Ricky shot a sidelong glance at Navrez.  He wouldn't admit it, but this woman was frieking him out.  Most people would be a quivering pile of flesh after being kidnapped, shot at, and callously questioned by ex-Rangers.  Ayla certainly was.  Well, until Lancer touched her.  They must be good friends.<br/><br/>One more reason to dislike 'em both.<br/><br/>Navrez shook his head back at him, making discreet hand signals behind his back, out of sight from the women.<br/><br/><em>Keep silent.  Return to rendesvous.</em><br/><br/>He then made an "OK" symbol with his forefinger and thumb, placing his other forefinger inside of it.  It was an unofficial signal, of course, circulated among the enlisted ranks.  It was called the "Fuck 'em" mark, and it carried with it several different meanings.  Ricky didn't know which one Navrez was referring to, but he didn't want any of them.  He shook his head.<br/><br/>Navrez shrugged.<br/><br/>Ricky turned his attention back to Lancer.  "With all due respect, Ma'am, I'm not allowed to disclose that information," he said with a hint of mocking formality.  Navrez repeated the phrase in spanish.  "What I can tell you is that the brass want you.  Don't know why.  Don't care."<br/><br/>He shrugged, then stopped moving, the rain water dripping off his form.  Navrez had stopped mid-sentence as well, leaving a confused Ayla.  She started something in spanish, but Navrez silenced her.<br/><br/>"You hear that?"<br/><br/>Ricky nodded.  "Yup.  Let's get out of here.  Drop the claymore."  His words were quick, silenced, completely drowned out by the roaring downpour.  Only Navrez, with his helmet mic, could hear them.  They picked up the women, same as before, and took off into the jungle.<br/><br/>The rebs were on their trail again.  But they weren't carrying people over their shoulders.