Rain had stopped and the wind had shifted. A half-moon sailed from cloud to cloud, and the cloud shadows flowed across the valley. A searchlight reached six miles from West-10,000, but the target light was out again, so the beam was wide of the tower. Suddenly, the receiver in the shed sang, “Oh, say can you see?” The question echoed from every direction because the Voice of America was signing back on. “… by the dawn’s early light” reverberated over cactus and staked cables, to volcanic cones on one side, to the foothills of the Oscuras and back, echoes overlapping in the night. “… what so proudly we hail.” Joe laughed. At the top of the steps, Augustino smiled and shouted to be heard.

“We can still put the card on Oppenheimer.” He pocketed his lighter and jumped down a few rungs. “You can still save Anna Weiss. Last chance.”

“Keep your hands in sight, sir.”

Augustino lifted his hand to show a nickel-plated .22. Just the sort of shiny little item an officer would carry, Joe thought.

“While you were boxing, Sergeant, I found your uniform and firearm and emptied your clip.”

Joe aimed at the captain’s eyes and squeezed the trigger. The .45’s hammer slapped an empty breach.

Augustino went on, undisturbed, “Anna Weiss is at the border right now. A phone call can still catch her. You never should have touched Mrs. Augustino.”

He fired. A head shot. Joe’s hair whipped to one side, spewing blood. A heart shot. Joe turned, as if he’d thought to dodge, and dropped.

The first shot had dug across the cranium and mass of hair. The second penetrated the heavy muscle of the chest and scored the ribs. As he hit the platform, Joe reached and took the captain by the throat, and Augustino fired wide.

“Oh, say does that star …” swelled across the flat as headlights arrived at the base of the tower. It was the arming-party jeep. Engine and headlights stayed on while the men jumped out. There was a hurried rattle of a lock, a sharp creak of door hinges.

As Augustino pressed the bright muzzle of the .22 against his forehead Joe pushed the captain off the steps so that he hung straight out from the platform in Joe’s grip, a hundred feet above the ground.

“Arming lead connected.” Jaworski spoke into the field radio at the “privy.” From the speakers in the dark flowed a tremulous “… home of the brave. Good morning and buenos dias.”

With his free hand, Augustino held on to Joe’s wrist to keep from being strangled.

“… Latin American broadcast from Station KCBA in Delano, Cali—” vanished in a squawk of dials. Over the loudspeakers and from the receiver in the shed, Harvey answered, “Understand arming lead connected. Check.”

“Firing switch closed and ready,” Jaworski said.

“Firing switch closed and ready,” Harvey answered from the receiver and speakers.