“Oh?”
“Yes. A light plane developed engine trouble and crash-landed just over the Mexican border. An investigation team went out, found the pilot badly injured – both legs broken – and crates in the back full of white powder. They called in the DEA and their people interrogated the pilot. They told him he might avoid ending up a double amputee if he got the right treatment. On the other hand he wasn’t going to get any sort of treatment unless he cooperated.”
“Those people never cooperate. It’s more than their life’s worth.”
“Well, it seems this guy was in a lot of pain, especially after our officers from the DEA left him in the tender care of his Mexican hosts for an hour or so. Those people aren’t long on patience. He gave them the coordinates of the place where he’d taken the stuff on board. It was in Colombia.”
“Not a regular airfield, I take it.”
“No, that’s how they avoid detection. They move the merchandise little and often, in small planes. They clear the jungle to make a short airstrip, install a warehouse and a fuel dump, and they’re operational for up to a year, not more. Then they move on.”
“So the DEA wants us to hit this place?”
“Not exactly. They’d like us to stake it out. If we can be there when the next delivery arrives we can catch these people with their pants down. Stuff comes in about every ten days, according to the pilot. We need to let them start to unload, then go in and take over.”
David nodded. It was the sort of mission that landed in our laps quite often. We were mobile and we could deal with armed opposition.
“I take it the Colombian authorities know what we’re up to?”
“Yes, there’s close cooperation between the drug agencies. They don’t have any operational details of course.”
I knew what David’s next question would be. It was the one I would have asked.
“What’s the combat strength in that place?”
“The pilot’s only ever seen half a dozen men but they’re heavily armed. There’s always a sentry posted. I suspect they’ve secured the perimeter with claymores.”
“Sounds straightforward. Take an A-team?”
“No, it needs to be bigger than the usual detachment. You’ll have to throw a cordon right round the place in case any of them escape – there isn’t a lot of value in just taking the airstrip. Like I said, they’re moving on all the time; the real bonus would be if you could get some of these guys alive. Especially the incoming pilot. They’d really like to know where he flew from.”
“Can’t the captured pilot tell you?”
“No, they use different pilots on different legs. That way the whole thing doesn’t unravel if something like this happens.”
“How close can you drop us?”
“Not that close. One of the reasons these places are hard to spot is they’re in a region of tropical rainforest. There aren’t any local airfields but there’s a plateau about fifteen clicks away where you can fast rope a team down. You’ll have to leg the rest.”
He nodded briskly. “We’re up to it.”
I knew that well enough. I still trained with the men and the level of fitness we maintained, through assault course work, hand-to-hand combat, and tabs with full kit, was the highest in the armed forces. And that included the other Special Forces.
“I wouldn’t underestimate it, David. Fifteen kilometres of that terrain will be tough and it’ll take time. Pick your men and I’ll arrange infil. I want you out there as soon as possible.”
*
That evening I was on my way back to Staff Officers Quarters when Sergeant Ferguson caught up with me. He was a giant of a man. He walked with his head slightly forward between his shoulders, probably the result of years of ducking low doorways and ceilings. This, together with his lumpy, shaven cranium, reminded you of a great dinosaur, ready to launch at any moment into an unstoppable run that would demolish anything in its path. He wasn’t just big; he was strong. If you wanted a tank pulled out of the way, he was your man. Well, all right, no one can lift a tank, but you can bet he’d have a go. I had a lot of time for Fergy. He’d earned his stripes.
He shortened his stride to fall into step with me.
“Colonel, this thing in Colombia. Did you have to put Dave in charge?”
I looked round sharply. “Is there a problem?”
He shrugged. “Not really, I guess. It’s just… he’s a bit green.”
I relaxed a little, and kept my tone light. “Now, Sergeant, you know better than to criticise a superior officer.”
“Ah, come on, you know what I mean.”
“Look, Fergy, give him a chance, okay? I know he’s a little lacking in real field experience but how’s he ever going to get that if I pass him over? He’s sound. He’ll look after his people – you saw what happened with Sally. He won’t make serious mistakes, and he’ll listen to reason if you think there’s a better way. Now he chose you for this mission; you give him your support. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
*
They left the following day. I confess it went out of my mind after that. I didn’t want Harken to inherit a load of unfinished business and I was trying desperately to clear the desk before he got back.
A week later David called in, as planned, to let me know they were on site. They’d reconnoitred the target and they’d dealt with the mines. They were camped in the jungle a short distance away, ready to deploy the moment they heard an aircraft. Normally we wouldn’t breach emissions control with a status update like that but I’d asked for it. Henrickse was the type of individual who’d demand to know what was happening all the bloody time, and I wanted to be able to tell him.
“Well done. Any problems?”
“Just one, Colonel. Tyler’s gone down with something. Some sort of fever, I think. His teeth are chattering and he says he feels bugs crawling under his skin but there’s nothing to see.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Justin’s your medic, isn’t he? What does he say?”
“He can’t make it out. He watched us take our malaria tablets and we’re all up to date on the usual jabs.”
“Well, okay. Look, you’d better keep me posted on this, all right?”
I disconnected. Tyler sick? I’d never known the man to go down with a common cold, let alone anything else. Well, whatever this was, he’d shake it off.
*
Two days later David called in again.
“How’s it going, David?”
“Not too good. We’ve had no incoming flights. And I’ve got seven more men down with that fever thing. Tyler and Ferguson are quite bad. To be honest, I don’t feel too great myself.”
“Okay, that’s it. Abort. I’ll arrange an exfil right away.”
“But the mission—”
“David, I’m not fucking about; you men are more important. I’ll get a VTOL gunship to shoot the place up, then they’ll land on that airstrip and transfer your people to a fever hospital. I’ll make the arrangements. I want all of you there. The sick ones will get treatment; the rest of you will be under close observation. Understood?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He sounded disconsolate. I knew the feeling. No one likes to fail on a mission and it would hit David particularly hard. The DEA would be livid at losing their best lead yet, but I wasn’t taking chances with the men’s lives.
*
When Harken got back from Washington I let him know what had happened. He nodded grimly.
“Right decision, Jim. Damn shame, though. It would have been good to get that network.”
“I know, but the unit was barely operational as it was.”
“Where are the men now?”
“At a civilian hospital in Medellín. I did think of shipping them back to a US military hospital but it would have taken longer and it sounds like some of them are pretty sick. I stuck to standard practice: treat casualties as close as possible to the front line.”
“Makes sense. We have g
ood reciprocal arrangements with Colombia.”
“Yeah, and it’s a major hospital, so they should be well looked after. Wendell, I’d like to go down and see the guys. They need moral support and I want to find out what we’re up against.”
“I understand. You go ahead. I’ll look after things here. It’ll make a nice change from playing politics. Let me know what’s happening, won’t you?”
“Will do.”
7
The early morning flight from Raleigh-Durham took off in rain that was close to freezing. When I arrived in Medellín it was mid-afternoon and it didn’t feel like January at all. By way of confirmation an illuminated sign at the airport indicated an outside temperature of 28˚C. It was a welcome change in weather, though that wasn’t enough to lift my mood.
I took a cab and called the number given to me by the administrator at the Hospital Universitario while the car weaved through streets full of traffic, windows open. I had to speak over the roar of diesel-burning engines and the blasting of horns, my face buffeted by hot air, and my eyes and nose smarting from exhaust fumes – hydrogen technology hadn’t penetrated down here. Eventually we pulled into a large hospital complex and stopped in front of the main building. I passed my credit token over the driver’s pay terminal and hurried into the air-conditioned lobby.
Two people were waiting for me at the reception desk. One was in a nurse’s uniform but I was immediately engaged by the other, a man in his early forties, dressed immaculately in a dark suit. He introduced himself as the hospital’s Chief Executive. As we shook hands I caught a heavy whiff of cologne.
“I expect you would like to see your men,” he said.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Very good. Your overnight bag will be safe at the reception desk here. Sister Magalhães will take you to them.” He turned to her. “If you need me afterwards, Sister, I’ll be in my office with the Clinical Director.”
She nodded and led the way to the elevator. We rode in silence and got out on the fifth floor. I was confronted by a sign saying, “Unidad de Cuidados Intensivos”. My Spanish is pretty good, as it happens, but even if it weren't I'd have understood what that meant. It sent a shiver through me.
She led me to an anteroom where I had to thrust my hands into a small chamber which subjected them to a cycle of high-pressure soapy water, sterilising fluid, and hot air. Then I donned a white coat, mask, hat, and overshoes and followed her down the corridor. We passed by several doors. It looked like there was more than one ward.
“How many intensive care beds do you have here?” I asked.
“Intensive care and high dependency – thirty,” she replied. “But if there is a crisis we can staff up to forty.”
I felt a flash of gratification. It looked like I was right to get the guys admitted here. There was a largish military hospital near Fort Piper but I was pretty darned sure it couldn’t lay on as many critical care beds as that. This was probably a regional facility.
“We managed to keep your people together,” she added, as I followed her through a pair of clear plastic swing doors at the end of the corridor.
The room was full of equipment. Lights blinked, beeps sounded, and glowing coloured lines crawled across display screens. A spider’s web of cables and tubes descended from the ceiling. I picked up a faint smell of antiseptic and clean linen, one that reminded me of a freshly opened field dressing. I counted seven nurses, all wearing blue operating gowns. Some were seated, others were standing, reading charts, adjusting knobs, or attending to drip stands. In fact there was so much activity that the last thing I saw were the patients. There were sixteen beds. Thirteen were occupied.
“How many of these are my men, sister?”
She looked vaguely surprised. “All of them, Colonel.”
Thirteen? The last I heard it was eight. There were eighteen in that squad, and thirteen of them have gone down with this fever thing! It must be really virulent.
The chart hanging on the rail of the first bed told me it was Gordy. I moved around the tangle of tubes and leads to talk to him. His face was pale and shining with sweat. As my shadow fell across him he opened his eyes, but they were rolling wildly. I spoke softly.
“Gordy? It’s Colonel Slater.”
He murmured something. I bent nearer. I could feel the heat coming off him but he was shivering all over and his teeth were chattering continuously. He clawed at the cellular blankets with feeble, quaking fingers.
“Water,” he rasped.
One of the nurses stepped forward and used a squeeze bottle to place a little water in his mouth. Then she patted his face and neck with a damp towel and withdrew to attend to something else.
He ran his tongue round his lips. His eyes settled on me.
“Colonel?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry about this.”
“Jesus, Gordy, it’s me who should be sorry. Now you just rest. We’ll get you home as soon as we can.”
He closed his eyes. I stepped back and began to walk past the other beds. Most of the men were sleeping or unconscious – I couldn’t tell which – and I didn’t like to disturb them. Some seemed to be awake but when I approached them they didn’t know me. The sister said they were probably hallucinating. Then I spotted David. He looked like death warmed up but at least he could talk.
“How’re you feeling, David?”
It was a stupid question but in this situation anything I could say would sound stupid. He had to control his quivering jaw before he could answer.
“Not good.”
“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
He gave me a wan smile, between shudders. His eyes swam around, then drifted back to me.
“Loused up the mission.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just concentrate on getting well.”
There was another long silence. He seemed to be battling with something. Then:
“Colonel?”
“Yes?”
“Will it go on my record?”
I could hardly believe my ears.
“David, what the hell are you talking about, man? If anything, leading your squad through a fever-infested jungle will count as a plus, not a minus.”
He nodded, then closed his eyes.
“You take care now,” I said, and left him to rest.
One or two of the others seemed to be aware of their surroundings. I coaxed a few words out of them but it was such an effort it tired them out. I thought of these guys going through the assault course with a full pack. I couldn’t believe the way they’d deteriorated. It was like I’d never known them.
The sister led me out of the facility.
“There are also some men this way,” she said.
It was a day room. Three more of the squad were in there: Tony, Gonsalves, and Liu. To my relief they seemed to be okay. Two were playing three-dimensional Scrabble and the third was reading a webzine. They looked up as I walked in.
“At ease, men,” I said.
Gonsalves set the reader aside. “Well I’m damned, it’s the Colonel.”
The others got up uncertainly.
“Sorry, sir, thought you were a medic in that outfit.”
“How’re you doing, Tony?”
“We’re all right. Just bored stiff. Don’t know what hit the others. They went down like ninepins.”
Liu added, “Can you get us out of here, Colonel?”
“Sorry, you’ll have to stay put for the moment. They need to keep an eye on you. We’ll ship you out as soon as we can.”
There was an awkward silence. I knew we were all thinking about their mates in the other room.
“We’d have completed the mission ourselves, you know, sir – Gonsalves, Liu, and me. There were only a half-dozen of them. We could have handled it.”
I felt a surge of pride. That’s the sort of outfit we were.
“I know, Tony, but I wasn’t taking chances. Anything you guys need?”
Liu said, “A
handheld with some war games would be nice. Can’t get anything on that.” He jerked his head at a terminal in the corner.
“—and a bottle of Jack Daniels,” Tony added.
I smiled. “I’ll see about the handheld. Take care now.”
Outside the day room I paused, frowning. I said to the sister:
“Thirteen on the ward, three in here – there are two missing. Tyler and Ferguson. Where are they?”
“I’m sorry, sir. They were in an advanced state when they came in. We were too late.”
I stared at her, stupefied. “Too late? You don’t mean they’re dead?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t get my head around it. Tyler was older than the others but he was really fit. And Fergy dead? It was inconceivable that a huge man with a constitution like that could go so fast.
He’s got a wife and two daughters. How the hell am I going to tell them?
I followed her dumbly out of the ward, weighed down by the thought that this might not have happened if I’d pulled the squad out at the first sign of trouble. In the anteroom I took off the mask, hat and overshoes, hung up the white coat, and put my hands through the wash cycle again. I couldn’t suppress a sense of relief at being back in the land of the living. That made me feel guiltier still. But by the time I’d emerged all those feelings had given way to anger and indignation.
The sister was waiting for me in the corridor and she bore the brunt of it.
“Sister, I moved the men here because this establishment has a first-class reputation. What you’ve shown me is a hi-tech facility but two of my men have died and thirteen look half-dead already. What the hell’s going on?”
“Believe me, Colonel, we are doing everything possible for them. Look, your reaction is understandable. It is best if you speak to the Chief Executive. He is expecting you.”
I set my jaw. “All right, lead on.”
*
She knocked on the door of the office and opened it without waiting. I heard her say, “Colonel Slater is here.” Then she dropped her voice to add something in Spanish and left, gesturing for me to go in. The Chief Executive was already on his feet. He introduced me to the Clinical Director, a slightly older man also wearing a suit. I shook his hand without much enthusiasm and we all sat down. I didn’t waste any time.
Counterfeit (The Jim Slater series Book 2) Page 5
