General Arnold came in, still wearing her cammies and watch cap. “I like them,” she said when the men with the President looked at her. “We going to have another meeting tonight, or are you wimps so tired you need to go to sleep.”
President Dunnington came up and grinned at her comment.
“If they aren’t too tired, I am. The SEALs saved all the papers we had been working on. North Korea would have loved to have had them.” He looked at Murdock and walked over and shook his hand. “This mission wasn’t covert, so I’m going to have a unit citation struck for your platoon. Also I’m giving your man Lampedusa an instant promotion to first class. Figure it out any way you can. The man deserves it big-time. He grabbed me right out from under the noses of fifteen armed killers.” The civilians stared at the President. “Yes, I’ll tell all of you about it when we have time.”
He stopped and looked around the dining room where most of the President’s men, the staff, and the Secret Service men had congregated. “I’ve lost four good people on this trip. Three of my top Secret Service men and Maria Alvarez. The responsible parties have paid with their lives, but that doesn’t bring the dead back with us. First order of business tomorrow is to locate our dead and have them flown out by helicopter to Sacramento. I have ordered enough CH-53’s into Sacramento from surrounding bases to take everyone out of here by noon. A graves-registration squad will come in with its own transport to take care of the North Koreans. They will not be sent back to their homeland. That team will also retrieve the weapons the terrorists used and tear down and dispose of the camp that was built there.” The President looked at Lillian Bronson, who now owned the ranch.
“Lillian, did you and Barney know about that camp?”
“We heard that it was being built. Some man from Sacramento said it would be a boy’s camp for underprivileged children.”
“Was he Oriental?”
“Yes, he said he was Chinese.”
“So they really did a lot of planning,” the President said. “How did they know we would be coming here?”
“I can’t figure it out, Mr. President. The camp went up in a week just before you arrived. They asked if they could drive across some of our pasture with a truck.”
“So, I’ve got a leak somewhere among my top advisors, or their staffs. I’ll work on that.” The President turned and looked into the activity room. “Anybody want to shoot a game of nine ball? Pool always relaxes me after I exercise.”
Murdock excused himself and went out to the bunkhouse. He’d had enough exercise for one day.
* * *
The next morning the breakfast buffet began at 0600 for the staff and cowboys, and lasted until 0930. The SEALs all feasted on their choice of bacon, cheese omelets, breakfast steak, hash browns, pancakes, waffles, fruit salad, eggs to order, and lots of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.
“Why don’t we eat here every day,” Jaybird said.
The big cook with the chef’s hat put out a fresh tray of crisp bacon. “Hey, SEAL, you can come to my kitchen anytime. I like a big eater,” the chef said.
By 0800 the President led six SEALs with two stretchers up the trail where he and the Secret Service men had been attacked. Both agents had been shot once in the forehead.
“They were on us before we knew what happened,” the President said. “They could have killed me as well. Now I’m sure they wish they had.”
The SEALs wrapped the bodies in sheets, put them on the stretchers, and took turns carrying them a mile down through the woods and past a small cabin. A man with a dozer blade on a tractor pushed the five burned-out helicopters off the parking lot.
Promptly at 0930 three big CH-53’s whupped their way up the mountain, circled, and then all landed on the now-empty parking lot.
They had found Maria Alvarez where she had fallen when the North Koreans executed her. They wrapped her in a sheet and took her to one of the helicopters with the three dead men. One Secret Service man went with the bodies to see that they were flown as soon as possible to Washington, D.C. Mrs. Bronson had found her husband’s body, and had had her men put it on the bed in the master bedroom. She would call the sheriff about it later.
“The blackout is lifted at Sacramento,” Lillian said to the President. “I just got word on the telephone. Most of the coast is up and working again, and airliners are getting serviced and starting to meet their schedules.”
Murdock caught the President’s attention. “Sir, is there anything else you need us for?”
The President shook Murdock’s hand, then pulled him into a bear hug. He released the hold and stepped back. “Commander, I don’t know how to thank you. I tried to promote you, but the CNO said if I did, they would have to bounce you out of the platoon and boot you upstairs somewhere. I don’t want that. I might try a promotion order to take effect as soon as you leave the active SEAL platoon. That might work. I appreciate it. The nation is thankful. You’re going to get a big blast of publicity about this because I’m turning loose my press secretary on it. You’ll have many visitors from the press and TV. Now, to answer your question. Yes, you may be relieved of your duties here and report back to Coronado.”
Lillian had been listening. “I agree with what the President has said. I’m just sorry I couldn’t talk my husband out of trying to fight off fifteen men with a pistol.” She turned away and touched her eyes with a tissue. “At any rate, I have a stake truck that is available to take you and your SEALs down the hill to your helicopter, if that would be all right.”
“Yes, that would be fine. And I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your husband.”
“Thank you. The truck will be at the bunkhouse when you’re ready.”
* * *
The trip back to San Diego was routine. Electrical power had been fully restored to the entire Western electrical grid, and slowly life returned to near normal. Except at the airports, which had planes and passengers stacked up so far that it might take a week to get things straightened out.
Murdock checked his watch as he kicked off the bus from North Island to the Coronado strand outside the NAVSPECWARGRUP-ONE Quarter Deck. It was just after 1500. He had promised the men they would be through for the day as soon as they cleaned their weapons and took care of their gear.
“Oh, yeah, gonna see my honey tonight,” Jaybird yelped. “Got me this hot little number down in Chula Vista…”
“Hey, no good woman ever came out of Chula Vista,” Bradford shot back. “Creepy, crawling things all over them.”
“Hooha yourself, big buddy. You ain’t never seen this little gem. She’s a keeper. Well, for a couple of months at least.”
Mahanani listened to the chatter as he cleaned his weapons, stashed them, and took care of the rest of his equipment, refilling his ammo pouches with the regular supply of rounds. Then he was across the Quarter Deck, in his Buick, and heading for his apartment. He had on his civvies, and a new jet-black driving cap with a short bill like they used to wear in the twenties. He’d heard they were coming back and he liked the way it fit on his head.
His palms were itching for some action, but then he remembered he had been cut off from playing at the casino. Damn them. Sure he owed them a few bucks. Maybe he should make enough drug runs to Tijuana for them to clear his IOU. That would take a lot of trips, like fifteen. He had only made two so far. A dozen more? Sounded good, but he had a strong feeling that before he was through, he’d get nailed by the Border Patrol guys for sure.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he sat outside his apartment. Hell, it was early. He could do a run to TJ and be back in time to catch a good war movie on TV. He turned, headed across the high Coronado Bay Bridge, and drove to the east to where the Casa Grande Casino flaunted itself near the highway.
He parked in the big lot and thought about it. A risk, sure, everything was a risk. But he’d have a clean car and not overloaded, so no reason the inspectors would challenge him. He’d give it one more try. Maybe this time he’d figure
out how to nail these bastards and get them put away. How was he going to work a trap?
He locked the Buick and walked in the front door. This time he turned into the hallway and went directly to the Hammer’s office. He pushed inside and saw Harley talking to Martillo.
“Well, the hero comes home,” Harley said. “Heard about you SEALs rescuing the President up there in the Sierras.”
“Yeah, that’s the job. Can I make a run to TJ today?”
“So, Mahanani, how many of the North Koreans did you kill?” Martillo, the Hammer, asked.
“I didn’t keep track. You need any goods moved today or not?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Harley said. “He’s the sensitive type.”
“I should have called first. Maybe I can do some good next time,” Mahanani said. He turned to leave. Harley moved quickly in front of him.
“Hold it, man. We didn’t say we didn’t have no goods. Just curious about the big shoot-out.” Harley frisked him expertly, found no weapons, but it seemed to Mahanani that he searched for a wire and transmitter as well.
“Clean as a baby’s bottom.”
“Yeah, you can pick up a load,” the Hammer said. “Get down to San Ysidro now and pick up a car and leave it at the TJ garage. Then have a couple of drinks and shop or some fucking thing, and don’t go back over the border for at least four hours. The pricks down there are getting leery of over-and-back trips that are too quick.”
Mahanani stared at the Hammer for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. Another four hundred off my bill, right?”
“Right,” Harley said. “I’m keeping track. Remember to be relaxed when you come back across. Don’t act nervous or you’ll end up in Chino Prison for five to ten. Now go.”
Mahanani left the room, marched down the hall, through the lobby, and outside. The fresh air felt good. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be stuffed into a cell for twenty years. So he had to do everything right this time. Once more. Then he’d figure out how to turn in these bastards without getting both his legs broken and a pair of .22- caliber slugs in the back of his head.
20
San Ysidro, California
Mahanani paced outside the garage. It seemed like it was taking a lot longer this time for them to get the car ready for him to drive. He sat in his Buick and waited. His Buick and the Indian gambling Casino’s Buick. How had he ever got into this goddamned fucking gambling problem? It could wash him right out of the Navy if they went to his CO. Murdock would have to write a report and that would do it.
It was another half an hour before the door rolled up and they drove the six-year-old Chevy out of the garage.
“You be good to car,” the Mexican mechanic said. “She in good shape. You drive safe.”
Jack Mahanani growled a reply and slid into the car. It had the usual camouflage. A child’s booster seat in back, a box of tissue, and a box of baby wipes. Scattered soft drink cups from Jack in the Box. Even half of the Sunday newspaper. A woman’s blouse lay on the passenger’s side.
Mahanani drove. It was a short trip to the border, then through Mexican customs with hardly a slowdown, and into the border city of almost a million people, all scratching to survive. He turned into the right street and saw the garage with the same door open. He’d used it before. Something didn’t feel right this time, but he couldn’t figure out what. He drove into the garage, walked out the back door, and came around the end of the alley to the street and then to a cantina he’d noticed on the last run. The Tecate beer wasn’t bad if it was cold enough. It was.
He spent the next four hours over two beers, then some burritos at a good restaurant. He hoped that they didn’t make him sick this time. Then he walked around the tourist-trap areas, turning down fantastic offers of fake Rolex watches and good-looking diamonds. When he went back to the garage through the back door, the one Mexican who could speak any English shook his head.
“Not ready,” he said.
Mahanani had not seen where they hid the drugs in the car. He didn’t want to know. But now he watched as two men fastened the rear seat back in place in the Chevy. Did they hide the drugs in the seat itself, or a compartment under the floor? He had no idea, and he still didn’t want to know. Just knowing it was somewhere in the car was enough.
Chino. He shivered every time he thought of that state prison up by Los Angeles. Maybe he should dump the car this side of the border and walk across? Sure, and get sliced up by the Hammer while two of the big guys were holding him down. They would think he had ripped them off for the five hundred thousand dollars worth of coke. Not a chance he would try that.
“Okay,” the Mexican lead man said, and handed Mahanani the keys. The engine started on the first try, and somebody pushed the garage door up. Mahanani drove out of the garage, turned left, and headed for the border.
There was an hour wait to get across. Not unusual. He wished he had a book to read. It would make the time go faster. He inched ahead in line and chose inspection gate ten as his lucky number for the night. It was fully dark by then. Maybe they would be tired, or sleepy, or their drug-sniffing dog might be off his feed.
At last he came up to the inspector, who asked him where he was born.
“Hilo, Hawaii,” Mahanani said.
“Yeah? Hey, I’ve always wanted to get over there. Maybe next year. You have anything to declare?”
“Not a thing. Just a little cantina hopping.”
The inspector nodded. His phone rang and he picked it up. He listened for a moment and said something. When he looked back at Mahanani, he frowned.
“Sorry to bother you, but your car has been selected for a random inspection at the secondary lane. Would you pull over there, please? Shouldn’t take more than five minutes.”
“Randomly selected?” Mahanani’s voice was strange, his blood had thinned out to nothing, and his heart hammered in his chest. Maybe he should cut and run? Ram through the barrier and slam down the freeway at 130 miles an hour. Maybe…
“Shouldn’t take more than five minutes, sir. Now if you would please drive over to the secondary inspection lane. We’re a little stacked up tonight.”
Mahanani nodded and touched the gas. He steered into a lane where a man motioned to him, and stopped when a second inspector signaled.
“Sir, would you step out of the car?”
Mahanani got out feeling pure terror grip him. Nothing in the SEALs had ever been so frightening. He wasn’t sure that his legs would hold him up. To his surprise they did. He was busted. Shit, there was not a fucking thing he could do about it. He stood beside the hood and waited. A handler came up with a dog that sniffed around the sides of the car, then stopped at the back and barked twice.
“Could I have your car keys?” the inspector asked. Mahanani reached inside and took out the ignition key. He noticed there were five keys on the ring like most key rings had. The inspector thanked him and opened the trunk. The dog jumped in and sniffed around, then jumped out and continued on around the car.
“Sorry about that, sir. Queenie thought she smelled something in your trunk. Nothing there.”
Mahanani felt like he was going to wet his pants. He took the keys and held them, not sure he could get back in the car and find the ignition. The dog made another circle of the Chevy. Then he and the handler moved to the car behind them. A second inspector had been in the backseat, crawling around, checking under the carpet flaps, and behind the seat and under the cushions. At last he slid out of the car and closed the door.
“You’re all set, sir. Just a routine random stop. Sorry for your inconvenience.”
Mahanani stepped into the Chevy, fumbled to get the ignition key in the slot, and started the car. An inspector waved him out into the traffic lane, and he accelerated gradually.
He couldn’t believe it. He was out and home free. They had checked the car, the dog had done his thing, and they hadn’t discovered the drugs. How had the Mexicans done it? He was going to wa
tch them tear this car down and dig out the drugs. He had to know where it was and how they hid it. Most of all, he wanted to know how they had fooled the usually reliable nose of the drug-sniffing dog.
The trip into San Ysidro lasted ten minutes, even in the traffic, and when he pulled up to the garage there, the door was open. He drove in and saw the door drop behind him.
Harley leaned against the Coke machine working on a reefer. He was high already.
“Well, I see our man made it across. No problem?”
“Secondary inspection, the dog and everything. How did it get through?”
Harley chuckled, took a long drag on the reefer, and held the smoke in his lungs until he nearly passed out. Then he exhaled it and grinned.
“Oh, damn, what a good hit. How did you get through? Because this Chevy was clean as a bishop’s daughter. There were no drugs in it. You ran a decoy. Yeah, you still get paid. Our contact at the border told us they were checking six-year-old Chevies tonight. Almost every one that comes through gets the secondary inspection. So we sent them a virgin.”
Harley laughed. “Hey, Mahanani, you still look a little green around the gills there, boy. You have a real scare down in that secondary lane, I bet. How come you didn’t try to make a run for it? We had a driver try that. Turned out he had a piece with him and shot at the guards, and they blew him away before he got twenty feet down the lane.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was a dry run. I almost shit my pants down there when that damn dog came up. Then he barked and I knew I was down and out.”
“Didn’t tell you because it takes all the fun out of it. Hey, it cost me four hundred bucks. I’m entitled to a little fun for that kind of money. Now take your damn Buick and get out of here. If you’re still in town in three days, give me a call at the number I gave you before. We should have another load for you, a real one. Now take off.”
Payback sts-17 Page 21