He glanced in the mirror just as the town car careened around the corner one block back. Juan was driving an overloaded Mitsubishi and had no illusions that he could outrun the big American V-8 even if the car was carrying armor, which it probably was.

Juan made two quick turns, and slowed as a police car with lights flashing went streaking past followed closely by another unmarked car.

His confidence evaporated when he saw both cars brake heavily in his mirror. It took them a few moments to turn around on this narrow street, forcing Espinoza to stop completely. Obviously, the General knew someone a lot lower down on the food chain than Cabrillo had estimated. He should have figured a man like Espinoza would know the neighborhood precinct’s commander.

In seconds, all three cars would be in pursuit, and the little Mitsubishi’s description would be on police radios all across Buenos Aires. He’d been right about one thing. Getting Tamara out of the apartment was the easy part of the night’s work.

They turned into a narrow alley, and Juan shouted, “Now,” to Mark Murphy.

Murph already had his windows down, and he began pulling pins on smoke grenades as fast as he could. These were of the Corporation’s own design and produced faster and denser smoke than even those used by the U.S. military. After the third one hit the street, Juan could see nothing behind him but a thick haze that even masked the streetlights and the illumination from second-and third-floor windows.

“Enough,” Juan said, and he made another series of random turns. His throat felt as dry as dust, but his hands remained loose on the wheel and his focus never wavered.

“Just curious,” Linc said from the backseat. “Does anyone know where we are?”

“Linda?” Cabrillo said.

She had a handheld GPS and studied the screen intently. “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea. We’re heading in the general direction of the docks, but up ahead is a maze of streets. We need to cut to our left where there’s a pretty big avenue.

The town car emerged from a cross street without warning. It slid neatly behind the sedan, pressing so hard on its suspension and tires that a hubcap came loose and spun across the sidewalk like a Frisbee. The driver knew this neighborhood better than even the police who patrolled it, and had outguessed Cabrillo.

Gunfire spat from the passenger’s window, where a bodyguard leaned out with a big pistol in his hand. Linc twisted his considerable bulk and unleashed a full magazine from his machine gun. The rubber bullets were useless against the Caddie, but the psychological impact of a full-auto attack forced the chauffeur to brake hard and crank the wheel over. They scraped against a series of parked cars and set off a chain reaction of shrieking alarms and flashing lights.