"Right there!  Mark!"

Sam watched as the excavator operator lowered the bucket and dug out a chunk of 
dirt.  He lifted it, turned slightly and dumped it. Someone had approached as 
he watched, and he turned to see who it was.

He wasn't worried, a cordon controlled access to the area he was in, and it was 
over a hundred yards away.  The visitor was an older guy, just a few years 
younger than him.  He wore khakis much like his own, essentially a military 
uniform with no insignia.

Except for the Mike Charlie shield on his left lapel.  And the visitor had one 
like it.  And a small gold pin on the right label.   At first glance it looked 
like a Ferrari emblem, but on closer inspection he saw that it was a lion 
rampant.

It also looked to be made of gold.  The slightly oversized aviator sunglasses 
had a smaller emblem above the bridge.  It looked like gold as well.

<I>Probably is, knowing these people.  Most of us don't do ostentatious, but 
the Komodos do their own thing. </I>

Erik Forsythe.  Sam knew him by reputation, and recognized him from photos.  

Sam waited for him to speak.

"Dr. Diesel, I presume."

"You presume accurately," Sam replied.  "Have any problems getting here?"

"None at all.  You're well off the beaten path, but I didn't encounter any
unpleasantness."

"Someone would be in trouble if you did.  Once you crossed the river it's clean 
as a preacher's sheets.  They rarely bother trying to get anyone across these
days."

The excavator operator was smoking a cigar.  Sam wanted one too.  He took out a 
package and opened it, extended it to his visitor.  

"Smoke?"

"Might as well."

The visitor had his own lighter and lit up, Sam did the same.

Erik grinned.

"Nice, vanilla and cherry."

"Hard to find for some reason," Sam replied.  "Even before the war.  Alex - 
you know him - has our friend in Honduras make them.  Seems he's partial to 
that flavor combo.  Hear they're not doing so well in the bad places."

"The bigwigs get their premium stuff all right, but supply is spotty.  As for 
the cheap stuff, it's like everything else.  Same with booze,  the commoners 
are short on everything.

"Wonder how much that affects the immigration.  Seems to be a steady flow.  How 
you handling it?"

"We're coping," Sam replied.  "They go into camps and stay there until we 
screen them, and most are happy to be there.  We're not short on anything, and 
the word gets out.  They make it here they're well fed and housed, and as we 
find places they can be useful we settle some of the, keeping an eye on them of
course. Most have some contacts here, 
so they can find sponsors pretty easily.  We get fewer infiltrators than you'd 
expect, and we spot them pretty quick."

"They're not the smartest," the visitor said.  "What are you up to out here, if 
I'm allowed to ask?"

"What we're doing here, is burying treasure."

He waved to the operator of the excavator, who touched the brim of his baseball 
cap in acknowledgement.  Seconds later they heard the engine start.

"He's gonna dig a hole, about ten, twelve feet deep," Sam said.  "About the 
time he's done a truck will roll up and we'll unload some stuff.  He'll fill in 
the hole and leave."

A big Dodge Ram of 1990s vintage sat nearby, a trailer attached.

"Emergency cache?"

"One of many," Sam replied.  "We're playing if safe, dispersing assets out here 
well behind the reach of possible incursions.   We can afford it, and them as would like to 
get their hands on some of it will have a long trek to dig it up.  And some 
luck finding it."

"Eyes in the sky no help?"

"Oh, they got plenty of those, but what they see isn't much help.  We'll dig 
ten holes and bury crates of rocks in nine.  In the tenth one the merch is ten 
feet down, five or six feet of dirt and then a small stash to make them think 
they scored."

"Always the crafty ones," Erik said.  "With you being here I'm guessing this 
one has some goodies."

"It will.  Even the operator doesn't know, or the ones that deliver it.  Box of 
rocks or useful metal, they're sealed.   We're the only ones that know."

"What kind of useful metal is going in there?" Erik asked.

"Both.  A few hundred guns, lot of ammo.  And a few thousand Maple Leafs and 
Silver Eagles, about half and half.  And four hundred pounds of silver.  The 
top layer is just a few small boxes of gold and silver, enough to be plausible 
but not a great loss, if we lose it.  Which is somewhere beyond unlikely."

Before long the excavator operator had a sizeable pile of dirt and they went 
over to examine his work.

"Looks good," Sam said.  "Go ahead and load up, the delivery team will be here 
shortly."

After the digging equipment was gone it was about a half your before two trucks 
arrived, followed by another truck towing a trailer carrying a very small 
tractor with a loader.  Sam and Erik watched as the cargo was unloaded and 
deposited in the hole.  Once the bait layer was covered up the trucks left.

"Just one more touch," said Sam.  He took out a phone and looked a it, tapping 
and swiping occasionally.  "About ten minutes."

He took a small metal disc, about ten inches in diameter and an inch thick.  It 
looked like nothing more, but Erik knew it was a locator.  A database at 
Logistics Command had the information needed to locate it.

Two large dump trucks were approaching.  Both were loaded with what appeared to 
be debris from a demolition operation, along with a few large sections of 
trees.  They watched as the drivers deposited their loads on top the the 
excavation site and departed.

"That should do it," said Sam.  "With any luck they'll never be needed.  But if 
they are we can have them back in a matter of hours.  Ready to do some real 
work, instead of watching?"