The driver—the obvious hit man—studied Paul. The cold eyes showed nothing. This was a dangerous man, likely one of the Colonel’s most deadly. The driver let his gun hand go limp and hang down by his side.
Finally, belatedly, the sergeant drew his sidearm. He pointed it at the Colonel’s hit man.
“Take him to the waiting room in the lobby,” Anderson said. “I don’t want him anywhere on this floor.”
“Yes sir,” the sergeant said. “Come on,” he told the driver.
“Take his gun first,” Anderson said.
“That will not be necessary,” Valdez said. “He will not draw here.” The Colonel spoke rapidly in Spanish to the driver.
The hit man nodded lazily.
Anderson appeared to think a moment and nodded to the sergeant. “The Colonel is a man of his word. Leave the driver his sidearm, but take him downstairs to the waiting room.”
The driver and sergeant left.
“I’m going to retire down the hall,” Anderson said. “You two gentlemen are free to use my office. If you need me—”
“General Ochoa lied to me,” Valdez said.
“No sir,” Anderson said. “He kept his word. General Ochoa ordered me to disarm the Master Sergeant. I chose to ignore the order.”
“Ochoa will learn of this,” Valdez said.
“We’re all on the same side, Colonel,” Anderson said. “It would be good to remember that. And if I were you, I’d also remember that Master Sergeant Kavanagh is a crack shot. He killed General Cho Deng, one of the enemy’s best hovertank commanders.”
“You’d better remember who I am, Captain. It is a poor decision to cross swords with me.”
Anderson saluted. “Oh yes, sir. I will remember.” He thereupon took his leave, closing the door behind him.
Paul holstered his sidearm and faced the intense Colonel Valdez.
Valdez chomped down on the cigar, and his eyes blazed. With his pitted skin, it made him seem like some Aztec god of the days when they demanded blood-sacrifices from their conquering people. In those times, The Aztecs had marched to war, swinging obsidian-tipped clubs and spears, building an empire. At its core was the glorious city of Tenochtitlan, where present day Mexico City stood. There, on the tallest pyramid, the Aztec priests tore out the hearts of their victims, appeasing the gods with human blood. On some feast days, they had sacrificed as many as twenty thousand men, women and children.
The Aztecs had been fierce warriors. Colonel Valdez could have been one of their chosen sons. Despite a conquering horde of Chinese soldiery numbering in the millions, he had fought against the Mexican occupation. He had waged merciless war, using assassins against President Felipe, killing the supposed victor of the Mexican Civil War. The Chinese had tried to hunt Valdez down as ruthlessly. The Colonel had survived—a hero, a butcher and a relentless foe.
“You were supposed to protect my daughter,” Valdez growled.
Paul didn’t know what to say. He hated the man who had sent assassins after him, but he could understand the rage. He also despised the fact of his leaving Maria Valdez behind. He’d had no choice in the matter, but he knew he couldn’t explain that to the Colonel.
“I’m sorry,” Paul said.
“Does that bring her back to life?”
“No.”
“Then what good is your apology?” Valdez sneered.
“I don’t know.”
“Bah!” Valdez said. He yanked the cigar out of his mouth and spat on Paul’s boots. “I give you that for your sorry. The Chinese cut her into pieces because you failed to keep your promise. The Marines never leave their own behind? Ha! It is a lie.”
“We’re human, Colonel. Sometimes—”
Valdez’s right hand dropped to his gun.
Paul’s dropped onto the butt of his holstered semi-automatic.
“You will kill me?” Valdez asked.
“I don’t want to.”
“But I want to kill you,” Valdez said.
In the middle of Paul’s stomach, outrage and frustration exploded. It tightened his jaws, and he drew his gun. Belatedly, Valdez drew his. Paul knocked the hand aside, sending the revolver flying to smack against the wall. Then he jammed his semi-automatic against Valdez’s neck, pushing the smaller man until he slammed against the wall.
“You’re the one who sent your daughter into combat,” Paul whispered, his face an inch away from Valdez. “Why didn’t you lead the mission? I fought alongside her. I risked my life as she risked hers. Did I kill her later? No, the Chinese did that. Don’t blame me, Valdez.”
“I do.”
Paul cocked the hammer, and he stared into the eyes of a man determined to kill him. Finally, he twisted to the side and pushed Valdez away. The Colonel staggered, bashing