Tao – The way to be followed, the right conduct, doctrine or method. (Oxford English Dictionary).

The basis of this story is rooted in fact. Peron did come back to power in the late 60s, but by 1975 Videla had taken power in Buenos Aires. Most citizens turned a blind eye to what was going on through fear of reprisals, but an unknown number of ordinary men and women were taken to one of 280 military bases in Argentina, never to be seen again. The accounts of the treatment of these political prisoners are as factual as I can make them. They are, however as hard to write as they are to read, but i felt I needed to be faithful to their memory.

My thanks as always to Angie, Nelekke and Delia, who never fail to review, and drive me ever on.

And my eternal thanks to Jan who's helped so much with this story.

Chapter 1

There are some days when you really wish you hadn't bothered.

And then again there are some where you're just thankful to wake up.

Six months ago I had a whole bunch of those days when I was thankful to wake up. Six months ago I got in the way of some machine gun fire. Not the most comfortable experience in the world and not one I'd recommend. Don't try that one at home folks.

As I lay on the ground immediately afterwards, I could hear Hutch's cannon blowing off at the black and white that'd ambushed us, then his running footsteps as he came round the front of the car and saw me. My poor car! It took the same number of bullets I did. They smashed through the back windows, the side panels, and the front wing. Oh and they smashed through me too. I remember lying on the ground thinking crap what's this all about? And the pain. I've never known anything like it. It was white hot pain that seemed to smother me in tidal waves of colour. Then things got a bit fuzzy. There were doctors, nurses, needles, blood. Then more of the same and then silence and darkness for a while. Which was kinda nice coz by then I was real sick of all the attention. I've always found it scary to be in a place where I can't do nothin'; Where I'm not in charge of the situation. Guess that's why I enjoy bein' a cop. But to be there, knowin' what was goin' on an' not being' able to do anythin' was the scariest thing I've ever been through, and believe me; I've been through some scary shit. I could hear everyone shoutin'. I could feel Hutch's hand on me, tellin' me I was goin' to be OK and yellin' at the medics. I could hear 'em talking about bleeding out 'n' stuff, but I couldn't answer, my voice wouldn't work. I couldn't open my eyes even. Just kinda lay there on the ground like a dope wishin' I could tell Hutch I was still there with him.

Anyway, somewhere in the middle of the first week, my heart decided enough was enough and just kinda gave out. That was a whole new kind of scary. I'd never really held with the notion of floating above your body and the whole staring down a white tunnel thing. Didn't do it for me then an' it still don't. There was no angel at the end of a white tunnel, no voice telling me to 'walk into the light David', just a cold fear coz my chest felt empty. I never realised that you really do feel your heart beating unconsciously. It's only when it stops that you realise what it'd been doin' all those years. All I remember is feeling like a herd of elephants had made their home in my chest. Then the whole breathing thing became a bit of an issue, then there was this sadist of a doctor electrocutin' me. God that hurt.

Somewhere in among the memories I remember feeling sorry I wouldn't see Hutch again and feeling too tired to go on. That was it really. Not that I didn't want to live any more, just that I felt so damn tired. Then I kinda saw him in my head an' he was shoutin' at me. Couldn't tell what he was sayin' but it seemed important, so I thought I'd better find out. If I hadn't he would've been mad. I hate it when Hutch is mad at me. I feel like a little school kid and boy can the blond sulk! So I listened extra hard an' next thing I remember I was back, still hurtin' an' everyone was saying what a miracle I was.

Not to put too fine a point on it, there was no miracle to it. Hutch shouted an' I answered. End of story. I've been with him so long that if ya kick Hutch, I limp. So, there I was watching the Blintz do jigs with my nurse in my room an' me snuggled down in my bed tryin' to sleep.

Then five months ago, I was real glad to wake up an' breathe on my own. After tryin' my best to get better, I got this pneumonia thing an' ended up back on one of those shit awful respirators. Ya ever had one of those? No? Well don't bother. Evil doesn't come close! They all kept sayin' not to fight the machine. Well you try not to fight when you've got a tube the size of the Grand Canyon rammed down your throat and a pump inflatin' sore lungs when you don't want to breathe. Finally they realised I'd do better without it an' I had the equally enjoyable experience of having the Grand Canyon ripped out of my throat – terrific. I got worried for Hutch too coz he was with me every day an' lookin' more an' more tired, but at least without the tube I could kinda rasp at him. Not that I didn't appreciate him bein' there. Ma came down from New York as well, but ya can get too much Mom now an' again, an' if Hutch did nothing else, at least he took Ma away once in a while.

Anyway, once I could breath on my own again, a new form of torture was invented. It came in the form of a sweet little girl called Jean. She was tiny, slim with bubbly blond hair. And she had the best ability to dispense pain and misery I've ever known. Went by the name of a physiotherapist. She got me movin' again, which was something I both wanted and didn't want. I didn't want to move coz the pain was so bad it made me cry. An' I don't cry easy. But I knew I had to move for Hutch.

Ya see, I've worked with Hutch all my police life. We went to the police academy together then patrolled in a black and white for a while. Then within 3 months of each other we made Detective. After that we were kinda inseparable. But after I got shot, he had to go back to work without me. Captain Dobey had been real good about it and gave him time off when I was at my worst, but he had to go back some time. It was just like Hutch. He refused another partner, so he was stuck doin' grunt work behind a desk. Which is why I had to grit my teeth an' get back movin' again.

One of the doctors told me I'd never go back to policing the streets again. Well, anyone who knows David Starsky knows I never take news like that without a struggle. Which is why for the past sixteen weeks I've been in the gym every day sweating and gritting my teeth.

Four months ago, I started walkin' again. I've always kinda taken that for granted, but I'd been flat on my back in a hospital bed for seven weeks and it was scary how such a short time could make me forget how to put one stupid foot in front of another. I soon remembered. I was wobblin' all over the place to begin with and Jean couldn't hold me up. I'm a tall guy an' she's such a little girl, so Hutch stepped in and held me up while I doddered all over the place. I'm glad he was there too, coz there's only Hutch I'd ever tell just how much it really hurt. Then came the exercises for my arm and chest.

I have one big scar at the front. And when I say big, I mean big. It starts in the centre at the top of my chest and goes down in a straight line, then branches out under my ribs left an' right, like an upside down Y. Docs did a good job of keepin' it neat, but I wont be goin' sunbathin' for a while. There's the holes from the drains too. Weird little things they are now they're healed. Skinned over fine, but there's like emptiness behind 'em. Kinda fun pushin' in an' feeling emptiness. Don't want to scare everyone away with the sight though. Fortunately I'm not like the hairless Blintz, and now the dark brown fuzz on my chest has grown back properly, some of it's hidden. But I digress. D'ya like that word – digress? Not the usual Starsky vocabulary huh? That's what comes of a few weeks in bed readin' back copies of Readers' Digest. So – I digress.

The docs told me that of the three bullets, the central one missed my spine by a centimetre or two an' punctured my diaphragm, so I couldn't breathe properly. They stuck that hole back together again no problem. The lower bullet smashed through my liver, so I only got half of one now. But the docs say some of it'll grown back – neat eh? It took out some of my guts too, which isn't much fun, but ya get over it. Again, not too big a deal really. But the top bullet. That was a real doozy. Clipped my heart, ripped through my lung an' out the other side. I got three neat holes on my back. That's the deal ya know. Bullets make little holes goin' in and big nasty ones on their way out.

So Jean started work on those. I'm left handed which for some reason has always been a source of amusement for Blondie. The top bullet ripped a whole bunch of muscle away too, so for a while I couldn't use my left hand or lift my left arm. Not good for firing my Beretta, but we worked on it, along with the whole breathin' thing. Some stupid little tube with a ball in it. 'Blow into the tube Dave and keep the ball in the middle' Jean would say. Sounds easy? Yeah, I thought so too. But when one lung doesn't like to work any more it's not what you'd call fun. Then one day I did it. Terrific! Never thought I'd get excited about a stupid ball in a tube.

Three months ago, I could walk on my own and even get up a few steps without chucking my guts up at the top. A big improvement! Then I got an infection and took a few backward steps. But Hutch was there again and together we got through it, although it hurt. God, it hurt so much when those sweet nurses had to clear out the crud from my scar. So now I got a neat scar everywhere 'cept just over where my liver is. Then it's a mess coz it opened up and…….Anyway. The infection went away again.

And now today, I'm home. Have been for three months and I can't describe how good it feels. Hutch has taken some more time off. Well, really he's just brought a bunch of work here with him. He's moved in again an' I've bought him a proper bed so his back won't hurt too much. Wouldn't do for us both to be injured, now would it? I can walk OK now and I've even been joggin' a bit round the park with Hutch, but nowhere near how I used to be, but it's getting' there. I can do a couple of miles now, and the weight training is going OK. But I will get there, I know I will. I went down to the firing range a couple of months ago and even managed a few rounds with the Beretta. It felt good to have it back again. It's always been like an extension of me, kinda comforting when I'm in a tricky situation. It felt good for about five minutes till the recoil started setting my chest achin' I didn't tell Hutch. He just looked so proud of me an' I could almost see him counting down the days till I'm passed fit for the streets again. Since then I've been down to the range every couple o' days and getting stronger an' stronger.

Anyway, like I said, there are days when you wish you hadn't bothered, an' I think today's gonna be one of 'em.

I had a phone call this morning from a guy called Sam O'Connor. I hadn't heard from him in years. I served in the army in 'Nam with him. Anyway, after the pleasantries, he told me another old friend of mine was in trouble. Tom Trafford, Traff to his friends. He'd gone missing. He'd been away in Buenos Aires on a job for the army – he's a soldier – but he'd just gone missing. 'Cept yesterday, Sam got a message in the post from Traff, just sayin' he couldn't get out, he was in trouble an' get Curly – that's me.