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tongue speared the air over the curved fangs, sensing the air, aware of its surroundings.
    The upper body below the terrible head expanded until it formed a foot long v-shape supporting the scaly flat head. A tiny drop of yellow venom glistened in the harsh white light. There was a sharp intake of breath from the men on the couch. The guards moved back with the young man toward the open closet.
    "A King Cobra is a creature of great beauty, is it not Antonio?" said Hector Durand. "It knows no fear. It does not betray. It kills. It kills because it is its nature. Its strength."
    Hector removed a small silver chain from a loop on his riding britches. He held it in front of the snake, swaying it slightly. The black pinpoint eyes and the head swayed with the chain. In a blurred motion, Hector Durand's other hand whipped behind the snake, grasping it just below the head. He held it at shoulder level and still at least four feet of the body remained on the floor, swirling on the dry concrete.
    "You are fortunate Antonio," said Hector. "You will carry some of the strength of this serpent into your next life."
    Tears, snot and blood rolled from the bruised eyes and battered nose. Mewling, strangled noises erupted from his throat. The odors of sweat and fear washed out in waves from the savaged body. Miguel nodded at the men holding him. With quick coordinated moves, the guards slammed the young man backward into the tiny closet. His slim body almost took up the entire space.
    Almost.
    Hector Durand pitched the writhing, angry snake into the closet and one of the guards slammed the door and latched it. A shrieking keening wail erupted from the closet, the piercing quality hardly muffled by the wood door. The soft thump of something striking flesh repeatedly came from the nightmare of the closet in the stonewall.
    Hector Durand walked up to the two men on the cot. The one with the mustache, the contact from Mexico City, spat on the floor. The other one was visibly shaken.
    "Think my friends, think," said Hector Durand. "Your people in Washington cannot afford to let loose our secret. They must bow to my terms or the world will know that the largest drug dealer in South America is your own CIA. This they cannot afford. It is only a matter of time."
    "Fuck you and the horse you rode on," said the man with the mustache, each word a bitter pit to spit out.
    Hector Durand's smile vanished like an evil omen in a church.
    "I am looking forward to the day when you are no longer needed Oscar. I will enjoy that day very much," said Hector Durand as he turned and left the room.
    Miguel followed him, laughing when he passed the shuttered closet door as another shrieking wail drifted out.
    The screaming noises coming out of the closet continued unabated for a dozen minutes or so before silence returned to the basement room.

 
     
     
    Chapter 6

     
    A few days later,
    Everglades City - 1997
    Richard Daniels fiddled with the pre-flight checks on his team leader bonus, a new Beech Craft twin engine Seabee 1411 seaplane—all titled and registered in his name by the Agency. It was his to keep. He thought about how the plane and money would fuel his new activities.
    All he had to do was come back alive.
    Rollie sat on the dock watching him, knocking down a cold one in the ninety-five plus heat of Everglades City.
    "You really like that thing, hey," said Rollie.
    "Yeah, opens up whole possibilities for the future."
    "Just make sure we have a future."
    "Well Rollie, regarding the future, I'm still pissed off and concerned."
    "You still worried about that Rhineman guy?"
    "What do you think?" replied Daniels. "You saw his picture. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair, tall, thin, he might blend in Sweden or Norway, but we're not going to Sweden or Norway. We're going to Injun country in Mexico. Vikings kind of stick out over there, know what I mean?"
    "Give him a chance man. He's supposed to have special talents. Taylor wants this operation to succeed real bad