Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bern Holder, the team's junior engineer, drove the van while Riley sat next to him navigating. Scrunched into the back were the other ten members of the team, along with all their gear. It would have made a great commercial for Chevy carryalls, Riley thought to himself.

Arriving an hour ago at the post airfield, after flying in from Bragg, the team had picked up the van that was waiting for them there. The sergeant who signed the vehicle over to Riley had handed him a map of the post with a building circled in red. Go there, he told them. The man had shrugged when questioned further. He was just a gofer. He didn't know anything. Riley felt empathy with the man on that score. Since the alert yesterday, all he'd gotten from the group duty officer was information on where to go and when, but no why’s.

"Turn right here." Riley started counting building numbers.

"We there yet, Mister Riley?"

Riley shook his head. He felt like a parent on a long car trip with children whining in the backseat: "We there yet?" Except it sounded a lot worse coming from a captain in the army. During the hustle of getting the team ready to move out yesterday, the team had been assigned six additional bodies to fill out Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) 055, as the team was formally called, to its authorized strength of twelve.

One of those new bodies was Captain Vaughn, who had nominally taken over as team leader. Riley hadn't had the chance to really talk with the new captain yet. It had been enough hassle just loading out and getting everyone up here to Belvoir. So far, Captain Vaughn had left Riley particularly unimpressed.

Riley spotted what he was looking for according to the map. "That's it there. Turn in."

Holder turned the van and they rolled through the gates into a fenced compound. The van pulled up to the front of a two-story brick building that looked as though it had once been some sort of unit headquarters. A sedan with government plates was parked outside.

Riley turned to Powers, seated behind him. "Let everybody out to stretch their legs but don't unload the gear yet. I'm not sure if we'll be staying here or not. I'll take the captain in and see what we can find out."

Powers tapped his forehead with two fingers. "Roger that."

Riley turned to Captain Vaughn. "Let's go in and see what we've got, sir."

The captain nodded and put his beret on his head. "Let's go." Watching Vaughn struggle to get his new beret adjusted correctly, Riley quietly sighed. A Q-course cherry. Why'd he have to get saddled with that?

Riley followed the captain through the front door. Standing in the hallway a slender figure was waiting. Riley smiled with genuine delight in recognition. "Congratulations, sir! I didn't know you were on the promotion list."

Pike shook his head. "I wasn't. It's just temporary for this mission we're going to be running." He looked at the captain. "I'm Mike Pike," he gave a dry laugh, "and you can call me General Pike. I'll be your commander for the duration of this mission."

Vaughn didn't know whether to salute the general or shake the offered hand. So he quickly snapped to attention and popped off a salute that Pike indulgently returned, and then they shook hands.

"We aren't going to be busting into nuclear power plants are we?" Riley asked hopefully as the general ushered them into a large room that took up the majority of the first floor of the building.

"No. This one's a little bit different, Dave. I want to brief you two before the others get here."

"Others, sir?" Riley asked.

"Come on in my office and I'll fill you in. This here's the isolation area, and I'm set up in that office to the left," he said, pointing to the first of a series of three doors on the far side of the room.

Riley hesitated. "Sir, should I tell Powers to have the guys unload their gear?"

"Yep." Pike pointed. "Up those stairs and to the right are eight rooms with bunks in them. The work area is down here. Might as well get your team settled in."

Riley went outside and told Powers to have the men move the gear inside. Then he invited Powers to the meeting with the general. Pike hadn't specified bringing Powers in, but the general knew how the team worked. Of course, now that they had a commissioned officer as team leader, things might be changed, but until Vaughn said something different, Riley would keep things the same. Leaving the rest of the team at work, the two walked across the iso area into the small office where Vaughn was trying to exchange small talk with Pike.

Pike sat behind a standard army-issue desk with several plastic chairs surrounding it. He stood up, seeing the newcomers. "Master Sergeant Powers. Good to see they dragged you along for this trip." Pike came forward with his hand extended. Pike was one of the few senior Special Forces officers whom Powers liked and respected.

Powers shook the hand. "Didn't have much choice, sir. If I'd have known it was an alert I'd have never answered the phone."

Pike laughed. "That's the way it goes. I figured you'd be getting bored sitting around at Bragg doing nothing for two whole days, so I thought I'd liven things up for you."

He gestured around the office. "You all grab chairs and let me tell you what's going on." He waited until they were settled. "I just moved into this building last night, which was also when I got picked for this job. So I've only got a twelve-hour head start on this thing."

Pike steepled his fingers and placed his elbows on the desktop. "Our mission is to conduct unilateral interdiction missions into Colombia against cocaine processing laboratories."

Riley's heartbeat kicked up its pace for a few seconds and then settled down.

Pike continued. "These missions are sanctioned by the Colombian government; in fact, they're the ones who will be supplying the information we'll use to find our targets. However, the timing and method will be completely up to us and we'll receive no assistance from the Colombian government or military. I'm not sure how many of these missions we'll be conducting or the duration of this task force.

"We'll be getting a CIA and a DEA liaison here in about a half hour who will support this operation. The CIA rep will be bringing the first couple of potential targets and will provide us with CIA and NSA intelligence and imagery. I've got contacts in the Department of Defense from each of the services providing us with whatever support we request. The DEA man is the DEA embassy liaison from Colombia and can give us firsthand information on the in-country situation."

It was all sinking in slowly. Riley processed each piece of information separately, trying to come up with the whole picture. "Who else from the military, sir?"

Pike indicated the building about them. "We're it right now. Whatever specific support we need, we request on a case by case basis. This task force is supposed to be kept quiet to the max. I received a personal briefing from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff last night on the political sensitivity of these missions. Each one has to get personally approved by the chairman himself before it can go.

"In reality, you're the verifying and targeting team. We need somebody on the ground to make sure the right target gets hit and that it is legitimate. We've got the resources of the entire Department of Defense to make the hit with — that's the hammer. You could say that you men and your team are the eyes of the hammer. And when I say hammer, I mean it. The targets are going to be a free-fire zone. Once you verify, everything and everybody in it is expendable."

"You mean we kill everybody," Powers clarified. Riley smiled. That was one reason he brought Powers to meetings. The burly team sergeant reduced the bureaucratic jargon to terms everyone understood.

Pike nodded. "Everybody. This administration means business about drugs. You want facts and figures, they gave me a whole book full last night — about the number of Americans who die each year from drugs and drug-related crime, and all that. After what happened in Springfield, Virginia, this past week, there are a lot of pissed-off people in the government. General Macksey told me that as far as this administration is concerned, it's war."

Riley shook his head. "Yes, sir, but even in war we couldn't just waste everybody in a certain area. What if there are women and kids there? What if the drug people are forcing peasants to do their work?"

"Technically, Dave, if it's a processing laboratory, it gets blasted. In reality, that decision is up to you on the ground." Pike looked them in the eyes. "That's why I picked 055. I trust your judgment and I'll back you up on whatever you do."

Riley glanced over at his new team leader, who seemed a little overwhelmed with all that had been said. They didn't teach situations like this in the Special Forces qualification course, Riley thought to himself. This was the real thing.

Riley turned back to Pike. "Do we have anything in writing, sir? Or are we going to do all this on a promise from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs that we'll be taken care of? I'm concerned that if this leaks to the media we'll get fingered as murderers or some crap like that. I don't want to be left hanging in the wind, particularly if something goes wrong down south and someone gets stuck there."

Pike let out a deep breath. "To be honest I don't know how much support you'd get if this thing blew up. I haven't seen anything in writing other than this authorization order from the chairman to alert and use DOD forces. It doesn't specify for what purpose or where those forces would be used. You know I'll back you up, but as far as official reaction goes, you know as well as I do that it's going to depend on the circumstances. All I can do is guarantee you that if your ass is in the wind, mine will be right out there next to yours."

Figures, Riley thought. It really didn't matter. Promises were only worth the paper they were printed on. If this thing blew up, there'd be elbows flying all over D.C. as the politicos tried to cover their butts. Pike's word was worth more than any paper they'd ever get.

Riley sorted the pieces out again and examined his initial feelings. It was a good, worthwhile mission. One that most experienced men in 7th Group had figured would come along sooner or later in one form or another. Riley had heard rumors that Task Force 160 and Delta Force were doing some drug interdicting off the coast of Florida. No arrests or any of that legalese. The law of the bullet on the high seas, out of everyone's jurisdiction.

Riley didn't need to look at Pike's book of figures to know about drugs. He'd grown up on the streets of the South Bronx, where he'd seen firsthand the effects of drugs. It wasn't an abstract thing that he read about in the papers or saw on TV and thought: "How awful." Riley had lost boyhood friends to drugs. He'd seen the bodies and the families torn apart. He also knew that, but for the army and Special Forces, there was a damn good chance he'd have been one of those statistics. Fighting drugs was a cause that could make a man feel good about himself and his job.

Riley briefly remembered China — a little over two years ago now. There he'd given his blood, and half a year recovering in a hospital, on a mission that had ultimately meant little, except to the men and women who had participated. The lines had been blurred there — here the lines seemed crystal clear.

The question Riley now pondered was: how effective would all this be? Even if they shut down some labs, the addicts would still get their stuff one way or another. The price may go up, but as long as the demand existed, and people were willing to pay a lot of money, someone would always be willing to take the risks to meet the demand. On the other hand, Riley reasoned, doing nothing was tantamount to throwing your hands up and saying, "I'm defeated." That was something Riley had never said in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

Riley turned to the new team leader. He figured he'd done enough of the talking so far. It was time for the captain to earn his pay. "What do you think, sir?"

Vaughn looked slightly startled but quickly regained his composure. "I didn't hear the general asking us if we wanted to do this mission, Mister Riley. I do what I'm ordered to do. Sounds like a good mission."

Riley smiled to himself. Good answer. Nobody had asked them. Sure, they could make a big stink, but the bottom line was that they really didn't have much choice. That was part of being in the army.

Pike stood up. "You all have about twenty minutes to get settled in. The DEA and CIA will be arriving then. We'll meet across the hall in the main isolation room. We don't have much of anything in there except office supplies and furniture. The CIA is supposed to be bringing all the maps and intelligence you'll need to start planning."

Riley dumped his rucksack and duffel bag in the small room he would share with Dan Powers. Glancing out the window, he saw another government sedan pulling into the compound. He grabbed Powers and they went down the stairs and out into the lobby. The sedan pulled up in front of the door. A woman got out of the passenger side and a man out of the driver's. Riley watched as they opened the trunk of the car and started unloading cardboard filing boxes. Riley opened the door as they came in with the first load. He stood in front of them. "CIA or DEA?"

"CIA."

Powers stepped in front of the man, his bulk completely blocking the door. Riley knew Powers didn't like the CIA. "Don't mind if I see some credentials, do you?"

The man looked irritated. He set the box down, pulled out his wallet, and showed his ID card. Powers nodded. "You and your secretary can dump all that stuff in the room there to the left."

Powers turned and looked into the isolation area. He spotted two figures. "Marzan and Partusi! Get over here." The two came out. "Give these people a hand unloading the car," Powers directed them.

The woman called over her shoulder as she went back out for another load. "There's more in the backseat."

"Yes, ma'am."

Two trips later the car was unloaded. The two CIA agents shook hands, and one got in the car and drove off. The other turned to Powers. "My associate won't be working with us. I'm Agent Kate Westland. I'll be your liaison from the agency for the duration of the mission."

Riley almost laughed out loud as Powers blushed and stammered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just thought, well, I don't know. I didn't mean nothing. It's just that, well—"

Riley interceded. "Master Sergeant Powers has never worked with a woman before, so he made the wrong assumption. I'm Chief Warrant Officer Riley, the detachment's executive officer. General Pike should be back here shortly. He just went over to see the post commander to get some military police support to secure this compound."

The woman took the offered hand, then turned and went into the isolation area. Riley looked at her as she walked away, cataloging her as he did all people he met. She was of medium height, actually tall for a woman, about five foot nine, which made Riley look up at her slightly. She had somewhat broad shoulders, which seemed incongruous on an otherwise slender build. Looking at her bare arms Riley could see the muscles twist and ripple as she moved some of the file boxes. He nodded to himself approvingly, using a somewhat different scale than most men. She definitely took care of herself physically. She had dark hair, cut short in a more functional than fashionable manner. Her skin tone was almost as dark as Riley's. She looked younger, but judging by the lines around her eyes, Riley estimated she was probably in her late twenties to early thirties.

Another car drove into the lot. Pike got out with difficulty and came inside. Riley pointed out their new teammate. "There's the CIA."

Pike walked over and introduced himself. As he was doing so, a third car rolled in. An overweight man got out. Peering around he walked up to the door.

Riley inspected the new arrival. Old to be a field agent. Looked to be in his fifties. Riley examined more closely. Most likely he was in his early forties. A red-veined nose and a beer belly suggested that alcohol had aged him. Riley cursed to himself — they didn't need a rummy, if the man was one. He checked the man's ID card and then let him into the planning room. The DEA had arrived.

Riley sent Powers out to round up the team. Time to start the fun and games.

The fifteen task force members were seated on folding chairs in a rough circle, facing each other. General Pike started the meeting. Riley knew that the general would keep it somewhat informal. Pike believed that people thought better that way and would contribute important ideas they might not otherwise convey.

"Good morning. I think the first order of business is introductions and a little background information on each of us. I'm General Pike and I'm the officer in charge of this task force. Prior to this assignment I was the army Special Operations staff officer in the office of the DCSOP- SO in the Pentagon. As part of that job I supervised the nuclear facility testing team project. Six of the members of the detachment here were on one of those teams. Prior to that assignment, I spent a few years doing various army things, most of them in the Special Operations arena." That was an understatement if Riley had ever heard one.

Pike looked at Captain Vaughn. "Captain, I'd like Mister Riley to introduce your team if you don't mind, since he's worked with them longer than you have. Dave, I'd like you to include a brief description of each man's skills."

Riley wished the general had let Vaughn introduce the team. The captain was getting his ego damaged enough as it was with all the constant referrals to Riley instead of him. However, the general also knew that Vaughn didn't even know all the members of the team and probably wasn't clear on their responsibilities and capabilities, having never worked with an SF A-Team outside of a school environment.

Riley stood up. "I'm Chief Warrant Officer Riley, the detachment executive officer. I'm responsible for all intelligence matters and am the second in command of the team."

He circled behind each team member's chair as he introduced them, starting with the captain. "This is Captain Vaughn, the detachment commander. He's responsible for everything the detachment does and fails to do." Vaughn stood up briefly as he was introduced, as did each succeeding team member. The captain, standing only five foot five, was the only person on the team Riley could look down upon. The captain's clipped red hair and pug nose made him look even younger than his twenty-seven years.

"Master Sergeant Powers is the team sergeant. He's the senior noncommissioned officer on the team and also the operations sergeant. He is responsible for the detachment's training and is the primary tactical planner for the team."

Powers was the only true combat veteran on 055, although Riley had been on several classified missions involving live fire. Powers was physically the strongest member of the team, but he was also slightly overweight. Nevertheless, Riley knew that the senior NCO could hold his own in the field. Riley had never seen his team sergeant falter because of his weight. Powers was a calming influence on some of the younger members, and his hard-earned combat experience from Vietnam made him invaluable. Riley circled behind the bulk of the team sergeant standing easily in front of his chair.

"Sergeant Lane is a weapons sergeant." Gus Lane, the weapons man, was young and inexperienced. But he made up for that with an intense dedication to his job. Lane had light skin and a head topped with short, crew-cut blond hair. He boasted a compact, muscular body and stood three inches taller than Riley at five foot ten inches.

"Staff Sergeant Marzan is a communications sergeant." Hosea Marzan could easily pass for a native in most South and Central American countries. His dark skin and Spanish looks had hooked him more than enough girls out in Fayetteville, the local town off Fort Bragg. Riley appreciated Marzan's steadiness and maturity. On top of that, he was an experienced communications man and could be relied on to do the job.

"Sergeant Holder is an engineer." Bern Holder, the engineer/demolitions man, was relatively inexperienced. He'd joined Special Forces two years ago, coming over from the engineer battalion in the 82d Airborne. Riley liked the young man because he was so earnest. He always tried hard, even though he often failed — not out of any lack of trying but because, as Riley reluctantly had to admit to himself, the man was a few slices short of a full loaf upstairs. Holder had made it through the qualification course on sheer guts and fortitude. Riley figured a man could break his way through any wall with his head if he hit the wall enough times and didn't mind the pain. That's what he thought of when he considered Holder. Not too bright but willing to try hard.

"Staff Sergeant Partusi is the medic." The last member of the old team present, Frank Partusi had been on 055 longer than Riley. Partusi was as swift as Holder was slow. The man was a damn genius as a medic. Riley had watched him perform minor surgery and been extremely impressed. Partusi had spent two years in medical school before coming to Special Forces and had joined up because he enjoyed the challenge of being a Special Forces medic. He was planning on getting out when his present hitch was up next year and going back to medical school.

Riley introduced the first enlisted member attachment to the team. "This is Sergeant First Class Alexander. He is the detachment's intelligence sergeant and works with me on intelligence matters." Alexander came to the team with a relatively good reputation after a stint as an instructor with the Operations and Intelligence School staff at the Special Warfare Center. Or at least that was what Powers had told Riley. Riley would reserve judgment until he had some evidence.

"This is Sergeant First Class Paulson. He's another weapons man. The weapons men are responsible for all individual and crew-served weapons the detachment may use or train indigenous forces on." Paulson was a thickset man who looked as though he had some SF experience. But all the new men were unknown quantities as far as Riley was concerned. The only way to really tell how good they were was to do something for real and see how they reacted.

"This is Sergeant Atwaters, the detachment's junior communications sergeant. He and Sergeant Marzan are responsible for maintaining a secure communication link between the detachment and our support base and for all aspects of communications planning." Atwaters had rubbed Riley the wrong way at their first meeting the previous day. The young E-5 was the caricature of the southern redneck. He was of medium height, sported stringy black hair just shy of being too long for regulations, and had a loud, obnoxious manner.

"This is Sergeant Hale, the senior engineer. The engineers are responsible for target assessment and demolitions planning." Hale seemed competent. He was a skinny, black six-footer. He had talked little in the last twenty-four hours but Riley sensed he was observing everything. Riley liked that in a man.

"Staff Sergeant Colden, the junior medic. The medics are responsible for the health of the detachment." Colden seemed to be Atwaters's running buddy. The two had graduated from the same Q-course. Colden was a lean man, given to chewing tobacco, a habit Riley hated.

Riley turned to the two guests. "Both of you are probably unfamiliar with working with army, never mind Special Forces troops. In Special Forces we tend to be a bit more relaxed about rank and all that than the rest of the army is. We also try to use everyone's brainpower to the utmost. That's why all twelve of us are sitting in on this meeting and not just the commander and executive officer."

Or at least that's the way it's supposed to be, Riley thought to himself. With a new detachment commander things might change. However, Riley didn't think Pike would let anything too outrageous happen. Pike had been around Special Operations even longer than Powers and had forgotten more things about running missions than Riley had ever known.

"From what we've been told so far, we'll be operating in a split team mode for this operation. That means we split each pair of specialists and make two teams out of the one you see before you." Riley returned to his seat.

"Thanks, Dave." Pike turned to the other two people attending. "Why don't you introduce yourselves."

The CIA led off. "I'm Agent Westland. I'm from the Latin American section. My area of specialty is Colombia and Panama and I have traveled to both countries several times. I speak Spanish and Portuguese fluently.

"Basically, until now I've been an intelligence analyst collating and summarizing raw information about those two countries into intelligence." In other words, Riley thought to himself, she was a desk jockey and not a field agent. In his opinion that was probably an asset. They sure didn't need one of the field heroes with an ego the size of a 747 whom he had met on other missions.

Westland continued. "I'm here to provide you targeting intelligence and logistics support. I'll be working with you for the duration of this project. I've brought with me as much information on Colombia as I could track down in the short amount of time I had. I also have the first two potential target locations along with supporting imagery." She sat back down.

Stevens got up. "I'm Rich Stevens. I am… was… the Drug Enforcement Agency's embassy liaison in Colombia. I've been brought up here to assist you in any way you desire. I've been in Colombia seven months on this tour. Four years ago, I did a two-year stint there. I can give you some background on the drug situation down there whenever you want. Also, I've brought pictures of drug labs that were raided during Operation Blast Furnace, to give you an idea of what you'll be looking for." Stevens returned to his chair.

Pike nodded. "All right. Now that we know each other, let's get to work." He turned to Vaughn. "Captain, I'll let you work out a schedule for the isolation. I will need at least a brief concept of operations from you by tomorrow night. The key things I'll need are infiltration and exfiltration means and how you propose the target be destroyed. I'll be able to give you some potential weapons systems and means of target destruction when I get back from the Pentagon early this afternoon, but for now basically consider every system in the armed forces at your disposal." Pike collected his briefcase and left the room.

Riley turned and looked at the captain along with the rest of the remaining occupants in the room. It was an early test for the new leader. Riley knew that Vaughn had, at best, a vague idea of how to organize the isolation. If he was smart he'd ask for help from Riley and Powers, to whom the whole procedure was old hat.

Vaughn seemed unsure of what to do. Riley decided to ease the burden for the young man and take him off the spot. In training, Riley might have kept quiet until asked, but this was the real thing; it was no time to make a point. "Sir," he said, standing up and getting the captain's attention. "If I might make some suggestions?" Vaughn nodded.

Riley grabbed a marker and went up to an easel with butcher block paper on it. He split the page in half with a line. On the left he divided responsibilities. On the right he worked out a time line as he spoke.

"Frank," he said, turning to the senior medic, "I want you and Colden to secure this isolation area. Cover the windows, get an access roster going, and all that. Basic S-2 stuff.

"Paulson, you and Lane and Holder hang the maps and set this room up according to team SOP."

Riley looked around. "For those of you who just joined the team, there are some copies of the 055 standard operating procedures (SOP) in the isolation footlocker we brought up here. Take a quick look through at the section on isolation procedures to get up to speed. The SOP pretty much breaks out your responsibilities by MOS and how we conduct isolation. I think each of you will have plenty to do for a while after you read that."

He turned to Vaughn. "Sir, you and I and Powers and Alexander should look at the locations of the targets and try to war-game it as far as what General Pike wants. Try to get some basic ideas." Again Vaughn nodded.

Riley turned to Westland. "Could you give us all a thumbnail sketch on Colombia? You know, culture, geography, current events. Whatever you feel we need to know as background, minus specific info on the drug people, which I'm sure," he turned to the DEA agent, "Mister Stevens can give us."

Westland held a pencil over her notepad. "When do you want it?"

Riley checked the time line. "Can you be ready by noon?" She nodded and he marked it in.

He looked at Stevens. "How about you go right after her?"

Stevens nodded glumly. Riley marked in a few more events on his tentative time line and then capped the marker. "Let's get going."

"All right. Let's pay attention." Riley counted heads and then turned his gaze to the CIA agent standing next to the podium.

Westland clicked the remote in her hand and a slide came on the screen behind her as she started. Riley noted that she spoke with confidence. It was apparent that she had either given this briefing before or had spent a lot of time working over the material.

"The Republic of Colombia is located here at the northern end of the South American continent. It's the only South American country with both a Pacific and an Atlantic shoreline. It is also the land gateway into South America from Panama.

"Colombia has an area of roughly half a million square miles, about slightly less than twice the size of Texas. With a population of about thirty million, it is the fourth largest nation in South America. The official language is Spanish, with some isolated Indian dialects spoken.

"The currency is the peso and the economy is based on agriculture and the export — besides cocaine, of course — of coffee and other agricultural products. It is estimated that anywhere from ten to twenty-five percent of the population is directly or indirectly involved in the cocaine industry."

Westland glanced back at the map of Colombia lit on the screen behind her. "I'll now cover the geography in a little more detail. Colombia is a land of great geographical and climatical contrasts. Depending on where you are in the country, you could be standing in a tropical rain forest, an open savannah, a temperate forest, or near-arctic conditions in the higher elevations.

"The terrain features that dominate the country are the Andes Mountains and its various smaller ranges. The second-largest feature lies to the east of the mountains and is called the Llanos, or area of plains. For the purposes of this mission we can basically ignore that part of the country, since it stretches off into the jungles of the Amazon basin. It's sparsely populated and undeveloped. The places we are concerned with will either be in the mountains, such as in the vicinity of Medellin or Bogota, or down on the Caribbean seacoast, where Cartagena and Barranquilla are located.

"Medellin and Bogota are located in the central highlands, on plateaus between the mountain ranges. Bogota, the capital city, is at an elevation of 8,660 feet above sea level; Medellin is at 5,000 feet. This makes for a temperate climate despite the proximity to the equator.

"Not far out of each city you can find yourself on steep, vegetated mountainsides. I don't mean to steal any of Mister Stevens's spiel, but I believe that this is the terrain where you will find some of your targets. Of the two initial targets I've brought, one is located in the hills just outside Medellin. The second is near Cartagena, which is located here."

Westland looked over her audience. "The Caribbean coast outside of the cities is swampy and tropical, crisscrossed with streams and lakes. Most people think of jungle when they talk of Colombia, but the terrain you will be concerned with will be either lowland swamps or temperate highlands. The areas you will be working in are not like the jungles you might be used to from your missions in Panama, although there may be a little of that along the coast, depending on where exactly you go.

"A quick sketch of recent history may give you an idea of the kind of social climate you'll be working in. Due to various reasons there has been a strong guerrilla movement in the country for many years. The two largest of these groups are known as the M-19 movement and the FARC. However, there are a total of almost a hundred splinter guerrilla organizations operating there."

Riley shook his head in amazement. What kind of screwed-up country were they going into? "What's the relationship between the guerrillas and the drug cartel?"

Westland shrugged. "Off again, on again. Mostly off. One of the reasons the cartel has the military so infiltrated with informers, and also receives a lot of tacit support from the armed forces, is because the cartel often helps in the war against the guerrillas, who have been a threat to their business operations at times.

"However, the guerrillas and the cartel have been known to cooperate when mutual goals have coincided. For example, the attack on the Supreme Court in late 1985 was actually the work of the M-19 group. This took place right after the Court took the step of allowing extradition of cartel members to the U.S. for prosecution, so saying that the executions were coincidence is kind of hard to do. It took us almost five years to recover from that blow to the point where they allowed extradition again.

"The government's recent efforts against the cartel have placed it in the unenviable position of having to fight two separate enemies— the cartel and the guerrillas. The military appears to feel, with some justification, that the guerrillas are the worse of the two evils.

"As a whole, the country of Colombia is perhaps the most lawless in the world. In many areas the only law is the power of the drug gangs. They employ people they call sicarios, which means paid assassins. Comparing the Mafia to the Colombians is like comparing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to Attila the Hun and his army. The Springfield massacre was a typical example of how the sicarios operate.

"Over the past decade, the drug cartel has made several different offers to the government, ranging from asking to be legalized to threatening to take over the country. They have even offered to erase the country's approximately sixteen-billion-dollar foreign debt if the government would formally recognize them."

Riley considered this information. It was all very interesting but, hopefully, would not come into play in the upcoming missions. His war-gaming with the other senior team members had sketched tentative plans that would have the recon element on the ground less than twelve hours for each mission. Nonetheless, it was a tenet of Special Forces operations to have a working knowledge of the area of operations. You never knew when such information might be useful. Riley wished they had more time to do a proper area study of Colombia, but he knew that wouldn't be possible under the present compressed schedule. He stood up, since Westland seemed to be done. "Anything else?"

She shrugged. "I could go on for hours but I'm not really sure you need more detail from me. I think Mister Stevens is going to give you more specific information concerning the drug cartel that might be more along the lines of what you need."

Riley appreciated her conciseness and ability to see what was needed. It was a trait not many people possessed. "Thanks for the briefing. I'm sure we'll be hitting you up over the next couple of days for more specific information as we find out we need it." He turned to Stevens. "All yours."

Stevens took Westland's spot, replacing her slide tray with his own. He cleared his throat and started. "I'm going to give you a quick briefing on the drug network that you'll be attacking. This information should allow you to better understand what you're up against.

"The drug we're primarily concerned with is cocaine. It's estimated that there are ten to twenty million users in the United States. We're not exactly sure of the number because people don't line up and answer polls on that sort of thing. Suffice it to say there's a whole bunch of folks snorting the stuff. You also have to add in the rapidly growing number of crack users, since crack is a derivative of cocaine.

"The cocaine network begins in the Andes Mountains of South America, where the coca plant is grown. The majority of the coca crop is cultivated in the countries of Bolivia and Peru. We roughly estimate there are over 400,000 acres presently under cultivation, producing well over 100,000 metric tons of leaf annually. The leaves, when mature, are harvested and taken to initial processing labs in the immediate area. Leaves are sold for ten to fourteen dollars a kilo. Leaves have a cocaine content of about one half to one percent by weight.

"At this initial lab, the leaves are ground up, soaked in alcohol laced with benzol, and mixed. The alcohol is drained and sulfuric acid is then added and the mixture is stirred. Then sodium carbonate is added. The whole thing is washed with kerosene and chilled, leaving crystals of cocaine behind. These crystals, called coca paste, have a cocaine content of anywhere from thirty-five to eighty percent, usually near the lower end of those two numbers. It takes approximately two hundred kilos of coca leaf to produce one kilo of crude coca paste.

"The paste is then taken to several cities in South America where buyers congregate — places such as Tingo Maria in Peru, Santa Cruz in Bolivia, Iquitos in Peru, and Leticia in Colombia. There the paste is purchased and shipped to processing laboratories. The majority goes to Colombia, where it is further refined into base.

"In Colombia there are four main locations for the final processing labs that we are concerned with." Stevens turned and pointed at the map on the wall. "They are in the areas around the cities of Bogota, Medellin, Cartagena, and Barranquilla. I'd say there are about twenty labs operating at any one time in the country. Over half of these are relatively small time when compared to a lab operated by one of the three lords of the drug cartel."

Stevens turned and looked at the team. "A key factor to our success in this task force will be which labs are targeted for us. If we hit a couple of the big-time ones, we'll make a strong impact on the entire network.

"At these labs the coca paste is turned into base, using ether. It takes approximately two and a half kilograms of paste to make one kilo of base. The base is then turned into cocaine hydrochloride. This is done on a one-to-one scale." Stevens turned to the view screen behind him and hit the switch for the slide projector. "These are examples of what you're looking for. The key signs are the drums of ether or hydrochloric acid, which are used for the last two steps."

Holder, the junior engineer, observed, "That place is an explosion waiting to happen. All that ether."

Stevens nodded. "It has been known to happen. Somebody gets a little careless and the place ceases to exist. The chemists who work there get paid enough to make the risk worthwhile."

The chemicals would compound the effect of the firing platform, Riley thought. He watched as the pictures continued to flash across the screen.

Stevens went on. "I have hard copies of all these photos and will leave them here. Also, I'm leaving some intelligence reports on the makeup of some of the drug organizations."

Powers raised his hand. "What about security at these labs?"

"Security is heavy. It's not unknown for one drug lord to try to rip off another. Like I said, there are three main lords down there right now. Combined they are called the cartel, but that doesn't necessarily mean they work together. One is based in Medellin. That's Suarez. Another controls Bogota and Barranquilla. That's Ahate's people, although there have been rumors there's been a coup in that gang and a man known only as the Ring Man is presently in charge. He used to be one of Ahate's top sicarios. The last, Ramirez, also known as The Shark, works the coast out of Cartagena.

"At a typical major lab I'd say you have anywhere from twenty to thirty men for security. They're armed with the latest automatic weapons and machine guns. I've heard that some of them have black market Redeye antiaircraft missiles for use against helicopters, and with the amount of money these people have, I could well believe it.

"Let me tell you something about the wealth you're dealing with. Let's back the whole process up. For one kilo of cocaine hydrochloride you need over a thousand kilos of leaves. That costs $700 to $800 in Bolivia. That initial investment, when turned into a kilo of cocaine hydrochloride, becomes worth a lot, because when it reaches the States the kilo is stepped on several times; that is, it's diluted with a neutral substance, such as lactose. That's done maybe three times, making that initial kilo into eight kilos. Each of those eight kilos can sell for let's say at least $15,000. So we're talking a total sale of $120,000. And that's not street value. On the street the kilos are further broken down and sold as grams for a higher per unit price."

Stevens looked at the men in front of him. "With that kind of money you can afford protection. There've been reports of foreign mercenaries working for some of the factions, running training camps for the sicarios and in some cases actually doing some of their dirty work. I've heard of some Americans there but it mainly seems to be German and Israeli ex-military.

"Each branch of the cartel has its little army of sicarios. For example, Ramirez's sicarios call themselves the Terminator gang and mark their victims with a T pattern of bullet holes. You've also got the Rambos, the Hernan Botero gang, the Black Flag gang, and several others. They use women extensively as assassins."

Stevens clicked off his projector. "The entire drug cartel in Colombia is a highly organized and ruthless bunch. If the government down there tried to stand toe to toe with the cartel and fight it out, I'd put my money on the cartel."

Riley felt that the isolation was going well so far. Most of the team members were wading through the information Westland and Stevens had brought with them, sorting out those facts they needed for both their area of expertise and as background for the overall mission. All the maps were posted and the isolation area was internally secure. Pike had arranged with the post commander to secure the outside of the compound with military police.

Riley glanced around the isolation area a little nervously, steeling himself to go over and talk to the new detachment commander. Riley disliked personal confrontations. He'd spent his childhood avoiding conflict, and even the possibility of having to argue with someone made him nervous.

Riley hadn't had a chance to talk with Captain Vaughn one-on-one so far. Too much had happened, and Riley had been kept busy trying to get the team on track to start mission planning. Now he knew he'd have to make the time. The whole operation was moving much faster than he had originally expected. Based on the intelligence and targeting information, the first split team was projected to go on a mission in two or three days.

Riley knew it was time to start making some hard decisions regarding mission planning and organization — decisions that were technically the captain's to make. Equally important, he also wanted to get an idea of what the captain thought and felt about the whole mission.

With a sigh, Riley got up and wandered across the room in the general direction of Captain Vaughn. He hovered near the captain's desk until Vaughn glanced up and noticed him. "Excuse me, sir, but I thought we might sit down and discuss some things privately."

Vaughn nodded. "That's a good idea. I've been wanting to talk to you about the way things are going."

Riley pointed. "We can use the general's office. He's over at the Pentagon trying to coordinate some of the support we need." Riley led the way into the small room and closed the door. He figured he needed to be the one to begin things. He perched on the edge of the general's desk while the captain took a chair.

"Sir, first off, you need to know that I'm not used to working under a team leader. I've been the commander of this team since I got my warrant, going on a little over a year. Before that I was an E-7 team sergeant, so I was in control on the enlisted side then. This situation, with you in command and me being the XO, is as new to me as it is to you. I think we can work together to make the transition for the two of us and the team as smooth as possible."

Riley was trying to be nice. Although having a commissioned officer as detachment commander was new to him as a warrant officer, being in Special Forces wasn't. It was all new to the young captain. Riley was hoping that Vaughn would want to utilize his experience; in return, Riley was willing to teach and support the captain.

Vaughn's reply indicated to Riley that either he hadn't quite understood what Riley was offering or wasn't interested. "I hear what you're saying. I can understand that it might be hard for you to accept that I'm in command. But that's the way it is. I know I don't have any Special Forces experience, but I spent four years in the 82d Airborne Division and had a successful company command there. So I know what's going on. Also, I did well in the qualification course. I was the top officer graduate in my class."

Riley looked the captain in the eyes. "Sir, you're going to find things are a bit different over here than they were in the 82d. I spent two years in the eighty-deuce when I was enlisted and I know what it's like. We operate differently here in SF, and the Q-course doesn't teach you everything you need to know."

Vaughn shook his head. "I don't see the need to operate differently on this mission. It looks very straightforward to me. Just like a mission out of Ranger school. We go in, verify the target, and then call in some firepower to blast."

Riley rubbed his forehead. I'm glad my mother taught me patience, he thought. Of all the people to get saddled with — a former member of the 82d Airborne gang. Riley had found an amazing consistency among the officers from that unit. A frontal lobotomy must be part of the in-processing when a new officer reported to the division. On the other hand, the enlisted soldiers were super. They would do damn near anything they were asked. Which was part of the problem. They didn't question it when their officers told them to do something stupid. And Riley had seen a lot of stupid things ordered by the officers of the neighboring 82d Airborne Division in his seven years at Fort Bragg.

"Sir, to be frank, the first difference between here and at division is that this team operates alone. It's just you and the eleven of us. Second, things are never as clear-cut as they appear. This mission appears straightforward, but I have bad feelings about it."

Riley could see Vaughn trying to decide whether the eleven-to-one thing had been a veiled threat. Apparently he couldn't figure it out because he latched onto the second remark. "What kind of bad feelings are you talking about?"

"Sir, I tend to wonder why about things. Like in this case, I wonder why the Colombian government is fingering some cocaine labs. The intel that CIA woman, Westland, brought seems to check out with the imagery. It looks like we've got two good targets. But all the background stuff we've studied in the last couple of hours on Colombia says that the government and the drug cartel are in a sort of alliance. Kind of a 'you don't bother me and I won't bother you' arrangement. So why the change all of a sudden?"

Vaughn pondered that for a few moments. Riley expected to see smoke pouring out of the captain's ears any second. "You've got a point. But I also don't think it's likely that we'll find out. Obviously there are some internal maneuverings going on down there that we don't know about. The key thing to be worried about as far as we're concerned is getting ambushed. The first mission is going to be key. If it's a setup, that's the one that will tell."

Riley's estimation of his new team leader went up slightly. The man had hit the nail on the head. "That's exactly what's been bugging me, sir. The first one is going to be critical. Since we're going in split team I suggest we stagger these first two hits. Hold off on sending the second team in until the first one is out successfully."

Vaughn concurred. "That's a good idea. No sense in endangering all of us at the start. Kind of like sending a recon element across a danger area, like I was taught in Ranger school. I agree."

Riley nodded. "I recommend that I take in the first split team and you take the second, sir. We can work out the makeup of the split teams later today."

Vaughn agreed. "OK. When the general gets back I'll see what he thinks about it."

President Alegre, throughout the bustle of the day's business, had kept one thought in the back of his mind — the situation with the Ring Man. He considered the recent developments. The Americans had the locations of the first two targets by now. They had to act quickly. Laboratories moved occasionally. The facilities were just a collection of shacks. Keeping drugs worth many millions of dollars in one location too long was a risky proposition in Colombia. The country had the highest crime rate per capita in the world.

Alegre shook his head as he considered the larger picture. He truly believed the drugs were the Americans' fault. It was their organized crime that controlled the overseas market, and the American people who created the demand. Alegre felt his people were just trying to make a living. Unfortunately, the use of drugs among Colombians was growing at an alarming rate. The international political fallout was also damaging. The Americans had never stopped putting the pressure on his administration to do something. Alegre knew he could have ignored the American pressure and nothing significant would have happened, but he had other factors to consider.

In four days the United Nations was going to vote on the border dispute with Venezuela over the Gulf of Venezuela. Although the gulf was almost entirely enclosed by Venezuelan land, Colombia still maintained a claim on a third of it by nature of Colombian territory on La Guajira peninsula. The potential oil and mineral rights from the ocean bottom there were forecast to be in the billions. With the backing of the United States, Colombia might be able to ram its claim through the United Nations.

With the economic boom that claim would bring, Alegre felt that Colombia could finally throw off the money leash the drug cartel held on the people. Without the carrot of mining rights in the Gulf of Venezuela to offer the economy, he knew he would never be able to fully destroy the cartel.

Another factor, of a more personal nature, was the fact that if the cartel was willing to gun down schoolchildren in America, they wouldn't hesitate to kill a president in Colombia. Alegre knew he was in office only at the tolerance of the drug cartel. He didn't like that setup. He believed the best defense was a good offense. Since being elected, he had bided his time until the situation was right, placating the cartel. The time to fight back appeared to be now.

For the present, Alegre would work with the Ring Man. Their immediate goals were the same. Alegre shivered briefly. If the Ring Man knew Alegre's ultimate objective, there would be blood spilled in the presidential palace.

Alegre sighed. It was all so complicated. Playing people against each other. Trying to manipulate the situation for the country's good. There was a price to be paid for everything.

Alone in the small, two-man room they shared, Powers sat on his bunk unperturbed by his friend's agitation. "It's his neck. Let him hang himself."

Riley shook his head in exasperation. "Come on, compadre. That isn't the way it's supposed to work."

Powers leaned back on his bunk contentedly. "Listen, Dave. Stop worrying about everyone else's problems for a minute. If the little Napoleon wants to split the team up into the new and old guys, that makes sense to me. I'd rather go in with you than with him."

Riley had had a feeling that Powers wasn't going to be too upset with Vaughn's proclamation on the makeup of the split teams. Vaughn had split the twelve-man team in half. The six old members of 055 would go together under Riley's command on the first mission. The six new additions would assume the second mission under the captain's command. What really irked Riley was that the captain hadn't even consulted him. He thought they had had an understanding after their conversation earlier this afternoon. Obviously, he'd been wrong about that.

Riley knew that Powers was also less than pleased with the captain's leadership technique, or rather lack of it. In Special Forces the team sergeant as a minimum should have been consulted before such a decision was made. Riley and Powers had always worked together, bouncing ideas off of each other, consulting the rest of the team where feasible. The idea was to maximize the considerable brainpower every team possessed. With his solo decision Vaughn had acted as though he was still in the 82d Airborne.

Powers continued. "It splits the MOSs exactly. Each split team got one medic, one commo man, one engineer, and one weapons man." Powers sat up and looked at his old friend. "And one officer."

"You know that the team sergeant is supposed to go with the team leader," Riley retorted.

Powers began getting irritated. "Bullshit. That's not written anywhere. Technically, the team sergeant always takes the other half of the team from the captain."

"That's before we had warrants, and the XO was just a lieutenant who couldn't find his ass with both hands."

Powers slammed his hand on the desk next to his bed. "Goddamnit, Dave! Listen. Alexander is a good man. He can take care of the captain. This gives our split team a much better survival chance. We got the guys we worked with all year. Everyone knows the SOPs."

"What about the other guys going with the captain?"

"So what do you want to do? Reduce the survivability of both split teams?"

Riley paused and reconsidered. Powers did have a point there. Riley sighed. What was he getting so worked up about? Deep inside he was happy to have people he knew and trusted on his part of the split team. Plus it opened up more possibilities for infiltration.

Powers wasn't through and was obviously thinking along the same lines. "The bottom line on it is the infiltration. You seem to be forgetting that. Alexander's the only free-fall parachutist out of all the new guys. And he's not free-fall jumpmaster qualified. I'm the only free-fall jumpmaster you got and, since we're thinking of going in from thirty thousand feet on the first mission, I think you're going to need me. The second mission just about calls for going in by Combat Talon with their ass in the grass at two hundred fifty feet. All the new guys can handle that, but they sure as hell ain't going to be able to HAHO in on the first one. Anyway, you ain't got no choice, partner. It's got to be the way the captain set it up."

Powers reconsidered. "Well, maybe it doesn't have to be that way and I don't like the way he did it either, but the end result would have been the same even if he did consult with you or me."

Riley nodded reluctantly. Looking at it from that perspective he realized he was more pissed at the lack of respect the captain had shown him than at the actual decision. He decided to put this one in the past and drive on.

"Screw it. Get the guys on our split team together. I want to do a practice briefback."

Powers grinned. "Now you're getting smart."