by Bob Mayer
"Oh, thank you, Rich. Thank you."
Stevens hung up the phone and went over to the duty officer. "I need you to cover for me for a little while. I have to go take care of something."
The duty officer winked knowingly. "Yeah, sure. You want me to monitor your net?"
Stevens shook his head. The man wasn't cleared for it. "No. Nothing's going to be happening in there for a while. I'll be back before then."
Stevens left the embassy and went across the street. He looked in the front door of the cafe. Everything looked all right. He wondered what the hell was the matter with Maria. Goddamn women. They got upset at the stupidest things. He hoped she wasn't going to pull some sort of "marry me" bullshit. Christ, he thought suddenly, she'd better not be pregnant. He'd be damned if he would take responsibility for that. She'd told him she was on the pill.
Stevens headed around to the back and stopped as another thought hit him. Maybe her uncle had found out about the two of them and was waiting back there to beat the crap out of the Yankee who was porking his niece. Stevens smiled grimly to himself. If that was the case then the guy had another thing coming. He loosened his snub nose revolver in his waist holster and strode around the corner. He peered into the dark trying to see.
He started as a figure came out of the shadows. It was Maria. She looked very anxious. Stevens relaxed a little.
"Rich! I am happy you come. Follow me."
"Whoa! Where're we going and what's the problem?"
"Just come here and I will tell you."
Stevens allowed her to lead him farther into the alley. Suddenly he had the feeling they weren't alone. His worries about her uncle resurfaced. He wheeled. Two men stood there holding nasty-looking submachine guns.
Jesus Christ, thought Stevens. That's a hell of a lot of firepower to bring to bear on a guy just for going out with a girl. He forgot any thought he might have had about pulling his revolver. He turned to Maria. "What's going on? Who are these guys?"
She stepped forward, reached calmly under his jacket, and removed his revolver. "Shut up, gringo, and come this way."
COAST OF COLOMBIA
8:30 P.M.
Riley heard Hobbes through the headset. "This is it. As close as I can figure to where you want."
"Roger. Get down to ten and ten. Drop on my thumbs-up. Thanks." Riley liked that this target was just in from the coast, so they could infiltrate and exfiltrate by water. He felt it was much safer than either parachuting or going in direct with helicopters. Plus, by using the regular Blackhawk with no advance warning for infiltration, they had cut out a lot of people knowing where the target was or even that an operation was being mounted.
The two pilots would know the general area, but they had an almost three-hour flight back to Panama and they would be met by military police when they landed. Pike had arranged with the SOUTHCOM commander for the MPs to hold the two pilots for the night. Riley felt sorry for the warrant but he wished the captain could be held for a couple extra days.
"Roger. Good luck," Hobbes offered. The captain said nothing.
Riley took off the headset. The helicopter began flying about ten feet above the water, with a forward speed of ten knots. Riley slid open the right cargo door while Powers opened the left.
The men sat on the edge, three to a side, their waterproofed rucksacks in their laps. Riley turned back toward the pilots. Hobbes was looking at him over her shoulder. Riley gave her a thumbs-up and she hit the release on her cyclic.
The Zodiac dropped away from the aircraft and hit the water. Two at a time, one from each side, the members of Eyes Three quickly followed. The first pair, Partusi and Holder, landed within five meters of the boat. Riley was the last one off the right side. He threw out his ruck and shoved himself off the deck. As he descended he twisted in the air so that his back faced the flight direction. He put his hands behind his neck, interlacing his fingers, and touched his elbows together in front of his face. The ten-knot forward speed and the fall combined to slam him into the water, causing him to lose his breath momentarily. He popped to the surface and looked around. With a last flyby, the Blackhawk disappeared into the night sky, leaving him with the sound of the waves.
Riley put on his fins in the water and then headed for the Zodiac. Reaching it he clambered on board. Partusi, as first man on the raft, had already checked for gas fumes to make sure the fuel bladders had not leaked during the trip or drop.
As soon as everyone was on board, Riley broke out the MANPADS and checked their position.
Powers looked over his shoulder. "How we doing?"
Riley nodded. "Good. We're only about eight klicks west of where we should be." He pulled out a chart and a red-lens flashlight and plotted, confirming the readout from the MANPADS. "We go that way."
While Riley had been plotting, Partusi had locked the engine onto the rear. At Riley's direction, Partusi fired it up. Riley sat on one side of the rear and navigated while Partusi drove. The forty-horsepower short-shaft engine initially lifted the bow of the Zodiac, but as the boat picked up speed it flattened out and planed across the waves.
OUTSKIRTS OF BOGOTA
9:00 P.M.
It didn't take a large leap of imagination on Rich Stevens's part to realize that he was in big trouble. The fact that he had been blindfolded, thrown in the back of a car, and driven for twenty minutes to his present location was only the beginning. Now he was tied to a chair in the middle of a warehouse. His arms were bound flat down on the arms of the chair and his chest was against the back. The chair itself was bolted to the concrete floor. Stevens knew he wasn't going anywhere without permission.
The two men guarding him looked as if they'd like nothing better than to empty their submachine guns into him. The DEA agent had been in some hairy situations in his career but never one where he felt so afraid and helpless.
He heard footsteps behind him, and three people walked around into his field of vision. Stevens stared at Maria, who was trailing two other men. She stared back with the hint of a smile on her face. The lead man stood in front of him. Stevens noted that the man had rings on every finger. Suddenly one of those hands flew out and struck him on the side of the face. Stevens tasted blood.
"Where and when is the raid coming tonight?"
Stevens stared at the man in confusion. How could the man know there was an attack tonight? The man must have interpreted his hesitation as defiance, because he reached forward, grabbed Stevens's face with one hand, and tilted his head up so he looked into his eyes.
"You will talk to me, pig. You will tell me what I want to know. The stupider you act, the more it will hurt, but you will eventually talk. Everyone does."
The man let go of him and nodded to the other man who accompanied him. This man, a short, squat, ugly fellow, pulled a meat cleaver out of the gym bag he had carried in. Stevens watched in confusion and growing fear as the man calmly walked over. He talked to one of the guards in Spanish. The guard grabbed Stevens's left hand and curled in all the fingers except the ring finger. Stevens stared in mesmerized horror as the cleaver flashed down and severed his finger. He was initially too shocked to feel the pain. He watched the blood squirt out of the stump. Then he screamed as the pain hit him.
The man with the rings grabbed his face again. "Where and when will the raid occur?"
Stevens was still too stunned to reply. It was all moving too fast. His mind hadn't caught up to the reality of his predicament. It seemed like a terrible dream, but the pain from his missing finger convinced him that it wasn't. The man with the cleaver moved forward and nodded at the other guard. Stevens futilely tried fighting as the man grabbed his hand and extended the middle finger.
"No!" The man in charge stepped forward. Stevens felt a moment of relief. They had finally come to their senses. "We do not have time to waste. We need the information now."
A soft voice spoke up. "I know what to do."
Stevens watched as Maria stepped forward. "Untie him and hold him up." The
two guards did as instructed. She reached forward, undid his belt, and unzipped his pants. She pulled down his pants and underpants and grabbed him between the legs.
Maria smiled at him, a smile full of malice. "Why are you not growing hard like you always did when I grabbed you here before?" She turned to the man who had cut off Stevens's finger. "Give me the cleaver."
Stevens's fear overflowed his dike of professionalism. "Barranquilla! They'll be in position by one in the morning. The attack is supposed to occur at three."
Maria let go of him and stepped back. The two guards threw Stevens back in the chair. The man in apparent command came forward. "I need more information. How many men? How are they coming in and leaving? How will they destroy the lab?"
Stevens slumped down in the chair, staring numbly at his severed finger lying on the floor. "Six men. I don't know how they are getting in and out. Probably helicopter. They'll use either helicopter gunships or an air force gunship to destroy the target."
"How did your people find out the lab's location?"
Stevens shrugged. "Some contact through the CIA."
The man with the rings grabbed Stevens's face again. "That can't be. Don't lie to me."
Stevens protested weakly. "All I know is that someone contacts the CIA through a cutout down here, and they forward the information to Washington. It's been the same for all three missions."
BOGOTA
9:00 P.M.
Peter Dotson, the communications man on watch duty for the embassy, looked at the clock on the wall with growing concern and irritation. Stevens should have been back an hour ago. What the hell happens if someone calls booth one and Stevens isn't there to answer?
Dotson swore to himself. He sure as hell wasn't going to cover for the drunken asshole. The guy was probably out with that local woman from the Embassy Cafe. Dotson had seen the two of them talking in the cafe. He wondered what the hell she saw in the old DEA agent. He pictured the two together. He could easily see what Stevens saw in the woman.
Dotson looked at the clock again. He'd give it another thirty minutes. Then he'd have to do something about the net Stevens was supposed to be monitoring.
9:48 P.M .
Dotson looked at the clock again. His self-imposed deadline had passed almost twenty minutes ago and he had done nothing. His stomach was churning. He didn't like the idea of raising the red flag, even if he thought Stevens was a jerk. Leaving a top secret net was a serious violation, especially when it looked as though it had been for unofficial reasons. Dotson didn't like the idea of destroying someone's career. Still...
He looked at the clock again. He forced himself to change his nervousness to anger. Stevens knew better. He had put his own ass in the crack and it wasn't Dotson's fault if he had to report him. Hell, it was his job.
Despite his resolution to grow angry, Dotson approached the comm booth reluctantly. The shit was going to hit the fan. He opened the door and sat down, then he put the boom mike on his head and keyed it. "Any station this net, this is Echo Oscar Five. Over."
He waited a few seconds and then repeated. "Any station this net, this is Echo Oscar Five. Over."
"Echo Oscar Five, this is Hammer Base. Am I correct in your call sign? Are you the comm duty officer in Bogota? Where's Lantern? Over."
"Roger on my call sign. This is the duty officer. If by Lantern you mean Stevens, he left here about two hours ago. That's why I'm coming up on this net. It's been left unmonitored for that time period. Over."
FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA
9:49 P.M.
Westland looked across the room at Pike. He had heard the last broadcast and the surprised look on his face echoed what Westland was feeling. "Where is Stevens? Over."
"I don't know. He received a phone call just before he left. Said he would be back in a little while. That was almost two hours ago. Over."
Westland keyed the mike. "Wait one. Over." She turned to Pike. "What do we do now?"
The general rubbed his hand over his chin. "I don't know. We can abort, but I'd hate to do that right now. They're already on their way in and have left the helicopter by now." A thought seemed to strike him. "Shit! We can't even contact them now anyway. They're in the water and won't come up on the SATCOM until they cross the beach and radio in their initial entry report."
Westland nodded. "Let's see if we can track down Stevens before then." She turned to the radio. "Echo Oscar Five, this is Hammer Base. Get Jameson. I want him on this net in five mikes. Over."
"Roger that. Jameson in five mikes. Over."
Pike grabbed his STU-III classified phone. "I'm going to get the gunship in the air now," he said as he dialed Panama.
BARRANQUILLA, COLOMBIA
10:06 P.M.
Holding his rucksack, Riley fell backward off the side of the low-lying boat. Once in the water, he let go of the ruck and allowed it to float behind him on a six-foot line. Five of the members of Eyes Three gathered in the water and hooked together using a safety line and snap links. Powers was still on board. He turned all the valves in the boat to open, allowing air to pass between the five chambers. He then opened up a one-way bleed valve. Air rushed out of the boat as Powers slid overboard and joined the rest of the team.
The boat settled lower and lower in the water; finally the engine pulled it under and it sank. The only thing that remained where the boat had been was a small black float. It was attached to the Zodiac with a length of line and marked the boat's grave on the bottom, fifteen feet below the surface.
The safety line tied around Riley's waist tugged gently as the rest of the team floated behind him. Riley turned back seaward and tapped the man next to him, gesturing toward the shore. Holder nodded and, with Lane, unhooked from the safety line and started finning toward the shore, two hundred meters away.
Riley lost sight of the two men when they were only ten meters away. With just their masked heads above the surface of the water, the swimmers were virtually invisible. Riley patiently finned in place, using the silhouettes of the mountains behind the beach to judge his relative position. The run in had gone faster than expected. After the two-man security team had reconnoitered the landing site, they could move in.
Finally, after ten minutes, Riley spotted the brief flash of a green chem light coming from the wood line across from the beach. All clear. He tugged on the safety line and the remaining four members of Eyes Three started finning in toward the light.
Fifty meters from shore Riley turned over and started swimming slowly on his stomach, careful not to allow his fins to break the surface. Despite the security team's safe signal he was still cautious. When he felt the sand of the bottom come up he allowed the waves to slide him as far forward as they could onto the beach. The other three members beached themselves to his right. Riley slid back into the water and removed the fins from the man to his right, slipping the back loops over his wrist. He crawled forward and let that man do the same for him. Then Riley put his ruck on his back.
Carefully, Riley slid the hood down from around his head and listened to the night air. Nothing but the sounds of surf and the night creatures in the wood line ahead. Three hundred meters off to his left, he could see the small wooden dock that was the reference point. They had landed in the proper spot.
Riley received a nudge from the right telling him all were ready. With a careful glance each way down the beach, he stood up quickly and sprinted across the sand toward the wood line. The rest of the team followed. He broke into the trees and was immediately grabbed by Lane, one of the two security men who had swum in earlier. "We're clear to fifty meters. No sign of anything."
Riley nodded and quickly stuffed the fins into his backpack. He removed the night-vision goggles and his MP5 submachine gun from their waterproof wrappings, strapped on a shoulder holster, and replaced the .45 Colt automatic he had been carrying in his hand. He waited patiently as each man prepared his weapon. Powers was still carrying his trademark AK-47. Lane bolted together the massive Haskins .50-calibe
r sniper rifle. While they were doing this, the two security men had gone back out on the beach and obscured the trail across the sand.
All was ready. Riley checked the glowing dial of his watch: 2223. Another hour to target.
FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA
10:30 P.M.
"I've got marines in civvies checking all the local places where Stevens could be. We're getting nothing out of the bartender from the Embassy Cafe where the girl Stevens was with works. He's saying nothing and we really can't put too much heat on him considering we're in his country. Over."
Westland stared at the radio in frustration. Jameson's words only reinforced the growing bad feeling she had in her stomach. "Where do you think Stevens is then? Over."
Westland could almost see Jameson shrug as the reply came back. "He probably went out to catch a quick snort and maybe a quick piece of ass, if you'll pardon the expression. Never should have had a goddamn alcoholic on this mission in the first place. Over."
Westland shook her head. She looked at Pike, who angrily gestured at the radio. "Tell them to find him."
She keyed the mike again. "Keep looking. We need to find him. You stay on this net and monitor for him. Out." She turned to Pike. "What do you suggest, General?"
Pike sighed. "I don't like it. We all knew Stevens had problems but I didn't think he'd do something like this. We abort. If it's nothing, we can try again later, but if it isn't, they're in big trouble."
Westland was relieved to find that Pike was thinking the same way she was. "I agree. As soon as we get their initial entry report, we'll tell them to abort."
BARRANQUILLA
11:34 P.M.
Riley slowly edged forward through the dense vegetation, moving one stealthy step at a time toward the target, which should be just over the next piece of slightly higher ground. Since leaving the beach, their route had taken them through swampland interspersed with small areas of higher dry ground.
