Come morning, with the crop dusters hitting the compound with garlic, McKay's team would descend on Neuanfang for the kill--assuming that Hi with the dragon's blood had not already done the job. The ground assault would coincide with the second of three scheduled passes by the planes. The first garlic bombardment, catching the vampires by surprise, would virtually immobilize them, or spread such havoc that they could easily be done in by the commandos, striking under cover of the second bombardment and reinforced by the third. That, at least, was the plan.

Heading the commandos was a six-foot-four American hulk named Johnny Ringawa. Handpicked by McKay, Ringawa was a World War II legend. He had been the only marine in the Pacific to take a Japanese island all by himself. Or so the headlines had read. Intrepid though he was, he was actually AWOL at the time, on a drunken binge, the Japanese having already left the island. But Ringawa had already proved himself as a leader in combat, and, with the help of the glorifying media, became for a time a Marine Corps poster boy. McKay, upon learning that Ringawa was living and working in Brazil as a B-movie actor (he was sort of Brazil's Audie Murphy), looked him up, and chose him for Operation Newfangled. Ringawa was still in great physical shape, complaining only of a slight trick knee, which he blamed on the bossa nova. McKay knew that the man had his quirks. Ringawa ate only veggies, and as the team sat waiting in the jungle that night, he wore a pink sweatband around his curly blonde locks, and was sporting vilca-wood earrings. "In intelligence work," McKay remarked to Diego, "we have to deal with all kinds."

Lying on his muscular back, Ringawa gazed up at a patch of moon through the canopy. "We found them suckers," he said. "I can't wait till tomorrow." He spoke with a strong Deep South accent, which was odd, since he came from the Bronx.

"Let's hope things go well tonight," Diego said, glancing off in the direction of Neuanfang. "This is it. The night of the dragon's blood."

"You know what I call it?" said Ringawa. "The Eve of Saint George. Hitler's the dragon and us guys and Hick are Saint George."

McKay had found Ringawa increasingly irritating. He was beginning to regret his selection. "Saint George's Day," McKay informed him, "is April twenty-third."

Ringawa sat up to give the Britisher a look. The rough-hewn yet prim ex-marine had found McKay increasingly irritating. "You think I don't know that?" the American asked resentfully.

"You know now, I just told you," McKay said. Ringawa was bristling. "Saint George," McKay pointed out, "is the patron saint of Great Britain."

Ringawa glanced at Diego, who was poker-faced. "Well I say it's the Eve of Saint George," Ringawa said huffily, adjusting one of his earrings, "and let the fish and chips fall where they may."

Diego sighed. "Let's hope that garlic gets here on time," he said, changing the subject.

Ringawa brightened. "You said it," he drawled. "I love the smell of garlic in the morning."