Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Riley forced himself to remain calm. He stopped finning and looked over his shoulder back toward shore. From the curve of the beach, he knew he was very close to the buoy marking the Zodiac's watery grave. He needed to relax and search the area slowly. It wouldn't do him any good to splash around and miss the buoy by ten meters. Every so often, as he topped a swell, he would turn over onto his stomach and scan the area, trying to spot the low-lying marker.

A sense of urgency tightened its icy grip around his heart. It had already been over twenty minutes since he had heard Powers's diversion. He'd made the dash across the beach as soon as the sicarios had taken off toward the sound of the firing. Shortly after he started swimming, he'd heard another burst of fire and some explosions that sounded like grenades. He was afraid that Powers had made contact again. Since then Riley hadn't heard anything. He prayed his team sergeant was still alive.

"This is Hammer. I say again, I have negative radio contact with Eyes Three element. Over."

Westland stared at the radio, her brow furrowed in thought as Pike talked into the mike.

"Can you make contact with the Garcia! Over."

"Wait one."

Pike took a deep breath as he sat back in the chair and endured the pause. He'd much rather be out there in the action than sitting here on his ass talking on a radio.

"Roger. We have contact with the Garcia. Over."

"Order its captain to move in closer, to within forty-five kilometers. Over."

"Roger, will relay your order. Over."

Pike waited a minute and then keyed the mike again. "What about IR chem lights or strobes on the shore? Do you have anything on your screens? Over."

"Negative on that. Through the thermals we can see a lot of people running around near the target, but no indication of friendlies. Over."

Westland suddenly leaned forward. "Ask Hammer to use its thermals over the water, between the boats and shore. Maybe they're in the water, trying to swim out."

Pike nodded. "I didn't think of that." He keyed the mike. "Hammer, this is Hammer Base. Scan the water near the shore for any swimmers. Our people may be trying to swim out to the boat. Over."

The disembodied voice from the Spectre gunship rogered the message and Westland sat back in her chair as she waited for the result.

She rubbed her eyes wearily. What a screw-up. Still no word on Stevens. No word from the team. This had the potential for disaster written all over it. Always before when she'd heard about something like this it had seemed kind of distant. Like watching a TV show or reading a spy novel. But now that the men in danger were flesh and blood people she was working with, it all seemed so different. Not glamorous or thrilling, the way it sounded when field agents recounted stories of their missions.

The worst part for Westland was the realization that Dave Riley had predicted this very occurrence. She hadn't been convinced there was a leak. Now she was. The story of Stevens cavorting with a local woman had surfaced as Jameson tried tracking down the missing DEA agent. Westland was upset with Jameson for not having reported it earlier. It was a little late now to do us much good, she thought bitterly. Riley had pointed to Stevens as a weak link from the start. Unfortunately, he'd been proven correct.

She started as she heard the gunship come back on the air. "Hammer Base, I've got a heat source in the water approximately four hundred meters from shore. Over."

Riley rode the swell and finned hard, rising up out of the water to his midchest. He scanned the immediate area. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a black dot — the buoy. He swam over to it and grabbed the line. He released his ruck from its buddy line and attached the snap link to the buoy line. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself down on the line to the boat. The line was tied directly into a large carbon dioxide-charged bottle strapped to the boat's floorboards. Riley fumbled along the bottle until he felt the valve. He pulled the release, let go of the boat, and swam to the surface.

He had barely taken his second breath of air when the Zodiac popped up almost underneath him. The carbon dioxide was still inflating the boat as Riley clambered over the side. He pulled in his ruck. When the gas stopped hissing, he closed the inlet valve and the compartmental valves. Then he tore through the waterproof bags in his pack and pulled out the SATCOM radio.

He didn't bother with a bounce-back test, just keyed the mike and spoke. "Hammer, this is Nail Three Five. Do you have an IR chem light on shore, moving south along the coast, about four hundred meters in? Over."

"Nail Three Five, this is Hammer. That's a negative. We've scanned the whole area for ten klicks each direction over the past ten minutes and have found nothing. Hammer Base is patched into this net and wants to talk to you. Over."

Riley slumped down in the boat. He was too late. Powers was either dead or captured; otherwise his IR light would still be on. Riley slammed his fist into the side of the boat. His team wiped out. He'd known from the beginning that the whole mission was flaky.

"Nail Three Five, this is Hammer Base. Over."

He stared at the radio. Westland's voice drifted away over the waves. Riley shook his head. He needed a few minutes to sort things out. He ignored the radio.

He considered heading in toward shore, but he knew that would be futile, since he had no way to contact Powers. His team sergeant would be doing something to gain the attention of the gunship, even if his IR chem light wasn't working. The lack of any signal was a very bad sign.

Riley wondered what brilliant cover story was going to be concocted to explain the deaths. He was sure the CIA or DEA had one ready, which led him to the thought of what the Colombians were going to do with the bodies. Another Desert One scenario with American bodies being displayed to make a political point? And how was the American government going to explain away the bodies in the hands of the Colombian drug cartel? Probably claim there was an aircraft crash during training.

Riley drew a deep breath. It didn't matter to him what the government did. His men were dead. He had other more important questions swirling through his mind. Was Powers really dead or had he been wounded and captured? Who and where was the leak? What was going to happen to the task force now?

Riley knew that the CIA — hell, even the Department of Defense— considered him and his men expendable, just dumb GIs who didn't need to know the whys and the wherefores but just what to do. Well, Riley had a somewhat higher opinion of himself.

He picked up the mike.

Westland stared at the radio in exasperation. Why wasn't Riley answering? She'd recognized his voice even as he gave his call sign. His asking about the IR light meant he had probably left someone alive back on the beach. Maybe the whole team was hiding somewhere and Riley had swum out to bring in the boat.

She jumped as the radio came alive.

"Hammer Base, this is Nail Three Five. Over."

She grabbed the mike before Pike could get to it. "Give us a situation report. Over."

"Four dead. One missing. They were waiting for us. Over."

Oh, God! Westland closed her eyes. Pike took the mike from her limp hand.

"What's the status of the one missing and how do you know the other four are dead? Over."

"I saw the four bodies. I left Eyes Three Six on the shore. He provided a diversion for me so I could swim out. He was supposed to break an IR chem and move south along the coast. Hammer hasn't picked up his light, so he's either dead or captured. Over."

Pike nodded and took a deep breath. He did some quick tactical calculations and made the hard but correct decision. "All right. Bring it on home. There's nothing more you can do. I'm having your pickup ship come in to you. Head on the old azimuth and you should run into the Garcia. Moonbeam will direct you if you need it. I'll have Hammer hang around to see if it picks up anything. Over."

"Roger. Break. Hammer, be advised that the bad guys have Redeyes, at least two that we saw. Over."

"This is Hammer. Roger. Thanks for the info. We're too high for them anyway. Out."

Riley reached back and primed the engine. The waterproofing of the engine was perhaps the most amazing feature of the submersible Zodiac. The engine cranked on his second pull. He turned the nose of the boat away from shore and, with a last lingering look over his shoulder, headed out to sea.

Hanks looked up from the paperwork scattered across his desk as Strom walked in. His senior aide looked much the worse for wear after having gotten the alert call from Westland in the middle of the night. Hanks gestured toward the coffeepot. "Grab a mug."

He waited until Strom had his coffee and had settled in the chair across from his desk before jumping him. "What the hell is going on?"

Strom ran a hand through his carefully managed hair. "Nail Three was compromised last night. Of the six Green Beanies, we've got one back over at Belvoir getting debriefed, four dead, bodies not recovered, and one missing."

"Shit." Hanks slammed his mug down on the desk. "I thought the next mission wasn't getting run until tomorrow night. Why weren't we informed of the move up?"

Strom protested weakly. "I didn't know either, sir. Westland didn't bother to keep me updated."

Hanks shook his head. "What the hell was she thinking?"

"She says the army general in charge, that guy Pike, told her to keep the timing in tight and not let us know, based on their concern about a leak."

"Bullshit! I want her ass! I briefed her myself to keep us up to date. Who the hell does she think she works for?" Hanks fumed for a few seconds, considering the ramifications.

Strom took the opportunity to throw the blame elsewhere, trying to minimize the heat heading his way. "Those SF guys could fuck up a wet dream. I've been working on damage control. We're implementing a cover for the bodies. I already had that worked out." Strom paused in thought. "Hell, I guess we can extend that cover to the missing guy even if the cartel has managed to capture him. As long as he doesn't talk."

Hanks looked at Strom as though his subordinate had two heads. "You know as well as I do that they'll make him talk if they've got him. I don't like saying it, but hopefully he got blown away and his body is lying in the jungle somewhere. How'd they screw this thing up?"

Strom talked quickly, trying to further diffuse the responsibility. "It wasn't all the Special Forces guys' screw-up. That DEA guy Stevens was grabbed by the cartel and probably made to talk. He must have given up the time and location. We haven't been able to locate him either."

"Christ." What now? Hanks thought. He considered all the information Strom had given him. The loss of the Special Forces team really wasn't that important right now. It was history. Hanks's job was to look to the future.

What was important was hitting the Ring Man. In fact, it was even more important now that the Ring Man's lab hadn't been hit. And Hanks was no closer to having an answer to that problem. He knew the shit was going to hit the fan in Colombia today. The cartel probably already knew about the role of the U.S. if they had grabbed Stevens, and it wouldn't take them long to trace the plan back to Alegre, especially if they had captured one of the Special Forces team members. There was going to be blood flowing in the streets in a couple of days.

Hanks looked up at Strom, who had waited nervously while his boss sorted things out. "What about the Ring Man hit? Come up with any ideas on how to handle that?"

Strom answered tentatively, not sure what his boss's reaction would be. "Maybe we should talk to the survivor from the Special Forces team, sir."

Hanks looked up, interested. "Get Westland over here."

Riley was tired, depressed, and irritated. He had made it to the navy destroyer Garcia without any problem and had been hoisted on board. Two marines had hustled him, without a word, right onto a helicopter waiting on the fantail. He'd been flown to Panama and cross-loaded again onto a C-130 for the trip back to Virginia. Sitting alone in the back of the C-130 for six hours had slammed home to him the realization that the rest of the team wasn't coming back. Unable to rest during the flight, Riley had alternated between pacing the cargo bay and sitting. He had reviewed his actions during the firefight innumerable times, in a pitiless self-flagellation.

He hoped the powers-that-be wouldn't ignore the possibility that Powers might still be alive. He knew they probably wished the team sergeant was dead. That would make everything simpler for everyone, Riley thought angrily. Less ass-covering to do. The thought of Powers being still alive and abandoned triggered an impotent rage in Riley.

He had not been disappointed in Pike's reaction after the debrief. Pike was over at the Pentagon right now pleading his case to the chairman for efforts to be made to find out what had happened to Powers.

Westland had briefed Riley on Stevens during the debrief, then she had taken off for Langley. Riley should have known that the DEA man had been the source of the leak. Everyone was also writing Stevens off, assuming he was dead. If he ever saw Stevens again the man would wish he was dead.

With nothing to do, and instructed to stay in the isolation building, Riley figured he might as well try to get some sleep. Maybe that would clear away the visions of the rounds impacting into Partusi as he tried to drag Marzan to safety.

Riley hadn't been able to figure out Westland's reaction. She had seemed a little dazed by the whole thing. Welcome to the real world, lady, he mused bitterly. He sighed as he trudged up the stairs to his room. He really shouldn't take it out on Westland. It wasn't her fault.

The members of Eyes Four were studiously avoiding him. They hadn't been told what had happened and hadn't been asked to sit in on the debriefing. All they knew was that the rest of the team wasn't coming back.

Riley was at a loss as to what to do next. He was overcome with a feeling of complete helplessness — a pawn on a chessboard who couldn't see far enough to make out the next square.

He opened the door to his room and walked in. The first thing that greeted him was the sight of the other bunk with a duffel bag on top of it: Powers's gear. Riley felt a stab of grief tear through him, quickly overcome by a blanket of weariness. Too much adrenaline, exertion, and grief in the last twelve hours had taken its toll. He collapsed on his bunk fully clothed and quickly dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

Alegre looked across the presidential limousine at Montez. "Why did they not tell us that they were moving up the strike?"

Montez smiled bitterly. "They were concerned about security. The fewer people who knew, the less the risk."

Alegre's voice dripped irony. "Obviously that worked very well. The mission was compromised and they have a missing DEA agent. It won't take Ring Man long to figure out what is going on, especially if he is the one who kidnapped Stevens."

The limousine pulled up in front of the building housing the presidential offices. Alegre waited until the head security officer outside indicated it was safe for him to leave the vehicle. As Alegre stepped out, he was greeted by the roar of an explosion. He dove to the ground as his security men wheeled about, automatic weapons at the ready. As he lay on the sidewalk, Alegre heard the distant crump of other explosions ripping through the air.

Tentatively, he raised his head and was greeted by the sight of dust settling across the street where one of the most important and progressive newspapers in Colombia had its offices. The facade of the building was ripped away and people were tearing through the wreckage trying to rescue those trapped inside.

Alegre allowed Montez to help him to his feet. Montez pointed at the destruction. "I think the Ring Man has already figured things out and is giving us his answer."

"Late yesterday evening, at approximately 11 p.m. eastern time, a U.S. army helicopter on a training mission over the Gulf of Mexico crashed. The general location of the crash was here," the Pentagon briefer slapped a pointer on the map blowup behind him and held it there so the reporters could get a good shot, "just off the coast of Colombia. We have rescued one survivor but the other five personnel that were on board are still missing. We will continue our search and have asked the government of Colombia for assistance.

"The helicopter was on a routine training mission from a base in Panama at the time of the accident. At present we have no idea of the cause of the accident."

The voice of the reporter cut in. "This news was announced only an hour ago at the Pentagon. There is still no … "

Strom turned off CNN and faced Westland. "That ties up some of the loose ends."

Westland disagreed. Despite the ass-chewing she'd received over not keeping Strom updated on moving up the strike, she had stuck to her guns. "What about Powers? And Stevens? Either or both could still be alive."

"We have a report that five bodies have been recovered by the people at the target site. As far as Stevens goes, we have no word but have to assume he's dead."

Westland was surprised. How had Strom received word so fast about bodies? Did he have an agent on the inside of the drug cartel? That could explain the intelligence they had been receiving pinpointing target sites. But if Strom did have an agent on the inside, how come they hadn't gotten any warning of the compromise? Or was Strom just putting up a smokescreen? "How do you know about the bodies?"

Strom looked at her sharply. "Suffice it to say that we have sources down there that keep us up to date. Powers is dead, so you can stop worrying about him. There are other things we need to concentrate on right now. The task force may be compromised but that doesn't mean the war on the drug cartel is over. Just the first battle. And I think we can safely say that we won the first round."

Westland stared at Strom in amazement. He calls four men dead and one captured a victory? And what does he mean "first round"? What's next?

Strom sensed her puzzlement. "I know we took some losses but you also have to look at the big picture, my dear girl. We've managed to destroy two major processing labs and in doing so seriously hurt two of the three major drug lords down there. In fact one of them, Suarez, is dead as a result of the raid on his lab. President Alegre is ready to declare martial law and really crack down on the cartel while they are still in the throes of confusion. With a little help he may be able to succeed.

"Unfortunately, even under martial law there is a limit to what he can do. As long as the leadership of the cartel is intact it's going to be an uphill fight for him. If we can cripple the leadership, Alegre stands a chance of winning."

Alarm bells were sounding in Westland's mind. What the hell did he mean by "we"? She had the feeling she was listening to a well-rehearsed speech. And how are we going to cripple the leadership? she thought.

Strom plowed on. "The primary problem is the drug lord called Ring Man. His lab was the one that Eyes Three was going up against. Ring Man's people are the ones who killed the members of your task force. Already he's trying to consolidate his power down south in Colombia and up here on the distribution end in the United States. We also have reason to believe that he was behind the Springfield massacre. President Alegre has asked our assistance in handling this man."

Westland stared her boss in the eyes. "Why can't Alegre simply arrest Ring Man? What kind of assistance is he asking for?"

"Like I said, even under martial law Alegre's powers are limited. The Ring Man has so many layers and cutouts in his organization that arresting him and prosecuting him would be extremely difficult.

"Even more importantly, though, is the fact that seizing Ring Man would only escalate the violence in the country as his people tried to get him back. After what they did here in the United States against Santia, you can well imagine what they would try against Alegre if he had Ring Man arrested.

"As far as what we're going to do, that is basically up to us as long as we remove the Ring Man as a problem. The simplest way to do that is termination."

Westland sat back in her chair. Her mind swirled with the implications of what Strom had just said. Termination. Why was Strom telling her this? She knew he had to have a reason. Surely he didn't expect her to do the mission. She wasn't trained for that sort of thing. And she wasn't sure she wanted to be involved in it anyway.

"Isn't that illegal, sir?"

Strom snorted. "Grow up, woman! This is the big leagues. You've wanted to be out in the field. Well, here's your chance." He held up a hand as she started to protest. "No, no. We don't expect you to do the actual job. You're going to be the handler for the action agent."

"Who's the action agent?"

"That's why we've picked you. Because you've already worked with him. Your lone survivor, Mister Riley, is going to be the man."

"The bombs were good for a start, but I want Alegre's head!"

Ponte disagreed. The Ring Man was very upset and it wasn't smart to go against him right now, but Ponte knew he had to be the voice of reason during this crisis.

"I do not think that would be a wise move right now. The president is very well guarded. We would lose many men trying to attack him. Also, the reaction of the people and the army to such a move is uncertain. Without Alegre the government would fall apart within a week."

"That is good. I will then be the government."

Again Ponte shook his head. "I do not want to disagree with you, but we are not ready for that yet. We still have to take care of Ramirez and also the rest of Suarez's operation. Maybe then we will be ready."

The Ring Man slumped down into a chair. He was silent for a few minutes. More than being angry he was humiliated. Alegre had tricked him, and it was hard for Ring Man to admit that he had been bested, even temporarily. It had been a close thing. If it had not been for Maria, Alegre's plan would have succeeded and the Ring Man would now be in the same situation as Ramirez.

He looked up at his assistant and grimaced wearily. "As always, you are right, my friend. I do not like being betrayed and that is what that scum in the palace has done to me. We will eventually catch up with him. Have you brought in our informant yet?"

"Yes. As you thought, he knew nothing of more information being passed to the CIA. It was obviously the president or perhaps his aide, Montez, who gave the Americans our lab location."

"Kill the informant anyway. I want no one else to know what went on between Alegre and me."

"Yes, sir." Ponte wasn't surprised. He'd figured that was what the Ring Man would do. "What about the DEA agent? What should we do with him? We've gotten all the information we can out of him."

"Let Maria keep him. She deserves it. She did a good job. Tell her to take her time."

The Ring Man stood up. "Continue the bombings. Let the government know they cannot act with impunity. Also make a videotape of the bodies of the American soldiers and the one we have captured. I will write a letter to go with the video, then we will release it. We will let the world know what is happening down here and what will happen if the United States and Alegre continue their foolish actions against us."

Again Ponte dared to disagree. "Senor, I suggest we leave the live American off the video. I think that will only give the American government more incentive to involve themselves down here. We may be able to use the man as leverage at some time in the future, but only if we keep it quiet. We need to stay out of the media up there. A hostage would be the wrong tack to take.

"Showing the dead ones will get our point across. The bodies will show what the Americans have done, and later we can make a show of turning the bodies over to their embassy while at the same time publicly deploring the attack."

Ring Man considered this and then inclined his head, indicating assent, before leaving the room.

Riley's time sense was confused. Having spent the previous night awake and now having napped for five hours, he was somewhat rested but felt as though it should be morning.

The building was also too quiet. No noise from the members of Eyes Four. He got up, padded out into the hallway, and started checking rooms. There was no sign of anyone else — even their gear was gone. It was as if no one else had ever been there, except for the room where he had slept. There, the half-empty duffel bag lying on Powers's bunk was a meager monument to the missing team sergeant.

Riley pulled on his boots and laced them up. Finished, he slumped back into the chair at a loss for what to do next. He didn't want to allow himself to dwell on what had happened. When he probed his feelings, he felt a long, jagged cut tearing through his stomach and into his heart. He needed to do something to help heal it.

Hearing a car pull into the lot outside, he rose from the chair and glanced out the window. He saw Westland being waved through the gate by the MPs on duty.

Riley walked slowly down the stairs, arriving at the bottom at the same time Westland entered the hallway. "Where's the rest of the team and Pike?" Riley wasted no time on pleasantries.

"The team went back to Bragg. The task force has been disbanded." Westland gestured for Riley to follow her into the isolation planning room.

Riley gently but firmly grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. "What about Powers? We just going to write him off?"

Riley saw a flash of anger, replaced quickly by sorrow, in Westland's eyes as she replied. "Powers is listed as dead. I just found out over at Langley."

Riley wasn't going to give up that easily. "And how do the geniuses over at Langley know that?"

Riley could see his own doubt reflected in Westland's eyes. Even in the midst of his anger he felt an affinity for her. The disaster with the mission had affected her also, beyond just the realm of professional loss.

She shook her head. "They wouldn't tell, but I have it straight from the director that they have confirmation of his death." She sighed. "Listen, Dave, I tried pushing Strom on it. It's like talking to a damn wall. I know how you feel and I feel crappy about this whole thing, too. You were right from the beginning about the mission being kind of flaky, and you were also right about Stevens."

Riley released her shoulders and followed her into the isolation area. She sat down on a metal folding chair and Riley sat on the edge of one of the large tables, facing her. "What about Stevens? Any word on him?"

Westland shook her head again. "Nothing."

"Well, what now? Do I get to go back to Bragg and face the widows and the kids?" Riley asked bitterly. He dreaded the thought of seeing Gina Partusi and not being able to tell her the truth about how Frank had died.

He watched Westland carefully. She had something on her mind. He had a feeling there was a reason why he hadn't been awakened and sent back with the others. Maybe another, more extensive debriefing was coming up over at Langley. He waited while she chose her words carefully.

"Although Task Force Hammer has been disbanded, there's still a great deal of concern about Colombia and the drug cartel. A lot has happened in Colombia in the last couple of hours. Alegre has declared martial law. There have been several bombings and assassinations in Bogota and Medellin. It looks like it's starting to shape up into an all-out war between the government and the cartel.

"The man whose lab you were about to hit last night, Ring Man, has tried consolidating his power base by moving into the vacuum caused by the first two Hammer strikes. The feeling seems to be that if Ring Man was out of the picture, then Alegre would have a good chance of actually beating the cartel."

"This is all very interesting, but what does any of it have to do with me?" Riley stretched out his legs on the table.

Westland continued slowly. "Even under martial law, Alegre isn't able to touch the Ring Man, legally. There's also the fear that if he does try something against the man personally, it could backfire and bring even more bloodshed."

Riley was getting tired of her beating around the bush. He had a feeling where all this was leading. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Westland looked him in the eyes. "They want you to terminate the Ring Man."

Riley lay back on the table and contemplated the ceiling. Clowns In Action has got to be what CIA stands for, he thought. These people can't be for real.

Riley spoke as if to the ceiling. "The last time some Special Forces people 'terminated,' as you say, someone on orders of the CIA, at least the last time it was publicly noticed, was at a place called Nha Trang in Vietnam. Your agency gave some of our people evidence that one of their local indigenous agents was a double. Your people also gave some not-so-subtle instructions on how to deal with the double.

"Unfortunately, someone squealed after the deed. The Special Forces people involved, all the way up to the highest ranking Green Beret in country, the 5th Group commander, were investigated and almost court-martialed for murder."

Riley rolled his head toward Westland. "Your fearless colleagues all of a sudden had collective amnesia. They knew nothing about a double agent and certainly nothing about orders to kill anyone. The Special Forces men were left out on their own." Riley sat up suddenly. "So why should I do this? Give me one good reason."

Westland faced him. "Revenge."

Riley snorted. "By the way, who the hell is this 'they' who want me to kill — and that's the proper word, not 'terminate'—Ring Man?"

"I got this straight from the deputy director."

"… who will swear on his mother's grave that he never said anything of the kind if I get caught and my head is blown off." Riley shook his head in wonder. "Have you thought about why they want me to do this and not one of their own superspy, Joe-ninja assassins? You guys employ a bunch of ex-Special Forces and ex-SEALs just for stuff like this. Any of them could do the job. I mean why me?"

Westland seemed confused. "I really didn't think about it too much. I guess I just assumed it was because you had already been working in Colombia and could be ready to go quickly, rather than bringing in someone new. It just seemed to be an extension of the task force."

Riley shook his head. "Maybe I'm cynical but I think there's another reason why I'm the man of the hour. It's because if this does leak or blow up, then your fine organization is in the clear and Special Forces is left holding the bag. I can see the headlines now: 'Crazed Special Forces Soldier Goes on One-Man Rampage in Foreign Country.' "

Another thought struck Riley. "By the way, does DOD know that you all want to borrow me for this?"

"You've been released to us for special duty for an unlimited time period."

"Yes, but do they know what you all want me to do?" Riley held up a hand. "Don't bother answering. That's a stupid question. Of course they don't."

Riley got up and walked around the room. He knew he should say "screw you" and walk away from this mess. It stunk bad. BUT. Maybe he could turn this to his advantage and use the mission to do some things he wanted to do. He considered it. His head and common sense told him not to touch this with a ten-foot pole. He checked his gut to see what it had to say. Then he turned back to Westland. "I know the what and the who. Kill Ring Man. Give me the rest of the mission statement: when and where and how."

He could see Westland's eyes widen in surprise. She didn't think I'd do it, Riley thought to himself. She has a lot to learn. He felt some of the pain from the loss of the previous night being twisted around inside of him. It was wrapping around his heart and hardening in place. Riley knew that if he was going to follow through on this, he would have to be stone-cold. He would have to enter another world and another reality with its own set of rules. And he would have to live by those rules. He felt sorry for Westland. She really didn't understand what they were getting into. This was a no-win situation whichever way it went.

Westland put her briefcase on top of the table and opened it. She pulled out a 1:250,000 map of Colombia. "Everything will be verbal and I'm going to be your point of contact for this operation. When is Thursday evening. Where is in Bogota. How is up to you."

Riley laughed at the sheer craziness of the situation. He couldn't help it. "Oh, that's real good. You're giving me seventy-two hours to go to a foreign country, assassinate one of the most guarded men there, and you can't even give me a head start on a way to accomplish it."

He looked at Westland. She seemed so earnest he almost laughed again. This was beyond the point of being ridiculous and was rapidly approaching the absurd. "Come on, Kate, give me a break. You've got more common sense than this. What's going on? Why the big rush?"

Westland shook her head. "I'm leveling with you, Dave. You know as much as I do. I agree this whole thing is screwed up, but I don't think we have much choice."

Riley put his hands on her shoulders and made her look him in the eyes. "That's where you're wrong. Don't ever believe that. You always have a choice. It's just that you have to pay the price that goes along with your choice." He let go of her and started pacing around the room. He would find out in a few days if she was willing to pay the price.

"The problem is not killing the Ring Man. You can kill anyone in the world. The problem is killing the Ring Man and coming home alive. There're some other factors involved here, too."

He considered Westland, trying to decide how much he could trust her. Throughout his life, Riley had never really trusted anyone. He'd always had what he called situational trust. He trusted certain people up to certain points in certain areas. But he had never trusted anyone completely.

Here he had to trust Westland with his life. He liked what he'd seen of her in the past week, but that was too short a time to really judge someone. Also, he had an almost pathological distrust of the organization she represented. Riley decided on a compromise. He'd trust her to the extent he had to, but he'd also ensure that she had a stake in things.

"What about contacts in country? Weapons? Safe houses? Travel arrangements?"

Westland nodded. "I've got you tickets for a flight tonight and a reservation under your cover name at a hotel in Bogota that the agency uses. There's a man in the office down there who you're supposed to meet for local intelligence. We can go over to Langley now and get the latest they've got there.

"If there's any equipment you think you'll need, give me a list and I'll forward it to our logistics section when we get to Langley. They'll either forward the stuff down on a hop or get it out of local supplies."

Riley reached over and grabbed a notepad from Westland's briefcase. He thought for a minute, then started writing. He listed several items and tore off the top piece of paper. "Here's what I need." He handed it to her.

As she stood up to go he spoke out. "There's one other thing I need that's not on the list."

"What's that?"

"You."

Westland stared at him in surprise. Riley smiled grimly. "I need you to go with me to Colombia as part of my cover. If I try going in alone I'll be spotted in a minute, but if we go together as a couple, with a good cover story that's backstopped, I'll have a much better chance of success."

He walked over and punched her lightly on the arm. "What the hell. Here's the big chance you've been waiting for."

Montez sat at the side of the president's desk and warily watched the American as he approached his boss. Montez was not happy at all with the present situation. The Americans had gotten Alegre into a real mess and for the past several days had been skittish about following through on their commitments. Montez's right hand caressed the handle of the Walther PPK that was tucked into his waistband.

He also didn't like this meeting with Alegre present. Always before Montez had managed to control the meeting place. But this time Jameson had insisted the president be here. Montez had advised Alegre not to agree, but Alegre felt they had to go through with it. They needed the Americans now more than ever before.

For a change, Jameson was smiling, which disturbed Montez even more. He didn't trust this American.

Jameson took the seat across the desk from Alegre. "We will take care of the Ring Man as you asked."

Alegre raised his eyebrows. "Why the sudden turnaround?"

"Let's just say we've found the right tool to do the job."

Alegre nodded. "Get rid of Ring Man and I can deal with the scum that are left."

Montez shook his head silently. His old friend did not know what he had gotten himself into.

Jameson stood up. "I hope you appreciate the expense my country has paid to run those missions for you this past week. Five dead men is a high price."

Montez narrowed his eyes. Why was Jameson bringing this up now?

Alegre answered solemnly. "I do appreciate it. But it is a war that both our countries are in. Your country must shoulder its part of the burden."

Jameson nodded. "That's true, but I must tell you that certain parties up north were not amused by your threat of disowning your role in the Hammer missions."

"I use whatever tools I have."

Jameson picked up his briefcase. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister President. I hope everything turns out all right for both of us."

"I hope so too, Mister Jameson."

Montez watched the American leave the room. Something had just happened, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Pike stalked through the hallways. He knew the way from his travels of the past week. He made it through the first three echelons deployed around the chairman's office before anyone even dared to question his presence. A fresh-faced major jumped up from his desk and moved to intercept Pike as he homed in on the door leading to the inner sanctum.

"Excuse me, sir, but the chairman is in a meeting."

Pike turned his glare on the unfortunate officer. "I have the chairman's permission to see him at any time. I'm exercising that right."

The major wasn't even close to being a match for the scarred veteran. Pike twisted the knob, stepped into the office, and shut the door behind him. The several generals who were clustered around the chairman's desk glanced up in confusion, wondering who dared barge into the chairman's office unannounced.

Pike stopped and stared at Macksey. He was willing to be somewhat tactful about things. The room grew quiet as the other occupants watched the silent confrontation. Finally Macksey gestured abruptly. "Everyone out." The other generals scattered like geese.

When the door shut behind the last one, Macksey shook his head. "This is stupid, whatever you think you're doing."

"I just want to hear it from you and not the CIA."

"Hear what from me?"

"That the Hammer Task Force is disbanded."

"All right, you're hearing it from me. It's disbanded. That comes straight from the president. You all did a fine job while it lasted."

Pike felt the strength drain out of him. He knew he was about to butt his head against the wall again, but there were some things he would not compromise. He limped his way to the massive desk and leaned both gnarled hands on it. "You're just going to forget the chance one of those men may be alive? And leave those bodies there?"

Macksey shook his head. "That man is dead. We've received intelligence to that effect."

"From whom? Those assholes up the road at Langley? Why should they give a shit? They left our people to hang in Vietnam and Cambodia and Laos when they had confirmed sightings. Why the hell should they change now?" Pike laughed bitterly. "Shit. We left our own hanging, too. We're not any better than they are, but at least I thought we might have learned."

Macksey leaned slightly forward. "Watch your tone with me, Pike. Remember who you're talking to. I can bust you in a heartbeat."

Pike laughed mirthlessly. "Bust me! Bust me into what? I was busted when I hit those trees twenty-one years ago. I was busted every time I didn't roll over and kiss ass, and spoke what I felt was the truth regardless of who it pissed off."

Pike put his face as close to Macksey's as the desk would allow. "Let me tell you something, General. While you were brown-nosing on a general's staff during your one tour in 'Nam, I was watching buddies of mine get their asses shot off for three years in the bush. I took a round through my gut and busted my back. While you were playing politics here in Washington, kissing politicians' asses, I was traveling around the world going places you pretty play soldiers never go. Doing the job you couldn't and wouldn't do.

"You don't scare me. Let me tell you one last thing. There aren't many things I believed in in the army. But one of them was taking care of my men and I always did that. And when the army has gotten to a point where the head man doesn't do that, then you don't have to bother busting me. I quit!" Pike turned and headed for the door.

Behind him Macksey's tone had changed. "Listen, goddammit. There's nothing I can do. The president doesn't want the incident down there to get any worse. He's specifically—"

Pike slammed the door on Macksey's explanations and his army career.

Riley didn't bother standing up as did Westland when Strom walked in the door. There was only so much of the game that he'd play. He eyeballed the deputy director taking his place at the table across from him. Strom dominated the spare briefing room with his air of confidence and control. This was his turf and he wanted Riley to know it. Riley found it interesting that Strom chose to sit as far away from him as possible, leaving Westland at the head of the table, figuratively in the role of mediator.

On the drive over from Belvoir Riley had pumped Westland for more details, but the results had been lean. Strom was the man with the hard information, and just how much of it he would divulge was questionable. Riley knew Strom would give up only enough for Riley to do what they wanted him to, if killing Ring Man was indeed the purpose of the mission.

Strom slid two folders and two large envelopes to Westland, who passed one of each on to Riley. "That's all we've got on Ring Man, plus a listing of some information on our operations down there that you're going to need. In the envelopes you'll also find your cover documentation." Strom sat back in his chair and watched as Riley slowly opened his folder.

The top item was a five-by-eight photo of a man entering a limousine. "That's the latest photo we have of the Ring Man, taken a week ago in Bogota."

Riley examined the picture. The figure labeled as Ring Man would be easy to recognize. Riley scanned the rest of the picture. The limousine was obviously armored. In the background of the photo he caught glimpses of other figures, apparently security. "How big is Ring Man's normal guard detail?"

Strom shrugged. "Anywhere from three to ten. You can be sure he's upped it since he's started this war against the government and the other cartel leaders. In fact he hasn't been seen out and about for the past week, since that photo was taken."

"Where's he holed up?"

Strom gestured at the file folder. "The next picture is a ground shot of his villa outside Bogota. You've also got overhead imagery in there of the grounds and four kilometers around them, plus a one-to-fifteen thousand geo map of the area. We haven't had time to get any blueprints or details on security and alarms, but our man in Bogota is working on that and might have something for you tomorrow after you get there."

Riley examined what he could see of Ring Man's villa. Fortress would probably be a more appropriate term, he figured, as he took in the obvious security details. A ten-foot stone wall completely enclosed the grounds. He could make out guards at the main gate. The overhead imagery showed several more guards scattered around the grounds on the inside. Riley spotted some smaller shadows. "Looks like he's got dogs in there. Do you know what kind?"

"No info on that, old boy."

Riley glanced up in irritation. Strom was sitting there unperturbed with the hint of a smile on his face. Riley decided he was through fooling around. "Why don't you tell me what the hell you do know."

The smile grew slightly larger. "It's all in the folder. You'll know as much as I do after you read that."

"What about a name, or did that yo-yo's mother name him Ring Man?"

"All we have is Ring Man."

Riley glanced over at Westland and back to Strom. All right, he thought, fine. That's the way it's going to be. For the next thirty minutes, Riley carefully read through the rest of the folder, committing the important parts to memory.

There wasn't much there. Obviously someone had done a rush job on parts of the intelligence packet, although that was contradicted by the dating on some of the photos and imagery. That made Riley wonder when this mission had first been authorized.

Getting the high-resolution imagery of the villa required someone with a lot of power in the intelligence community. Riley didn't think there were too many spy satellites with orbits over Colombia, although for all he knew there might be. Besides, he knew they could always run a U-2 overhead for imagery if needed. The dates on the photos indicated an extensive surveillance had been in place as early as two days ago.

Finishing his studying he looked up. "Thursday night's too soon. With this amount of intelligence I can't move that fast. I'm going to need to put some surveillance on that villa, and I won't be able to do that tonight. If I'm able to eyeball it all night tomorrow night, I'll still need some time to plan. Friday night's the earliest I could hope to do anything, and that's only if I spot a weakness I can exploit."

Strom considered this for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Thursday night. We can't go any further than that."

Westland spoke for the first time. "Why not?"

Strom swung his imperious gaze over to her. "My dear girl, there are more things going on than this simple operation." He turned back to Riley. "However, the main reason is that Alegre is under intense pressure from Ring Man. We're afraid there may be a counterplot by Ring Man to assassinate President Alegre. We can't afford to have that happen. The sooner Ring Man is out of the picture, the better."

That's all fine and good, thought Riley, except for the fact that a half-assed attempt to hit Ring Man was more likely to end with himself dead rather than Ring Man. "What about backup or equipment? Can I get some more bodies if I need them?"

Strom showed his sly smile again. "We've decided to go along with your request and send Westland with you as your liaison and to help with your cover. If you need equipment or information, she'll be your contact with our local agent down there. She's already been briefed on how to make that contact."

Riley pressed. "What about extra people?"

"My dear boy, she is your extra people."

Which meant, Riley knew, that the CIA had a cover story in the event she was exposed. By keeping the in-country team to Riley and her, the CIA could cut its losses if the whole thing blew up.

He looked through the folder one more time. There wasn't much there, and he realized he wasn't going to get anything worthwhile out of this smiling bureaucrat. He was also getting real tired of the "dear boy" crap. Riley scooped up the envelope with his new identity and opened it.

His new name was Roberto Gonzalo. He was a cabdriver from New York City. His union card was there along with a driver's license, social security card, credit card, and photos of his wife. Riley looked over at his new wife. "Who are you?"

"Catherine Gonzalo. I'm a secretary at Misericordia Hospital in New York and we live in the Bronx."

Riley nodded. He wasn't sure how much Kate knew about her background, but he was very familiar with it. "Yeah. We live at 1846 Arnow Avenue. I know that neighborhood. Not too bad. Hopefully, we won't run into anyone who knows New York better than me. I'll tell you about it on the way to the airport." He gathered his documents and stood up. "Let's get going."

Kate halted. "Wait a second. What's our cover for being there? I mean, why are two New Yorkers going down to Bogota?"

Strom shrugged. "Up to you, dear girl. Tourists is the easiest."

Riley shook his head. "No. We're going there for a baby."

Westland stared in surprise. "A baby?"

"Yeah, a baby. Cocaine's not the only thing you can buy on the black market down there. And since my beautiful wife is unable to have a baby, we're going shopping for one."

Riley found himself sinking lower into the hard plastic box that masqueraded as a seat in the foreign departures waiting area. Five hours' sleep just wasn't enough after the recent events. Just twenty-four hours ago he'd been bouncing around on the Gulf of Mexico with the rest of his team. Now four were dead and Powers was missing.

Riley felt only a shadow of the pain he had felt this morning when he thought of that. There was no time for it now. The grieving could come later. Right now he had a job to do. He glanced over at Westland. She looked exhausted also. Her eyes were half closed and her head was playing the bobbing game.

Riley sat up and tapped her. "We'll miss our flight if both of us fall asleep. We'll have five hours to sleep on the plane."

Westland yawned and got up. "Want some coffee? We've got probably fifteen minutes before they call our flight." Riley nodded and followed her toward the concourse.

They'd added forty minutes to their flight time by catching the shuttle up to New York from D.C., but it made sense for them to arrive in Colombia on a flight from New York. It fit their cover.

Riley was impressed with the thought and energy that had gone into their covers. Someone had actually taken the time to review both his and Westland's backgrounds to find a location in which they had both spent some time. It turned out that Westland had gone to college at New York University in Greenwich Village and thus was familiar with the city. Riley hoped all that information wouldn't be needed.

After grabbing a cup of coffee, they headed back to the waiting area. As they passed the bar Riley halted and peered in at the television. The logo for CNN had just flashed across the screen. He glanced at his watch. It was almost the half hour. "Let's see if there's anything more in the news on Colombia or the accident."

They stood outside the entrance, sipping their coffee, waiting through a few commercials. Riley edged closer when the announcer came on with an outline of Colombia highlighted behind him. Riley strained to catch the words.

"Late today a videotape was delivered to El Tiempo, a Colombian newspaper, showing the bodies of four men wearing scuba diving dry suits. A letter delivered with the video claims that the four men were members of the U.S. military and had been killed attacking Colombian nationals near the city of Barranquilla. The video is in the possession of the Colombian government and has not yet been released. We have a report from Bogota that the U.S. ambassador is meeting with Colombian officials to discuss the matter.

"There are rumors that the tape and letter were made by members of the Colombian drug cartel and delivered to the newspaper as a warning against a recent crackdown by the government.

"We switch you now to Henry Lowell, our correspondent at the Pentagon, for more on this story."

The picture now showed a reporter standing with the Pentagon in the background.

"Jim, the Pentagon has declined to comment on the report. However, earlier today, the Pentagon issued a news bulletin indicating that five U.S. servicemen had been killed in a helicopter crash in the Gulf of Mexico near the coast of Colombia during what the Pentagon described as routine training. Whether these men are the same as the ones in the video remains unclear. The names of the men involved are still being held pending notification of next of kin; however, I have been informed by an undisclosed source that the men were from Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

"Fort Bragg is the home of the elite antiterrorist Delta Force. The possibility exists that these men may indeed have been from this unit and may have been involved in some sort of antidrug operation near Colombia. Even if it was just an accident during training, as the Pentagon claims, how their bodies ended up in the hands of the drug cartel is unknown at this time."

The scene shifted back to the studio.

"Thank you, Henry. CNN will keep you updated on this story as more information becomes available.

"Colombia is also in the headlines tonight as violence continues to escalate in that country. Three bombs exploded in the city of Medellin today and four people were killed, including one policeman.

"This violence is the reaction of the drug cartel against measures imposed by the government to crack down on their lucrative business. This brings to twelve the number of people who have been killed there in the last two days.

"On other fronts, in the Soviet Republic of.. "

Riley grabbed Westland and hustled her away from the screen back to their chairs. Riley scanned the waiting area. There was no one within twenty feet. He lowered his voice and put his head close to hers. "Looks like Ring Man is making a point. Wonder how your boss is going to explain the bodies having little bullet holes in them and being on Colombian land rather than in the ocean?"

Westland shrugged. "Did you notice that they mentioned only four bodies, not five?"

"Yeah, I noticed." Riley looked her in the eyes. "I think Powers is still alive. When we get down there I want you to get a copy of that tape. We need to see if his is one of the bodies."

If Westland wondered what that had to do with hitting the Ring Man, she didn't mention it, for which Riley was grateful. Maybe she would go along with what he had planned. He stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Westland nodded wearily. "We board in ten minutes."

Riley walked down the curving corridor until he was out of sight of Westland. Then he went up to the first pay phone he saw. He rapidly punched in eleven numbers and waited for the operator. "I'd like to make a collect call. The name's Riley."

While he waited for the operator to make the connection, he prayed that someone would be home on the other end. Finally he heard the receiver lift and the answerer accept the charges. Riley was quick and to the point. "I can't talk long. I'm about to take a flight down south."

"Down south? Where you just were?"

"Roger that. Did you see the story about the video on the news?"

"Yes."

"I think he's alive."

"I agree."

"Do you know what my status is right now?"

"No. You're not going down there on your own, are you?"

"No. It's worse than that. I'm being sponsored by you know who. You need to check on what Department of the Army has to say about my status. I think I'm going to need your help. This thing is really flaky."

"Whatever you need, you got. I'll check on my end. If you have to talk to me from down there, you might be able to use the STU-III at the embassy if you can get to it. The army military attaché may be able to help you — he's a good man."

Riley prepared to hang up. "I've got to go. I'll be in contact."

"Hold on a second! Just one thing. What do they want you to do?"

"Terminate the Ring Man."

"Jesus! You're going to need help. I'll see what I can work on up here."

"Thanks. But make it quick. I only have till Thursday night." Riley hung up.