In the end she agreed, and during the next twenty-four hours, Carl, Lori, and a small group of insiders laid out a strategy for the dash across the frontier to Dallas and back. They made calls to underground operatives in Texas and set up a contact point where Carl could meet Larry. They would exchange gold for the supplies, and provide a map for the drivers to deliver the goods to El Refugio. They worked throughout the day, went over maps and laundry lists of the supplies they wanted, and Carl recited everything he needed to do to get safely through the lines.

After supper, the group prayed for Carl. John Edwards handed Carl a leather money belt containing gold coins, then sent him on his way. He took one of the four-wheel-drive vehicles and drove past Albuquerque to the airport staging area. He parked, then walked into the building housing the office of Master Sergeant O’Reilly.

When O’Reilly looked up and saw Carl in the doorway of his office, he got up and walked immediately over to the locked cabinet, shifted the bolt, and pulled a large box off the bottom shelf. “It’s all here,” he said, handing the package to Carl, “identification papers, a UP uniform, and a weapon. There’s no way you could get gas over there—another reason why a car is out of the question. So I’ve had the fellows rig you up the UP bike with a full tank of gas and two auxiliary tanks. You can barely make it on that, so no side trips.”

“Thanks, Tony. How much am I going to owe you for all this?”

“You can’t afford it,” O’Reilly said, smiling. “You people are doing such good work up there, this one’s on the general. But, Carl, take care of yourself.”

After suiting up in the enemy uniform, Carl donned an old jumpsuit for the short ride to the border. He didn’t want to be stopped by the guards on his own side. He paused just long enough to familiarize himself with the brakes and gears, then mounted the bike and cautiously maneuvered his way back past the airport, around the edge of town, and on toward the eastern boundary of the Defense Zone. Just a mile or so from the crossing point, he ducked behind a dilapidated old shed and put the jumpsuit in his saddlebag. He checked his uniform, put on the UP helmet and goggles, then headed out again.

I must be crazy, Carl thought. Here I am a copywriter for disposable diapers, acting like a member of the OSS. What on earth have I gotten myself into?