“How many are you?” Gary glanced at Domingo.“American accent. Florida maybe?” “Could be.” Gary cupped his hands and shouted back, “Three of us here. Others in the forest.” There was a pause. Then,“I got you covered from here. And some of my boys are above you, they have you from the back. Got that?” “Got it.” It was always this way, at best, when you encountered strangers. A show of strength, a posturing of weapons and warriors that might or might not exist. On a bad day you’d get shot at before you realized there was anybody there. “So what do you want?” Domingo answered now. “Passage.” He pointed. “Across the canal zone to Darien.” Gary called, “We just want to pass through. We’re heading for Peru.” “Peru, huh.”
