominent nasal ridges characteristic of the Maya.

As they stumbled into camp Ross Ed caught a glimpse of a small overhang. A couple of mortars lay hidden there, together with boxes of ammunition and one rocket launcher. As he took note of these heavy munitions someone sang out in clear, unaccented English.

“Well, you two don’t look like the usual recruits!”

A lean, muscular man in his mid-thirties emerged from one of the huts. He had short, curly blond hair, light blue eyes, and pale skin. Above the tattered shorts, a very dirty photographer’s vest bulged with an assortment of exotic equipment. His high-tech hiking boots, Ross Ed decided, probably cost more than the most successful of the rebels made in a year.

“Hi.” He wiped his right hand on his vest before shoving it forward. “I’m Michael McClure. Nice to meet you.” He grinned at Caroline. “Especially you, miss.”

She frowned. “Are you with these people?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’m sort of a guest. I’m a stringer for The New York Times. Who are you two?”

Ross Ed made the introductions, not neglecting Jed. McClure eyed the Texan’s burden with interest. “Dead alien, huh? I goi to admit it’s one of the better fakes I’ve seen. What are all the blinking lights for?”

“Christmas,” Caroline explained dryly. “He goes on top of the tree instead of an angel.”

“Need a helluva tree.” The reporter nodded in the direction of the old man. “Reyman is saying they think your alien whatsit may be the reincamation of one of their old gods.”

“You’re taking this pretty calmly,” Caroline remarked.

McClure shrugged. “l’ve been here going on six months now, and l’ve seen and heard a lot of unusual stuff. I can’t condemn these people for searching out a useful symbol. They need every edge they can get. The government’s pressing them hard.”

“So you’re on their side?” Ross asked as they were directed to the shelter of a lean-lo. A woman brought cold water in multicolored plastic tumblers.

“l’m just here to report on the rebellion. I don’t take positions. These people have real grievances and the government insists it can’t iolerate anarchy, so both sides can make a valid argument. I’m just a neutral observcr and noncombatant.” He smiled. “Of course, if I’m captured by government forces they may not take me at my word. That’s always a danger in this kind of work.

“So far it’s been mostly trivial skirmishes. Neither side really wants a pitched battle with lots of bodies.”

“How do you get your reports out? Couriers?” As she spoke Caroline found herself envying the diminutive alien. The heat and humidity weren’t bothering him. Dead people were pretty much immune to the vagaries of climate. “Surely you don’t march down into Santa Luisa and put them in the mail?”

“Not hardly.” McClure grinned. “I’ve goi a Motorola Iridium phone.”

“lridium?” Ross Ed looked up. Hadn’t Jed used that term?

Caroline saw which road his thoughts were taking and hastened to erect a roadblock. “It’s just a coincidence. Ross Ed. In this instance lridium’s only a name for a low-orbit satellite communications system.” She turned back to the reporter. “I’ve heard about it. I didn’t think it was operational yet.”

“Not all of it is, but the portion over the U.S. was activated just last year. Here, I’ll show you.”

Ducking back into his hut, he reemerged with a cellular phone larger than the models Ross Ed was accustomed to seeing in the oil fields or on U.S. Army belts. Of particular interest was the long, heavy antenna which McClure extended to its full length.

“I can ring anyplace on Earth that lies within the footprint of an Iridium satellite. If the full system was up I could call somebody in central Siberia from here and get clean reception. As it stands, it works fine for New York. That’s how I file my reports. I’ve got a laptop with a built-in fax/modern. All I have to do is charge it and this with a car battery and phone my stories in to Manhattan. Goes through as cleanly as if I were reporting from Passaic.” He walked around behind Ross Ed to get a better look at his burden.

“I can’t get you out of here. These people have really fixated on your mannequin, or doll, or whatever it is. But if there’s anybody you’d like to talk to, I can certainly let you make a call.”

“Not interested.” What Ross wanted was another drink.

Caroline was more agreeable. “I wouldn’t mind chatting with my sister. She’s in Omaha.”

“My pleasure.” McClure hefted the phone. “What’s her number?”

Caroline told him and he punched it in. Much to their amazement, the call went through as smoothly as if they’d been using a pay phone in Dallas. While she supplied her sister with a carefully edited version of her recent travels, Ross Ed watched the movements of the Indian rebels. The silent Jed continued to act more dead than he was.

When she’d finished, Carolina handed the phone back to the reporter. “Thanks. It was nice to be able to tell her that I’m all right.”

Ross glanced sideways from where he was sitting in the shade. “Think she believed the part about vacationing in Mexico?”

“Hey, my family isn’t surprised at anything I do. They wouldn’t bat an eye if I called from Madagascar.”

He squinted at the surrounding rain forest. “One country I’ve never heard of at a time, if you don’t mind.”

TWENTY-TWO

In their excitement and surprise at being able to call Caroline’s sister, neither of them had paused to consider the possibility that satellite telephone calls might be monitored and intercepted by assorted intelligence agencies. Especially calls that originated from obscure locales such as the Yucatán rain forest and happened to trigger a particularly sensitive hypertext reference on a number of government computers.

So it was that two days later a lookout came running into the camp, gesticulating frantically and yelling to his comrades.

Ross Ed raised up from the sleeping pad in the lean-to which had been assigned to him and Caroline. “What is it?” he called out McClure. “Army patrol?”

“No, something more.” The reporter was listening closely to the excited conversation. “He says there are people in the U.S. Army uniform advancing with Mexican marines. They’re puzzled why Americans have suddenly chosen to get involved in their infernal conflict.”

The Texan swung his long legs out of the lean-to and drew them up to his knees. “I think I can answer that.”

McClure looked surprised. “You?”