"Navigator, take a look at my map." The pencil traced a straight line extending two hundred miles across the border. "Is this our course?"
"Yes, Major. We are flying on course now."
"Thanks." Segador looked at his watch, extended the pencil line another hundred miles into the country. "Snub Nose—how much flying time is left in our fuel tanks?"
"Three hours."
The point of the pencil came to rest at the end of the line Segador had drawn on the map. "Can we make this point on our gas and still have enough left to fly back to San Martin Airport from the north? It would mean flying a wide circle."
The navigator studied the map. "It can be done, sir."
"Good. Mateo, my plan is to drop by parachute with the negatives at this point. The plane is then to return and land at San Martin. You will then make your way to San Hermano by train and go directly to Gonzales by car."
"Will I be followed?"
"I have a man at San Martin. He will guide you."
"And you?"