by Unknown
Hammond shook his head. “No, I have a team standing by. The big thing right now is figuring out where this thing will have to take off and land. What would be the minimum sized runway?”
“Let me worry about that. I’ll have this thing rigged up so it can take off from one of your aircraft carriers. Once you get the destination, I’ll have a crew briefed and ready,” Brinson said with pride.
Hammond’s phone began to ring. It was a White House number. He activated the phone and answered.
“Roger, get up here as fast as you can,” said Jim Butler on the other end.
“News?”
“Only the best. Make it fast.” The phone went dead.
Hammond looked at Brinson. “I have to go right now. I hope the plane is fueled.”
“It should be. Get in the car.”
Both men got in Brinson’s car and he placed a revolving red light on the top. Flooring it, Brinson sped across the tarmac toward the main terminal. “I take it something is happening,” said Brinson.
Hammond didn’t say anything, but gave him a wink. The car screeched to a halt right beside the small jet Hammond would be flying in. The pilot came running out of the terminal with his notebook. “We’re all set, Admiral. Straight line to DC,” he said.
Hammond turned to Brinson. “Thanks Richard.” Both men shook hands.
“Don’t worry Roger,” said Brinson. “I’ll have this thing ready and fueled by eight tomorrow morning. We’ll be waiting for the word.”
They shook again. “Thanks,” Hammond said as he turned and ran for the aircraft.
The minute he closed the door the engines began to start. Within five minutes, he was on his way to Washington.
The White House
Jeff Dunning was ten minutes late. It had taken that much longer to pinpoint the location of the small compound both on the satellite images and a map of the area. The satellite had provided a normal photograph, an infrared and a radar picture. In doing so, they were able to cut away a lot of the surrounding vegetation and see everything clearly. They also showed all of the roads and paths around the compound as well as the larger village at the top of the mountain. The images clearly showed the stone buildings and the obelisk, as well as the post where Mitchell had been killed.
A wider picture also showed a large paved airstrip just seven miles away over the next hill. The runway was over 7,000 feet long, but not as wide as that of an airport. There were three buildings inside a chain link fence along with a fuel tank and four vehicles. The airstrip was linked to the compounds via a dirt road which linked to one of the larger “highways” running through the area. Those highways were mostly made of what looked like stone and tar, not much wider than eighteen feet across. All the images and maps were displayed across the briefing table for all the people in the room to see.
“This is where our priest took the photos you see in front of you,” Dunning said, pointing to an “X” imprinted on both a photo and the map. “According to our people, he doubles as a wildlife photographer who has occasionally been published in the National Geographic. We checked him out and he has been verified as an American citizen. His history is in your briefing papers.” Dunning pointed to one of the photos. “It was pure dumb luck that he happened to be in the right place at the right time to get these photos. But as we discussed, they provide damning evidence I could take into any courtroom and get a conviction. It also means our hostages are in grave danger. This madman could decide to dispose of them at any time, so we will need to get in and out as soon as we can.”
He pointed to the lower compound. “As you can see by these photos, our truck is here in this lower section. Our photo reconnaissance couldn’t see the truck due to this large tree that obscures it. As you can see, the infrared image shows it clearly. Right now, I have my people watching the compound with a live infrared sensor as well as the regular camera. By noon, I will be able to tell you how many people are in the compound and where the hostages are,” Dunning said as he sat back down in his seat.
Richardson was pouring over the maps and the terrain. Several times she pulled out a ruler and measured places on the map. She wasn’t too happy. “Looking at these maps and images, I can see where we could get a plane in, but it would be obvious as hell. The best place to insert looks to be right down here,” she said pointing toward a grassy meadow nearly eight miles from the compound opposite from the airstrip. “It’s clear enough to make a drop, but not any place for a pickup. If we dropped them all in here, it would take at least a day to make their way to that compound.”
“Why so long? It’s only a few miles,” said the Secretary of State.
Richardson looked over at the man. She knew he had never had any military experience. “Because, Mister Secretary, they will have to make their own path there through this thick forest. More than likely, it is full of undergrowth. In addition, they will be moving very carefully and stealthily. That makes very slow progress. If it’s too dense, it might take them two days. I’m sure Parente has heightened security all through the area, so there is no way they could move by road. Even so,” she said motioning to the map, “there aren’t any. And take a look at the topography. There are mountains and valleys they have to cross. Those guys will be bone tired by the time they get there.”
“Does that mean we give them another day?” asked the President.
Richardson grinned. “Hell no. That’s what these guys train for. Besides, from what I hear, Master Sergeant Ricks may just sprint the whole way. He’s a little peeved that someone has hurt a friend of his.”
The people around the table chuckled. All of them knew Ricks by reputation and some from personal experience. Richardson pointed at the airfield. “But this thing is perfect for getting the people out. The idea is to sneak in, rescue the hostages, kill all the captors and get out without creating an alarm. Roger Hammond had a great idea of doing this and has stopped down at Davis Monthan to check it out.” She glanced up at the people in the room. “You know, I think the man is psychic,” she grinned. “Somehow he seemed to sense there might be an airfield somewhere close, and be damned if he didn’t peg it. We’ll get the plane ready and get it there to pick the team and the hostages up. It’s fast enough to get them across the Colombian border in no time. The trick is not setting off any alarms. One stray fighter and the game is over.”
“How will you get them in?” asked Dunning.
“I can answer that,” said the Secretary of State. “I personally talked to the Brazilian Foreign Minister and General Foote, here, talked to the head of their Air Force. We will be flying the team down in a regular jet and then transferring to a Brazilian C-130. It will conveniently be making a training flight between Brasilia and Mexico and will traverse over this area,” he said.
“There’s no radar in this remote part of the country, so a plane dropping low to disgorge our troops won’t be noticed,” said Richardson. “Then it will continue on it training flight and no one will be the wiser.”
“I take it, they are unaware of where they will be going or what this is about,” said the President, a little upset that people had brought others into the secret.
State sheepishly raised his hand. “Actually, Mister President, I know the Foreign Minister personally. Have known him for years. When all this happened, he gave me a call and even suggested that Parente might be to blame. They hate him with a passion. He volunteered the services of his military in case we needed them. When he called me a couple days ago, I asked if they might be willing to provide some services. He immediately set up a direct line and then brought in only one other person, the General, besides their President. No one will have the faintest until after it is all done.”
“He also checked with us,” said Dunning. “Our people are with them and it looks iron clad. We waited until we were sure it might work before bringing it to you tonight,” he said.
O’Bannon nodded. “Okay, it makes sense. I doubt the Venezuelans would shoot down the aircraft of a
neighboring country in the middle of a training flight. Should I call their President?”
“Plausible deniability,” said State. “Neither of you have spoken to the other about this.”
The President nodded and raised his hands. “I concede. Now what else is going on?”
Admiral Johnson grinned. “Hammond is giving them fits. The Iowa is underway with a small task group and today the North Carolina got underway. Hammond has mapped out several port visits and visual displays which should keep them occupied. We also ordered and LHD and an LSD to join up with them. There are only about one hundred Marines aboard, but that should be enough to scare people to death if they are expecting a landing. We have noticed that the Venezuelans have already begun building up their coastal defenses. As long as it draws them off, it should help our team get the job done. At the same time, we have Ospreys on the ships and LCACs inside. If there were an emergency, we might be able to go in and do a rescue. I already have the aircraft carrier Gerald Ford training in the Gulf of Mexico. They could respond on short notice. We’ll keep them back unless we need them. No use getting people too scared. Until you say go, they remain well to the north. But the rest of the group and the amphibs will begin operating much farther south. The port visit in Aruba alone should shake things up,” Johnson said.
The President was grinning now. “Looks like you have thought of a lot these past few days. What about the Air Force?”
General Foote smiled. “I have enough surveillance in the area to tell us if the Venezuelans take to the air, but we don’t have any fighters or bombers in the area. If we started putting them in Colombia, everyone would know about it. We’ll sit this one out and let the boys in crackerjacks handle it.”
“Okay, what’s the next step?” asked the President.
“A lot, sir,” said Richardson. “If we can find out which building the hostages are in, and where the opposing forces all are, we should be able to shove off tomorrow night. That will give us time to get the final planning and equipping done. Keep in mind; this is a quick and dirty. There’s a lot left to chance. We will have done what we can, but you never know what might happen. Despite that, I am very confident in our team and what we have set out. The rest is up to luck,” she said.
The President nodded. “What about you General?” he said to Gray.
General Gray had been sitting back watching the team work. It was amazing how well they still worked together even three years after they had first met. He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing to say. You have before you the means to get our people back and put a real hurt on that son of a bitch who killed one of our people. It’s a good thing I’m not going, or I might ride into Caracas and personally shoot that maniac.”
The people around the table laughed. “Remember what I said a few years ago. It’s still true. Spur us on and we’ll get the job done. It looks like our team is ready. We have excellent ingress and egress. There are backups and contingencies if all hell breaks loose. The worst thing someone could say if everything goes sour is that we tried, and tried damn hard. But now we know who did this. Now we know where he has them. And now we know what we’re going to do to get them back. The blame has shifted from you to him, even though the media types don’t know it yet. Let them wait,” he said.
“The let’s meet just after noon tomorrow and you can brief me on the final plans. “Get the team ready to leave by no later than 6 pm tomorrow. The quicker this happens, the quicker we can all rest soundly. Thank you all for getting the job done,” he said as he stood up from his seat.
The men filed out of the room and the President stopped Jim Butler. “Jim, is Roger coming in tomorrow?”
“Yes sir. Then he’ll shove off back to the ship.”
“Have him stop by. I’d like to see him once more before this starts. If it does go south, I just want him to know I’m here,” he said.
Butler could see the concern in the President’s eyes. They had become the best of friends and he could see that the thought of something happening to Roger and Patricia was troubling him deeply. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Steve. Roger knows we’re doing everything we can. Right now he’s a part of getting this done. That means everything to him. Besides, I doubt he would go back without stopping by to see us,” he said with a grin.
“I guess not, Jim,” the President said. “You going home tonight?”
Butler shook his head. “I’ll be down in the basement. I took over Roger’s old room, remember?”
The President smiled. Hammond had made his own little apartment in the sub-basement of the White house at the start of the last war. Now Butler stayed there when things were getting a little too sticky. “Well, at least I know where I can come when I need a shoulder to cry on,” he quipped.
Both men laughed. There would be little sleep that night, but at least something was finally happening.
The Pentagon
Within an hour, Special Operations Command cut orders to ready a C-17 transport plane to prepare for a mission the following afternoon from Andrews Air Force Base to Boa Vista Air Force Base in Brazil. The orders were classified top secret. The draft of the message had been hand written and one of the communications technicians typed the orders and then sent them back for proofing. Air Force Captain David Ferrell had the watch in the communications center when the message returned and was surprised that the proof was signed by General Richardson herself. It was a fairly detailed message outlining the flight. But of particular interest was it was to carry a 20 man team with equipment, and then return to Andrews without them. There were also direct orders to remain radio silent during the operation except for takeoff and landing.
Ferrell knew exactly what was happening. It was something he had been told to look out for. All his life he had been brought up in a politically active family. They had achieved great wealth through different levels of politics and his grandfather’s influence in the steel industry. When Ferrell had entered the service it was in the hopes that it would further him in a future political career. His father was grooming him to be a future senator. Unfortunately, the wrong man was currently in office and the family was doing everything it could during the current elections to get the opponent in office. It was not so lightly suggested that if he saw anything which might be used against the president, it should be discreetly passed along. Former senator Williamson had personally been grooming the young man and had stressed the importance of what he would be doing for their candidate.
The message was to be sent as an ‘Op Immediate’ priority, so he quickly got it to the message center to be sent out. Afterwards, he left the communications center and walked outside for a breath of air. He walked to the A ring of the Pentagon where the food courts were and walked to a pay phone near the men’s restroom. It was a quick call. By the time he returned with a burger and fries, the message had been sent out. He spent the rest of his watch thinking about how he would enjoy an office in the Senate.
The Compound
The yelling across the courtyard had gotten everyone’s attention. Obviously the sergeant had become upset with someone. After nearly a half an hour of screaming, the door flew open to the sergeant’s office and two guards escorted a third across the courtyard and into the outer room to the cell the prisoners were in. The barred door was opened and the young man thrown bodily into the cell before it was slammed shut. The remaining guard looked slightly sickened, but stood watching the scene.
Although beaten and bleeding, Patricia immediately recognized the young man as the guard she had befriended. Grabbing a relatively clean rag, she soaked it with water from one of the bottles and rushed to his side. She sat beside him and gently turned him over to examine his injuries. Someone had nearly beaten the young man to death. His eyes were badly bruised and swollen, his lips puffed and split, and there were several gashes along his cheeks and forehead. Worst of all, his nose was obviously broken. She eased his head into her lap and began to gently clean his wounds. The other
s helped get the rest of his body positioned to be more comfortable and then stood by to help. Glancing back at the guard, Patricia noticed that there was concern on the young man’s face, but he made no move to stop them.
Through the now small slits between the swollen tissues, the young man’s eyes turned to rest on Patricia’s. He started to move, but she shook her head and eased him back down. “You lay still,” she said. “Let me try to help.”
“It might get you in trouble,” he said through swollen lips.
She smiled at him. “Don’t see how. You’re in with us now.”
He glanced around at the concerned faces around him. “What’s your name,” asked Robert Hudson, kneeling next to him. Patricia translated his question.
“Manuel Donado,” the boy said.
“Well, Manuel, don’t worry about us, we’ll help where we can. What made them do this to you,” Hudson asked.
They could all tell the young man was struggling with something inside as he took a couple of deep breaths. “I asked the sergeant not to assign me to any more special details up at the ceremonial grounds,” he said. “I told him what they were doing was wrong.”
The people looked around at each other. “That doesn’t seem unreasonable to me,” said Hudson. “What kinds of things were they doing?”
“I only went to one,” Donado said. “But El Presidente conducts these big religious ceremonies there. I didn’t know what kind till I got there. It was sickening,” he said.
“It must have been pretty bad,” said Roberts.
Patricia nodded. “He was upset about this yesterday when I talked to him, but he wouldn’t say what it was.” She turned to Donado again. “Please tell us why this made you upset.”
