Tasìa sat down by her work desk. She had a decision to make. Nine sniper rifles lined up behind the glass of a walnut-stained gun cabinet.

They were some of the best-made weapons in the world for that purpose, and she possessed the armor-piercing incendiary rounds needed to take out even the warbirds if needed.

The Barrett .50 she eyed was a big gun for a petite woman such as herself. Her physique, being ripped with long, wiry tendons, was in no way ordinary, however. She could certainly handle it.

Though Big Sexy, her nickname for the Barrett, was formidable, her eyes drifted to the rifle sitting beside it. The McMillan TAC-50. Very similar in capability to the Barrett, but for Tasìa it held two advantages. With her tiny thumbs, she could switch out the magazine two seconds faster. Also, her accuracy at long distances on the McMillan was much better.

For a big man with big digits, she suspected both factors would be reversed, but Tasìa was a creature of finese, and the TAC-50 was nothing if not sleek.

With that decision made, Tasìa went on to her next task.

She pulled up several charts of information for the warbird she had observed earlier. It was a newer weapon platform from a Czech company. Neither the copter nor the company were entities to which she was familiar.

Tasìa switched on her Laz-Lite Compbox. A workstation, the size of a game console, commonly used in the field of graphic design. She found it to be highly versatile for her own purposes, usually involving the study of floor plans.

With a little sleuth work, Tasìa found the design documentation for the copter. She studied a schemata that sliced through the warbird one layer of components at a time with the adjoining parts outlined in transparent alpha layers.

Traditionally, one aimed for the engine block when using a high powered rifle, but this warbird, simply named Series8, was designed to circumvent that approach.

Tasìa sighed in frustration.

The way this bird is designed, I might as well be trying to take out a power generator that lay barricaded deep inside a fortress by shooting randomly at the surrounding concrete walls.

She fidgeted with a pair of dice on her desk as she scrolled through the visual set-up, feeling very much like she was now just going through the motions.

Then she saw her solution.

The front pumps of a coolant system. Tasìa pulled up the entire unit, composed of twenty-five components, up in a holographic display.

That many components seemed a bit excessive, but, of course, the heavy armor of the warbird made such a complex system designed to avoid overheating necessary.

There had to be exploitable vulnerabilities. Any damage to it would cause entire systems - electronic, communications, navigation, fuel pumps and the like to melt down.

Now, where would I lodge a bullet? Not directly into the exhaust outtake as the pipes curved upward, but at the ceramic heat plate just beneath the curb of the pipes.

I should go upstairs to the kitchen and reward you with a cookie for being so smart, Tasìa.

The neoPalm played the melody to the song Obrerito. It was a direct call from León.

"Yeah, hermano, how can I be of service."

"Hello, Tasìa. I hope everything is going well for you."

Tasìa laughed. She propped her feet up on the desk.

"If you only knew the kind of evening that I just experienced. Well, maybe I'll get the chance to tell you, someday. Do you drink beer?"

León's voice grew faux-dismissive.

"Do I drink beer? Please, my curious friend. My bar tabs could pay for renovations in every establishment that I do well to dine."

Tasìa scratched at her neck.

"If we didn't have the Lieutenant Colonel trying to grab a stake in our deal, I would have you meet me at a nice little dive. I would even buy you a nice steak dinner, but alas . . ."

"About that, Sol would like to have a conversation with you."

"Now?"

León hesitated. She heard the phone being muffled.

"He is not invited to our reunion," Tasìa stated. "Nor will I let him take part in the operation. I only work with those I trust."

"I conveyed all of that to him. He would still like to speak to you."

Tasìa suspired. She did not want to feel angry with her friend, but her annoyance was raised.

"León . . ."

"I'm sorry to put you on the spot," he pleaded.

What choice did he have? Perhaps, her dear Aunt Tatiana wasn't the only one in need of rescue.

Tasìa glanced behind her.

"Give me one minute, León. I'm going to set up a video conference."

"The Lieutenant Colonel says that would be fine."

Tasìa set the neoPalm where the camera would face the gun cabinet. She retrieved from the other side of her basement a state of the art mini rocket launcher with standard Russian 40 mm scramblers.

These she placed strategically beside the gun cabinet. She had no intention of bringing the rocket launcher and its munitions given she was riding a motorcycle, but the Lieutenant Colonel need not know that.

Tasìa sat down in front of the cabinet and she clicked the video chat to the ready position.

A topographic two-dimensional rectangle projected eight feet away from her.

Suddenly, Álvaro Sol moved into the projected space. He grinned wide over a narrow chin. His eyes were covered by green shaded Aviators common to generals of over a hundred years previously.

Even so, this close, the family resemblance he bore was unmistakable.

She thought nothing of it before because the Sol surname was common enough to dismiss as coincidence. Not this time.

Somehow, the leader of the Hijos Lux cult and this war criminal were related.

"I see you are a collector! That Sako, I used one in the G'rillos campaign back in my non-comish days."

Tasìa shook her head.

"You really don't expect me to bring down a Series8 warbird with a 338 Lapua round do you?"

Sol pointed with a long, boney finger to the rifle that sat on the far right side.

"I don't even expect you to bring one down with that beast." He meant the McMillan TAC-50 anti-material rifle. Sol grimaced. "However, you have proven to be very resourceful. I assume that was you who put my soldiers in the clinic."

Tasìa crossed her arms.

"No doubt. I told you to stay away."

With a slow shake of his head, he frowned. The Lieutenant Colonel's chin bobbed up and down.

"I cannot do that. Did you bring the warbird down as well?"

He doesn't know. When she thought this in realization, Tasìa pulled back with a very slight reaction. It was still enough for Sol to take notice.

He leaned forward. His lips perked up in a near pout.

"You know something," he gasped.

Tasìa nodded and she stared straight into her camera. "I know quite a bit. If you'll hold back your men tonight when I meet León, I'll tell him everything I know with a complete diagnostic rundown of what happened."

"Why do you niños cosechas always, without exception, prove to be so difficult," Sol nearly shouted as he punched his fist into his right hand. His grimace bore anger for a moment before he let it subside to speak.

"I need you in my fold. We cannot afford failure in this mission. There is no margin of error."

"That is why I cannot trust you with this. I have seen your failure up close and personal."

Sol clinched his fist akimbo to his sides. His jaw shook. Being questioned, and having his abilities doubted were evidently new experiences for him.

"Your sentiments are irrational. Ria Castro was a worthless piece of shit. My intel tells me that even you knew this, but if you knew even half of what I know about her, you would have demanded my gun to shoot her, yourself."

Tasìa stood up and she reached for the neoPalm.

"Sol, we are far beyond that, now. Keep your men away, and no one else needs to get hurt."

With a clenched jaw, Sol pointed at her with a finger. He was about to speak when Tasìa cut him off.

His body twisted in a blue light funnel as the projection withdrew back into her neoPalm.