Rick waited until the blackness lessened. His pupils were fully dilated now, and he could see surprisingly well. There was a moon, but at the moment it was behind a cloud bank. When it emerged, he would be able to see perfectly.
"Let's go," Scotty said. "No more talking now. When I hold up my hand, stop and wait for me."
The ex-Marine took the lead, Montoya following and Rick bringing up the rear. He took the night stick from his belt and hefted it. The weight was comforting in his hand.
Scotty found his way with the ease that Rick always admired. Their steps were noiseless on the carpeted jungle floor. Presently Scotty held up his hand, and Montoya and Rick stopped, waiting. Scotty disappeared ahead of them.
The seconds ticked by. Mosquitoes found them and whined around their heads. Neither moved.
Scotty returned as silently as he had gone. Beckoning them close, he whispered, "One guard at the gateposts. Give me one minute, then walk forward until you reach the road. Call to him in Spanish, Captain. I want to be sure his attention is on you."
"I understand," Montoya said softly.
Rick put a finger on his pulse and began counting. He could tell his pulse was a little fast. When the count reached ninety he tapped Montoya on the shoulder. But the officer was already moving.
Rick followed close behind, the night stick held in a palm that had grown sweaty with tension. The San Luzian picked his way carefully, but he moved at a good speed. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Rick peered past him and saw the lighter color of the dirt road.
Montoya took a breath, then he called clearly, "Hola, amigo! Qué pasa?"