Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Beret Series)

by Bob Mayer

  He waited until Strom had his coffee and had settled in the chair across from his desk before jumping him. "What the hell is going on?"

  Strom ran a hand through his carefully managed hair. "Nail Three was compromised last night. Of the six Green Beanies, we've got one back over at Belvoir getting debriefed, four dead, bodies not recovered, and one missing."

  "Shit." Hanks slammed his mug down on the desk. "I thought the next mission wasn't getting run until tomorrow night. Why weren't we informed of the move up?"

  Strom protested weakly. "I didn't know either, sir. Westland didn't bother to keep me updated."

  Hanks shook his head. "What the hell was she thinking?"

  "She says the army general in charge, that guy Pike, told her to keep the timing in tight and not let us know, based on their concern about a leak."

  "Bullshit! I want her ass! I briefed her myself to keep us up to date. Who the hell does she think she works for?" Hanks fumed for a few seconds, considering the ramifications.

  Strom took the opportunity to throw the blame elsewhere, trying to minimize the heat heading his way. "Those SF guys could fuck up a wet dream. I've been working on damage control. We're implementing a cover for the bodies. I already had that worked out." Strom paused in thought. "Hell, I guess we can extend that cover to the missing guy even if the cartel has managed to capture him. As long as he doesn't talk."

  Hanks looked at Strom as though his subordinate had two heads. "You know as well as I do that they'll make him talk if they've got him. I don't like saying it, but hopefully he got blown away and his body is lying in the jungle somewhere. How'd they screw this thing up?"

  Strom talked quickly, trying to further diffuse the responsibility. "It wasn't all the Special Forces guys' screw-up. That DEA guy Stevens was grabbed by the cartel and probably made to talk. He must have given up the time and location. We haven't been able to locate him either."

  "Christ." What now? Hanks thought. He considered all the information Strom had given him. The loss of the Special Forces team really wasn't that important right now. It was history. Hanks's job was to look to the future.

  What was important was hitting the Ring Man. In fact, it was even more important now that the Ring Man's lab hadn't been hit. And Hanks was no closer to having an answer to that problem. He knew the shit was going to hit the fan in Colombia today. The cartel probably already knew about the role of the U.S. if they had grabbed Stevens, and it wouldn't take them long to trace the plan back to Alegre, especially if they had captured one of the Special Forces team members. There was going to be blood flowing in the streets in a couple of days.

  Hanks looked up at Strom, who had waited nervously while his boss sorted things out. "What about the Ring Man hit? Come up with any ideas on how to handle that?"

  Strom answered tentatively, not sure what his boss's reaction would be. "Maybe we should talk to the survivor from the Special Forces team, sir."

  Hanks looked up, interested. "Get Westland over here."

  FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  8:40 A.M.

  Riley was tired, depressed, and irritated. He had made it to the navy destroyer Garcia without any problem and had been hoisted on board. Two marines had hustled him, without a word, right onto a helicopter waiting on the fantail. He'd been flown to Panama and cross-loaded again onto a C-130 for the trip back to Virginia. Sitting alone in the back of the C-130 for six hours had slammed home to him the realization that the rest of the team wasn't coming back. Unable to rest during the flight, Riley had alternated between pacing the cargo bay and sitting. He had reviewed his actions during the firefight innumerable times, in a pitiless self-flagellation.

  He hoped the powers-that-be wouldn't ignore the possibility that Powers might still be alive. He knew they probably wished the team sergeant was dead. That would make everything simpler for everyone, Riley thought angrily. Less ass-covering to do. The thought of Powers being still alive and abandoned triggered an impotent rage in Riley.

  He had not been disappointed in Pike's reaction after the debrief. Pike was over at the Pentagon right now pleading his case to the chairman for efforts to be made to find out what had happened to Powers.

  Westland had briefed Riley on Stevens during the debrief, then she had taken off for Langley. Riley should have known that the DEA man had been the source of the leak. Everyone was also writing Stevens off, assuming he was dead. If he ever saw Stevens again the man would wish he was dead.

  With nothing to do, and instructed to stay in the isolation building, Riley figured he might as well try to get some sleep. Maybe that would clear away the visions of the rounds impacting into Partusi as he tried to drag Marzan to safety.

  Riley hadn't been able to figure out Westland's reaction. She had seemed a little dazed by the whole thing. Welcome to the real world, lady, he mused bitterly. He sighed as he trudged up the stairs to his room. He really shouldn't take it out on Westland. It wasn't her fault.

  The members of Eyes Four were studiously avoiding him. They hadn't been told what had happened and hadn't been asked to sit in on the debriefing. All they knew was that the rest of the team wasn't coming back.

  Riley was at a loss as to what to do next. He was overcome with a feeling of complete helplessness—a pawn on a chessboard who couldn't see far enough to make out the next square.

  He opened the door to his room and walked in. The first thing that greeted him was the sight of the other bunk with a duffel bag on top of it: Powers's gear. Riley felt a stab of grief tear through him, quickly overcome by a blanket of weariness. Too much adrenaline, exertion, and grief in the last twelve hours had taken its toll. He collapsed on his bunk fully clothed and quickly dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

  BOGOTA

  8:45 A.M.

  Alegre looked across the presidential limousine at Montez. "Why did they not tell us that they were moving up the strike?"

  Montez smiled bitterly. "They were concerned about security. The fewer people who knew, the less the risk."

  Alegre's voice dripped irony. "Obviously that worked very well. The mission was compromised and they have a missing DEA agent. It won't take Ring Man long to figure out what is going on, especially if he is the one who kidnapped Stevens."

  The limousine pulled up in front of the building housing the presidential offices. Alegre waited until the head security officer outside indicated it was safe for him to leave the vehicle. As Alegre stepped out, he was greeted by the roar of an explosion. He dove to the ground as his security men wheeled about, automatic weapons at the ready. As he lay on the sidewalk, Alegre heard the distant crump of other explosions ripping through the air.

  Tentatively, he raised his head and was greeted by the sight of dust settling across the street where one of the most important and progressive newspapers in Colombia had its offices. The facade of the building was ripped away and people were tearing through the wreckage trying to rescue those trapped inside.

  Alegre allowed Montez to help him to his feet. Montez pointed at the destruction. "I think the Ring Man has already figured things out and is giving us his answer."

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  9:04 A.M.

  "Late yesterday evening, at approximately 11 p.m. eastern time, a U.S. army helicopter on a training mission over the Gulf of Mexico crashed. The general location of the crash was here," the Pentagon briefer slapped a pointer on the map blowup behind him and held it there so the reporters could get a good shot, "just off the coast of Colombia. We have rescued one survivor but the other five personnel that were on board are still missing. We will continue our search and have asked the government of Colombia for assistance.

  "The helicopter was on a routine training mission from a base in Panama at the time of the accident. At present we have no idea of the cause of the accident."

  The voice of the reporter cut in. "This news was announced only an hour ago at the Pentagon. There is still no . . ."

  Strom turned off CNN and faced Westland. "That
ties up some of the loose ends."

  Westland disagreed. Despite the ass-chewing she'd received over not keeping Strom updated on moving up the strike, she had stuck to her guns. "What about Powers? And Stevens? Either or both could still be alive."

  "We have a report that five bodies have been recovered by the people at the target site. As far as Stevens goes, we have no word but have to assume he's dead."

  Westland was surprised. How had Strom received word so fast about bodies? Did he have an agent on the inside of the drug cartel? That could explain the intelligence they had been receiving pinpointing target sites. But if Strom did have an agent on the inside, how come they hadn't gotten any warning of the compromise? Or was Strom just putting up a smokescreen? "How do you know about the bodies?"

  Strom looked at her sharply. "Suffice it to say that we have sources down there that keep us up to date. Powers is dead, so you can stop worrying about him. There are other things we need to concentrate on right now. The task force may be compromised but that doesn't mean the war on the drug cartel is over. Just the first battle. And I think we can safely say that we won the first round."

  Westland stared at Strom in amazement. He calls four men dead and one captured a victory? And what does he mean "first round"? What's next?

  Strom sensed her puzzlement. "I know we took some losses but you also have to look at the big picture, my dear girl. We've managed to destroy two major processing labs and in doing so seriously hurt two of the three major drug lords down there. In fact one of them, Suarez, is dead as a result of the raid on his lab. President Alegre is ready to declare martial law and really crack down on the cartel while they are still in the throes of confusion. With a little help he may be able to succeed.

  "Unfortunately, even under martial law there is a limit to what he can do. As long as the leadership of the cartel is intact it's going to be an uphill fight for him. If we can cripple the leadership, Alegre stands a chance of winning."

  Alarm bells were sounding in Westland's mind. What the hell did he mean by "we"? She had the feeling she was listening to a well-rehearsed speech. And how are we going to cripple the leadership? she thought.

  Strom plowed on. "The primary problem is the drug lord called Ring Man. His lab was the one that Eyes Three was going up against. Ring Man's people are the ones who killed the members of your task force. Already he's trying to consolidate his power down south in Colombia and up here on the distribution end in the United States. We also have reason to believe that he was behind the Springfield massacre. President Alegre has asked our assistance in handling this man."

  Westland stared her boss in the eyes. "Why can't Alegre simply arrest Ring Man? What kind of assistance is he asking for?"

  "Like I said, even under martial law Alegre's powers are limited. The Ring Man has so many layers and cutouts in his organization that arresting him and prosecuting him would be extremely difficult.

  "Even more importantly, though, is the fact that seizing Ring Man would only escalate the violence in the country as his people tried to get him back. After what they did here in the United States against Santia, you can well imagine what they would try against Alegre if he had Ring Man arrested.

  "As far as what we're going to do, that is basically up to us as long as we remove the Ring Man as a problem. The simplest way to do that is termination."

  Westland sat back in her chair. Her mind swirled with the implications of what Strom had just said. Termination. Why was Strom telling her this? She knew he had to have a reason. Surely he didn't expect her to do the mission. She wasn't trained for that sort of thing. And she wasn't sure she wanted to be involved in it anyway.

  "Isn't that illegal, sir?"

  Strom snorted. "Grow up, woman! This is the big leagues. You've wanted to be out in the field. Well, here's your chance." He held up a hand as she started to protest. "No, no. We don't expect you to do the actual job. You're going to be the handler for the action agent."

  "Who's the action agent?"

  "That's why we've picked you. Because you've already worked with him. Your lone survivor, Mister Riley, is going to be the man."

  BOGOTA

  10:03 A.M.

  "The bombs were good for a start, but I want Alegre's head!"

  Ponte disagreed. The Ring Man was very upset and it wasn't smart to go against him right now, but Ponte knew he had to be the voice of reason during this crisis.

  "I do not think that would be a wise move right now. The president is very well guarded. We would lose many men trying to attack him. Also, the reaction of the people and the army to such a move is uncertain. Without Alegre the government would fall apart within a week."

  "That is good. I will then be the government."

  Again Ponte shook his head. "I do not want to disagree with you, but we are not ready for that yet. We still have to take care of Ramirez and also the rest of Suarez's operation. Maybe then we will be ready."

  The Ring Man slumped down into a chair. He was silent for a few minutes. More than being angry he was humiliated. Alegre had tricked him, and it was hard for Ring Man to admit that he had been bested, even temporarily. It had been a close thing. If it had not been for Maria, Alegre's plan would have succeeded and the Ring Man would now be in the same situation as Ramirez.

  He looked up at his assistant and grimaced wearily. "As always, you are right, my friend. I do not like being betrayed and that is what that scum in the palace has done to me. We will eventually catch up with him. Have you brought in our informant yet?"

  "Yes. As you thought, he knew nothing of more information being passed to the CIA. It was obviously the president or perhaps his aide, Montez, who gave the Americans our lab location."

  "Kill the informant anyway. I want no one else to know what went on between Alegre and me."

  "Yes, sir." Ponte wasn't surprised. He'd figured that was what the Ring Man would do. "What about the DEA agent? What should we do with him? We've gotten all the information we can out of him."

  "Let Maria keep him. She deserves it. She did a good job. Tell her to take her time."

  The Ring Man stood up. "Continue the bombings. Let the government know they cannot act with impunity. Also make a videotape of the bodies of the American soldiers and the one we have captured. I will write a letter to go with the video, then we will release it. We will let the world know what is happening down here and what will happen if the United States and Alegre continue their foolish actions against us."

  Again Ponte dared to disagree. "Senor, I suggest we leave the live American off the video. I think that will only give the American government more incentive to involve themselves down here. We may be able to use the man as leverage at some time in the future, but only if we keep it quiet. We need to stay out of the media up there. A hostage would be the wrong tack to take.

  "Showing the dead ones will get our point across. The bodies will show what the Americans have done, and later we can make a show of turning the bodies over to their embassy while at the same time publicly deploring the attack."

  Ring Man considered this and then inclined his head, indicating assent, before leaving the room.

  FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  1:30 P.M.

  Riley's time sense was confused. Having spent the previous night awake and now having napped for five hours, he was somewhat rested but felt as though it should be morning.

  The building was also too quiet. No noise from the members of Eyes Four. He got up, padded out into the hallway, and started checking rooms. There was no sign of anyone else—even their gear was gone. It was as if no one else had ever been there, except for the room where he had slept. There, the half-empty duffel bag lying on Powers's bunk was a meager monument to the missing team sergeant.

  Riley pulled on his boots and laced them up. Finished, he slumped back into the chair at a loss for what to do next. He didn't want to allow himself to dwell on what had happened. When he probed his feelings, he felt a long, jagged cut tearing through his
stomach and into his heart. He needed to do something to help heal it.

  Hearing a car pull into the lot outside, he rose from the chair and glanced out the window. He saw Westland being waved through the gate by the MPs on duty.

  Riley walked slowly down the stairs, arriving at the bottom at the same time Westland entered the hallway. "Where's the rest of the team and Pike?" Riley wasted no time on pleasantries.

  "The team went back to Bragg. The task force has been disbanded." Westland gestured for Riley to follow her into the isolation planning room.

  Riley gently but firmly grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. "What about Powers? We just going to write him off?"

  Riley saw a flash of anger, replaced quickly by sorrow, in Westland's eyes as she replied. "Powers is listed as dead. I just found out over at Langley."

  Riley wasn't going to give up that easily. "And how do the geniuses over at Langley know that?"

  Riley could see his own doubt reflected in Westland's eyes. Even in the midst of his anger he felt an affinity for her. The disaster with the mission had affected her also, beyond just the realm of professional loss.

  She shook her head. "They wouldn't tell, but I have it straight from the director that they have confirmation of his death." She sighed. "Listen, Dave, I tried pushing Strom on it. It's like talking to a damn wall. I know how you feel and I feel crappy about this whole thing, too. You were right from the beginning about the mission being kind of flaky, and you were also right about Stevens."

  Riley released her shoulders and followed her into the isolation area. She sat down on a metal folding chair and Riley sat on the edge of one of the large tables, facing her. "What about Stevens? Any word on him?"

  Westland shook her head again. "Nothing."

  "Well, what now? Do I get to go back to Bragg and face the widows and the kids?" Riley asked bitterly. He dreaded the thought of seeing Gina Partusi and not being able to tell her the truth about how Frank had died.