Norberto went with him. McCaskey moved as fast as he could, each step bringing sharp pain along both sides. He tried to raise his left arm; a blinding flash stabbed his lungs and arched his spine. He switched his gun to his other hand. He wasn't as good left-handed, but he'd made up his mind that he was going to get to María-crawling if necessary, but he was going to reach her.

The two men stepped outside with Father Norberto between McCaskey and the soldiers. McCaskey stumbled from the lingering pain of having tried to lift his arm. The priest grabbed his left arm. McCaskey leaned on him gratefully. As he did. Father Norberto took the gun from him.

"What are you doing?!" McCaskey shouted.

The priest held the gun butt-up. Then he bent and laid it on the courtyard. "I am giving them one reason less to shoot at us."

"Or one more!" McCaskey cried as they continued walking.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the soldiers shouting at them in Spanish. María was watching them from behind the base of the arch, her gun in sight.

There was a shot and a loud chink roughly a yard from Father Norberto. Stone chips flew toward them. One of them struck the priest in the thigh. He winced but continued walking.

María returned fire. One of the soldiers shot at her and drove her back.

The soldiers fired again. This time the bullet hit closer, just inches from the priest. It kicked up a fresh spray of stone. Norberto jerked toward McCaskey as several shards struck him in the side.

"Are you all right?" McCaskey asked.

Norberto nodded once. But his lips were pressed together and his brow was creased. He was hurting.

Suddenly, there was shouting behind them. It was coming from the direction of the palace.

"El general está muerto!" someone shouted.

McCaskey didn't need Father Norberto to translate for him. The general was dead-and in a moment they would be, too.

"Come on!" he said, urging the priest forward.

But even as he did so, McCaskey knew they were never going to make it. Other soldiers picked up the cry. There were shouts of rage and disbelief.

Just then there was another sound. The sound of helicopters. McCaskey stopped. He looked to his left, toward the palace. The soldiers also looked over. A moment later six choppers flew over the southern wall. They hovered over the courtyard, blocking the sun and sending out an ear-splitting roar.

It was the sweetest sound McCaskey had ever heard. The sweetest sight McCaskey ever saw was what looked like police sharpshooters leaning from the open doors and aiming CETME assault rifles down at the soldiers.

McCaskey heard sirens along the avenues alongside the palace. Aideen and Striker must have gotten out and given the police enough intel to send in the cavalry-serious business cavalry.