in this hellish contraption to horrible death, or worse.

Occupying the only seat on the hatch side was a tautly uniformed man who eyed Craig coldly.

The priest spoke. His voice was deep and gently strong, caressing the Spanish syllables like a great soft bell. "We are abject, Doctor. We had tried very hard ... but there are fanatics."

"Eh?" said Craig. "Oh. Well, I am unhurt, as you can see."

"For which, thanks to the Almighty. Our humblest apologies. You speak Spanish exceptionally well, Doctor."

Wondering if there were a question behind the compliment, Craig said, "My mother was Mexican." He did not think it necessary to add that he'd grown up near the border, and had once spent two years as an exchange Professor of Physics at the Mexican university.

The priest nodded once. "I see. It was thoughtful of your government to choose you. And more than kind of you to come. But, forgive me; the shooting has made me forget my manners. This—" indicating the uniformed man—"is General Noriega." He laid a hand on the shoulder of the Indian. "And this one prefers to answer to the name Dientes."

Craig looked at the brown face with interest. Archeology was one of his hobbies, and in this part of the world ... 'Dientes' was Spanish for 'teeth,' he mused. Abruptly, under his gaze, the immobile face split into a wide nervous smile revealing the source of the nickname. They were large, even and very white.

"And I," the priest was saying, "am called Father Brulieres. Won't you seat yourself?"

Craig tensed in surprise. The name Brulieres had been very much in the news of late. A priest by that name had led the movement which put the present government in power—and was still reputedly, the man who actually ran it.

Craig realized he was still perched awkwardly halfway into the cabin. Mumbling something, he squeezed his bulky mountain gear through the hatch and took the empty seat beside the priest.

Rabar came in, closing the hatch behind him, and went forward to the pilot's seat. He glanced around at his passengers.

It seemed to Craig that he was more interested in faces than in the condition of seat belts. Rabar worked at switches and buttons. Engines coughed, then roared. From overhead came the rising "whoosh" of the vanes. The craft shivered 

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