María put her left hand on the bloody handkerchief and twisted slightly. She brought her right hand around.

"Hold it," he said before the gun came around. "I want to tell the soldiers something first. How do you say, 'Don't shoot'?"

"No disparar."

McCaskey leaned his head out from behind the arch. "ĄNo disparar!" he yelled. He kept his head exposed then asked María, "How do you say, 'Let's take care of our wounded'?"

She told him.

McCaskey shouted, "ĄCuidaremos nuestros heridos!"

There was no response from the soldiers. McCaskey frowned. This was one of those moves where you had to put everything on the table and pray.

"All right," he said to María as he rose. "Let them see the gun."

María twisted further until her right hand came from behind the archway. The gun glinted in the sun at the same time as McCaskey stepped into the open. He held his hands up to show that he was unarmed. Then, slowly, he began walking into the courtyard.

The soldiers did nothing. The sun felt savagely hot as McCaskey stepped closer to the wounded men. He was aware of continued gunfire from inside the palace-not a good sign. The Strikers should have been in and out without engaging the enemy.

Suddenly, a soldier stepped from behind the gatepost. He entered the gate and walked toward McKaskey. He was armed with a submachine gun. It was pointed directly at McCaskey.

"No disparar." McCaskey repeated in case the soldier hadn't heard him the first time.

"ĄVuelta!" the soldier shouted.

McCaskey looked at him and shrugged.

"He wants you to turn around!" María yelled.

McCaskey understood. The soldier wanted to make sure he didn't have a weapon shoved in his waistband. McCaskey stopped, turned, and lifted his pants legs for good measure. Then he continued walking. The soldier didn't shoot him. He also didn't lower his weapon, which McCaskey now recognzied as an MP5 of Hong Kong origin. If he fired at this range, he'd cut McCaskey in half. McCaskey wished he could see the soldier's face beneath his cap. It would have been nice to have some idea what the man was thinking.

The walk to where Luis was lying took less than a minute but it felt much, much longer. When McKaskey arrived the Spanish soldier was still about thirty feet away. The soldier kept the gun pointed in McCaskey's direction. The American knelt slowly, keeping his arms raised. He looked down at the wounded men.

The captain was looking up at him, wheezing through his teeth. His lower leg was sitting in a deepening puddle of blood. If he didn't get help soon he'd bleed to death.