"Rest assured, you will before too long," Kuhl said. "What you should know is that a number of the intruders were captured or killed by this facility's private security force. I can't tell you how many survived, or even if they've been turned over to the gendarmerie. But that is certain to occur. When it does, you must see that these men are never interrogated. I don't care whether they are freed or executed or simply disappear. My sole interest is making sure that they do not talk to their captors."

Rojas looked at him, trying to think of a response. Eight months ago his relationship with DeVane had begun with a straightforward purchase of cocaine, but almost before he knew what was happening, it had grown into a complicated tangle of affairs. He had helped DeVane to cloak transactions that might otherwise have attracted the unwanted interest of the Brazilian government. He had been a conduit to political and law-enforcement circles. He had been a small link in a very long chain, a tiny drop of oil in an immense machine, and he'd been handsomely rewarded for it. There had been money and women, stays in extravagant hotel suites, and trips to foreign countries.

Only in recent weeks had Rojas awakened to how deeply he was enmeshed in DeVane's affairs. The things he was being asked to do were becoming riskier, and the pressure to carry them out increasingly direct. But there were limits. There had to be limits. And it sounded as if the problem he was being asked to fix went beyond any he could have imagined.

"I don't know," he said. "The Mato Grasso is outside my jurisdiction. I could ask some questions. Find out the status of the prisoners without too much difficulty. But if the regional authorities want to conduct an interrogation, I can't think of how to stop them."

Kuhl was staring at him.

"You'll cope with it," he said. "There is no other choice."

Rojas looked into his eyes and was quiet for close to a full minute. The sun seemed suddenly hotter. His palms and underarms were moist with sweat. It had been mad to believe he could link himself to DeVane without losing his independence. Completely mad. He had been bought and paid for in regular installments, and was now expected to obediently jump to his master's wishes.

At last he turned to DeVane and said, "You understand that I don't want to make promises I can't keep."

"Nor would we want that, obviously," DeVane said. "All we expect is that you give it your best."

Rojas raised his drink to his lips and drained it. The mimosa's shade had dwindled, making the heat almost intolerable. For an irrational moment he pictured himself spontaneously erupting into flames while DeVane and Kuhl looked on without expression.

"Is anything wrong, Francisco?" DeVane said. "You seem disconcerted."