by Bob Mayer
Riley was staring at her. He'd expected her to be obstinate but he hadn't realized the depth of her feelings. He was at a loss for words.
Westland let go of his shoulder. "So what's the plan?"
Riley gave in. "Your guess is as good as mine. We go back up and continue surveillance. I don't know if Pike has come up with anything, and even if he has there's no way we can contact him. Whatever he may have done he'll probably have to cancel now. We have to assume we're on our own. Between the two of us we have to come up with a way to get into that villa, rescue Powers, and get out again—hopefully keeping all of us alive."
Westland nodded. "We'd best get back on up the hill then and put our thinking caps on."
PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, BOGOTA
1:45 P.M.
Montez had seriously considered not passing on the message from the Ring Man's aide. The whole thing stunk and Montez didn't trust the Israeli. The problem was that this was the only way to get things back to normal. They would have to take a chance that the offer was legitimate.
Montez had waited patiently while Alegre finished a meeting with the mayor of Bogota. The mayor was complaining about the increasing toll the revenge of the cartel was exacting on the city. Montez found the whole thing darkly amusing, considering it was well known that the mayor was on the payroll of the Ring Man. Appearances were important, though.
After ushering out the still-protesting mayor, Montez joined his old friend at his desk. Alegre poured them both a stiff shot of brandy, then waited until Montez had swallowed his before querying him. "Any news?"
Montez put his glass down. "I have heard from the Ring Man's representative. He says they agree to the truce but they cannot speak for the other members of the cartel."
The news didn't make Alegre feel any better. He felt as if he had sold a part of his soul. "They agree to stop the bombings and killings?"
"The representative, one of those Israeli mercenaries named Ariel, said that they would stop any attacks against what he called 'civilian targets,' but that the fighting in Cartagena and Medellin would go on as long as there was opposition to the Ring Man's rule. He promised peace here in Bogota but said they could not be held responsible for any attacks instigated by other families."
Alegre nodded. That was the best they could expect. The problem was that this truce assisted the Ring Man more than it did him. It allowed the Ring Man to concentrate on the war against his fellow drug dealers, with no interference from the government. Alegre's main concern was that the Ring Man would once more turn his attention to toppling the government when he had secured his power base within the cartel.
Montez poured them both another brandy. Handing one to the president he added, "The Israeli also added something to the terms of the truce."
"What?"
"As a sign of good faith he says they are willing to turn over an American soldier they captured during the raid on the Ring Man's lab."
Alegre looked up in surprise. "Another secret the Americans did not tell us. Do you think they really have a prisoner?"
"I don't think they have any reason to lie about that."
Alegre couldn't follow the logic of the offer. "Why didn't they put him on the video, and why are they giving him to us?"
"I think they didn't put him on the video because it would have given the Americans an excuse to come down here and intervene. As to why they are giving him to us," Montez shrugged, "your guess is as good as mine. I am concerned, though, by the conditions this Israeli set for the turnover." He looked Alegre in the eye. "They want you present when they give him to us."
"Why?"
Montez could make a good guess. "I think it is a ploy to get you out into the open."
"What do you recommend?"
Montez finished his brandy with a swig. "I recommend we accept the offer. However, I will insist that the Ring Man also attend the turnover."
Alegre smiled as he realized his aide's cunning. "When and where is this scheduled?"
"I will call the Israeli back to set up the timing and see if we can work out a mutually acceptable site. I imagine we could do this tomorrow."
KNOLL 8548
8:34 P.M.
Riley sat on the opposite side of the tree trunk from Westland. They were perched on branches, almost twenty-five feet over the top of the knoll. He pointed while he briefed her on the plan he had devised. As he spoke, he realized how bad the plan was.
"An hour before the guards change at 0300, if they do it the same time they did it the night before last, is when I'll go in over the east wall where the wing of the house comes closest. The way we'll do it is that you stay up here with the M21. You should be able to see the guards through the scope because they keep the place illuminated all night. I'll have on the PVS-5s and the MP5.
"I'll go down to the wall and wait. When you see that the guard on that side is out of sight of the place where I'll be going over, or walking away with his back to it, you light a match. You only need to light it and blow it out—it'll be like a flare in the goggles. I'll go over at your signal. I'll only have to make it from the wall to the building. I can do that in a few seconds." He didn't add that he had no idea whether there were sensors on the wall that would pick up his intrusion.
"The windows are barred and maybe even rigged with alarms, but I think I can climb up to the roof of the wing and make it over to the second floor of the main building. I'll have a better chance of getting in there.
"Once I'm in . .." Riley paused. Something wasn't right.
Westland was startled by the pause. "What's the—" Riley held up his hand, signaling her to stay still. He scanned the immediate area, first with his naked eyes. Seeing nothing unusual, he surveyed the area using the sight mounted on the M21. He could sense Westland becoming restless as the minutes stretched out.
Powers had always told him to trust his sixth sense. The experienced NCO had explained his theory of sixth sense one evening at Fort Bragg, and his reasoning had seemed logical. Powers told him that people took in much more input with their senses than their minds could handle. The mind filtered out many of the things a person's eyes actually saw and their ears actually heard or any of the other senses were picking up. The sixth sense was some part of the mind alerting you to something seen or heard or smelled or felt that the active mind wasn't focusing on.
Riley was trying to find whatever it was that had caused him to alert. Finally he picked it out. The noise of the birds and other small creatures on the hillside had altered. Riley knew patience was important now. Whatever, or whoever, had disturbed the wildlife would either make its presence known or go away. Riley was willing to wait it out.
He scanned the sides of the knoll in small arcs, noting the plant life, looking for any disturbances. Finally he was rewarded. He spotted a branch sway, its movements contrary to the direction of the wind. Riley focused in on the spot, about one hundred twenty meters away on the west side of the knoll.
After five minutes a man materialized at that spot, standing up and stretching. The man turned and spoke to someone still concealed by the undergrowth. Riley inspected the person he could see. About six feet tall, well muscled, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. The man was dark haired and sported a large mustache. In a sheath tied off on his backpack, he carried a machete. What really caught Riley's attention was the weapon slung over his shoulder. A Mossberg Model 500 Bullpup shotgun nestled against the man's hip, ready for action. Not a typical sicario's weapon, Riley thought. Although the twelve-gauge automatic shotgun was a devastating weapon at short range, Riley knew he held the advantage at this distance with the M21.
That advantage of weapon range disappeared as the second man stood up. This one was blond haired with a full beard and stood even taller than his partner, at almost six and a half feet. He had a long-barreled rifle slung over his back and an Uzi submachine gun on a sling hung over his belly.
The two men were obviously discussing their position. The taller man was gesturing up
the hill toward Riley's location. If the man intended to use that rifle against the villa, or cover the villa from attack, Riley knew the top of knoll 8548, where he and Westland were sitting, was the place. He wondered who the two men were. He figured either they were extra security placed out by the Ring Man to cover his villa or they were enemies of the Ring Man and were up here for some of the same reasons Riley was. Although not Colombian, the two could be foreign mercenaries. The tall man looked as though he might be German. The two had apparently reached a decision. They headed upslope.
Riley focused his cross hairs on the chest of the man with the long-barreled weapon. He debated firing. If they were enemies it was best to kill them now, while he still had the range. Every step they took up the hill decreased his odds of successful engagement. However, his firing would also be heard down in the villa and would undoubtedly bring a reaction force. It was this last thought that stilled Riley's finger.
He pulled away from the eyepiece and glanced over at Westland. She had spotted the two men and had drawn her pistol. Riley gestured for her to take no action. He quietly put the rifle down in the crook of the branch and took hold of his submachine gun.
The two men moved with evident field experience. The lead man had the shotgun at hip level and swung it back and forth in concert with his head as he scanned their way up. The second man carried the Uzi, folding stock extended, and was trailing the first, allowing a good tactical separation of almost twenty meters. The mistake they were making was one that even the most experienced soldier can make: They were focusing on the ground and not checking up in the trees. It was a universal bad habit. There was a good chance the two would pass right beneath his and Westland's position without noticing them. But Riley knew he couldn't afford to take that chance.
He got Westland's attention and pointed at the lead man, indicating that he was hers. She nodded. Riley centered his sights on the second man. He waited until the lead man was within ten meters of the base of their tree. "Freeze, I've got you covered," he yelled out in Spanish.
They froze. The lead man slowly lifted his head until he could see into the tree. He took in the two people crouched up there and their weapons. The odds were against him. He called out to his partner in Spanish. "There's two in the tree. Man and a woman. They've got a sub on you and a pistol on me."
"Shut up," Riley yelled. Now that he had frozen the action he wasn't sure how to proceed. The trail man was easing himself over toward a tree trunk, trying to get its cover. "Move another step and you're dead."
The man stopped. The lead man was still looking up at them. "Perhaps we should talk."
"Who are you?" Riley called out.
The lead man seemed rather confident for someone who had a pistol pointing at him. "That's a good question. One we might ask you. But I think I might know more about you than you know about us. Your name Riley?"
Riley studied the man. Who the hell would know his name?
The man switched to English. "And the lady there is Westland, I presume. Only a goddamn Green Beanie would take a woman into a tree on a date."
Riley was confused. "Who the hell are you?"
"Let me ask you something first. If you answer right we can do all the talking you want. What was your first car?"
Riley recognized the question. It was from his finger card—the card every member of the team had filled out prior to the mission and placed inside the escape and evasion packet that had been given to Pike. Each man's card had his fingerprints and photograph, plus three questions only he would know the answers to. The purpose of the questions was to verify identity in case a link had to be made with an unknown party. The person asking had access to the information in the E & E packet, which meant he was legitimate; the person being asked established his identity by answering the obscure question correctly.
"A '64 Plymouth Valiant," Riley answered. The man lowered his shotgun. Riley sighed. He turned to Westland, who had followed the exchange in confusion. "They're friendlies."
He led the way down out of the tree. By the time they got to the bottom the two men were waiting there. The shorter one gestured and the tall blond man climbed up to take their place. Getting to the branch, he rested his rifle on it and started scanning the compound.
The other man stuck out his hand. "Andy Thompson. That's Ron Tremont up there."
Riley shook his hand. "Dave Riley. This is Kate Westland."
Thompson nodded. "I know. We were told you all might be hanging around here."
Westland took the offered hand. "Where you from?"
The man shrugged. "I'm not supposed to tell you that, but suffice it to say that I'm from the same place you are, Dave. Used to be in 7th Group myself. We're here to help you all out with your mission."
Riley's suspicions were confirmed. They had to be from Delta Force. "What were you briefed our mission was?"
The man pointed down toward the villa. "From what we were told there's a very bad man living there who isn't supposed to see the sun rise tomorrow. We've got a plan we think will do that."
Riley shook his head. "There's a complication."
Thompson frowned. "What complication?"
"My team sergeant is a prisoner down there."
"What!" The man shook his head. "We weren't told about any hostages. Shit. I'm going to have to call the old man and let him know. Fill me in while I get the radio set up."
As Riley updated him, Thompson slipped the ruck off his back and pulled out a SATCOM radio. He unfolded the tripod legs of the little dish and angled it up to the sky, then hooked in a scrambler and put on a small headset. He did a trial shot and got a successful bounce back from the satellite, indicating he was on the right direction and azimuth.
Satisfied he was set, Thompson keyed his mike. "Eagle Leader, this is Snake Leader. Over."
The reply came back in less than two seconds. "Snake Leader, this is Eagle Six-Kilo. Wait one while I get the Six. Over."
After about thirty seconds another voice came over the radio. "This is Eagle Leader. Go ahead. Over."
"Roger, we've linked up with the surveillance element down here. They're in good health. We've got the compound under surveillance. There's a slight complication. Riley says there's an American hostage in the villa. His team sergeant who was captured during an earlier op. Over."
There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Roger. I'll have to talk that over with the planning cell. I'll let you know what we come up with at the 1800 contact. In the meantime continue on as planned and find out as much of the information we need as possible. Over."
"Roger. Over."
"Out here."
The radio went dead and Thompson switched it off. Riley and Westland looked at him expectantly. They had been able to hear only his end of the conversation. Thompson looked up at them. "Our forward element is down in Panama by now. They're going to work in the hostage. They'll let us know if there are any modifications at our 1800 contact."
Riley nodded. "What's the plan in the meantime?"
"We wait and observe. I've got a whole list of questions we need answered about that place down there."
4:38 P.M.
Riley was beginning to feel a bit like Tarzan with all this hanging around in trees. Tremont was on the other side of the trunk, continuing to scan the compound through the scope on the rifle he carried. Riley had never seen that particular sniper rifle. It was bolt action with a bulky covering around the barrel.
Tremont seemed more than happy to explain his weapon. Riley had found that most military men liked talking about the tools of their trade.
"This is an Accuracy International Model PM sniper rifle, made by the Brits. We used to use the M21 like you guys in SF, but this thing is more accurate. Fires 7.62 match ammo. It's single bolt action because the receiver is high-carbon solid steel. Tightens up the whole action. The barrel is free floating and never comes closer than an eighth of an inch to the stock."
Riley pointed at the barrel. He'd never seen an accur
ate silenced sniper rifle. "That a suppressor?"
"Yeah. It's an integral one, like the one on your MP5."
"What about the round? Don't you get the supersonic crack?"
Tremont enjoyed being the expert. "Nope. I use Lapua subsonic match ammo. I lose some range but I can still hit out to about eight hundred meters and put someone down forever, and no one will hear a thing."
Riley was impressed. "How fast can you reload and fire?"
Tremont looked down at the villa. "At this range, at a man-sized target? I figure I can put a round out every two seconds and hit. The British SAS have ..."
Tremont paused, swung up the rifle, and looked down the hill. Riley followed suit with his M21. Two cars were rolling down the driveway, heading for the gate. It was impossible to see through the dark windshields. Riley watched until the cars were out of sight, heading down toward the main highway.
Tremont turned and looked at him. "Do you think this Ring Man fellow was in there?"
Riley shrugged. "I really don't care if he was or wasn't. What worries me is that Powers may have been in there. Let's hope not."
PENTAGON
5:15 P.M.
Linders punched in the numbers on his phone and waited. After two buzzes the other end was picked up.
"Pike here."
"This is General Linders. Just checking to see how things are going."
There was a pause on the other end. "Fine, sir. Everything's looking good to go."
Linders still wasn't feeling comfortable with the whole setup. He hadn't been involved in the actual running of the previous Hammer strikes either, but this time, using Delta Force in a selective strike, there was a higher level of compromise. Linders was surprised they were doing this after what had happened to the third Hammer mission.
"Anything else I can do for you, Mike?"
"No, sir. Everything looks good to go."
"I assume this mission goes tonight?"
Another pause. "Yes, sir, but I'd rather not go into too much detail. We're keeping this in extra tight after what happened to the last one."