"He is the taxi driver that picked me up, right there on that curb, and drove me back to the apartment. Black Jack flagged him down, gave the instructions, and bargained for the fare."

"And then the driver returned to kill Rosenbaum?"

"No. I thought we were being so damn cute in losing Kearns, but obviously he knew where we were staying. He must have seen me arrive by cab, and bribed, or conned, the driver into pointing out who I had contacted."

"Which means Kathy ...?"

"...is either in danger from them -or from me- on account of me. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. We will call with a warning. I don't want to cause any more unnecessary grief.

This means that we are not in any immediate danger. Whoever they are must be convinced we will lead them to something they want very badly."

"What should we do, then?"

"I'm tired of playing cat and mouse in the city. Let's head for the mountain by ourselves. At least we will know if we are being followed."

After a quick phone call, asking for Airman Kaufman, and receiving a confused reply that she had been transferred stateside on temporary duty, they passed through old, old Panama City, both concerned that their curiosity had led to some very serious consequences. "I'm sorry," Jed mentally apologized to Lieutenant Butler, Lt. Colonel Drews, and Black Jack Rosenbaum— faces he could see in the reflection of his memory upon the windshield. He bore a heavy sense of guilt over their deaths. Whatever happened to them, and Kathy Kaufman, or Colonel MacPherson, Jenny, himself, didn't seem worth the paying price.

"What a shame," Jed said as he tried to keep from kicking himself by changing the topic of conversation, "that we can't stop to putter through the rubble of the old town, or what was left of it after Sir Henry Morgan had crossed the isthmus to rape and pillage."

"Seems that," Jenny answered, and thwarted his intent, "every generation has had power mad destroyers to content with."

While mining this dark vein of thought, a bit farther down the road they passed by a troop of cavalry trotting in formation, forming a square of protection about a girl, obviously the daughter of a high government official, out for a morning ride. Her white breeches and black riding habit were of classic timelessness. The sight of cavalry uniforms should have satisfied him with appreciation for this scenic anachronism. Instead his eyes were filled with visions of a Polish cavalry troop being machine gunned by a low flying Nazi Stuka dive bomber. He could even hear the death rattles of the horses.