Hartson Brant and the scientists were at work on detailed analysis of the day's shots. It would take some time. When Rick told his father about the conversation with Captain Montoya, the scientist had nodded agreement. "It sounds like good sense, especially since there has been no sign of an invasion of the city. The troops could have been here before this. Go ahead, but be cautious. Always leave your escape route open."
It was good advice, and the boys intended to take it.
Scotty drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, "We're nearly at the fork in the road. Keep an eye open."
"Will do," Rick assured him. The left fork was the main, paved road to San Souci. The right fork led up to the hotel.
Scotty reached the fork and slowed.
"There!" Rick pointed.
Twenty yards up the right fork there was a barricade fence, newly made of small logs. Lounging against the fence were a half dozen soldiers.
"We could go left to San Souci, but not to the hotel," Rick said. "Now what?"
"Hold on and be ready for a quick take-off," Scotty muttered. He turned the jeep into the left fork, then shifted and backed around and up the right fork to where the soldiers waited.
One soldier, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, sauntered over to them. He carried a rifle, but Rick noted that he didn't hold it at the ready. The boy called, "Do you speak English, sergeant?"