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both　sides　of　the　border；　and　the　tunnel　between。　She　was　Chinese；　but　our　family　wanted　the
tunnel　very　badly。　She　died　soon　and　he　married　a　good　Mexican　girl。　The　tunnel　is　ours　now；　as
is　only　just。　The　Chinese　are　very　good　smugglers；　but　they　are　not　very　good　Mexicans。”
The　atmosphere　was　neither　fresh　nor　stale。　It　had　a　peculiar；　dense　taste　to　it；　as　though　the
same　air　had　been　there　since　the　tunnel　was　built。
“How　deep　are　we？”　asked　Vanessa。
“Deep　enough　to　die　if　the　tunnel　gives　way；”　said　Refugio。
The　tunnel　walls　seemed　to　lean　in；　absorbing　light　and　sound。　Refugio’s　voice　was　clear；　but　it
did　not　carry　as　well　as　it　should　have。　The　air　was　thick；　flat；　deadening；　yet　the　lamps　still
burned　with　a　muddy　yellow　flame。　Suddenly　the　walls　changed　from　aggregate　to　wood；　a　dark
hallway　more　than　150　feet　long。　Sand　that　had　seeped　and　trickled　between　the　timbers　lay　in
small　drifts　across　the　floor　and　grated　beneath　their　feet。
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“This　is　the　bottom　of　an　old　river。　The　ground　is　very　soft。　More　than　thirty　Chinese　were
buried　alive　here　before　they　finally　brought　in　timber　from　the　north　of　California。　They　had
many　Chinese；　you　see；　but　very　little　wood。”
In　the　silence　it　seemed　that　they　could　hear　individual　grains　of　sand　sifting　between　cracked
timbers；　and　the　wood　itself　sighing　under　the　interminable　burden　of　heavy　earth。
Beyond　the　shored…up　section；　the　floor　ascended　steadily。　Walking　became　more　difficult。
Pebbles　rolled　beneath　their　feet　as　they　climbed　back　toward　the　surface。　At　the　foot　of　a　short
stairway；　Refugio　pulled　hard　several　times　on　a　dirty　cord　that　was　strung　along　the　wall。
When　he　turned　away　from　the　wall；　the　light　from　the　lamp　he　was　carrying　washed　over
Vanessa。　The　thick　yellow　glow　and　velvet　shadows　mellowed　her　brittle　beauty。　Refugio
stopped；　caught　by　the　unexpected　softness　of　her　body　in　the　light。　He　stared　at　her　with　eyes
that　were　as　intrusive　as　hands。　Vanessa　ignored　him。
After　another　long　look；　Refugio　led　Vanessa　and　Masarek　up　the　stairs；　through　a　short
passageway　and　into　a　room　that　resembled　a　wine　cellar。　Instead　of　a　trapdoor　in　the　ceiling；
the　exit　was　a　full…sized　door　set　in　the　far　wall。　The　door　was　heavily　carved　and　lacked　anything
resembling　a　handle。　Refugio　waited　several　moments；　then　swore　beneath　his　breath。
Shielding　the　door　with　his　body；　Refugio　pushed　against　the　wood　in　several　places　at　once。
With　a　click；　the　door　swung　slightly　toward　him。　From　the　other　side　of　the　door；　a　shaft　of
blue…white　light　fell　over　them；　dimming　the　lanterns　into　insignificant　yellow　puddles。　Refugio
opened　the　door　all　the　way。
“Welcome　to　the　United　States；”　he　said；　smiling　and　gesturing　toward　the　hard　white　light
made　by　electricity　rather　than　kerosene。　“Jucumba；　California。”
Masarek　went　through　the　door　first；　relieved　to　be　out　of　the　tunnel。　Vanessa　followed；　looking
around　carefully；　suddenly　conscious　of　the　weight　of　the　pistol　lying　inside　her　purse。
The　house　they　entered　was　an　odd　mixture　of　Mexican；　Oriental　and　American　culture。　The
eaves　curved　upward；　echoing　the　pagodas　of　China　and　Japan；　an　echo　repeated　by　the
elegantly　painted　silk　screen　that　divided　the　room。　The　hard　lights；　the　indifferently　made
furniture　and　the　picture　windows　were　American；　as　was　the　telephone　and　the　varnished　wood
cabinet　containing　a　radio。　The　curtains　and　rugs　were　distinctively　Mexican；　aflame　with　colors。
The　shrine　holding　a　gilt…and…blue　plaster　Madonna　was　also　Mexican。
A　man　appeared；　moving　slowly；　with　the　awkwardness　of　age。　When　he　came　closer；　it　was
clear　that　he　was　not　so　much　aged　as　crippled。　He　walked　as　though　his　knees　were　as　rigid　as
his　shins。　Unlike　the　Mexicans；　his　skin　was　more　red　than　brown；　though　his　hair　was　as　black　as
theirs。
“Don　Refugio；”　said　the　man　in　quick　Spanish。　“I　was　just　coming　to　open　the　door　for　you。”
Refugio　grunted。　“Verdad？　But　I　could　not　wait　all　day；　so　I　opened　the　door　myself。　You　are
getting　too　slow　for　even　this　job。”
“No；　no；”　said　the　man。　“I　am　not　too　slow。”　To　prove　his　words；　he　ran　three　shuffling　steps
across　the　room。　“See；　don　Refugio？　I　am　very　fast。”
Refugio　shrugged　and　turned　away。　“Stay　fast；　viejo。　I　have　no　other　jobs　for　a　cripple。”　Refugio
switched　to　English　for　the　benefit　of　the　two　foreigners。　“That　man　is　Ridgewalker。　He　used　to
be　an　Apache　and　a　smuggler。　Now　he　is　an　old　woman　with　no　knees。”
Masarek　looked　at　Refugio；　then　at　the　Indian　whom　age　had　robbed　of　quickness　and　pride。
“Send　them　all　away；”　he　said。　“I　won’t　discuss　business　in　the　presence　of　servants。”
Masarek’s　voice　was　hard；　his　body　relaxed。　Being　above　ground　had　regenerated　his
confidence。　Refugio　sent　his　men　away　with　three　curt　words　in　Spanish。　After　the　men　were
gone；　he　leaned　against　the　carved　door　until　it　clicked　into　place。　When　closed；　the　door
blended　into　a　wall　of　carved　panels　that　depicted　mountains　and　waterfalls　and　elegant　trees
bending　beneath　an　invisible　wind。
Vanessa　walked　to　a　heavily　curtained　window。　She　pulled　the　cloth　aside　slightly；　ignoring　the
two　men。　In　the　distance　she　could　see　the　buildings　of　Calexico　and　Mexicali；　a　single　entity　but
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for　the　geographic　accident　of　an　international　border　dividing　their　sprawl　into　two　unequal
cities。
Refugio　turned　to　Masarek。　“You　have　seen　my　houses　and　my　tunnel。　It　is　as　I　told　you　–　a　very
safe　way　to　take　something　across　the　border。　Well　worth　the　15；0001　will　charge　for　its　rent。”
“I　would　not　pay　you　that　much　if　the　tunnel　bypassed　hell；”　said　Masarek；　his　voice　colorless。
“You　are　also　buying　my　services　–　and　my　silence。”
“Both　have　yet　to　be　proved。”
“Perhaps　the　price　is　too　high；”　Refugio　conceded；　shrugging；　“but　you　have　not　told　me　what　it
is　you　want　done。　I　have　shared　with　you　the　secrets　of　my　work　and　you　have　shared　nothing。
So　my　price　is　high。　Offended　pride；　you　understand。”
“Your　price　is　ridiculous。”
Vanessa　listened　to　the　two　men　argue。　Refugio　oozed　reason；　while　Masarek　displayed　casual
contempt。　She　listened；　counting　the　houses　between　herself　and　the　outskirts　of　Calcxico。　When
she　had　counted　them　four　times；　the　men　were　no　closer　to　agreeing　than　when　she　had　started。
Vanessa　let　the　colorful　curtain　fall　back　into　place。　“Refugio。”
At　the　single　word　from　Vanessa；　both　men　stopped　arguing。　Refugio　turned　and　stared　at　the
white…skinned　woman　whose　voice　was　oddly　different。　When　she　spoke　again；　he　realized　that
her　speech　had　lost　its　intriguing　breathiness。
“Our　employers　are　willing　to　pay　you；　within　reason；　for　your　services。　Fifteen　thousand　dollars
is　not　within　reason。　Ten　is。　No；”　she　said　when　she　saw　Refugio　begin　to　speak。　“I’m　not
bargaining。　Ten　thousand　dollars　or　nothing　at　all。”
Refugio　knew　inflexibility　when　he　met　it。　He　hesitated；　then　nodded　a　curt　agreement。　Ten
thousand　was　three　thousand　more　than　he　would　have　settled　for。
“That’s　too　much　money；　of　course；”　said　Vanessa。　“In　return　for　it；　you　will　cooperate
completely　with　both　Masarek　and　me。　If　I　tell　you　to　do　something；　you　will　do　it　without
argument。”
Vanessa　waited；　measuring　the　proud　Mexican　with　a　single　glance。
“Yes；”　he　said　at　last。
“Good。　As　for　what　you　will　help　us　smuggle　–　and　yes；　steal　–　you　don’t　need　to　know　anything
beyond　what　Masarek　will　tell　you。”　Vanessa’s　smile　took　none　of　the　hardness　from　her　voice。
“Nor；”　she　continued　smoothly；　“do　you　need　to　know　our　real　names　or　anything　else　about
our　lives。　Any　man　you　send　after　us　will　be　fortunate　to　walk　away　as　well　as　your　tame
Apache。”
While　Vanessa　spoke；　she　produced　a　packet　of　money　from　her　purse。　With　a　deft　movement
of　her　hands　she　fanned　the　money；　twenty　100　bills。　Refugio　stared。
“If　you　agree　to　the　terms；”　continued　Vanessa；　“you　can　have　this　2；000　now。　If　you　don’t
agree；　you　may　keep　500。　You　may；　of　course；　try　to　take　the　rest；　and　then　Masarek　will　kill
you。　Do　we　have　a　bargain；　Se？or　Refugio？”
Vanessa’s　long　fingernail　traced　the　fan　of　bills；　making　them　rustle　seductively。　Refugio　smiled。
He　took　the　b