Two other men clubbed the vipers to death and carried them deep into the brush.
Colonel Kariuki came to consciousness with the shock of the water that hit him in the face. "What? Oh, God. Why ... why are you shooting me? I offered half of the money to you."
"Where is the money hidden, my colonel?" the leader asked.
"What money?"
The leader shot him in the left shoulder with the snarling little .22-caliber. Colonel Kariuki jolted backward, but didn't fall over this time. The pain billowed around him. He felt as if he were in a giant metal barrel and someone kept banging it with a steel hammer. "Where is the money, old man?"
"Money. If I tell you, will you let me go with my car?"
"Sure, sure we will. Why not? What good are you to us without your money?"
"G. It's a deal, a bargain. See, good men can come to reasonable arrangements. The money's in a compartment under the rear seat. It looks like the gas tank, but it comes right out and is hinged. Take it out carefully so you don't rupture the real gas tank directly below it."
The leader motioned, and three men cautiously looked in where the rear seat had been. One more snake darted out, but was clubbed before it could strike.
One of the men yelped, and tugged, and the metal box came loose and moved forward. They lugged it out carefully.
"Damn heavy," one of the men said.
The metal box was eight inches deep, two feet wide, and nearly three feet long. They brought it out and put it on the ground beside the leader. He called the men over, and then counted them.
"Is everyone here? I want no mistakes if this is valuable and we split it. Seven of us, rights Including the two snakebit ones who are still alive." He laughed. "Don't worry, the little viper is vicious, but not all that deadly."
He reached down, undid a hasp at each end, and lifted up the hinged top.
The men gasped. In the moonlight they could see that the box was filled with money. One section had banded stacks of hundred-dollar U.S. bills. Another had banded stacks of thousand-shilling notes. Half of the chest was filled with South African gold pieces.
The leader of the band hit Kariuki in a shot-up knee, setting off a series of wailing screams.
"Can the bills be traced? Are the numbers recorded anywhere as stolen? They're all new and in order."
Colonel Kariuki knew then that he would not live out the night. He screamed at them that of course they were stolen.
"Yes, the numbers are with every police in the world. All stolen, and you'll never spend a dollar or a shilling."
The leader laughed at him. "Old man, you wouldn't have kept them if they had been recorded. What did you do before you were a colonel with the killers down in Nairobi?"
The colonel didn't answer.
The leader hit him again in a wounded knee, and Kariuki bleated in surging waves of pain that made him nauseous. When he could talk again, he realized he was still alive. Maybe he could still get through this and get away.
"Before I went with the Army, I was the Minister of Finance and Administrator of Foreign Aid. I ... I helped myself to some of the foreign aid. It was never missed."
"About what I figured." The leader turned away from the Army man. He pointed to three of his men. "You three start dividing it up into seven equal piles. We'll all be rich tonight. But don't damage the mother vehicle. It's mine. The rest of the goods we split equally. Any arguments?" There were none.
Colonel Kariuki had some hope. He called to the leader.
"Now, Mr. Kinadi, I gave you what you wanted. Will you help me into the village where I can get some medical aid? It's the right thing to do."
The leader looked down at the colonel and asked him to repeat what he had said. When he heard it, Kinadi shrugged and turned away. Then in one swift movement he spun back and shot the colonel three times in the chest. After Kariuki fell to the ground, Kinadi shot him twice in the head to make sure.
24
Friday, July 23
0045 hours USS Monroe, CVN 81 Off Mombasa, Kenya
The SEALs had eaten a big breakfast and loaded up on carbohydrates. In the ready room, they were suiting up and making final checks on their weapons and the quantities of ammunition each man wanted to take over the minimum.
Murdock and DeWitt double-checked each of their men. DeWitt was one SEAL short with Yates still in sick bay. He would make do.
By 0130 they had assembled on the flight deck near where a Seahawk chopper was getting a final preflight check. Five minutes later they boarded the craft, fitting in around the rig's normal supply of weapons minus the heavy Mk 46 torpedoes. They settled in for the rest of the preflight check.
Don Stroh came on board and talked with Murdock.
"Just had late word from the President. He says good luck on this mission. He congratulated your platoon on the great work you've done so far down here, and hopes all goes well today."
Murdock nodded. "We don't expect a lot of trouble. If we run into any, we may call on you for some assistance. I know, the President of Kenya said no more air strikes, but that wouldn't include an evacuation. We're going to have to be lifted out of there at some point. No way we walk three hundred miles to the coast. As we planned it, we'll need to exfiltrate with a Seahawk. Two hours for the big birds to get there when we need them. We'll remember that. Better remind the XO to have one of these Seahawks standing by for the next few hours, or maybe days, until we call."
The two shook hands, and Stroh left the chopper seconds before one of the crewmen closed the hatch.
Ten minutes into the flight from the carrier, Murdock looked around at his fourteen men. Half of them were sleeping. He grinned. Not at all uptight. Most of them had been this route before. Just another day at the office. This one could be a damn dangerous office. He checked his watch.
This mission seemed to be a simple one. Go in, determine for sure that the big general had been killed in the bombing, get out, and call for a pickup. It would be a two-hour delay between the call and the bird arriving on site, but they should be able to sustain that with no problem.
It all depended on a lot of things.
How many troops were still in the headquarters?
Were they still in a fighting mood?
How close to collapse was the new regime?
He pushed the questions out of his mind, and tried to relax. No telling which way this one would go. The bombs might get the general and his top staff, and they might not. The powers that be had decided that sunup was too early to expect the big man to be in his office. So they'd slated the bombing at 0800. He should be there by that time.
Which meant the SEALs had to remain hidden for two hours more before the raid.
So they would do it. They were SEALS.
Murdock felt the hand on his shoulder, and came awake. He must have dozed. The chopper crewman shook his shoulder again.
"Lieutenant, we're five minutes from our LZ. Figured you'd want to know." The crewman grinned.
Murdock lifted up in his seat. "Okay, SEALS, up and at 'em. Time to rock and roll. LZ coming up in about five minutes. Time to lock and load. Everybody conscious?" He heard a chorus of grunts and groans.
"The ones who ain't conscious ain't talking," Jaybird cracked.
Murdock checked out the small window. They were still high over the land, but they were dropping quickly. A crewman came in, unlatched the big hatch door, and pushed it open.
"Stay clear," he said. Murdock was first man next to the hatch. He could see the ground rushing up at them now. They leveled out about fifty feet and slanted over the terrain. Ahead in the darkness he saw a clump of what might be trees. The Seahawk pivoted around them, came in behind them, and settled slowly to the ground. The second they hit ground, the crewman slapped Murdock on the shoulder, and he jumped to the ground and zigzagged toward the dark mass of trees thirty yards away.
Fourteen SEALs followed him in rapid order. The noisy chopper behind them took off at once. The men hit the fringe of the
trees in a line staying five meters apart. Murdock waved at Red Nicholson, who sprinted into the trees silently. He was gone two minutes by Murdock's watch. Then he came back nodding, and the SEALs moved into the trees.
Murdock's watch showed it to be 0407. On time, with time to spare. The men remained quiet. Nicholson vanished again toward the front of the trees.
That was when they heard firing from somewhere in front of them. It was the solid rattle of the Seahawk's 7.62 machine guns hammering away at what Murdock figured must be the front gate.
"Should pull any suspicion from the chopper's sound here," Murdock whispered to Holt, who was two meters away. They heard small-arms fire, but not much of it, evidently coming from defenders at the front gate. Then the machine gun made another series of strafings before the night turned quiet.
Without a sound, Red Nicholson slid in beside Murdock.
"L-T, we've got about a hundred fifty yards of open space beyond the trees to the fence. I didn't see any guard towers or guard posts. One guard did a lackadaisical walk of a post inside the fence, but he didn't show up again. Either a damn big post or he's goofing off somewhere.
"Fence looks easy enough for our wire cutters. Inside the fence maybe twenty yards is a big pile of trashed lumber. Looks like a bulldozer smashed a building and they dumped the remains there. It's ten, twelve feet high and thirty yards long. Should be enough for us to hide behind until we make our move."
"Maybe an hour or so to dawn," Murdock said. "Take Lincoln with you, and two wire cutters, and make us a door. Send Lincoln back when you're ready for us."
Red and Lincoln moved out through the trees and brush without a sound.
Four minutes later, Lincoln came back through the trees and waved at Murdock.
All had on their Motorolas. Murdock whispered into the mike. "Let's move it."
They went in squad formation with the men spaced out ten meters apart. The wire had been cut and tied upward, leaving a four-foot-high opening. Lincoln stayed with the wire to fasten it back in place when everyone had entered.
Murdock stepped behind the pile of wood, plaster, and trash and nodded. Yes. It was jumbled enough that they could fit into holes and crannies. If they didn't move, somebody walking past along the fence probably wouldn't notice them. He found a spot and slid into it, as did the other men.
Lincoln came along a short time later and picked his place.
"Now we wait," Murdock said into his mike.
Holt moved up closer to Murdock and passed an earpiece to him. He had set the frequency to UHF so he could talk to or listen to the tactical aircraft. The sound came through clearly.
"Cover One to Rover."
"This is Rover."
"Cover One. We shadowed the big bird in the last twenty miles. They landed, discharged, and did their thing at the front of the complex. We find no air in the vicinity whatsoever."
"Very well, Cover One. Come home."
"That's a Roger, Rover."
The radio went silent. Murdock handed the plug back to Holt. "Monitor it so we'll know when the bomb runs start."
Holt nodded and eased back from Murdock into his shelter in the wreckage. Murdock checked his watch. It was 0435. Another half hour at least to dawn, then another three hours to attack time for the Hornets.
"We've got some wait time. Guard duty for the man on each end. Rest of you rest easy but watchful."
It grew light gradually, which fooled Murdock for a moment. Then it seemed suddenly to be daylight, with the sun brimming the far eastern sky. The men wormed deeper into the rubble. Some of them pulled boards over them to help the jungle cammies blend in better.
It was just after 0600 when two men on bicycles pedaled along the outside of the fence. They were young, not soldiers. They never even glanced at the pile of rubble. Murdock held his breath when they came to the spot where the SEALs had cut the fence. Neither of them looked at the spot. Instead they shouted to each other, then pedaled hard in a race. Murdock relaxed.
Murdock's legs started to cramp. He moved, and bent them, and tried to get them relaxed. As he did, he checked his watch again. Had it stopped? No, it showed almost 0700. Another hour. The birds should be talking soon. From the deck of the carrier to this spot the Hornets should take about fifteen to eighteen minutes at their jet speed.
Murdock looked to the north, and saw a small military jeep-like vehicle working its way slowly along the outside of the fence. He frowned. He didn't remember any road beyond the fence. The rig came closer and closer until it was less than seventy-five yards from the far end of the trash pile. Then the driver did an abrupt turn and went back the way he had come. The second man in the rig had a pair of binoculars, but didn't seem all that interested in using them.
Murdock gave a small sigh of relief. Time dragged. No one seemed interested in the trash. Red Nicholson had been to both ends of the trash pile checking the area directly ahead. He came back, and talked in whispers with Murdock.
"Looks like the top of the three-story building is dead ahead, north," Red said. "I figure we have some barracks between here and there, and then a parade ground and maybe some shops and even a motor pool. Can't be sure."
"So we blast right up the street and take out anybody who gets in the way," Murdock said.
"Looks that way, L-T. Course when we get there, it may look different. Situation and terrain."
Murdock grunted.
At 0734, Holt handed Murdock the SATCOM radio ear plug and handset. He listened.
"Dropper One to Rover."
"Yes, Dropper."
"I have five chicks with me heading upstream. We have cover?"
"One Cover on station waiting and watching."
"Roger. We'll stay in touch."
Murdock used his Motorola mike. "The flyboys are on the way. Another ten minutes or so. Let's get awake and ready."
SEALs were good at waiting. It was drilled into them in their training and in operations. There was one optimum time for every attack, every phase of every operation. When it was time to go, the SEALs would go.
Murdock monitored the aircraft as they came closer. The one Hornet on cover duty overhead reported no aerial activity around the small country of Kenya that its radars could pick up. They could scan two hundred miles in every direction.
Then the radio message came that Murdock had been waiting for. "Dropper One making run. I have one egg away."
Murdock had worked his way to the near end of the trash pile, and now moved up so he could see around it and watch the attack. He didn't see the Hornet fighter-bomber until it had passed overhead. At almost the same time a shattering explosion took place ahead of them. Murdock felt the blast of hot air, and then the sound flashed past them. He spotted smoke and dust from the top of the three-story HQ building less than six hundred yards from them.
Before the dust had settled on the first bomb, a second, and then a third hit the target.
The pilots' chatter came now and then, mostly indicating that they were on final approach. Murdock had no way of knowing how many times the aircraft passed over the target. He knew six planes were in the air. They could have five-hundred- or thousand-pound bombs, probably with delayed fuses to penetrate the building. When the sixth bomb hit, he spoke into his lip mike.
"Let's move out. On me, now. We'll take squad arrowhead formation, Second Squad on my left, and we'll sweep down this street and get into position at any cover we can find about a hundred yards from the target. Go, go, go."
The men ran to get into formation, then the two inverted V's moved down the street at a steady jog. Murdock and Nicholson led the point on the right. They saw no targets. As the bombs kept coming, they heard sirens and some trucks careening around. A dozen men ran out of one building, but when they took fire, they darted back inside, leaving two dead or dying on the street.
Murdock ran the platoon past that building and two more, then came to the parade grounds. The far end of it butted against a street next to the command headquarters.
>
No cover out there at all. One-story buildings on the right. They were 150 yards from the HQ. Murdock and Red stormed the second building in the group, kicked open the door, and blasted inside. It was some kind of support group. Six men and two women held up their hands.
Magic Brown covered them with his sniper rifle and bellowed, "Down on the floor, all of you. Anyone else in this building?"
One man shook his head. Murdock went to the door, and had DeWitt take over the next one-story building. He met no resistance either.
The bombs kept falling on the three-story building. Murdock had a view of it out one window. He saw smoke coming from the front of the structure, but couldn't tell if any of it had collapsed yet. Another bomb hit, and he could see part of the corner at the front of the building shake, and then lazily fall away from the rest of the structure.
Murdock had lost track, but figured at least twenty of the big bombs had hit or come close to the structure. Holt touched Murdock's shoulder.
"L-T, that's it. Last bomb is down, the six planes are heading for the carrier. Our one Hornet cover is waiting to see if we need any more support."
"Right. Tell the cover man we'll stay in touch." Murdock spoke into his lip mike. "Okay, let's get outside. We make our move." His squad formed up outside and found DeWitt's ready. They ran for the big building with a fifteen-man front, every man had an open field of fire ahead of him.
DeWitt spat out a dozen rounds from his MP-5 as four soldiers ran across the street a half block down. Two of the men went down. The others didn't wait for them.
Holt caught up with Murdock. "We've got one cover plane circling so he can see what's going on down here. I said we might need him. He's holding his pattern."
Murdock nodded, and they kept going. Small-arms fire chattered at them from the front. The men slanted to the sides of the street returning a steady blast of lead at the flashes.
DeWitt and two of his men took cover behind a pair of cars parked along the street.
Seal Team Seven 6 - Battleground Page 20
