“How did they get onto her?”
“The FBI said they couldn’t tell me, but that they had been watching her for a month or more. Watching all of us. They came early this morning when I arrived. Xenia was still sleeping. They rousted her out. Had a search and arrest warrant, searched her room, found an old master copy, and took her and the painting downtown.”
“You talked to them first?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You knew she was doing the copy work?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“And you spilled your guts to the feds, didn’t you, you slimeball. Without you they probably couldn’t have arrested her. Did she have the fraudulent painting hidden?”
“Yes.”
“And you told them where it was. You little fucking bastard.”
Bradford hit him with a punch that came so fast, Rollo didn’t have time to dodge it. The blow caught him on the side of his head and slammed him to the floor. He looked up with surprise and anger.
“So what did you tell them about me, you traitor?” Bradford said.
“You? Nothing.” He scooted backward on the floor toward the door. “Nothing about you. You don’t do copies.”
“So you’re the one who’s been searching through my studio when I’m not there.”
“Hey, just once. I needed some good canvas and you usually had more than you needed.”
“Yeah, sure. What’s important now is how can we help Xenia.”
Rollo stood cautiously. “You’re not going to hit me again?”
“No. If I did, I’d probably keep right on hitting you until your face was a bloody mush and your brains were spilling out a big crack in your lousy fucking skull. How can we help Xenia?”
“Bail? I couldn’t help her there. They want ten percent of the bail price for a bond. Not a chance with me.”
“You tell them I was sleeping with her?”
“Yes, but I said I did too. So that cooled that down.”
“You’re a real bastard, Rollo. And a fucking bad painter. You should stick to living rooms, one-story apartments, and fences.”
Bradford turned, put his brushes back in the jar of water, and at the door, turned off the lights.
“Stay out of my way, Rollo. Then I won’t have to kill you.” Bradford pushed past the startled artist and hurried down the stairs. He wondered if the FBI had had a search warrant and raided his apartment. When he drove home to the second-floor, three-room apartment in Coronado, he found that the FBI had been there. The landlady met him.
“Nothing I could do,” Mrs. Chalmers said. She was about forty, round and plump, with thick glasses and a limp. “They had a warrant, so I opened the door for them so they didn’t break it down.”
Inside, he found they had been neat. Everything had been moved, then replaced. Even the pictures on the wall had been lifted and checked behind. Most were not rehung straight. Mrs. Chalmers stood in the doorway.
“I watched them. I told them if they weren’t neat about the search, I’d find out where they lived and phone their mothers. One laughed, the other shut him up. They were neat.”
“Did they take away anything?”
“Not that I saw. Anything missing?”
“Not that I can tell so far. There was nothing here that would interest them. It just makes me mad.”
“I read the warrant. It said there was just cause to think that you may be involved in some criminal activity.”
“That’s what they think, but they’re wrong.” He hesitated. “Thanks, Mrs. Chalmers, for your help. I better get some sleep.”
* * *
Bradford went over the quarterdeck the next morning at 0745 as usual, waved at the Master Chief MacKenzie, and hurried to Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven. Half the platoon was already there and the men were working on their gear.
“Bradford,” Senior Chief Sadler called. “We’re on a four-hour alert. Something is cracking wide open in the Philippines. We’ll probably be out of here by noon.”
By 0815 all members of the platoon had reported in and were working on their tropical-weather duffel. They would take three sets of forest cammies, two pairs of boots, and other clothing for an extended stay.
“This is a tropical nation and we’ll be near the equator, maybe four hundred miles away,” said Sadler. “Daytime temperatures can go to a hundred degrees with humidity close to that as well. We’ll be there in January, the best time of the year climate-wise. Sometimes the daytime temperatures will get up only to sixty degrees. So think warm, wet, and humid. Lots of times it rains every day over there in January. Think wet. Carry on.”
In the small office, Murdock looked over at Ed DeWitt. “The chain-of-command edict has ruptured in places. I took a call from Don Stroh this morning at home. He said to gear up. The official word won’t come for three hours and then we’ll have only an hour to get ready. He’s arranged transport out of the North Island Air Station for us. The Master Chief knows the score.”
“What’s the problem in the Philippines?” DeWitt asked.
“Not sure. Stroh said he’d meet us in Davao in Mindanao. That’s near the bottom of the batch of islands. As I remember, they’ve been having a lot of trouble with Muslim guerrillas down there. The whole Island is Muslim, not Catholic like the rest of the country.”
“As hot as Nam?”
“Closer to the equator, so hotter, more humid. Not a fun vacation. Jungle on jungle. Won’t be a walk in the park.”
A tenseness filled the equipment room. The SEALs took multiple weapons; every man had two. All seven of the Bull Pups were slotted as well as both the EAR weapons. They had a good mix this time, with MP-5’s for close-in work and the MGs and sniper rifles. Since they wouldn’t be stopping at any U.S. military bases, they took as much ammo as they thought they might need. They went heavy on the 20mm rounds, and had six extra batteries for the EARs.
By 1100 they were ready.
Murdock took a call and scowled. “I’m sorry, that man is not available.”
“This isn’t routine, Commander. I’m with the San Diego Police Department and we have a warrant for your man’s arrest. I just want to make certain that you will have him available and not out on a training exercise somewhere when I get there. We’re talking about a felony here, Commander.”
“Do you know who we are and what we do, Sergeant?”
“Somewhat. SEALs.”
“Our platoon has just been alerted by the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C. He’s the top dog in the Navy. We’re out of here in a little less than half an hour to fly to Manila, on direct orders from the CNO and the President of the United States. You’ll have to tell your captain that the PD has been outgunned and outranked. Anything that has happened with this man will have to wait until we return. Of course you can always go through channels, starting with Admiral Kenner in Little Creek, Virginia. That’s Rear Admiral, lower, Richard Kenner. I’m sure he’d be glad to talk to you.”
There was a long pause.
“Sergeant, what’s the charge against Bradford?”
“Conspiracy to paint and sell copies of old masters. A felony.”
“Sounds a little vague to me, Sergeant. I’ll give you a call when we get back from the Philippines in two or three weeks.”
“You do that, Commander. I’ll talk to your commanding officer. This is a civilian crime and the Navy has no jurisdiction whatsoever.”
“Good, tell that to the admiral.”
They hung up and Murdock frowned. What in hell had Bradford been doing in his spare time? He’d seen some of his marine paintings. Murdock had one in his apartment. They were good, but not in the class of an old master. There had to be some mistake. Murdock would get it sorted out as soon as they came back from Mindanao.
6
Davao Air Base
Davao, Mindanao, Philippines
Murdock felt like a quarter horse had been galloping through the inside of his head. They had taken a long series of flights, bu
t even in the sleek Gulfstream II business jet the Navy called the VC-11, it had been an exhausting day and a half. The men were bunked down in temporary quarters there at the air base at Davao while the briefing continued. The American ambassador was on hand, as well as two top Philippine generals and the nation’s Vice President, Rosales Domingo. A colonel in charge of the Mindanao province continued the briefing.
“As of today there seems to be no change. The rebels have demanded a hundred thousand U.S. dollars for each hostage. Our best count is that they have sixty-four hostages: two Filipino guides and two Filipino drivers, and sixty nationals from sixteen different foreign countries.
“Our government has urged the governments of those nations not to allow any ransom money to be sent to these criminal outlaws. This offshoot of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front is notorious for supporting itself by kidnapping. Usually it’s a Chinese businessman or visiting merchant who is kidnapped; a ransom demand is made, it’s quickly paid, and business continues as usual. This is a flagrant expansion of that operation, and we want it stopped and crushed for all time.
“That is why we have asked for help. The kidnappings are now two days old. Yesterday we sent in a well-armed Army force to rout out one of the strongholds of the rebels where we suspected they might have the hostages. Our force of twenty-five men suffered eighty percent casualties including nine dead. The team did not reach the strong point, or even see it, and barely saw the dug-in guerrillas. They knew we were coming.”
Murdock’s forehead pounded like a Chinese gong on New Year’s Eve. It was his version of a headache produced by too much caffeine and too little sleep and too much tension. DeWitt and Senior Chief Sadler didn’t look in much better shape, he decided.
Murdock jerked his attention back to the colonel talking.
“So, we come to you for help. This small force you have sent us seems woefully inadequate. Sixteen men? We understand that there are more than two hundred and fifty rebels in this group holding the hostages. We can give you what intelligence we have on them. We know of two camps they use in the jungle. One is the one we tried to attack yesterday. The other is deeper into the jungle and would require a helicopter trip, which we can provide.” He paused and then looked at Murdock.
“Commander, what can you suggest for this operation?”
“Nothing at the moment, Colonel. My planning team will go over your data and information, then come up with an attack plan and consult with you for possible use of your choppers and a possible backup squad of your Marines. The planning will not take long. The time now is 1235. We should be able to stage an attack with first dark tonight. What helicopters do you use, Colonel?”
“We have the ones you are used to, Commander, the CH-46.”
“Good. Keep one on standby here. I’ll meet with my men and consult with you in two hours about our plan. We’ll want any input from you, the attachment of two guides who know the area we’ll move to, and the location of the two targets.”
“Commander, we’ll have that information and personnel all assigned as soon as you’re ready.”
The three SEALs went back to the quarters they had been assigned to and stared at the oversized map of Mindanao. It was an irregular island 350 miles wide and almost that long top to bottom. The two targets the Philippine Army colonel had designated were about fifty miles from Davao in the middle of the mountains. There were no roads or trails within twenty miles of the camps.
Murdock pulled in Jaybird and Lampedusa to help on the planning. Jaybird shook his head.
“Damn, they aren’t asking us for much. We go in and out by chopper, for fucking sure. How good is their intel?”
“Nobody knows. They got their asses kicked at Site A yesterday. There probably is a mole in the top echelons of the military feeding the rebels information.”
“So let’s try Camp B,” Lam said.
“We can’t blast the place with twenties; it would put the hostages in peril,” DeWitt said.
“How close can we land to Camp B?” Murdock asked. “If we get close enough to save our legs, the rebels will know we’re coming.”
“So we go in, land, recon the place, and wait twelve hours before we attack,” Jaybird said. “We catch them off stride, tire them out just waiting, while we sack out.”
“Weapons?” Murdock asked.
“Every goddamn thing we’ve got,” Jaybird said. “Maybe easy on the EAR so we don’t have to carry out the unconscious hostages.”
“So we’ll need three more forty-sixes on standby at Davao to pack out the hostages when we rescue them,” De Witt said. “Do they have them available?”
“Good idea, we’ll check,” Sadler said. “I didn’t see a lot of aircraft at this air base. We’ll ask the colonel.”
“Is there a double canopy of trees here like in Nam where the tops reach up sixty, seventy feet?” Lam asked. “If there is, will we be able to find a chopper LZ anywhere near the camp?”
“Have to find out,” Murdock said. “We’ve got more questions than plans. Let’s go see the colonel and the two locals he’s providing us with. Then do the rest of our prelim plans there.”
At the conference a half hour later they had questions answered. Yes, there were landing areas within five hundred yards of either camp along a river. Yes, lots of double canopy in places, single in others. They had six CH-46’s at Davao. That was all but one that the Philippine Air Force owned. They were ready to go when needed. Each had a door gunner with a mounted machine gun.
“We’ve picked Camp B to attack first,” Murdock told the group. “It’s more remote; they could be less ready for an attack there. Are there trails along the river to the camp?”
“Yes, trails that will be defended,” Philippine Army Master Sergeant Pedro Estrada said. He was about thirty, short and sturdy, and looked competent to Murdock. He had been introduced as one of the two men who would be their local guides and advisors.
“We can deal with that. What type weapons do they have?”
Army First Lieutenant Juan Ejercito, the other local now on the SEALs’ team, responded. “I was on the attack yesterday. They had machine guns and submachine guns. I heard some AK-47’s as well. They are well armed. I was one of four men in my section who didn’t get hit. They ambushed us on a trail. Complete surprise. They have never been that sophisticated before in their tactics.”
“They are getting outside help?” Murdock asked.
“Possible,” the officer said.
Murdock looked at Jaybird. “Speed of the forty-six and how long to travel the sixty miles to the target?”
“Cruises at about a hundred and fifty, so that would be two-point-five miles a minute. Put that into sixty miles and we get exactly twenty-four minutes flying time.”
“When is it dark here, Sergeant?” DeWitt asked.
“Sir, about 1800 this time of year.”
“Can we land and deplane at that site in the dark?” Sadler asked the lieutenant.
“We went in during the day. It might be safer to fly in so we land just before dusk, say at 1745, even 1730. We don’t want to crash on landing.”
“I agree since we don’t know the terrain,” Murdock said.
“Communications?” Lam asked.
The colonel frowned. “We’ll have our regular radio net with the pilot. It’s good, reliable. Distance no problem.”
“We could supply the pilot or his gunner with one of our Motorolas,” Jaybird said. “Then we could contact them for possible exfiltration and the pilot could bring in rescue birds if we free any hostages at this camp.”
“Done,” Murdock said. He looked around. “Anything else? Any questions?”
“You have adequate ammunition?” the colonel asked. “We have NATO rounds in most sizes and forty-millimeter grenades, fraggers, flares.”
“We should be good for this mission,” Sadler said. “Downstream we may need some resupply. I’ll keep our liaison with you up to date.”
“That’s a wrap then, gen
tlemen,” Murdock said. “We’ll be ready to leave here at 1700. We’d prefer the lieutenant and sergeant to bring their gear and weapons to our quarters soon so we can integrate them. This is a combat situation.”
Back at their quarters, the SEALs worked out weapons assignments, went over final preparations on their gear, and loaded ammo into their vests and pockets.
In the mess, the cooks worked up a steak dinner for the SEALs and their two friends.
“Damn, I feel like a fatted hog ready for slaughter,” Jaybird yelped.
“Stupid, wasn’t no fatted hog, it was a fatted calf, butchered for the Prodigal Son’s return,” Fernandez said.
“Right now I’d settle for a roasted Jaybird,” Mahanani brayed, and they all roared with laughter and finished the meal.
The SEALs were on the tarmac ready to load the chopper at 1700. Murdock had given the bird a quick inspection. It seemed to be in good repair, and the machine gun in the door was up and ready to fire. The Filipino pilot, Captain Pepe Gonzalez, was on hand early and shook hands with Murdock.
“Checked out the bird and she looks solid, Commander,” said Gonzalez. “I’ve flown this one every day for the past month and she’s sound and ready.”
“Have you been over the area where this river goes?” Murdock asked.
“Some of it, not up that high. A real wilderness back in there. No roads. A few trails an off-road motorcycle might cover.”
“We’ll need an LZ as close to the target as possible. You’ve done night landings?”
“Lots of them, and we have a new strobe searchlight I can use to be sure where the ground is. No sweat on that.”
Murdock gave him a Motorola.
“Our person-to-person radio,” Murdock said. “It’s good for about five miles. We’ll use it to call you in when we’re ready to leave or to have you call in the rescue choppers. You can clip the transceiver on your belt and put the earplug in and use a lip mike, or just hold it all in one hand.”
“Try it,” Captain Gonzalez said.
They walked apart a dozen yards and Murdock called the captain. It worked perfectly, and Gonzales called Murdock back.
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