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general's holster. "We came to talk to you in a friendly, relatively friendly, way."
"Do you fools honestly think you can break in here to "
"We been in contact," said Rocky as he rose off his backside, "with our buddies out in the jungle. The
pucky really hit the fan out there, General, and your whole setup is gone blooey."
"My setup?" Cuerpo affected surprise. "I am a loyal Ereguayan, a man of some prominence in this
country. I have nothing to do with any nest of fanatical Nazis."
"You shouldn't know about their being Nazis, General, unless you're in cahoots."
Should he? Cuerpo massaged his cheek. No, wait. "As head of the military in Ereguay, I am informed of
such matters," he told the pair of Challengers. "I knew quite early this morning what has been going on
in the Lake Sombra region. Naturally I feel our own military forces should round up such scum, but I
will not go against my president's wishes."
"Not until after the coup," said Red.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Cuerpo, though he knew it would detract from his
pose of calm authority, sank down into the chair. "Now I must ask you to "
"We got through to Escabar," Rocky told him. "He told us all about you before he kicked the bucket."
"Escabar? I don't "
"You knew him better as Otto Wenzler," said Red. "That's back in the days when you were known as
General Steinbrunner."
How could they know that name? What had that fool Wenzler said? "Gentleman, you . . ." It was very
strange. General Cuerpo sat watching them and he found he had no idea who they were. "Forgive me,
but I . . ."
"Kee-rist!" exclaimed Rocky. "Is this what Escabar was blabbing about, the surprise he had for the
general?"
Escabar. There was a familiar name. Yes, Escabar had personally administered the most recent series of
Process shots. At least the general suspected that was who they meant. He moved his hand across his
face, trying to get his head to clear. "This is most unusual."
He didn't have his own hand any longer. No, someone had replaced it with a gnarled, shrunken hand
which obviously belonged to an old man. A very old man. Ninety, at least, from the unpleasant look of
it.
"The Process has stopped working for him," Red said. "This is Escabar's revenge, because he suspected
they were about to get rid of him."
Two men were talking to him, but Cuerpo couldn't make much of it out. Perhaps they weren't speaking
German. Yes, that must be it. "Speak German, if you please," he requested.
Here was another very strange thing. His voice was not his. Somehow it had been replaced with the
rasping, whining voice of a doddering old man.
For a few seconds Cuerpo managed to realize what was happening to him. "It does . . . not . . . work any
. . . longer."
"Kee-rist." Rocky backed off from what was sitting in the wicker chair.
"You must excuse me, gentlemen," the general tried to say.
The sun was so hot. The voices so loud. Better to go to sleep until the day waned, better to rest until the
cool of twilight came on. Better to rest than . ..
Red shook his head. "All over."
"Poor bastard." Rocky didn't look at the body of General Cueipo. "Getting old is bad enough, but doing
it in a few minutes . . . ugh!"
Red crossed the balcony. "His office is in here. Let's look around."
"What about him?"
"Leave him there for now." Red stepped into the coolness of the departed general's large office. "I want
to dig up whatever records and papers we can, deliver the whole package to Chanza."
Inside the office, still gazing out at the balcony, Rocky said, "I've seen a lot of strange stuff since we all
teamed up. But this is the very first time I ever seen something what give me goose bumps all over."
"You've got too much empathy, Rock." Red was at the general's desk, tugging out drawers. "Doubt he
stuck anything about the coup in these unlocked ones, but better check 'em all." "Wonder what I'll look
like when I get old." Rocky came wandering into the room.
"Like a lost buffalo, same as now. Start in on those file cabinets over there."
"My grandpop lived to be ninety-four."
"Did he rassle till the end?"
"Aw, he wasn't no wrestler. He was a farmer. Had him a gigantic spread in "
"Hands up, Rocky. You, too, Red."
The wall bookcase had swung open without a creak, and a dapper young man with a head slightly too
large for his body came into the office. It was Alex Hentoff, of the National Espionage Agency. He
carried a .38 revolver in his well-cared-for right hand.
"You, too?" Rocky shuffled over against a wall, raised his hands.
"Didn't you tumble to that as yet?" asked the American agent.
"In the back of my computer-like brain," Red said, "the idea was starting to take shape. Denny Yewell
didn't know we were coming down here until we were en route from the States, yet people started trying
to discourage us a day before we took off. Ergo, either you or Holden Chote had to be in on the deal."
"Kee-rist," said Rocky, "don't tell me Chote is a turncoat, too?"
Hentoff laughed. "Have no fear, Rocky. Holden remains as innocent and loyal as a newborn babe. I, on
the other hand, can be sorely tempted by large amounts of untraceable cash."
"So you went to work for the Nazis," said Red as he took two steps away from the desk.
"There's more to it than that, Red. Perhaps you haven't as yet heard about Chanza's plans to eventually
nationalize all the oil fields in Ereguay," said Hent-off. "General Cuerpo's move to overthrow Chanza
was financed by more than just a bunch of Nazis."
"PetroSur," said Red.
Hentoff glanced fleetingly at the balcony and then back at the Challengers. "I've been listening behind
the secret door for several minutes," he told them. "I'm saddened by the general's demise. He really had
a very good chance of getting rid of Chanza for us."
"You should be able to find another general," Red said. "South America is crawling with them."
"Yes, but it will mean "
"Kee-rist!" Rocky was hopping, pointing to the sunny balcony. "The old bastard ain't dead! He's getting
up out of his chair!"
Hentoff turned to see.
Red dived for the floor, flipped over and came up in a perfect position to kick Hentoff in the abdomen
with both booted feet. He did that.
Doubling, expelling air, gagging, Hentoff tried to use his pistol.
Red kept him from doing that. He chopped it from the American's hand.
Rocky snorted, chuckling. "The old dodges are the best."
Tossing Hentoff into the general's desk chair, Red said, "Stay there." "You think he really will?"
"Who and what?"
"Give us medals, President Chanza," said Rocky. He let go of the jeep's steering wheel to pat the place
on his broad chest where he'd like to see the medal hung.
Red grinned out at the late afternoon jungle they were passing through. "Not a good idea to wear too
many medals. They get caught on things."
"Aw, one little medal would be okay," said Rocky. "And, see, I figure if I was a decorated hero
hereabouts, it'd give me a little extra clout."
"Didn't realize you were in the need of clout."
Rocky scowled. "Don't laugh now when I tell you this."
"Promise not to."
"I'd like to do something for them little kids. You know, them little kids in the barrio. Start some kind of
charity thing, to see they all get shoes to wear and the right food to eat."
Red said, "That's a nice idea, Rocky." "With a medal I can maybe throw my weight around more. I
know there are already outfits trying to help out, but they ain't doing a good enough job."
"Once we get back to San James, you can get to work on something. I'm pretty sure Chanza will help
you."
"It still depends on if he really delivers on the medal," said Rocky. "Today, when we went over all the
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