The shooters pa-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  "I've heard that, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez said.

  "If they had had Macallan in those days-even the eighteen-year-old, never mind the thirty-I'm sure He would have said, 'Take a little Macallan.' Wouldn't you agree?"

  "I think you're right, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez said, nodding and smiling even more broadly.

  Lorimer turned to Castillo.

  "And while Senor Ordonez is arranging a little out-of-the-sight-of-mine-wife sustenance for me, Colonel, why don't you get on that marvelous radio of yours and inform my daughter that her mother and I have not only survived this perilous journey but are now in your capable protective hands?"

  "Yes, sir."

  [THREE]

  Estancia Shangri-La

  Tacuarembo Province

  Republica Oriental del Uruguay 2115 12 September 2005 After a quick-but, Castillo noticed, quite thorough-inspection of the big house of Estancia Shangri-La, Ambassador Lorimer said that he thought it would be a good idea if everyone "had a little taste-perhaps a Sazerac-to wet down our new home."

  "One, Philippe," Mrs. Lorimer said. "One small one." She looked at Colin-the-butler. "You understand, Colin?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Mrs. Lorimer then said, "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I'm going to have another look around the kitchen."

  "And may I suggest the sitting room, gentlemen?" Colin said, gesturing grandly in that direction.

  Everyone filed into the sitting room and watched as Colin prepared the drinks. When he was finished, he gave the first one to the ambassador and then passed the others.

  "What is this?" Ordonez asked, suspiciously.

  "If we tell you, you probably won't drink it," Castillo said.

  "This is a Sazerac, el Senor Ordonez," Ambassador Lorimer said, holding up his glass. "A near-sacred New Orleans tradition, and certainly the appropriate libation with which to wet down my new home, but, frankly, I'm reluctant to have Colin offer you one."

  "Why is that, Mr. Ambassador?" Ordonez asked, politely and more than a little uncomfortably.

  "Now that I am a retired diplomat, I don't have to drink with people I know are lying to me."

  Ordonez flushed.

  "Who are you, really?" Lorimer asked.

  Ordonez was silent a long moment.

  "I'll make a deal with you, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez then said. "You tell me who he really is"-he pointed at Colin-"and I will…clarify…my identity."

  The butler looked at Castillo, who was smiling and shaking his head.

  Castillo nodded.

  The butler said, "Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette, el Senor Ordonez."

  "You're a soldier?" Ordonez asked.

  Leverette nodded.

  "And you are?" Ambassador Lorimer pursued.

  "I'm Chief Inspector Ordonez of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional, Mr. Ambassador."

  "Thank you," Lorimer said. "You may give him the Sazerac, please, Colin…or should I address you as 'Chief'?"

  "'Colin' is fine, sir," Castillo answered for him.

  Leverette delivered the drink to Ordonez, then said, "To clarify my identity, Chief Inspector: I am what is known in the profession as a shooter from the stockade. And now that I've told you that, I'll have to kill you."

  Ordonez shook his head in disbelief.

  "To the ambassador's new home," Castillo said, raising his glass.

  There was a chorus of "Hear, hear" and the drinks were sipped.

  After a moment, the ambassador held out his empty glass to Colin Leverette.

  "If you'll be so kind as to freshen that up, Colin, before my wife returns from her inspection of the culinary facilities, we can turn to the discussion of the few little problems Colonel Castillo mentioned."

  Ten minutes later, Castillo looked around the room.

  "Did I leave anything out?"

  "That pretty well covered it, Ace," Edgar Delchamps said. "And actually, now that I've had a chance to think it over, it's not all gloom and despair, despite what the secretary of State has done to us with her decision to become Mother Teresa in addition to her other duties." He looked at the ambassador. "No offense, sir."

  "None taken."

  "Please tell me how that's not all gloom and despair, Ed," Castillo said. "My definition of total gloom and despair is when I have to admit I don't have a fucking clue how the hell I can stage a helicopter assault without helicopters. And the floodlight Secretary Cohen's shined on the estancia is so brilliant that there's no way that I can bring them in here black…"

  "Doing it without them comes to mind," Delchamps said.

  Is he saying that because he's stupid?

  Or trying to bring me back from the depths of despair and gloom?

  There's absolutely no fucking way I can do this without the choppers!

  Without the choppers I won't even have any weapons!

  "May I offer an observation?" Ambassador Lorimer said. "I hesitate to…"

  That's all I fucking need. A diplomatic solution.

  "Certainly, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said.

  "Perhaps I don't understand," Lorimer said. "The problem, as you see it, is that because of the secretary of State's concern for my welfare, and the kind response of the government of Uruguay, is that there will be so much activity here at the estancia that it would be impossible to bring the helicopters secretly here from the Ronald Reagan. Is that it?"

  I thought I just said that…

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Ambassador. That sums it up succinctly," Castillo said.

  "Well, as I am speaking from a position of total ignorance, and you are the recognized experts in this sort of thing, I rather suppose you will think this question reflects my ignorance."

  "Mr. Ambassador, I would love to hear whatever you have to say," Castillo said.

  "What I was thinking when you first outlined the plan, Colonel Castillo, was that Mother Teresa had-certainly unintentionally, but I would submit, inarguably…"

  He called the secretary of State "Mother Teresa"?

  I really like the old guy.

  I don't give a damn what he suggests, I'm going to let him down as gently as I can.

  "…provided you an opportunity to hide your helicopter-refueling operation in plain sight."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Listening to your original plan, I thought the one weakness was your belief that flying four helicopters in here at night would go unnoticed."

  "Is that so?"

  "They are not silent, and the noise they make is alien to the rural areas. Am I right so far? Please stop me…"

  "Please go on," Ordonez said. "That was one of my concerns, sir. But it was a risk I decided had to be taken."

  "But now the first helicopters to come here…"

  The first helicopter to come here was the one I flew during my failed attempt to repatriate his worthless son.

  Doesn't he know that?

  Of course he does.

  What he's doing is being diplomatic and not bringing it up.

  "…attracting, I am sure, a great deal of curiosity, are government helicopters. Questions will be asked, I submit, and these will be answered by announcing that the government is doing something on the estancia. Thus, setting the precedent that helicopters here are legitimate."

  "And what you want to do, Mr. Ambassador," Delchamps said, softly, "is pass Charley's choppers off as just more government helicopters."

  "Taking care of that nice, sick old man and his wife," Ambassador Lorimer said, smiling, then finishing his Sazarac. "Nothing to be concerned about by the indigenous personnel or the local police. The more activity here, I would suggest, Chief Inspector Ordonez, the better. All Colonel Castillo would have to do is make sure that none of his helicopters are here when yours are. A matter of scheduling, it would seem…"

  "And we could move all the fuel we're going to need onto the estancia in the open," Castillo thought aloud.

  "The fuel to service the police helicopters will be brought
to Shangri-La on Policia Nacional trucks," Ordonez offered.

  "May I infer that this suggestion has been helpful?" Ambassador Lorimer asked.

  "You have just saved our ass, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said, and then, suddenly serious, added: "And very possibly the lives of Special Agent Timmons and the two Argentine gendarmes those bastards are holding."

  Ambassador Lorimer locked eyes with Castillo a moment.

  "If that's true, Colonel…"

  "It's true, Mr. Ambassador."

  "I was about to say that would please me very much. I'm familiar with the philosophy that vengeance is the Lord's. But I am a sinner, and I would very much like to think I did some harm to the people who took my son's life."

  Castillo didn't reply.

  "And that being the case," Lorimer went on, "don't you think a small celebratory taste would be in order?"

  "Yes, sir, I would indeed."

  [FOUR]

  Estancia Shangri-La

  Tacuarembo Province

  Republica Oriental del Uruguay 0355 19 September 2005 When the radio went off-"Little Bo-Peep, Red Riding Hood One"-Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, wearing a dyed-black flight suit and puffing on a long, thin, nearly black cigar, was sitting at a somewhat unstable table. It was set up in a field about five hundred meters from the big house of Estancia Shangri-La and held a glowing Coleman lantern, two large thermos bottles of coffee, two insulated food containers, and the control console of an AFC communications system. Sipping coffee at the table were Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional, U.S. Ambassador (Ret.) Philippe Lorimer, U.S. Army Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette, and Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC.

  "Answer them, Lester," Castillo ordered as he glanced at the Huey-once glossy white but now looking tired and battered-fifty meters away that belonged to the Policia Nacional.

  "Go, Red Riding Hood," Corporal Bradley said into his microphone.

  "We're due east of you, on the deck. Estimate five minutes," the voice said over the console speaker.

  Bradley looked at Castillo for instructions.

  "Acknowledged. No wind. Look for automotive headlights," Castillo said.

  "Acknowledged. No wind. Look for automotive headlights," Bradley repeated into the microphone.

  Chief Inspector Ordonez stood up.

  "I suppose I had best get back to Montevideo," Ordonez said.

  Castillo stood up, too.

  "That's probably a good idea," Castillo said.

  He put out his hand.

  "Thank you, Jose."

  "I realized just now why I really dislike you, Carlos," Ordonez said.

  Castillo raised an eyebrow. "Why is that, Jose?"

  "You are a corrupting influence, like Satan. When I heard that"-he gestured toward the sky, meaning he meant the radio exchange-"instead of being consumed by shame and remorse for having done what I know I should not have done, I realized I was smiling nearly as broadly as you were."

  "Not to worry," Castillo said. "That'll pass."

  Ordonez nodded and started walking toward the Policia Nacional helicopter. Halfway there, just as the pilot started the engine-and the lights of half a dozen cars and pickup trucks came on-he turned and walked back to Castillo.

  "Tell your people to be very careful with my helicopters," he said.

  "I'll do that," Castillo said.

  Sixty seconds later, the Policia Nacional Huey broke ground. The sound of its rotor blades faded into the night.

  Then the distinct sound of Huey rotors grew louder.

  "I believe that is our bird coming in, sir," Corporal Bradley said.

  "You're probably right, Lester," Castillo agreed.

  Sixty seconds later, a Huey appeared out of the pitch dark, surprising everybody even though it had been expected.

  The helicopter displayed no navigation lights; even the Grimes light on top of the fuselage had not been illuminated. The Huey quickly settled to the ground, and the moment it did, the headlights of the vehicles illuminating the field went dark.

  And sixty seconds after that, Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, and U.S. Army Major Robert Ward, 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment-both wearing dyed-black insignia-less flight suits like Castillo's-walked up to the table.

  Ward came to attention and saluted.

  "Good evening, sir," he said. "I hope that is a cattle-free field. I would really hate to get bullshit all over my rudder pedals."

  "And I hope you have not been letting that bluesuit fly one of my choppers."

  "Screw you, Colonel," Torine said. "I say that with affection and sincerity."

  "How'd it go?" Castillo asked.

  "Getting off the Gipper was a bit of a problem," Torine said. "The Navy has a rule that they want to know where aircraft leaving their ships are going, and we of course did not wish to share that information with them."

  "What did you do?"

  "I told them the admiral would tell him after we were gone."

  "Does he know?"

  "No."

  "Everybody got off all right?"

  "At thirty-minute intervals."

  "Which means we have to get you fueled and out of here right now," Castillo said. "Mr. Leverette-you know each other, right, Bob?"

  "Hey, Colin," Ward said. "How are you?"

  "My father just went to jail, and my mother just broke both of her legs. How about you?"

  "And this," Castillo went on, "excuse me, sir, is Ambassador Lorimer."

  "I have been waiting for the opportunity to say this," the ambassador said. "Welcome to Shangri-La, gentlemen. There's coffee and sandwiches. Please help yourself."

  "As I was saying," Castillo went on, "Mr. Leverette has been checked out on the fuel truck."

  "Charley, did you steal a police fuel truck?" Ward asked.

  "I borrowed it."

  "You do have that reputation for borrowing things," Ward said.

  "I'll try for the third time to finish this sentence," Castillo said. "Mr. Leverette has been checked out on the fuel truck and has volunteered-"

  "My crew chief would rather do that himself, Colonel, thank you very much just the same."

  "Drive it over to the chopper, will you, please, Colin?" Castillo said.

  "Carefully, please, Colin," Ward said. "Keeping in mind my crew chief test-fired his Gatling gun on the way here, burning six hundred rounds a minute."

  "I thought it was three thousand RPM," Castillo said.

  "The six-barrel M134D," Corporal Lester Bradley automatically recited, "is capable of firing per-minute fixed rates of three thousand or four thousand rounds of 7.65mm NATO ammunition." He paused. "At three thousand RPM, that's an extreme shot density of fifty rounds each second, the dense grouping designed to quickly suppress multiple targets simultaneously."

  "Well," Castillo said after a moment, "we've heard from the Marine Corps…"

  "Lester, you're right," Ward said. "And our weapons are tweaked for six-hundred-RPM test firings. Conserves ammo."

  "Charley," Torine said, "why were you talking in tongues on the radio?"

  "I didn't know if your pal the admiral might be listening," Castillo said. "Turns out we have a problem in Asuncion. Yung found out the CIA station chief is on the bad guy's payroll. I couldn't take the chance the admiral-who I'm convinced is talking back-channel to at least one Pentagon admiral-would pass on anything that might wind up in Langley where another rotten apple would pass it on to Asuncion."

  "Jesus Christ, Charley!" Torine said, shocked. "That's one hell of an accusation. You sure?"

  "Unfortunately. A long story. Delchamps will bring you up to speed when you're at Nuestra Pequena Casa."

  "'Our Little House'? What's that?" Major Ward asked.

  "A safe house, outside Buenos Aires. Your next stop. We're going to hide the birds there during the day and finish the ferry operation as soon as it gets dark tonight. And we'll give you the basic plan during the day. We have some really interesting satellite stuff."


  "Finish the ferry operation how? And where to?" Ward asked.

  Castillo looked at his watch. He didn't want to get into this now, but on the other hand, Ward had a right to know, and if he told him "later," Ward would be annoyed.

  "The next leg is to Pilar. It's a little bit out of the way, but we're working with an Argentine cop on this, specifically a gendarmerie comandante named Duffy, and that's where he is. He's arranged fuel to be at a couple of the Argentine Polo Association's polo fields, ones sort of closed down for the day.

  "Either Duffy's people-or ours-will take the crews to the safe house, where we can make the first operation briefing and get them something to eat and some rest.

  "As soon as it's dark, the choppers-each having taken aboard a couple of gendarmes; in case you have to land someplace you hadn't planned, they'll make you legitimate-will fly separate routes to fields in the boonies for refueling. You'll get the coordinates at the briefing. There are redundant fields in case anything goes wrong.

  "You'll wind up at a field in Argentina several miles from the Paraguay River and about ten miles from the target. This place has got a couple of big barns where we can conceal the Hueys and the shooters. The shooters are already moving there in private cars and trucks-mostly trucks-and again with a gendarme or two aboard in case they get stopped.

  "As soon as everybody's assembled, and the choppers checked and fueled, we'll make the assault."

  "No dry run?"

  "No. That would attract too much attention, and you know as well as I do, Bob, that things happen-like dumping birds-during dry runs. You guys have done this sort of thing before; I'm not worried about that."

  Ward nodded.

  "What we're going to do," Castillo went on, "is make a simultaneous approach to the target. Three birds will take out the two generators, what we think is the main generator and its spare, and their radio. Duffy's gendarmes will cut the telephone and power lines at the same time.

  "Three of the birds will use suppressing fire and get ready to put their shooters on the ground if necessary, while the fourth bird with a couple of shooters will land and grab the DEA guy and two gendarmes who these nice people have chained to a pole and, we believe, are keeping them doped up with some drug."

  "You've located them?"

  "Master Sergeant Ludwicz…you know him?"