by Bob Mayer
Finishing his studying he looked up. "Thursday night's too soon. With this amount of intelligence I can't move that fast. I'm going to need to put some surveillance on that villa, and I won't be able to do that tonight. If I'm able to eyeball it all night tomorrow night, I'll still need some time to plan. Friday night's the earliest I could hope to do anything, and that's only if I spot a weakness I can exploit."
Strom considered this for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Thursday night. We can't go any further than that."
Westland spoke for the first time. "Why not?"
Strom swung his imperious gaze over to her. "My dear girl, there are more things going on than this simple operation." He turned back to Riley. "However, the main reason is that Alegre is under intense pressure from Ring Man. We're afraid there may be a counterplot by Ring Man to assassinate President Alegre. We can't afford to have that happen. The sooner Ring Man is out of the picture, the better."
That's all fine and good, thought Riley, except for the fact that a half-assed attempt to hit Ring Man was more likely to end with himself dead rather than Ring Man. "What about backup or equipment? Can I get some more bodies if I need them?"
Strom showed his sly smile again. "We've decided to go along with your request and send Westland with you as your liaison and to help with your cover. If you need equipment or information, she'll be your contact with our local agent down there. She's already been briefed on how to make that contact."
Riley pressed. "What about extra people?"
"My dear boy, she is your extra people."
Which meant, Riley knew, that the CIA had a cover story in the event she was exposed. By keeping the in-country team to Riley and her, the CIA could cut its losses if the whole thing blew up.
He looked through the folder one more time. There wasn't much there, and he realized he wasn't going to get anything worthwhile out of this smiling bureaucrat. He was also getting real tired of the "dear boy" crap. Riley scooped up the envelope with his new identity and opened it.
His new name was Roberto Gonzalo. He was a cabdriver from New York City. His union card was there along with a driver's license, social security card, credit card, and photos of his wife. Riley looked over at his new wife. "Who are you?"
"Catherine Gonzalo. I'm a secretary at Misericordia Hospital in New York and we live in the Bronx."
Riley nodded. He wasn't sure how much Kate knew about her background, but he was very familiar with it. "Yeah. We live at 1846 Arnow Avenue. I know that neighborhood. Not too bad. Hopefully, we won't run into anyone who knows New York better than me. I'll tell you about it on the way to the airport." He gathered his documents and stood up. "Let's get going."
Kate halted. "Wait a second. What's our cover for being there? I mean, why are two New Yorkers going down to Bogota?"
Strom shrugged. "Up to you, dear girl. Tourists is the easiest."
Riley shook his head. "No. We're going there for a baby."
Westland stared in surprise. "A baby?"
"Yeah, a baby. Cocaine's not the only thing you can buy on the black market down there. And since my beautiful wife is unable to have a baby, we're going shopping for one."
KENNEDY AIRPORT, NEW YORK
6:37 P.M.
Riley found himself sinking lower into the hard plastic box that masqueraded as a seat in the foreign departures waiting area. Five hours' sleep just wasn't enough after the recent events. Just twenty-four hours ago he'd been bouncing around on the Gulf of Mexico with the rest of his team. Now four were dead and Powers was missing.
Riley felt only a shadow of the pain he had felt this morning when he thought of that. There was no time for it now. The grieving could come later. Right now he had a job to do. He glanced over at Westland. She looked exhausted also. Her eyes were half closed and her head was playing the bobbing game.
Riley sat up and tapped her. "We'll miss our flight if both of us fall asleep. We'll have five hours to sleep on the plane."
Westland yawned and got up. "Want some coffee? We've got probably fifteen minutes before they call our flight." Riley nodded and followed her toward the concourse.
They'd added forty minutes to their flight time by catching the shuttle up to New York from D.C., but it made sense for them to arrive in Colombia on a flight from New York. It fit their cover.
Riley was impressed with the thought and energy that had gone into their covers. Someone had actually taken the time to review both his and Westland's backgrounds to find a location in which they had both spent some time. It turned out that Westland had gone to college at New York University in Greenwich Village and thus was familiar with the city. Riley hoped all that information wouldn't be needed.
After grabbing a cup of coffee, they headed back to the waiting area. As they passed the bar Riley halted and peered in at the television. The logo for CNN had just flashed across the screen. He glanced at his watch. It was almost the half hour. "Let's see if there's anything more in the news on Colombia or the accident."
They stood outside the entrance, sipping their coffee, waiting through a few commercials. Riley edged closer when the announcer came on with an outline of Colombia highlighted behind him. Riley strained to catch the words.
"Late today a videotape was delivered to El Tiempo, a Colombian newspaper, showing the bodies of four men wearing scuba diving dry suits. A letter delivered with the video claims that the four men were members of the U.S. military and had been killed attacking Colombian nationals near the city of Barranquilla. The video is in the possession of the Colombian government and has not yet been released. We have a report from Bogota that the U.S. ambassador is meeting with Colombian officials to discuss the matter.
"There are rumors that the tape and letter were made by members of the Colombian drug cartel and delivered to the newspaper as a warning against a recent crackdown by the government.
"We switch you now to Henry Lowell, our correspondent at the Pentagon, for more on this story."
The picture now showed a reporter standing with the Pentagon in the background.
"Jim, the Pentagon has declined to comment on the report. However, earlier today, the Pentagon issued a news bulletin indicating that five U.S. servicemen had been killed in a helicopter crash in the Gulf of Mexico near the coast of Colombia during what the Pentagon described as routine training. Whether these men are the same as the ones in the video remains unclear. The names of the men involved are still being held pending notification of next of kin; however, I have been informed by an undisclosed source that the men were from Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
"Fort Bragg is the home of the elite antiterrorist Delta Force. The possibility exists that these men may indeed have been from this unit and may have been involved in some sort of antidrug operation near Colombia. Even if it was just an accident during training, as the Pentagon claims, how their bodies ended up in the hands of the drug cartel is unknown at this time."
The scene shifted back to the studio.
"Thank you, Henry. CNN will keep you updated on this story as more information becomes available.
"Colombia is also in the headlines tonight as violence continues to escalate in that country. Three bombs exploded in the city of Medellin today and four people were killed, including one policeman.
"This violence is the reaction of the drug cartel against measures imposed by the government to crack down on their lucrative business. This brings to twelve the number of people who have been killed there in the last two days.
"On other fronts, in the Soviet Republic of.. ."
Riley grabbed Westland and hustled her away from the screen back to their chairs. Riley scanned the waiting area. There was no one within twenty feet. He lowered his voice and put his head close to hers. "Looks like Ring Man is making a point. Wonder how your boss is going to explain the bodies having little bullet holes in them and being on Colombian land rather than in the ocean?"
Westland shrugged. "Did you notice that they mentioned only four bod
ies, not five?"
"Yeah, I noticed." Riley looked her in the eyes. "I think Powers is still alive. When we get down there I want you to get a copy of that tape. We need to see if his is one of the bodies."
If Westland wondered what that had to do with hitting the Ring Man, she didn't mention it, for which Riley was grateful. Maybe she would go along with what he had planned. He stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."
Westland nodded wearily. "We board in ten minutes."
Riley walked down the curving corridor until he was out of sight of Westland. Then he went up to the first pay phone he saw. He rapidly punched in eleven numbers and waited for the operator. "I'd like to make a collect call. The name's Riley."
While he waited for the operator to make the connection, he prayed that someone would be home on the other end. Finally he heard the receiver lift and the answerer accept the charges. Riley was quick and to the point. "I can't talk long. I'm about to take a flight down south."
"Down south? Where you just were?"
"Roger that. Did you see the story about the video on the news?"
"Yes."
"I think he's alive."
"I agree."
"Do you know what my status is right now?"
"No. You're not going down there on your own, are you?"
"No. It's worse than that. I'm being sponsored by you know who. You need to check on what Department of the Army has to say about my status. I think I'm going to need your help. This thing is really flaky."
"Whatever you need, you got. I'll check on my end. If you have to talk to me from down there, you might be able to use the STU-III at the embassy if you can get to it. The army military attaché may be able to help you—he's a good man."
Riley prepared to hang up. "I've got to go. I'll be in contact."
"Hold on a second! Just one thing. What do they want you to do?"
"Terminate the Ring Man."
"Jesus! You're going to need help. I'll see what I can work on up here."
"Thanks. But make it quick. I only have till Thursday night." Riley hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TUESDAY, 3 SEPTEMBER
BOGOTA
1:18 A.M.
The hotel was three blocks away from the American embassy. American travelers did like to have the embassy close by, but Riley still felt that the close location showed some laziness on the part of the CIA. It did put Westland close enough to make contact with Jameson without much difficulty. She was set up to meet him later this morning at a nearby restaurant. At the meeting, hopefully, she'd coordinate pickup of the equipment Riley had requested.
At the moment she was unpacking her bag and storing the few clothes she had brought, while Riley stalked about the room, inspecting it. A queen-sized bed took up the middle of the room, and an old, stuffed armchair stood near the sliding, glass doors that opened onto their second-floor balcony. Riley glanced around the curtains. The balcony itself held two chairs and a tiny table. Their window looked out onto an alley rather than the main street. A drab modern office building dominated the view.
Riley turned back to face the room. Westland was perched on the edge of the bed. Riley didn't need to read minds to see that she obviously had something on hers.
"What do you want to do about sleeping arrangements?" she asked.
Riley smiled. That was by far the least of his worries right now.
"Personally I prefer sleeping. Unfortunately that's not in the cards tonight for me. You get some z's. I've got some things I've got to do."
Westland stood up. "Are you going to let me in on your plan? I am supposed to be your partner here."
Riley slid open the balcony door. "See you before dawn." Before she could get to the balcony he had swung over the railing and dropped to the deserted alley below.
He glanced back once before he turned the corner and saw her silhouetted against the light from the room. I'll have to talk to her about that, Riley mused, as he moved through the streets. He counted corners, following the directions he had memorized from the street map on the flight down.
It was cool in Bogota. Over eight thousand feet in altitude made for a significant drop in the temperature compared to the coastal plain. Riley zipped his black windbreaker up to his neck. He wore an old pair of loose-fitting jeans, a gray New York Knicks T-shirt, and a pair of beat-up work boots. The boots were a special design custom-made for him during a tour of duty in Korea. The toes were pointed and reinforced with steel. Thin steel reinforcing ridges were placed under the rubber sole along the outside edges. They weren't the most comfortable things to wear but were quiet and devastating when used as weapons, amplifying the effects of his kicks.
Riley felt as though he was back home in the South Bronx, running the streets. In the South Bronx, late at night, the police didn't respond to trouble and those who went out were on their own. Bogota had that same feeling of lawlessness. People did what they had to do to survive—the strong ruled at night and the weak hid. Riley planned on being one of the former.
Turning a final corner, Riley spotted his destination. He had considered various plans of action, but realizing that time was short, he decided on the direct approach. He went up to the doors of the Embassy Cafe and pushed them open.
An aging Colombian man, one side of his face lined with an old scar, looked up from where he was mopping the floor. "I'm closed," he said in Spanish.
Riley took in the rest of the bar. Perfect. It was just the two of them. He replied in the same language. "That's all right. I'm not thirsty."
The man looked up at the strange accent. "You are not from here. Are you a gringo?"
"I'm from New York. I have business down here."
The man's interest went back to the floor. Another goddamn gringo— probably from the embassy, although he spoke pretty good Spanish and looked native. The old man filed the information away for possible future use. "I am still closed."
Riley walked over to the bar and took a stool. "I'm looking for someone and thought you might be able to help."
The man continued his work and spoke in a weary monotone. "I am not open. I cannot serve you. There is nothing else I can do for you."
Riley placed $50 U.S. on the bar.
The man glanced up but didn't stop his listless mopping. "I do not work for Americans. Go back across the street to your little hole."
"I am not from the embassy. I just flew in tonight from my home in New York. The name's Martinez. I heard you might be able to put me in contact with someone who can give me the information I need."
The man hung the mop on the wall and trudged behind the bar. With a swipe of his rag the $50 disappeared. "Who?"
"A woman named Maria."
The old man regarded him for a few seconds. "What can she tell you?"
"I need information on babies."
"Babies?" The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Babies."
The old man shook his head. The Ring Man didn't deal in babies and he surely would not like an American asking about Maria. These gringos were crazy. "Come back tomorrow at one in the afternoon."
Riley nodded his appreciation and headed for the door. It wasn't likely that the old man knew what Maria had been doing there, but Riley was sure of one thing. The word that a strange American was looking for Maria would be forwarded to somebody. With any luck he'd find out who tomorrow.
6:25 A.M.
Westland practically stepped on Riley as she slid out of bed. He was lying on the floor on the bathroom side of the bed, covered by a light blanket. She looked at him sleeping there for a few seconds. She hadn't heard him come in. It was a scary feeling knowing that someone could enter the room without her even knowing it.
She threw on her robe and padded quietly into the bathroom. When she came back out, Riley was dressed and seated at the small table on the balcony.
"I've already ordered from room service. Left the little card on the door. Should be here in about five
minutes."
"What time did you get in?"
"About two thirty."
"Where did you go?"
"Checking on some things."
Westland took a deep, exasperated breath. "Are we going to play twenty questions? Are you going to let me in on the plan? We are—"
She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Riley got up and squeezed past her. "Excuse me."
He opened the door and relieved the bellboy of his tray. He carried it past her and laid it on the table. Westland stared at him while he prepared his coffee and took a satisfying sip. "Ah. I'm not worth a damn until I get some coffee in me." He waved at the other chair. "Care to join me?"
Westland gave up. She slumped down into the chair and poured herself a cup.
Riley took another drink and then turned to her. "All right. I'll tell you as much as you need to know. First off, like I told you last night, I don't think Powers is dead. Finding him is my number one priority. I wouldn't even be telling you that if I didn't think I could trust you not to squeal on me.
"Second, I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to take out the Ring Man the way things stand right now. He's sitting in a defensive position. I have to go attack him. In military terms it's considered appropriate to have a force superiority of three to one when attacking someone in an established defensive position. In case you haven't noticed, we don't quite have that, so I figure we have to try another approach."
"What's the plan?"
Riley shrugged. "Haven't quite figured that out yet. Depends on what happens. We're going to have to play this by ear and react quickly when we get an opening. There's a lot of forces in motion down here and we have to try to arrange them in our favor as much as possible. I'm going to do some pushing and see what pushes back.
