aware that she was reaching backward to the lower work- bench. He remembered the heavy microphones, stored, unsecured there, just as the side of his head exploded in dazzling lights and stabbing pain. But it took three blows of the microphone before the partly- clad body of the patroller went limp.

Sobbing, shaking, his skin. creeping with goosebumps, Esteban Varga pulled himself away from the would-be rapist. His thighs ached from where the man's knees had held them apart. His face and neck were burning from the roughness of the patroller's beard. Tremb- ling, Esteban sat up on the

metal stool anchored to the van deck. What a fool Irena had been to think that such a man could be put off by the revelation of her true sex. Esteban shuddered, hugging what was left of his dress about him.

There were large radios on either side of the van, but he had no idea how to work one to find a frequency that could help him. He was crying, and angry, trying to put out of his mind the man's clear longing for him, even when he knew just who Esteban was. His hands shook as he looked at the fallen, shallow- breathing patroller.

His dress was clearly be- yond repair, but it was all he had, and he could do little else but hug it about him, as he climbed back into the for- ward compartment of the van. The drivers' mirror showed him a flushed, red-faced girl, her eye makeup just a little smudged and streaked. Still shaking, 'she' eased herself into the drivers' seat, slipping off the broken high heels. He had to rearrange his panties and garter belt after the mauling they had taken, smoothing what was left of his petticoats under him so that he sat down to a feminine rustle. The dress caressed other

hurts tenderly. A glance to the driving mirror showed him that he'd lost one earring in his struggles. 'She' looked a trifle odd to his eyes, with just one heavy shell earring against her neck to remind her what kind of girl she was.

The telephone call set many processes in motion, not the least of which was Consuela Romo's instant departure for Rivas by helicopter. She com- mandeered the whole top floor of the only cantina worth a name in the the place, and set about the task of reproducing Irena Varga from the tatters of a frilled, flowered dress and wisps of brunette hair.

As soon as she and the dark girl were alone, however, she had immediately taken 'her' to bed, where the story of Pascual's attempted rape was soon dispersed in Consuela's more successful, gentle attain- ment of the same objective. Surprisingly, Esteban could not help sobbing, shaking and quiver- ing as he clung to Consuela, bringing out every reassuring gesture possible from Consuela.

Without the brunette wig, the Irena look was soon re- stored to Esteban's face and body, but Consuela refused to let the youth youth wear another wig. She set, bleached and styled his hair herself, while Esteban fluttered with anxiety that she was going too far.

"When we tell how the kidnappers cut off your hair to disguise you, everyone will understand," said Consuela, as the youth sat, in new, sparkling white panties and white bra, his hair under a drier, his face clean of makeup.

Esteban nodded doubtfully. "What's happening in the cap- itol?" he asked, trying to turn the topic away from his embar- rassments. He sat so femininely that Consuela was amazed. He hand't needed one reminder so

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far from her to act like a woman. Perhaps the abduction had solved that problem for her.

"Ramon has been in com- mand since you were taken," said Consuela darkly. "He was ordering Fuentes' arrest even as I left."

"And the war?" Irena's voice asked, as thin eyebrows were raised in concern.

Consuela was surprised. "They didn't tell you?" she asked. "We cleared out the reactionaries. But our forces did not cross the border. The American, Ward, has been praising you to the World Press ever since for your statesman- like restraint. He is begging for another interview. He ar- ranged a truce on the other side, too." She smiled grimly. "I forged Irena's signature.

""

""

"My being kidnapped.....' Irena even frowned prettily.

"No-one knows, said Consuela softly. She stopped the drier, let out the girl in just her bra and panties, and began to take the rollers from her hair, shaking out soft curls. "We didn't tell anyone outside the Junta," she said.

As Consuela combed Irena's hair into a wavy, page- boy style, Esteban began to tremble as he thought of the problems Irena had faced be- fore 'she' was kidnapped. "Querido!" he exclaimed, jerk- ing his legs together stiffly. "What has been done about him?"

Consuela smiled. "Ricardo gets along very well with Isabel now that we've added him to the Presidential staff. He's not so eager, I think to marry Irena after all. But we won't know for sure for awhile." She studied her handiwork on Esteban/Ire- na's shining hair. "But if he sees you like this, he'll likely forget about Isabel!"

Consuela expected the youth to react in the frightened, upset fashion like he normally did. But 'she' didn't. 'She' just smiled knowingly at Consuela,