The colonel looked up.
Murdock could feel the strain of the colonel’s duty.
“Colonel, are these processing plants in industrial or populated areas?”
“Up to now they have been clandestine operations at the edge of the jungle, usually with a four-wheel-drive truck needed to get in to them. Now I understand the new government is setting up huge processing plants near the cities and making them legal. Here they are still out in the brush. That’s why we need to have trusted guides to lead your men to some of these plants.”
“I’m getting the picture, Colonel. I need to say that I’m no more pleased with this assignment than you are. But like you, I follow orders. My men will look at this as any other military assignment. We will make one major change. We will do this destruction without the loss of any Colombian lives. We’re not policemen, so we don’t know who is doing something illegally. We’ll go after the hardware, the processing equipment, the raw stock, and the finished product. The people involved will be safe unless they resist. Colonel, I’m sure you understand that if these people shoot at us, we will respond in kind with overwhelming firepower.”
“Yes, Commander, understood. Now, I have a lot of work to get done. I’ll see you here tomorrow morning at 0800 for a final briefing and to provide your contacts and guides.”
Murdock stood, came to attention, did a perfect about-face, and left the room.
It took Murdock two hours to brief his men on the situation and their new assignment.
“So we’re fucking drug cops?” Jaybird wailed.
“About the size of it, Jaybird.”
“Who sent us on this shit-faced job, anyway?”
“Who? Your boss, Stroh, the CNO, the President, and probably his drug-fighting czar, whoever it is this week.”
“Hey, Cap. Say we bust this processing plant and find some pure white cocaine,” Mahanani said. “We get to snuff a few rows before we leave?”
A cheering broke out, and Murdock grinned. “Sure, anybody can who wants to. All he has to do is hang up his trident and go back to the scrub-and-dub Navy.”
“No way out of this detail?” Ed DeWitt asked.
“Not a prayer,” Murdock said. “Which means we have some planning to do. Ed, you were right about the weapons. We need a selection on our trips so we can adjust our type of weapon for the job. The Pups wouldn’t have done the work inside that commo building today. But then the carbines wouldn’t have done the work the Bull Pups did with those twenty-mike-mikes. We’ll talk with the locals and then see what we can get brought in from the carrier. Ed, make out a list of what we need.”
“So what now, Cap?” Will Dobler asked.
“We just take it easy until tomorrow when we get back into action.” Murdock paused. When the men had dispersed, Murdock turned to his lead man and asked quietly, “Chief, you want to send an E-mail to your wife?”
Dobler hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I told her no special treatment. Better stick with it. I think those two ladies are going to help her stay straight.”
“Okay, Master Chief. You need anything, you let me know.”
Cocaine Lab Near Cali, Colombia
A short way outside Cali, Jaime Pardo Leal drove the big stake truck through the track of a road. A bulldozer had been through there two days ago, but sometimes he couldn’t be sure where the trail went. He couldn’t guess. Not with ten fifty-five-gallon drums of ethyl ether in back. The price had gone up again. Now it was almost a thousand dollars a barrel. It took seventeen liters of ethyl ether to make one kilo of cocaine.
If his supply of ether failed, his plant would be out of business. After a four-mile run up the rough trail, he came to his operation and made a stop at the first shed. Six men came out of it and began to roll the drums down a pair of planks to the ground, then roll them inside the building.
It was little more than a shed with a raised wooden floor. It was one of fourteen sheds around the jungle site. There was no airstrip here. That made the plant too easy to find. Instead, all work came in and went out by truck.
He nodded at some of the people. Most were lavaperros, dog washers in Colombian slang. They had been street people in Cali and were brought here to work and get fed and were provided with a bed to sleep in. They were essential. He had fifty of them and could use another ten or twelve.
Jaime had a smooth-running operation. Every day, trucks came in and went out for the long run into the civilian airport near Cali. There was almost no control over the planes that landed there or took off.
He had been working here for more than three years. They had everything for a small city: food, clothing, washers and dryers, generators, a huge kitchen, and twelve tanks for processing the paste into cocaine.
He walked into his office in one of the sheds at the far end of the complex and made an entry in his log. He had brought in 550 gallons of ethyl ether. That would last him for some time.
He checked his entry of coca paste. So far, the total read 14.23 metric tons of paste he had taken in. Yes, it was going to be a good year. A makeshift trail circled the drug lab and buildings. Every ten minutes, a guard with an Uzi submachine gun on his back circled the area on a dirt motorcycle. Security. Twice he had caught men trying to slip into his complex. He had questioned them. Both had been dog washers, and he had put them to work. A third one a month later had been from a rival cartel, and when it was proved who he was, he was shot at once and thrown into a shallow grave. Security was a must.
Jaime called in his second in charge, a man who went by one name, Montanez. The man was short, solidly built, and had been a boxer in his youth. He had lost an eye years ago in a knife fight and now ran the lab with a delicate hand that was needed.
“Had to slap around two of our dog washers this morning. They claimed they were sick. After the lesson, they worked well all day. I’ll watch them.”
Jaime finished with Montanez and walked his domain. Not his, really, but he had come to think of it as his own. He worked for the people in Cali who used to run the Cali syndicate before the big brothers from Medellin had squashed them with twenty-three assassinations. His boss had been on vacation at the time and missed the party. Now he was making a comeback but keeping a low profile. All of his goods went out of the country by boat. Slower but safer, and there was no battle with Medellin regarding air space and landing facilities. At one time the two cartels had shared those things. No more.
He checked the shed where the finished cocaine powder was stored in thirty-three-gallon plastic garbage cans. He needed to make a shipment. His benefactor had told him never to have more than six or eight of the big cans filled in the shack at any one time. Medellin was not beyond raiding them if they knew where this lab was. Yes, he would set up a boat tomorrow and have the load gone within a week. Now with the old president holding court in Cali, he had to be more careful than ever. In this area his was still in an illegal business.
Back at the shack that held the ether, he checked his supply. The ten barrels brought him up to fourteen. He was definitely still short. He’d make another run into Cali tomorrow. His supplier said he had plenty now that the demand was down. This indicated to Jaime that there were not more than two big labs working around the area. Five years ago there were ten or more.
Jaime went to his quarters. He had assigned one of the dog washer women to keep his rooms clean and to cook for him. She was the only pretty one from the last batch. He had made her wash and cut her hair and brought her good clothes. Now she was almost presentable. When he came into the room, she stopped polishing his silverware and took off a colorful blouse so her breasts swung free.
“Is there anything I can do for you today, Mr. Jaime?”
She had learned quickly what he wanted after a hard day’s work, and she was always ready. This duty was much better for her than working in the factory on the vats of coca paste and the foul-smelling chemicals.
He motioned to her and she ran to him, put her arms around him, and push
ed her bare breasts hard against his chest. He spanked her soft bottom, then lifted her up. She wound her legs around his waist and locked them. Jaime carried her that way into his bedroom and the king-sized bed. He dropped her on it. Then he told her to get on her hands and knees.
Jaime smiled. It was going to be another good romp before dinner. Yes, he had it all right here. For just a moment he thought of his wife and three children in Bogotá. They were well taken care of. Colombian women were not naive. They expected their husbands to have a mistress. He pulled her skirt off and dropped her on the bed. Oh, yes, he had it all right here. Besides this, he had been paid slightly more than a million dollars last year. Most of it was in a bank in Bogotá. He gave his wife ten thousand dollars a month to spend. That alone was enough to keep her happy. He’d go home again at the end of the month on his twice-yearly trip.
Camp Bravo
Cali, Colombia
When Murdock awoke the next morning, he wasn’t at all enthusiastic about the prospects. He had an 0800 meet with Colonel Paredes. That would result in an assignment to go out and destroy a cocaine lab somewhere in the area. Yes, knocking out some of the cocaine supply was a good thing. But it wasn’t exactly the type of mission he and his men had trained for. Okay, he thought it was beneath their talents. The truck parking lot and the commo center, that was more like it.
He shaved carefully, removing two days’ growth of beard, and reported on time with Ed DeWitt in tow. At least Ed could help backstop the bleats of wonder they would get from the men.
There were four military men in the room beside the colonel. Murdock was surprised to see two enlisted sergeants. That was a good sign.
The colonel nodded at them and began. He pointed to a large map of Cali on the display table.
“Gentlemen, here is the target for tonight. It’s an unusually large cocaine production laboratory from the old days. It’s twenty-five miles outside of Cali, in a rugged section of the mountains. There are no known residents in the general area. Anyone found there can be considered a lawbreaker or someone working for a lawbreaker. Captain Herrera will give you the details.”
His English was scratchy, but they could understand the captain.
“My friends the SEALs. It is good to have you here. Congratulations on your two missions here so far. They have been exemplary and effective. Now to the problem.
“The president has commanded us to take out every cocaine processing plant we know of in the Cali region. This is the largest one. It has been in place some say for more than fifteen years. So it goes back to the days of the huge Cali cocaine cartel. That no longer exists.
“We have two men who will lead you to the site. It is an armed camp, with guards, weapons, and men who can use them. Inside the camp will be from twenty to sixty civilians, workers from the streets of Cali. Many were homeless and work there for food, clothing, and a place to sleep. They should be spared as innocents.
“We estimate that there are about twenty guards there. They do not have guard dogs. The area is not fenced or protected in that manner. There are six supervisors and one general manager by the name of Jaime Pardo Leal. We know little about him. Our suggestion is that we go by truck to within a mile of the site, then off-load and march to the lab area. Would a night or daylight attack be most beneficial to the SEALs?”
Murdock looked up. “A night attack is preferable for this type of operation.”
“Then it will be a night assault. Our primary objective is to capture as many of the guards and supervisors as possible. To release the civilians, and to totally destroy the facility so it never again can be used as a cocaine processing plant. Fire will be one of our tools.”
“Will you be along, sir?” Ed DeWitt asked.
“Yes, unless that would conflict with your procedures.”
“Glad to have you along, sir,” Murdock said.
“Will you want any of our troops to back you up?” the captain asked.
“No sir,” Murdock said. “If you had your men there, we wouldn’t know who to shoot at.”
“Will you need any additional equipment, ammunition, or explosives?”
“Yes sir. We’ll confer with you on that. When is the operation planned?”
“For tonight, Commander. We’ll be moving as soon as all is ready.”
Hills South of Cali, Colombia
The one six-by truck left Camp Bravo just after two that afternoon. They had on board the SEALs, the two Colombian sergeants, both of whom could speak limited English, and Captain Herrera, who rode in the cab and acted as native guide. Ostercamp drove.
The route soon left the city and traveled up a small valley with only a few farmhouses. Then it turned left up another small stream where there was no real road.
“The lab is six miles up road,” one of the sergeants said.
They drove four miles, and Ostercamp pulled off the road into a lane that ended in a heavier growth of trees that completely concealed the truck.
The two Colombian sergeants left the truck and hurried back to the turnoff where they covered up the tracks the truck made in the turn so no one traveling by would know a truck had left the main trail. They came back and reported to their captain.
“If the man in charge has driven into Cali today, he will be coming back well before dark,” Captain Herrera said. “We’ll wait here and see if he drives by. If he doesn’t show up by four o’clock, we’ll move toward the lab.”
“When will it be dark today?” Murdock asked.
“Yes. Good. By five-thirty, or 1730, it will be dark. That will be extremely dark since we have a cloud cover and no moon.”
They waited. The SEALs had attached additional bags of explosives to their combat harnesses. They all had regular weapons except the Bull Pup men, who were given MP-5s as better for this venture. Murdock had the only Bull Pup and twenty rounds.
It was just after 1645 when they lined up and moved out. They used the road with Lam out front a hundred yards and one of the Colombian sergeants in back, listening for a truck.
Nothing happened before the captain and Lam went to ground two miles later. Murdock moved up with them.
“We’re about two hundred yards from the lab,” the captain said. “The shacks are spread out for three hundred yards and all camouflaged on tops and sides. Almost impossible to see from the air except by a chopper at a hundred feet.”
They had moved up well dispersed and stayed in the heavy brushy and woods cover. It wasn’t dark yet, and Murdock had a good look at the layout. It ran up the small creek for about 300 yards and had cheaply built shacks and sheds all over. One of them must be the lab. They would burn everything in sight.
“You said there might be a roving patrol,” Murdock said. “Would that be by jeep or truck?”
Just then they heard the growl of a motorcycle. It came down from the far end, circled around behind the buildings, and then moved toward the watchers. It turned sharply north and behind the nearest buildings, then up into some brush and vanished. A moment later, the engine sound cut off.
“I think that’s their roving patrol,” Captain Herrera said.
DeWitt looked at Murdock. “How do we play this? We don’t know where those civilians are.”
“No crossfire,” Murdock said. “We’ll all get five yards apart and move across the complex. We take out any guards we find and herd the civilians into one of the structures. All weapons suppressed. We’ll move out as soon as it’s fully dark.”
Murdock gave the same instructions on the Motorola, and the SEALs settled down to wait for darkness.
It came less than a half hour later, and Murdock waved at the captain. “Time to rock and roll, sir.”
He used the Motorola. “Okay, we spread out and move into the area. We take out any guards with silenced shots if we have to. If they surrender, we put them down and cuff wrists and ankles. I think we’re about ready to move out.”
A new generator kicked in somewhere ahead of them. In an instant the entire three s
ides of the cocaine factory showed brilliant pink bars of light.
“It’s a three-bar high laser fence,” DeWitt chirped into the Motorola. “What the hell are we going to do now?”
16
Hills South of Cali, Colombia
“How far away from us is that laser fence?” Murdock asked.
“Maybe fifty yards,” Lam said in his Motorola. “Look, it’s just a warning laser. I’ll go up there and break the beam, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Go,” Murdock said. “Everyone else, let’s move up slowly. Stay out of the beam until we see what their reaction is.”
Lam fisted his MP-5, brought it up to port arms, and ran forward. He came to the beam and ran through it, then back and through it again before he went prone. The beam snapped off when it was broken, then came back on and snapped off again and stayed off.
A siren wailed somewhere among the buildings.
The beam remained off only where it had been broken. The rest of the sectors remained a three-strand pink glow. Murdock heard an engine snarl, then race, and he knew it was the motorcycle.
“The bike is coming. Lam, take him out with a silenced round, then we all surge forward and move in five yards apart.”
They waited.
A moment later, the single beam of the motorcycle’s headlight cut through the night, bouncing toward the fence break where Lam lay. The bike came directly for the spot and bounced over a ditch of some kind. They heard the rider swearing. Then the headlamp’s beam grazed across Lam, and the rider shouted what could have been a warning.
Lam’s three-round burst from the silenced MP-5 jolted the rider out of the seat, exploded the headlight, and sent the bike into a spin to the side where the engine coughed and died.
“Let’s go forward,” Murdock said into his lip mike, and the fifteen SEALs and their three locals surged across the field, rushed through more sections of the barrier, and came to Lam. He checked the bike rider. Dead. He jumped up and ran with the others forward toward the low-lying buildings.
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