Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Beret Series)

by Bob Mayer

  Stevens considered this change in his job role. If it's not one thing it's another, he thought. Time for him to start working for a living. "How are we going to know where to hit, sir?"

  "The Colombians have agreed to give us locations through a contact with the CIA."

  Stevens shook his head. "I hate to say it, sir, but this is probably going to be a waste of time. They'll most likely give us abandoned locations or at best the location of one of the small-time free-lancers. There's no way they'll target one of the big boys from the cartel."

  Mullins held up his hand. "The Colombian ambassador promises that we'll get information on the cartel. Alegre's goal is to break the cartel."

  I'll believe it when I see it, Stevens thought. "Sounds good, sir. When do I start?"

  "Tomorrow at ten at Fort Belvoir."

  PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, BOGOTA, COLOMBIA

  6:45 p.m.

  President Alegre looked across the table at the finely dressed man seated there. "More coffee?"

  "No, thank you." The Ring Man leaned back his chair and pulled out a cigar. "So, it is all going as planned?"

  Alegre nodded. "Yes. The Americans have agreed."

  "Good. Excellent."

  Alegre wasn't entirely sure if the man was referring to the international situation or his cigar. The president shifted uncomfortably in his high-backed chair. He didn't like dealing with this man. The Ring Man had burst upon the cartel with devastating ruthlessness a little over four months ago, assassinating his boss, Ahate, in Bogota and taking over the operation. No one even knew his real name. The drug dealer took his name from the gold rings that adorned every finger. Shoulder-length hair, tied behind his head, framed the hatchet-like face. Alegre worried whenever he looked into the eyes that burned out of that face. They didn't seem totally sane.

  "Do you have the targeting information for me?"

  Ring Man passed a piece of paper across the table. "The map coordinates of two labs. One of Suarez's and one of Ramirez's. The timing is rather fortuitous, since my informants tell me both of these labs also hold major stockpiles of produce."

  Alegre fingered the paper. "I hope this will get the Americans off our backs."

  The Ring Man smiled benevolently at the president. "I have some other actions being developed as, shall we say, safeguards." He paused and his benevolence disappeared. "In fact, I am myself trying to find the people who were behind the unfortunate incident last week in America. Such foolish business practices could hurt my operation."

  Alegre looked at the man across from him. His best guess was that Ramirez was responsible for the American massacre, but he wouldn't put it past the Ring Man to have done it himself to put more heat on him to get the Americans involved in this plan and put the pressure of suspicion on the Ramirez family.

  Alegre knew he was playing a dangerous game with the Ring Man. Their goals were different, but for now the paths to their goals remained the same. Alegre wondered what would happen when their paths diverged and Ring Man found out.

  The fact that the Ring Man sat brazenly in his office with impunity was a sign of the drug lord's power, Alegre knew. There was no way Alegre could touch him right now, legally or otherwise. To do so would be tantamount to committing suicide. Ring Man wielded too much power and had legally insulated himself from the dirty end of his business through numerous cutouts and subsidiaries. The man may appear insane but he had a mind of startling cunning. Even if Alegre had enough hard evidence on Ring Man, he seriously doubted he could get a judge to issue a warrant. It would be asking that judge to sign a suicide note.

  The purpose of the meeting accomplished, Alegre stood up and escorted the Ring Man to the door. "I will relay the information through my contact to the Americans."

  The Ring Man smiled coldly at the shorter man. "I hope we can continue to do business together in such an amiable fashion."

  Alegre smiled thinly. "I hope so also."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CIA HEADQUARTERS

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  7:00 P.M.

  Strom surveyed the agent seated across the desk from him. He spoke slowly, making sure every word got across.

  "Agent Westland, you're going to be our representative on the task force that's being formed." He passed a folder across his desk. "This contains your instructions on how to maintain contact with Jameson so he can give you information from Bogota. You're going to be the one relaying that intelligence to the military.

  "It's essential that you check out the information as carefully as possible. Since you'll be operating out of Fort Belvoir you'll have access to the air force imagery unit over there. You can also use anything you need from here. You're authorized to go up to level six on the data you can show the army people. That ought to be more than sufficient. You know Patterson down in graphics?"

  Westland nodded. "Yes, sir. We worked together on the Panama invasion intelligence the year before last."

  Strom steepled his fingers. "Hmm. Yes, that's right. You all did a good job on that operation. The DEA is also going to have their embassy liaison from Colombia attached to the task force. From what I have found out, he might not be too much help. The man's an alcoholic and hasn't done anything worthwhile since he got posted down there. His name is Rich Stevens.

  "The whole operation is going to be run by some army general. Technically he'll be in charge of you, but in reality you report back to me. This whole thing is going to be real tricky, but whatever happens we don't want the cover blown. We've worked hard to keep Alegre in power and we bloody well want to keep him there. I'm sure you're up to date on all that's going on down there and how precarious his situation is.

  "I've ordered Norton, your section chief, to give you an update briefing anyway, just in case. However, he's not to know what you're working on. As of now you're relieved of all your normal duties and responsibilities. The director and I are the only ones, besides you, who are cleared for information on this mission and I want it to stay that way."

  "Yes, sir."

  Strom smiled benevolently at the agent. "This is a great opportunity for you to show us what you can do. I'm sure you won't let us down."

  "No, sir."

  "You need to get over to Norton's office right now. The first targeting information should be coming in tonight and I want you to be ready tomorrow when you meet the rest of the task force over at Belvoir."

  "Yes, sir."

  Strom stood up. "Good luck and keep me informed."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MONDAY, 26 AUGUST

  FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  9:00 A.M.

  Bern Holder, the team's junior engineer, drove the van while Riley sat next to him navigating. Scrunched into the back were the other ten members of the team, along with all their gear. It would have made a great commercial for Chevy carryalls, Riley thought to himself.

  Arriving an hour ago at the post airfield, after flying in from Bragg, the team had picked up the van that was waiting for them there. The sergeant who signed the vehicle over to Riley had handed him a map of the post with a building circled in red. Go there, he told them. The man had shrugged when questioned further. He was just a gofer. He didn't know anything. Riley felt empathy with the man on that score. Since the alert yesterday, all he'd gotten from the group duty officer was information on where to go and when, but no why’s.

  "Turn right here." Riley started counting building numbers.

  "We there yet, Mister Riley?"

  Riley shook his head. He felt like a parent on a long car trip with children whining in the backseat: "We there yet?" Except it sounded a lot worse coming from a captain in the army. During the hustle of getting the team ready to move out yesterday, the team had been assigned six additional bodies to fill out Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) 055, as the team was formally called, to its authorized strength of twelve.

  One of those new bodies was Captain Vaughn, who had nominally taken over as team leader. Riley hadn't had the chance to reall
y talk with the new captain yet. It had been enough hassle just loading out and getting everyone up here to Belvoir. So far, Captain Vaughn had left Riley particularly unimpressed.

  Riley spotted what he was looking for according to the map. "That's it there. Turn in."

  Holder turned the van and they rolled through the gates into a fenced compound. The van pulled up to the front of a two-story brick building that looked as though it had once been some sort of unit headquarters. A sedan with government plates was parked outside.

  Riley turned to Powers, seated behind him. "Let everybody out to stretch their legs but don't unload the gear yet. I'm not sure if we'll be staying here or not. I'll take the captain in and see what we can find out."

  Powers tapped his forehead with two fingers. "Roger that."

  Riley turned to Captain Vaughn. "Let's go in and see what we've got, sir."

  The captain nodded and put his beret on his head. "Let's go." Watching Vaughn struggle to get his new beret adjusted correctly, Riley quietly sighed. A Q-course cherry. Why'd he have to get saddled with that?

  Riley followed the captain through the front door. Standing in the hallway a slender figure was waiting. Riley smiled with genuine delight in recognition. "Congratulations, sir! I didn't know you were on the promotion list."

  Pike shook his head. "I wasn't. It's just temporary for this mission we're going to be running." He looked at the captain. "I'm Mike Pike," he gave a dry laugh, "and you can call me General Pike. I'll be your commander for the duration of this mission."

  Vaughn didn't know whether to salute the general or shake the offered hand. So he quickly snapped to attention and popped off a salute that Pike indulgently returned, and then they shook hands.

  "We aren't going to be busting into nuclear power plants are we?" Riley asked hopefully as the general ushered them into a large room that took up the majority of the first floor of the building.

  "No. This one's a little bit different, Dave. I want to brief you two before the others get here."

  "Others, sir?" Riley asked.

  "Come on in my office and I'll fill you in. This here's the isolation area, and I'm set up in that office to the left," he said, pointing to the first of a series of three doors on the far side of the room.

  Riley hesitated. "Sir, should I tell Powers to have the guys unload their gear?"

  "Yep." Pike pointed. "Up those stairs and to the right are eight rooms with bunks in them. The work area is down here. Might as well get your team settled in."

  Riley went outside and told Powers to have the men move the gear inside. Then he invited Powers to the meeting with the general. Pike hadn't specified bringing Powers in, but the general knew how the team worked. Of course, now that they had a commissioned officer as team leader, things might be changed, but until Vaughn said something different, Riley would keep things the same. Leaving the rest of the team at work, the two walked across the iso area into the small office where Vaughn was trying to exchange small talk with Pike.

  Pike sat behind a standard army-issue desk with several plastic chairs surrounding it. He stood up, seeing the newcomers. "Master Sergeant Powers. Good to see they dragged you along for this trip." Pike came forward with his hand extended. Pike was one of the few senior Special Forces officers whom Powers liked and respected.

  Powers shook the hand. "Didn't have much choice, sir. If I'd have known it was an alert I'd have never answered the phone."

  Pike laughed. "That's the way it goes. I figured you'd be getting bored sitting around at Bragg doing nothing for two whole days, so I thought I'd liven things up for you."

  He gestured around the office. "You all grab chairs and let me tell you what's going on." He waited until they were settled. "I just moved into this building last night, which was also when I got picked for this job. So I've only got a twelve-hour head start on this thing."

  Pike steepled his fingers and placed his elbows on the desktop. "Our mission is to conduct unilateral interdiction missions into Colombia against cocaine processing laboratories."

  Riley's heartbeat kicked up its pace for a few seconds and then settled down.

  Pike continued. "These missions are sanctioned by the Colombian government; in fact, they're the ones who will be supplying the information we'll use to find our targets. However, the timing and method will be completely up to us and we'll receive no assistance from the Colombian government or military. I'm not sure how many of these missions we'll be conducting or the duration of this task force.

  "We'll be getting a CIA and a DEA liaison here in about a half hour who will support this operation. The CIA rep will be bringing the first couple of potential targets and will provide us with CIA and NSA intelligence and imagery. I've got contacts in the Department of Defense from each of the services providing us with whatever support we request. The DEA man is the DEA embassy liaison from Colombia and can give us firsthand information on the in-country situation."

  It was all sinking in slowly. Riley processed each piece of information separately, trying to come up with the whole picture. "Who else from the military, sir?"

  Pike indicated the building about them. "We're it right now. Whatever specific support we need, we request on a case by case basis. This task force is supposed to be kept quiet to the max. I received a personal briefing from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff last night on the political sensitivity of these missions. Each one has to get personally approved by the chairman himself before it can go.

  "In reality, you're the verifying and targeting team. We need somebody on the ground to make sure the right target gets hit and that it is legitimate. We've got the resources of the entire Department of Defense to make the hit with—that's the hammer. You could say that you men and your team are the eyes of the hammer. And when I say hammer, I mean it. The targets are going to be a free-fire zone. Once you verify, everything and everybody in it is expendable."

  "You mean we kill everybody," Powers clarified. Riley smiled. That was one reason he brought Powers to meetings. The burly team sergeant reduced the bureaucratic jargon to terms everyone understood.

  Pike nodded. "Everybody. This administration means business about drugs. You want facts and figures, they gave me a whole book full last night—about the number of Americans who die each year from drugs and drug-related crime, and all that. After what happened in Springfield, Virginia, this past week, there are a lot of pissed-off people in the government. General Macksey told me that as far as this administration is concerned, it's war."

  Riley shook his head. "Yes, sir, but even in war we couldn't just waste everybody in a certain area. What if there are women and kids there? What if the drug people are forcing peasants to do their work?"

  "Technically, Dave, if it's a processing laboratory, it gets blasted. In reality, that decision is up to you on the ground." Pike looked them in the eyes. "That's why I picked 055. I trust your judgment and I'll back you up on whatever you do."

  Riley glanced over at his new team leader, who seemed a little overwhelmed with all that had been said. They didn't teach situations like this in the Special Forces qualification course, Riley thought to himself. This was the real thing.

  Riley turned back to Pike. "Do we have anything in writing, sir? Or are we going to do all this on a promise from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs that we'll be taken care of? I'm concerned that if this leaks to the media we'll get fingered as murderers or some crap like that. I don't want to be left hanging in the wind, particularly if something goes wrong down south and someone gets stuck there."

  Pike let out a deep breath. "To be honest I don't know how much support you'd get if this thing blew up. I haven't seen anything in writing other than this authorization order from the chairman to alert and use DOD forces. It doesn't specify for what purpose or where those forces would be used. You know I'll back you up, but as far as official reaction goes, you know as well as I do that it's going to depend on the circumstances. All I can do is guarantee you that if your ass is
in the wind, mine will be right out there next to yours."

  Figures, Riley thought. It really didn't matter. Promises were only worth the paper they were printed on. If this thing blew up, there'd be elbows flying all over D.C. as the politicos tried to cover their butts. Pike's word was worth more than any paper they'd ever get.

  Riley sorted the pieces out again and examined his initial feelings. It was a good, worthwhile mission. One that most experienced men in 7th Group had figured would come along sooner or later in one form or another. Riley had heard rumors that Task Force 160 and Delta Force were doing some drug interdicting off the coast of Florida. No arrests or any of that legalese. The law of the bullet on the high seas, out of everyone's jurisdiction.

  Riley didn't need to look at Pike's book of figures to know about drugs. He'd grown up on the streets of the South Bronx, where he'd seen firsthand the effects of drugs. It wasn't an abstract thing that he read about in the papers or saw on TV and thought: "How awful." Riley had lost boyhood friends to drugs. He'd seen the bodies and the families torn apart. He also knew that, but for the army and Special Forces, there was a damn good chance he'd have been one of those statistics. Fighting drugs was a cause that could make a man feel good about himself and his job.

  Riley briefly remembered China—a little over two years ago now. There he'd given his blood, and half a year recovering in a hospital, on a mission that had ultimately meant little, except to the men and women who had participated. The lines had been blurred there—here the lines seemed crystal clear.

  The question Riley now pondered was: how effective would all this be? Even if they shut down some labs, the addicts would still get their stuff one way or another. The price may go up, but as long as the demand existed, and people were willing to pay a lot of money, someone would always be willing to take the risks to meet the demand. On the other hand, Riley reasoned, doing nothing was tantamount to throwing your hands up and saying, "I'm defeated." That was something Riley had never said in his life and he wasn't about to start now.