Hidden Agendas (1999)

by Clancy, Tom - Net Force 02

The guard stopped, looked down at his chest as if he was annoyed, then went back to swinging his AK around at Platt.

  Man! Platt put the next two into the guard's face. The guy dropped like a boneless chicken. That ended that.

  Goddamn pansy nine-millimeter! You couldn't get a decent .45 or .357 in these foreign countries—they restricted you to small-caliber if you were a civilian!

  Platt scooted across the kitchen and opened the door to the electric dumbwaiter. The tiny elevator was going to be a tight fit. He hit the button for the third floor, then squeezed himself into the little box and let the door shut. The dumbwaiter groaned, not having been designed for this much weight, but it rose. He heard somebody else make it into the kitchen and start yelling in oogaboog as the dumbwaiter lifted, but by then they didn't know where he was.

  1:33 a.m.

  Apparently the residents knew enough to stay in their rooms. Nobody tried to stop them as the went down the hall on the third floor.

  Winthrop was glad. The H&K pistol in her hand didn't offer the comfort she thought it would. It felt like an alien device, despite her training, too barrel-heavy because of the silencer, the grip sweaty. She didn't particularly want to shoot anybody, though she thought she could if she had to.

  "Third door on the left," the colonel said.

  The two Beta Team troopers split, one going past the door, the other stopping on the near side. They turned so they were facing away from each other, covering both ends of the hall.

  Howard reached the door and tried the knob. Locked. He nodded at her, pointed at the room. "I'll get the door, you go in."

  She nodded in return, said, "Okay," through dry lips.

  Howard raised his foot and kicked the door open. Winthrop dived in and rolled, just as she had done in VR so many times, and came up on one knee, the pistol pointed in front of her.

  Thomas Hughes, dressed in white silk pajamas, sat up in bed, where he had obviously been sleeping until that moment.

  "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

  The colonel stepped in behind Winthrop. "Mr. Hughes," he said. He smiled. "Commander Alexander Michaels at Net Force would like to have a word with you."

  "I don't think so," somebody said.

  Winthrop snapped her gaze to the glass door leading out to the balcony. A tall, dark, and muscular man stood there, holding an odd-looking device in one hand. She swung her pistol around to cover him.

  "I wouldn't do that, darlin'," the man said.

  Winthrop recognized him now that she heard the corn pone in his voice.

  "Platt!"

  "You look much better in person than you do in VR, honey. How about you put those guns down?"

  "How about I just shoot you instead?" Winthrop said.

  "Bad idea. Ask your jig friend there why."

  She glanced at the colonel.

  "He's holding some kind of a grenade," Howard said.

  "Yep, a gen-u-wine World War Two po-tato masher. Shoot me and I drop it, and even if your armor stops most of it, you still probably get stung pretty good. Maybe a piece gets through and punches a hole in an artery and you bleed out. And old Tommy boy here, well, he surely gets turned into hamburger."

  "I don't think so," Howard said. "I think if I shoot you, both you and that grenade will fall off that balcony behind you."

  "Ah," Platt said. "But then I would die, and you don't want that, now, do you?"

  "Why not?"

  Damn, Winthrop thought. She knew Platt was right. And so did Colonel Howard. She'd heard Commander Michaels telling him all about the dead-man switches. But she also knew that the colonel didn't necessarily want Platt to know they knew… or that, even now, Jay Gridley was working furiously to defuse the things.

  God dammit, Gridley, she thought. Hurry up.

  "I'm surprised you haven't found my little surprises yet, boy," Platt said, "but then maybe you Net Force folks aren't as good as ole Tommy-boy here thought. Let's just say that if I don't make it back to my ride out of here—and the little ole computer with its satellite uplink—by a certain time, well, things will happen that will make those last assaults on the net look like kid's stuff."

  "What do you want?" Howard said.

  "Well, we need to come to some kind of… arrangement," Platt said.

  He smiled.

  * * *

  Chapter Forty

  Wednesday, January 19th, 2:05 a.m. Bissau, Guinea-Bissau

  At the helicopters, the pilots were relaxed, laughing and joking. Michaels and Toni weren't so animated. They stood a short ways off, swatting at the bugs that swirled around them. The bug dope was enough to keep the insects from landing, most of them, but not enough to keep them from buzzing close enough to be annoying.

  Michaels was beginning to get worried. The others were supposed to be back by now.

  Even as he thought this, the sound of a truck motor reached them.

  Two of the pilots moved away from the copters, assault weapons held at the ready.

  The truck rounded a curve a couple hundred yards out, and as soon as it did, it blinked its lights off and then on again.

  "It's them," Toni said.

  Michaels felt himself relax a little.

  The truck pulled to a stop ten feet away from where Michaels stood, and Sergeant Fernandez stepped out. He frowned. "Beta Team is not back." It was not a question.

  "We thought they were supposed to meet you, and you'd all come back together," Toni said.

  "That's how it was supposed to go. We waited until 0150 hours as planned. The deal was, if for some reason they ran long, they'd meet us back at the Hueys by 0200. I don't like this. The colonel is never late. I think we have to give him a call."

  "We're not supposed to break radio silence except in an emergency," Michaels said.

  "Sir, we're supposed to lift in twenty-five minutes," Fernandez said. "It's an emergency."

  Michaels nodded. "Yeah."

  2:06 a.m.

  Howard felt the com vibrate soundlessly against his left hip. That would be Julio calling. But he couldn't answer him right now. Their suits' long-range broadcast radio had been put on standby, to make sure nobody who might be listening for such things picked up stray signals. LOSIR was up, and GPS transponders were on, but that wouldn't be much help—they knew where he was, just not why he was still there.

  Howard had his pistol trained on Platt, as did Winthrop. Platt, meanwhile, waved the grenade back and forth as if it was a spinning reel and he was fly-fishing for bass in a pond.

  "Thing is, Colonel, we can't hang around here all night in this Mexican standoff," Platt said. "We don't leave pretty soon, El Presidente's boys are gonna come up here pokin' around, and we don't want to be here when they do."

  "Put that thing away," Hughes said. "Are you crazy?"

  "No, sir, what I am is pissed off. You owe me thirty million dollars and I want it."

  "Thirty million?"

  "Yeah, I figure I'm due a little extra, for all my trouble. Trouble you caused me."

  "I don't know what you are talking about."

  " ‘Course not," Platt said.

  From the hall, Martin called: "Colonel, is everything okay in there?" He couldn't see them, because the kicked-in door had shut behind him when Howard had come into the room.

  "Affirmative!" Howard called back. "But listen up! I want you and Hull to go downstairs, collect the rest of Beta Team, and take the truck back to the rendezvous point ASAP!"

  "Sir? What about you and the package?"

  "We are involved in some… delicate negotiations in here, Martin. Get back to the rendezvous, you copy?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Good move," Platt said. "We'd better be going ourselves." He waved the grenade at the door. "We can leave through the kitchen. It's pretty quiet back there now."

  "Maybe not," Howard said.

  "Listen up, Colonel Sambo, here's the deal. I need Hughes because without him, I am up Poor White Trash Creek without a paddle. You want him for your own r
easons. Let's go somewhere I can get what I want, then you can have him."

  "Dammit, Platt—!"

  "Shut up, Hughes. You ain't part of this discussion."

  "You turn me over to them, why should I give you the money?"

  "Oh, I dunno, maybe because if you don't, I'll poke out your eyes or cut off your family jewels?"

  "I don't much like your deal," Howard said.

  "Only one I'm offering. I got a ride out of this stinkin' country. I'm gonna take an account code with me or I ain't goin'. Grab that laptop there off the bedside table, would you, darlin'? We got to move. You object to that, Colonel?"

  Howard shook his head. This guy was dangerous at the very least, maybe crazy enough to let that grenade go and kill or maim them all.

  "If that thing is from World War II, what makes you think it will still work?" Winthrop said. "Maybe I shoot you, it drops and fizzles out like a wet match."

  "Maybe so," Platt said. "But you know them krauts, they build to last. You want to risk fat boy's ass on maybe it won't blow up?"

  "Let's move," Howard said. "He's right about one thing, if we don't we're all for sure dead."

  "Age before beauty," Platt said.

  As Howard turned to leave the room, he reached down with his left hand, while it was hidden from Platt's view, and triple-tapped the panic button on his com.

  2:10 a.m.

  "Oh, shit," Fernandez said.

  "What?" Michaels and Toni said together.

  "My com just started a beeper pulse. The colonel has pushed his panic button. That means he's down or captured, he can't talk."

  Michaels said, "Can we locate him from the signal?"

  "Yes, it's a GPS pulse."

  "Then let's go."

  "We're supposed to lift in twenty minutes," one of the pilots said. "Sooner or later the local army is going to get its pants on and come looking for whoever caused all the trouble."

  Michaels said. "We don't leave until we bring our people out."

  "Sir, the colonel's orders—" the pilot began.

  "Negative," Fernandez cut in. "If the colonel's been captured, then I'm in charge, and I say we're not leaving without Colonel Howard. Understood?"

  The pilot looked at the ground.

  Fernandez said. "If the local army comes around, then you can take off. Otherwise, you wait until we get back."

  "I'm going with you," Michaels said.

  "And so am I," Toni said.

  "Not a good idea, sir," Fernandez began.

  "Why does everybody keep saying that? Let's move, Sergeant. Time is running out."

  2:15 a.m.

  The rest of Beta Team had left by the front gate, which was opened and unmanned. The guards who had been fogged were still on the ground, bound in plastic wrist and ankle cufftape.

  Howard, Platt, Hughes, and Winthrop moved out. There was still a big commotion at the diversion fire, less than half a mile away, and nobody seemed to be standing around gawking at the presidential compound.

  "He's crazy," Hughes said quietly to the colonel. "He hates black people, or at least black men. He'll kill us all if he gets the chance."

  Platt moved over and tapped Hughes on the back of the head with the grenade he held.

  "Ow!"

  "Didn't I tell you to shut up? You burned all your goodwill up with me."

  "Why do they call it a potato masher?" Winthrop said, trying to distract the man.

  "Because of the shape," Platt said. "See, narrow here, on the handle, but fat down here. You take your cooked potatoes and pound away at them, like this."

  He moved the grenade up and down, as if using it to smash things under the heavy end. "See?"

  God. he was crazy. Look at him grin. And what was that stain all over his skin? He couldn't possibly think he was passing for a native, could he?

  2:20 a.m.

  "Randall, what are they doing?" Fernandez asked.

  "Still moving, Sarge. Gotta be on foot, slow as they are going."

  They were in the truck, running with the lights off, and the vehicle found every pothole in the dirt road, bouncing them around like Ping-Pong balls. Toni kept one hand on the wooden frame mounted on the back, the other hand on her kris handle. She had shoved the sheath into her belt when they'd gotten on the helicopters, although she didn't know how much luck it was bringing her at the moment.

  Could be worse. She could be dead.

  "Same direction as before?" Fernandez asked.

  "Yep."

  "Get us in front of them, Butler, half a mile or so, then shut it down."

  "You have a plan?" Toni asked.

  "Not really. The colonel's GPS unit is going somewhere at foot speed. If it's still attached to the colonel and he's free, he'll probably like a ride. If he's been captured and is being taken out to be shot or something, then he probably won't be too unhappy to see us. Either way, we need to know—hold on a second, somebody is calling. Go ahead."

  "Sergeant Fernandez, this is Martin. Beta Team is at the rendezvous—except for Colonel Howard and Lieutenant Winthrop."

  "What happened to them?"

  "I don't know, Sarge. They went into the package's room and then things got real quiet. We could hear them talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying through the closed door. After a while, the colonel told us to take off."

  "Did he give a reason?"

  "Negative. All he said was, he was doing some kind of negotiation."

  "Copy, Martin. Hold your ground as long as you can. We're going to collect the colonel and the lieutenant now. See if you can shoo away anybody who comes nosing around until we get back."

  "Affirmative, Sarge."

  Fernandez looked puzzled. "Doesn't make any sense."

  "When we find Howard, we'll get him to explain it," Michaels said.

  2:25 a.m.

  "Where are we going?" Howard asked. The brush around the little trail was thick, still radiating damp heat from the day. You couldn't see two feet into the forest, and could barely see the trail, even with flashlights.

  "Not too much further," Platt said. "A half mile or so. I have my ride stashed up ahead. We get there, Hughes gives me the bank code, I check it out using the laptop, we go our separate ways."

  Platt saw Winthrop and Howard exchange quick looks.

  "Well, in your shoes, I don't reckon I would much trust me neither. But I got nothing to gain by killing anybody here. And you got your guns and all, right? You get your big-time thief and most of the money back, I get paid what I'm owed and I'm gone, you don't never see me again. I'll even shut off my little surprises, once I'm safely out of here. Now don't that sound like a good deal all the way around? Except for fat boy here, but we don't really care what he thinks, do we?"

  Howard didn't say anything, but what he was thinking was, Dammit, Gridley, we're about out of time here. Move your ass!

  2:30 a.m.

  "This doesn't make any sense," Michaels whispered to Toni. "That's Hughes, in the white pajamas, and I'm pretty sure the big guy behind him is Platt, wearing some kind of disguise."

  "Yeah, and Howard and Joanna both have their pistols out, but it doesn't look like they are in charge."

  "The big guy's carrying a grenade in one hand, that's why," Fernandez said. "Probably already armed. That's who is in charge, and that's why they don't plug him. He falls, the grenade goes boom. Jesus, it's dark out here. I wish we could use the spookeyes."

  "Why can't we?" Michaels asked.

  "Flashlights will cause cutouts, they shine in our direction. Safety feature, otherwise it's like looking into the sun."

  "Hostage scenario," Toni said. "You have an SOP for this, don't you?"

  "Yes, ma'am—only not one set up to cover being in a foreign jungle with enemy troops breathing down our necks and our ride about to take off. Standard negotiations for hostage situations are based on psychology—and hours or days to work. We don't have the time."

  Michaels, Toni, and Fernandez were in the bushes fifty yards ah
ead of the quartet moving toward them. The rest of Alpha Team was spread out behind the four on the trail.

  "What do we do?" Toni whispered.

  Fernandez said. "Look for an opportunity. Push comes to shove, we take the bad guy down and hope for minimal casualties."

  "How much danger are Howard and Winthrop in, given the suits they are wearing?"

  "Some," Fernandez said. "They will surely pick up damage, cuts, but the armor will stop most of a low-yield explosive shrapnel. It's the guy in the PJs and the big brown guy who are gonna get shredded for sure."

  Toni said, "No great loss—except that Hughes might have left us some electronic bombs of his own. We can't let him die until we know for sure he didn't. And if he did, maybe it was Platt who set them up, if there are any. Can we afford to let both of them die? Don't we need at least one of them alive?"

  "Yeah," Michaels said. "But the clock is ticking. We don't move, everybody dies." At that moment his virgil vibrated.

  It was Gridley. "Got ‘em, Boss. Every last one of them."

  "Good work, Jay," Alex said. "And just in time." Disconnecting, he looked around him. "Jay did it. Get ready to get our people out of there now." He stood and stepped out of the bushes.

  "Alex, don't—!" Toni began.

  Too late.

  "Hold it right there, asshole!" Michaels yelled.

  Behind him, Fernandez said to Toni, "I'll flank right, Commander, go left!"

  The four people moving up the path stopped.

  "Who the hell are you?" Platt said. "Get out here where I can—oh, hello! You're the Net Force honcho, aint'cha? What you doin' out here in the jungle, desk boy? Come to see how real men play?"

  Howard made his move—he leaped, grabbed the hand holding the grenade, and squeezed it tight in both of his. "Shoot, Winthrop, shoot!"

  Startled, Joanna pointed her pistol and fired, but Platt spun, swung the colonel around one-handed like swinging a small child, and the bullet from Joanna's pistol spanged! off the colonel's back armor.

  A beat later, another bullet from somewhere boomed and whistled past, not hitting anything Michaels could see.

  Jesus! Everybody dancing around wouldn't leave Fernandez or Toni a clear shot, Michaels knew. And if bullets started bouncing off armor, no telling where they might go—or who might catch one in an unprotected spot.