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we enter their airspace, they’ll spot us on the radar and launch a search-and-destroy operation before I even get close to their base. The glider is my best chance of getting in there undetected.”
    “He’s right,” Bergenn admitted.
    For a few moments no one spoke. Then Raabe said, “Come here, let’s go over the controls again.”

CHAPTER FIVE
HATO AIRPORT, CURAÇAO
    B ERGENN HAD A look at his watch. “Time to do this.”
    Sandor strolled to the side of the tarmac, knelt down, and opened his backpack to check the contents one more time. He had a satellite phone with a GPS function; two compasses, one traditional and one digital; a Smith & Wesson .45 1911 automatic with two extra magazines; a MAC 10 with four extra clips; and a US M24 Woodland portable sniper rifle with silencer and scope.
    Carlton watched as Sandor went through each item. “You going in there to start World War III?”
    “We’ll see,” Sandor replied. Then he held up a pair of bathing trunks, a T-shirt, and black flip-flops. “I guess I’m ready for anything,” he said.
    “Some disguise.”
    Sandor smiled. “You’d be surprised. Now where are the night goggles?”
    “In the cockpit with your helmet,” Bergenn told him. “Want to check them out again?”
    Sandor shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m good to go.”
    ————
    Doug Carlton was going to pull the ASG 29 with a C-47. It was a military variation of the DC-3, one of the most reliable warhorses in air travel, but not an obvious choice for this purpose.
    “Not exactly the ideal way to tow a glider,” he admitted as they prepared.
    Sandor smiled. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
    “You just hang on,” Raabe said as the three men watched Sandor climb into the glider.
    “Roger that,” Sandor replied.
    Carlton was going to pilot the twin-engine transport himself, directing his second in command to make a log entry listing the flight as a “nighttime takeoff and landing exercise, IFR.” There was to be no mention of the black glider he was towing or the two passengers he was carrying for the short trip.
    It was after midnight, but Carlton ordered that the runway lights remained shut down until after takeoff, then turned on later for his return. Inside the C-47 he went through the preflight checklist with Raabe, who had settled comfortably in the copilot seat, prepared to assist. Bergenn was buckled in the seat behind them.
    Once Carlton confirmed that all systems were operational, he revved the two engines, radioed his second that they were ready to go, then flashed a thumbs-up.
    Less than an hour later Sandor’s glider had been released over the Lago de Maracaibo, where he piloted it inland, south of Barranquitas, and crash-landed at the end of the clearing.

CHAPTER SIX
SOUTHWEST OF BARRANQUITAS IN THE JUNGLES OF VENEZUELA
    A FTER THE CRASH, Sandor did his best to rouse himself. The reinforced harness had kept him in place. Now his training instinctively led him through an ingrained sequence of personal checkpoints.
    First he took a few deep breaths to ensure he had not cracked any ribs or suffered chest injuries. Next he confirmed that his vision was clear, pulling off his goggles and moving his head slowly side to side to loosen his neck muscles. Then he moved his fingers and toes, finally uncoupling the seat belt so he could confirm his other extremities were intact.
    He looked at his watch. It had only been a few minutes since he last checked the time, before he spotted the clearing and hit the ground.
    It was just before 2:00 A.M.
    Sandor climbed out of the seat and stood beside what was left of the mangled cockpit. His eyes had adjusted to the unremitting darkness, and he had a look around. He could make out the pieces of the demolished glider that were scattered across the entire field. Come sunrise the evidence of the crash would be evident from the ground, and possibly the sky, reminding him again that time was short. Reaching behind his seat he