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The more menacing view came from another man he hadn’t counted in the small circle of men to his front. He was also carrying a submachine gun. Garrison added his and Isabel’s number value to the equation—nine altogether. “Have you been accepting dresses from another man?” Lee asked as he slowly stood to his full height.
    The woman smiled, showing her perfect white teeth as she backed away from the most dangerous man she had ever known.
    “Yes, many dresses, and a small monetary amount to tide me over after the war.”
    The man with the submachine gun gestured for Lee to raise his hands.
    The American did as he was told, feeling sick at being caught so easily. As he stood, the .45s were taken from him by Isabel, who watched for any sudden movement. The man with the heavy artillery called out in horrible Spanish and the six men stopped and turned as he was pushed out of the small grove of trees with his hands in the air.
    “We have caught the Oso of an American who has been preying on your agents,” Isabel said from behind him. He had to smile when he heard the nickname the Argentines had bestowed on him—Oso, Bear. He figured that compared to the short sons of bitches around him, he was a bear-sized American. Well, there was one German that was as big as he was, the one next to the small man with the satchel.
    The Satchel Kraut, as Lee now thought of him, approached and looked him over. He turned to his colleague and muttered in German, “The OSS is getting more brazen every day. And attempting to take us right from the beach? Such treatment by a colleague.” He laughed.
    “Kill him and be done with it. We have to be in Quito for the second part of the operation in two days time. We have no time for this.”
    Their final destination: Quito, the capital of Ecuador.
    The smaller German turned to face the American and tilted his head. His glasses and black leather jacket shone in the moonlight. He smiled as he removed the wool hat.
    “Before you are disposed of, may I say that you have quite an admirer in Herr Himmler, Colonel Lee?”
    The American reached up and tilted back his brown fedora, making the other six men, along with Isabel, flinch. The smaller Argentines brought up their only weapons—four large machetes. All of their uneasiness at his supposed killing prowess brought a smile to the American’s lips.
    “Anyway, I wanted to inform you of that fact, Mr. Garrison Lee,” the small German said with a grin. “Before you are shot.”
    “That’s Colonel Lee to you, Fritz.”
    “You fools, stop your playing. This man is a killer,” Isabel said. “I know. I’ve watched him do it.”
    The American’s smile was infuriating to the large German who stood behind the man he was there to protect, the smaller Kraut with the satchel. “According to our reports in Berlin, you were quite a thorn in our operations here in South America, Colonel Lee. It will be a feather in our caps, so to speak, to have been the ones to eliminate such a man who has caused our organization such hardship.”
    “Organization? You’re being far too kind to yourselves. You must mean the SS, or what we in the states call Murder Incorporated.”
    “Witty, Colonel Lee—I hope that wit will be available to you in the moment of your death,” the small man said. He turned away and whispered something to the larger German and then turned to face the woman. “As for you my dear, we are not in the habit of rewarding spies who assist in the killing of our agents.”
    The large SS man finally smiled. He brought up his submachine gun and shot three rounds into Isabel’s head and chest. She fell backward and Lee caught her before she hit the ground. As he did so, his plan was formed.
    Without a second’s hesitation, Lee spun Isabel’s lifeless body and tossed her into the third German. He dove for the sandy ground, grabbing for the small .32 caliber pistol that Isabel had dropped at the moment of her death. He shot before striking the