Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER TWENTY

The hotel was three blocks away from the American embassy. American travelers did like to have the embassy close by, but Riley still felt that the close location showed some laziness on the part of the CIA. It did put Westland close enough to make contact with Jameson without much difficulty. She was set up to meet him later this morning at a nearby restaurant. At the meeting, hopefully, she'd coordinate pickup of the equipment Riley had requested.

At the moment she was unpacking her bag and storing the few clothes she had brought, while Riley stalked about the room, inspecting it. A queen-sized bed took up the middle of the room, and an old, stuffed armchair stood near the sliding, glass doors that opened onto their second-floor balcony. Riley glanced around the curtains. The balcony itself held two chairs and a tiny table. Their window looked out onto an alley rather than the main street. A drab modern office building dominated the view.

Riley turned back to face the room. Westland was perched on the edge of the bed. Riley didn't need to read minds to see that she obviously had something on hers.

"What do you want to do about sleeping arrangements?" she asked.

Riley smiled. That was by far the least of his worries right now.

"Personally I prefer sleeping. Unfortunately that's not in the cards tonight for me. You get some z's. I've got some things I've got to do."

Westland stood up. "Are you going to let me in on your plan? I am supposed to be your partner here."

Riley slid open the balcony door. "See you before dawn." Before she could get to the balcony he had swung over the railing and dropped to the deserted alley below.

He glanced back once before he turned the corner and saw her silhouetted against the light from the room. I'll have to talk to her about that, Riley mused, as he moved through the streets. He counted corners, following the directions he had memorized from the street map on the flight down.

It was cool in Bogota. Over eight thousand feet in altitude made for a significant drop in the temperature compared to the coastal plain. Riley zipped his black windbreaker up to his neck. He wore an old pair of loose-fitting jeans, a gray New York Knicks T-shirt, and a pair of beat-up work boots. The boots were a special design custom-made for him during a tour of duty in Korea. The toes were pointed and reinforced with steel. Thin steel reinforcing ridges were placed under the rubber sole along the outside edges. They weren't the most comfortable things to wear but were quiet and devastating when used as weapons, amplifying the effects of his kicks.

Riley felt as though he was back home in the South Bronx, running the streets. In the South Bronx, late at night, the police didn't respond to trouble and those who went out were on their own. Bogota had that same feeling of lawlessness. People did what they had to do to survive — the strong ruled at night and the weak hid. Riley planned on being one of the former.

Turning a final corner, Riley spotted his destination. He had considered various plans of action, but realizing that time was short, he decided on the direct approach. He went up to the doors of the Embassy Cafe and pushed them open.

An aging Colombian man, one side of his face lined with an old scar, looked up from where he was mopping the floor. "I'm closed," he said in Spanish.

Riley took in the rest of the bar. Perfect. It was just the two of them. He replied in the same language. "That's all right. I'm not thirsty."

The man looked up at the strange accent. "You are not from here. Are you a gringo?"

"I'm from New York. I have business down here."

The man's interest went back to the floor. Another goddamn gringo— probably from the embassy, although he spoke pretty good Spanish and looked native. The old man filed the information away for possible future use. "I am still closed."

Riley walked over to the bar and took a stool. "I'm looking for someone and thought you might be able to help."

The man continued his work and spoke in a weary monotone. "I am not open. I cannot serve you. There is nothing else I can do for you."

Riley placed $50 U.S. on the bar.

The man glanced up but didn't stop his listless mopping. "I do not work for Americans. Go back across the street to your little hole."

"I am not from the embassy. I just flew in tonight from my home in New York. The name's Martinez. I heard you might be able to put me in contact with someone who can give me the information I need."

The man hung the mop on the wall and trudged behind the bar. With a swipe of his rag the $50 disappeared. "Who?"

"A woman named Maria."

The old man regarded him for a few seconds. "What can she tell you?"

"I need information on babies."

"Babies?" The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Babies."

The old man shook his head. The Ring Man didn't deal in babies and he surely would not like an American asking about Maria. These gringos were crazy. "Come back tomorrow at one in the afternoon."

Riley nodded his appreciation and headed for the door. It wasn't likely that the old man knew what Maria had been doing there, but Riley was sure of one thing. The word that a strange American was looking for Maria would be forwarded to somebody. With any luck he'd find out who tomorrow.

Westland practically stepped on Riley as she slid out of bed. He was lying on the floor on the bathroom side of the bed, covered by a light blanket. She looked at him sleeping there for a few seconds. She hadn't heard him come in. It was a scary feeling knowing that someone could enter the room without her even knowing it.

She threw on her robe and padded quietly into the bathroom. When she came back out, Riley was dressed and seated at the small table on the balcony.

"I've already ordered from room service. Left the little card on the door. Should be here in about five minutes."

"What time did you get in?"

"About two thirty."

"Where did you go?"

"Checking on some things."

Westland took a deep, exasperated breath. "Are we going to play twenty questions? Are you going to let me in on the plan? We are—"

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Riley got up and squeezed past her. "Excuse me."

He opened the door and relieved the bellboy of his tray. He carried it past her and laid it on the table. Westland stared at him while he prepared his coffee and took a satisfying sip. "Ah. I'm not worth a damn until I get some coffee in me." He waved at the other chair. "Care to join me?"

Westland gave up. She slumped down into the chair and poured herself a cup.

Riley took another drink and then turned to her. "All right. I'll tell you as much as you need to know. First off, like I told you last night, I don't think Powers is dead. Finding him is my number one priority. I wouldn't even be telling you that if I didn't think I could trust you not to squeal on me.

"Second, I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to take out the Ring Man the way things stand right now. He's sitting in a defensive position. I have to go attack him. In military terms it's considered appropriate to have a force superiority of three to one when attacking someone in an established defensive position. In case you haven't noticed, we don't quite have that, so I figure we have to try another approach."

"What's the plan?"

Riley shrugged. "Haven't quite figured that out yet. Depends on what happens. We're going to have to play this by ear and react quickly when we get an opening. There's a lot of forces in motion down here and we have to try to arrange them in our favor as much as possible. I'm going to do some pushing and see what pushes back.

"I pushed the first button last night, and we'll see today if there's any reaction. The information you can hopefully get from your contact this morning will be a big help and fill in some of the missing pieces. That should give us some more buttons to push.

"As far as agenda goes, all I know right now is that you go to a meet in a half hour. I go to another meeting at one today with someone who might give us a link to the woman Stevens was seeing. Tonight I head into the hills to take a look at Ring Man's villa."

Riley took another sip of his coffee. "By the way, you look pretty good early in the morning."

Ponte acted as chief of staff for Ring Man. Everything going in and out went through him. In performing this role he also accrued a certain degree of power in that he could, within limits set by the Ring Man's volatile temper, screen that information as he saw fit and take action in the name of the Ring Man.

The story of the strange American in the Embassy Cafe was just one of many intelligence reports forwarded to Ponte's desk by a network of informants this morning. Ponte puzzled over it for a few seconds. He decided that the Ring Man had more important things to worry about. Ponte would take care of it himself.

He called in one of Ring Man's sicarios. Pablo was a little smarter than the average gunman and Ponte felt he could trust him with some simple instructions on how to deal with the American. The Americans had started the war by attacking them. It was time for some more payback.

Kate threw her bag in the corner of the room and dropped into the armchair with a sigh. Riley raised an eyebrow from where he was reclining on the bed. "Get anything good from the contact?"

She nodded. "He didn't have answers for all your questions, but he did give me some information."

"Were you stopped or followed?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Westland gave him a hard look. Riley raised his hands in surrender. "OK, OK. I believe you."

Westland began to relate the events of the morning. "The contact was the local embassy rep, Jameson. I knew him up in Virginia when he was stationed there."

"Shit!" Riley cursed. "That's great. I'm willing to bet better than even money that he was followed."

"He said he wasn't. From what I could see we weren't being watched. Also, if he was followed, it would make sense that they would try to follow me from the meet, and I'm sure I wasn't."

Riley waved at her to go on. "All right, I get the picture and I trust your judgment."

"Anyway. We met at the restaurant near the cemetery and all the safe signals were in place. Jameson said the area was secure. He also complimented me on my legs."

"Well, they are nice legs," Riley confirmed playfully.

Westland rolled her eyes. "He's an asshole. He tried hitting on me when we were stationed together in Virginia and I was still married. Not that any of that matters now.

"He said they had no leads on Stevens. They presume he's dead and the body was sunk out in the ocean somewhere or buried deep in the jungle. As for the video of the bodies, he says it's going to be released to the local media this afternoon and we can watch it just as well on TV as his getting us a copy. Plus there is a certain lack of a VCR in this room," Westland pointed out. "Local news comes on at six.

"As for Powers, Jameson said that his body was not shown on the video but they're pretty certain he was killed that same night."

"Oh, now it's 'pretty certain,' " Riley snorted. "Sounds like the story is changing. And they're up the creek without a paddle if he shows up alive. Sort of blows their cover story, which probably isn't doing too well now anyway."

Westland threw a copy of a local paper on the bed. "The official reply by Washington has been that your guys were killed in an aircraft crash, but obviously it was over land instead of water and that's how the bodies were recovered. Apparently the aircraft mistakenly strayed over land while on a training flight."

Riley rubbed his eyes. The government still wouldn't change their story and admit the truth. He wasn't sure what they were afraid of. Probably admitting they had lied. The media would jump all over that. There could be no such thing as a covert operation in the United States. The freedom of the press to keep the people informed guaranteed that. Of course, Riley always wondered why there was never any mention of the need for the press and media to make money by getting a scoop. News people rarely talked about money and ratings, but that was the bottom line for them.

"What about the hit? Any further intel?"

Westland shook her head. "Nothing other than the fact that Ring Man is still holed up in his villa."

"What about the guerrillas? Any information on how I can contact them?"

"Jameson thought that was the craziest idea he ever heard."

"I don't care what Jameson thinks. I want to know if there's any way I can make contact with them."

Westland shook her head. "He said he didn't know of any."

Riley didn't believe it. "You're telling me the CIA has no way to contact the guerrillas in a country? I'd think they'd be bosom buddies."

Westland got as sarcastic as Riley. "I think in this country the U.S. party line is to support the government. The guerrillas are somewhat communistic at times here."

Riley scratched his head. That avenue wasn't looking too promising. "Did you get the car?"

"It's out back in the hotel lot, fueled and ready to go."

"Good. Anything else?"

She reached inside her shirt and produced a piece of paper. "I've got the location of the cache with the equipment you wanted," she said, handing the paper to Riley.

"When did you put it in there?"

"I had to go to the bathroom. I can't make much sense out of it but I'm sure someone else might be able to. Figured it would be safer there if I was stopped."

Riley took the paper and looked at it, with Westland peering over his shoulder. "What does it say?"

"It's a cache report. Should contain the stuff I requested. I hope they didn't decide to delete anything."

Westland shook her head. "I doubt that. I gave it direct to the logistics branch at Langley before we left and didn't go through Strom. As far as log branch was concerned it was a priority request for one of our own agents. They sure were damn fast in putting it in though."

Riley nodded. It must have been emplaced overnight. He was surprised that the CIA was capable of such a feat. The equipment must have already been in country or flown in from Panama. "Did Jameson say whether he or someone else emplaced this?"

"He said the army military attaché did it. I got the impression that he didn't want to be too involved in this whole thing. He said the army guy was gone all night taking care of it."

Riley was relieved. Not only might Jameson have been followed, but he could have screwed up the emplacement. Hopefully the army man had done a good job.

"What do all those lines mean?"

Riley translated for her. "It's an UNDER report format. The fact that it's in this format tells me that the army attaché has some Special Forces experience or has worked with SF before. We use formats like this for all our radio messages because it keeps them shorter."

Westland nodded. "I've met the attaché during a couple of my coordination trips to the embassy over the past year. Lieutenant Colonel Turrel. Seemed like a pretty efficient man. He certainly has been forwarding good intel copy on the Colombian military."

Upon reflection, Riley realized it wasn't unusual for an attaché to have SF experience. Special Forces and also military intelligence officers had the language and intelligence training necessary for foreign service jobs. Riley also remembered Pike mentioning the army military attaché in Colombia as a good man.

Riley pointed to each line as he translated:

BBB — submersion: "That means the cache is underwater. It's faster than digging if you're in a rush. I just hope it's waterproofed well enough."

CCC — as req: "That means it contains what I requested."

DDD — one: "Means there's one container."

FFF — IRP = tgt Villa. 1.3 k. AZ 14 mag: "This gives the immediate reference point. Obviously, he used Ring Man's villa, so he must have gotten some idea from Jameson of where I'll be operating. The direction to the final reference point is 1.3 kilometers on a magnetic azimuth of fourteen degrees." Riley pulled out the geo map he had brought with him. He traced a line from the location of Ring Man's villa.

GGG — FRP = waterfall, rock in center: "The final reference point is a waterfall." He pointed. "Must be right here, where this stream crosses these contour lines. Rock in center indicates the final checkpoint. Must be the pool at the base of the waterfall."

HHH — N side: "I'm supposed to check the north side of the rock."

Ill—2 meters: "The cache is two meters under the water. I hope the water's not too cold."

KKK—3 Sept: "This last line indicates when it was put in."

LLL — knife: "This means that I'm going to need a knife to recover the cache."

Riley memorized the location. Then he went into the bathroom and burned the note, flushing the remains down the toilet. He knew that even having the geo map was a risk but he felt he could cover for that. Many campers and nature lovers carried such maps when they went out into the field, and being a nature lover was going to be his cover if he went near the Ring Man's villa during the day. At night it would be a different situation.

Time for him to be heading out to put some surveillance on the cafe. He turned to Westland. "I've got to be going. Here's what we in the army call a contingency plan. I'm going to be gone until about three this afternoon. If I'm not back by five, consider me compromised. Get your ass out of this place and go over to the embassy."

Westland nodded. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me where you're going?"

"You don't want to know."

Riley closed the paper and laid it on the bench next to him. The old newspaper-on-a-park-bench routine was one of the oldest methods to survey a location and it seemed kind of hokey. Yet it allowed Riley to blend in with other people in the area and not arouse suspicion. Riley had learned the rudiments of surveillance in the Special Forces operations and intelligence course and he realized that perception played a key role in any covert operation. People tended to see what they were expecting to see.

Riley had been watching the Embassy Cafe for the last hour and fifteen minutes. In that time he had seen numerous Americans and a smaller number of Colombians enter and leave. He had yet to see anyone or any group of people that might pass as a reception party waiting to greet the foolish American.

Riley had hoped to get some reaction out of the Ring Man's people with his questioning of the worker in the bar earlier this morning. He knew, from the CIA intelligence reports, that the girl who worked there, Maria, was most likely the person who had set up Stevens. The fact that she had not been seen since Stevens's disappearance supported that suspicion. If he could get a handle on her she might lead him to Stevens. And Stevens might lead him to Powers. It was a tenuous chain at best, but it was the only thing he had. With the clock running down to Thursday night, Riley felt he had to try anything that held even the slightest chance of working.

Riley left the paper on the bench and meandered over to the cafe. Passing through the swinging doors he quickly scanned the dim interior. Some embassy workers finishing their lunch. A Colombian couple seated at a booth in a corner.

Riley walked up to the bar and took a seat that allowed him to watch both the front door and the entrance to the kitchen. The old man he had talked to the previous night was nowhere in sight. A teenage boy was tending the bar and acting as waiter. Riley ordered a local beer from the boy and settled in to wait.

Riley figured he'd give it another ten minutes and then leave. The cafe was practically deserted. The Colombian couple had already left and the last Americans were paying for their meal and leaving. No one else had come in.

Hearing the door open, Riley didn't need a program to tell him the two men coming in were the emissaries from the Ring Man. The way the boy behind the bar quickly departed through the kitchen door told him that these men were trouble. Riley guessed the boy was going around front to make sure no one came in during the meeting.

Riley sized up the two men as they swaggered across the room toward him. The way the one on the left held himself told Riley that he was in charge. He was big, almost six foot two, and he showed off his muscles with a sleeveless sweatshirt. He seemed disappointed that Riley was so small. Riley spotted the bulge of a pistol under the man's sweatshirt, tucked into his front right waistband.

The second man wore a loose-fitting shirt over old army fatigue pants. Riley figured he was probably a knife man. His forearms and face were covered with the telltale tracing of old knife scars. The way he held his arms in close and kept his right hand near his side reminded Riley of some of the knife fighters he'd known in the South Bronx, plus there was no telltale bulge indicating a firearm. Riley knew a knife was harder to spot and at close ranges more effective than a gun. A good knife man could clear his sheath and gut a gunman standing less than five feet away before the other cleared his holster.

Riley turned to face the newcomers as they came up close, standing within a foot, flanking him in front. "Good day," Riley greeted in English.

The big man showed a gap-toothed smile and spoke in accented English. "Good day, gringo. I hear you ask too many questions. That is a bad habit."

"I did not mean to upset anyone. I am just looking for someone."

"It is not good for strangers to come here looking for someone. Especially American strangers. We do not like Americans here."

Riley saw the barely perceptible signal go from the big man to the other, yet he didn't react to it. They grabbed his arms and bent him backward over the bar. The knife Riley had anticipated was there at his throat.

"Stand still, gringo, or my friend's hand may slip."

The big man released his hold and quickly patted Riley down. Finding no weapons, he pulled Riley's wallet out of his pocket. He flipped through the contents.

"Gonzalo, heh? Who you work for, Gonzalo?"

"I'm a cabdriver in New York. My wife and I are down here looking for a baby to adopt. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

The big man looked at Riley quizzically and then at the wallet. The contents bore out Riley's story. The man struggled to read the English on Riley's taxi union card. This wasn't what he'd been told to expect. The American didn't act like any of the DEA or other American agents who ran around the city.

The big man signaled his partner to put the knife away, then stepped back, pondering the situation. His instructions had been to hurt the American. Kill him if he put up a fight. He hadn't been told to think or make a decision. "You are stupid. You have a very good story but I know you work for the DEA."

"I don't work for the DEA. I'm here on my own. What about Maria? I was told she might be able to get me in contact with someone who could help us." Riley looked at the man beseechingly. "You understand, my friend. It is my wife. She is unable to have children and she wants to have a child so badly."

The big man shook his head. "There is nothing Maria can do for you. Who gave you her name?"

"An American marine who used to be stationed at the embassy told my brother, who is also in the marines."

The big man laughed. "You tell a good story. I am going to feel sorry to hurt such a good storyteller. Maybe we cut out your tongue so you not tell any more stories."

The big man turned to his partner. "Do you want to take care of him or should I? Ah, he is too small for me. He's yours."

The knife man smiled. "Thanks." He reached back under his shirt to retrieve his knife.

Riley's crescent kick caught the man on the side of the head before the knife had even cleared the shirt. He dropped with a loud thump onto a table and rolled to the floor, unconscious. The big man was still in the process of reaching for his gun when Riley's side kick caught him in the ribs. Riley heard the crack as two of the man's ribs splintered under his steel-edged boots.

Riley stepped up and watched as the big man painfully straightened and tried for his gun again. He snapped a front kick into the man's crotch, and as it doubled him over, caught the man's face on its downward motion with his opposite knee. A satisfying splat told him he'd broken the man's nose.

Riley rolled the big man onto his back and pulled the gun from under his sweatshirt. A Colt Python revolver. Riley tucked the gun under his own shirt. Then he placed his boot on the big man's neck. He spoke in Spanish. "If you carry a gun you should put it someplace where you can get to it more quickly. That's free advice. You should also learn to be more friendly. I am going to ask you some questions and I want answers. It will make everything much nicer for all involved if you answer with the truth."

"Fuck you!" The big man spat. Blood was seeping from his nose, covering his face.

Riley removed his foot from the man's neck and jabbed it straight into his side, nudging the broken ribs. The man groaned and rolled, trying to protect himself.

Riley glanced at the door. Even if the kid didn't check in, he knew he was running out of time. He went over to the unconscious sicario and removed the knife from under the man's shirt. It was a Randall hunting knife with an eight-inch blade. Only one cutting edge but honed razor sharp.

The big man was making an attempt to get to his feet. Riley stomped the inside of his boot onto the outside of the man's knee. He screamed as the cartilage gave way and crumpled onto the floor.

"I need to find Maria." Riley held the knife to the man's throat.

"Fuck you!" The big man tried spitting at him.

Rather limited vocabulary, Riley thought. He also knew the kid outside had undoubtedly heard the yell. He just hoped the boy would assume it was the American doing the screaming as the sicarios worked him over.

Riley pressed the knife harder into the big man's throat, drawing blood. "I need to find Maria. I'll kill you if you don't tell me where she is."

"Fuck you, gringo. I know you won't kill me. You're one of those motherfucking drug enforcement scum. You'd better catch a flight for home before I kill you."

Big words for a bleeding man, Riley thought. Playtime's over. Riley turned and strode across to the unconscious man. He placed the knife under the man's jaw, pointing up. "Hey!" he called to the big man. Waiting until the sicario had focused on him, Riley put the weight of his body on the handle and shoved the blade up through the unconscious man's jaw into his brain. The body twitched violently for a second and then was still.

The big man's eyes bulged. "You're crazy, you fucker!"

Riley pulled the knife back out and wiped it clean on the dead man's shirt. He cut the dead man's belt and relieved the body of the knife scabbard. The pungent odor of the corpse's released bowels filled the cafe.

Riley stepped back in front of the big man. He stomped down, breaking the man's right hand. The sicario backed himself into a corner and put his arms up, right hand dangling, to defend himself.

"Maria!" Riley hissed. He pulled out the gun and pointed it.

The big man was frantic in his attempt to talk. "I don't know where she is. I swear!"

Riley tried another tack. "What about the DEA man, Stevens?"

"I don't know. I swear on my mother!"

"Too bad. Sucks being shot by your own gun. Kind of adds embarrassment to the whole thing. Besides being dead, of course." Riley cocked the pistol.

"Try the warehouse!"

Riley uncocked the gun. "What warehouse?"

"About two maybe three kilometers out of the city on the north mountain road — route 46. It says International Coffee Shipping and Receiving on the outside. It's a big brown building. You cannot miss it. It's off to the right, about a hundred meters from the road."

Riley put the gun in his waistband and the sicario breathed a deep sigh of relief. Riley reached down and grabbed the top of the big man's head with one hand, placing his other forearm under the man's neck and tilting the head so he could look into his eyes. "One last question, my friend, and then I go. Do you know anything about the American soldier who was captured?"

The man rolled his eyes, obviously confused. "American soldier? I know nothing of that. Please, I have told you everything."

Riley nodded. He rotated his forearm upward from the elbow, levering the big man's jaw while keeping a tight grip with his other hand on the top of the man's head. The man's eyes showed a moment of panic before the crack of his neck caused them to lose their focus.

Riley stood up to leave. To his surprise he found he was trembling.

Riley slid the key into the lock and swung the door open. Westland looked up from the bed where she was reading one of the local papers. "What's the matter? You don't look so good."

Riley shut the door and went over to the armchair, sinking down into its comfort. He drew the Colt Python out from under his shirt and tossed it on the bed. "You keep that."

Westland picked up the revolver and checked the load. "Am I going to need it?"

Riley shrugged. "Might. Might not. It's started."

"What's started?"

"The fun and games. I ran into two of Ring Man's thugs. They're the ones who donated the gun and this knife," he said, pulling up his shirt to show the scabbard.

"Where are they now?"

"They're dead."

"Dead?"

"Yeah, dead," Riley snapped. "I killed them."

Westland stared at him, not quite sure what to say. "What happened?"

Riley took a deep breath. He knew he needed to level with her, particularly since he had realized, while on the way back to the room, that he had made a mistake. A mistake that might lead the Ring Man's thugs right to this room.

"Let me start from the beginning. Last night I went to the Embassy Cafe and told the man working there that I was looking for Maria. Since Maria obviously works for Ring Man, I figured this would get some sort of reaction from his people. Something that might help me find either her or Stevens.

"The man told me to be there today at one. That's when and where I ran into the two goons. They thought I was DEA, and they were probably under orders to rough me up. I preempted them. In the process of that, and trying to get some information, I had to kill them both.

"Shit!" Riley slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. "That's not the whole truth. I didn't have to kill them in the fight. I killed the first one to let the second know I meant business to make him talk. I killed the second one because I didn't want him going back and reporting what he'd told me. I got a lead on Maria and I need to follow it up tonight before they can react." Killing two men still didn't sit right with Riley, even though they would just as easily have killed him and had obviously planned on at least hurting him badly.

Westland sensed his distress. She came over and put her hand on his shoulder. "Remember what you told me on the plane? This is war. We've got to be as hard as they are."

"Yeah, I know. It's just that I'm not used to killing people in cold blood."

"I hope you never get used to it. That's what separates you from them."

Riley looked up at her. He appreciated her concern and support. "You know, Kate, I hope when this is all over, you and I have some time to get to know each other."

She smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I hope so too."

"I'll take you up to the Bronx and show you the part of the city you didn't see at NYU. I'll also introduce you to my Mom. I think you'd like each other."

But, Riley thought, we don't have time to even talk much right now. "There's something else you should know. When I talked to the guy in the bar last night I made a mistake. I told him I had just flown in from New York and that I was with my wife. I gave him a false name but that still might be enough for Ring Man's people to get a line on us. That's one of the reasons I want you to have the gun."

"Do you think we should move?"

Riley shook his head. "If they're going to track us off the airline manifest, looking for a man and his wife from New York, they'll check all the hotels. This is as good as any. We'd have to use our cover names off the passports in order to check in anyplace else too. We just need to be more careful. We only have two more days."

Pike's office in the Pentagon was buried in the basement, indicating that his position as head army staff officer for DCSOP-SO didn't rank very high. The best offices were on the main floor and on the outermost, or E-ring, of the building. Being in the basement near the heating plant wasn't the place for on-the-go officers.

Pike took a break from making calls on his secure STU-III phone and contemplated the marvels of military bureaucracy for a few moments. Despite the fact that a little over twenty-four hours ago he had basically told the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to go screw himself, here he was still sitting in his office and still wearing his star on each shoulder.

Pike knew the reason for this wasn't that the chairman had had a change of heart. The reason was that nothing in the Pentagon, or the army for that matter, worked quickly and everything was compartmentalized. Somewhere over his head, Pike was sure, was a note from the chairman stating that one Col. Michael Pike (temporarily breveted to brigadier general) was to retire as soon as it could be expedited. Pike was just as sure that the memo made no mention of the events of the last several days.

From his twenty-nine years of wrestling with military paperwork, Pike estimated he had about two weeks before that memo was translated into retirement orders. In the meantime, Pike was considered by his colleagues to be in the same position, and still breveted to Flag rank.

Pike was utilizing this situation to his advantage. He had already found out more information than he'd thought he could. The mention that a general was on the phone personally and wanted some information often got results. Plus, Pike had an extensive network of old acquaintances throughout the military and intelligence communities who owed him favors.

He had already traced the orders placing Riley under the operational control of the Central Intelligence Agency. The CIA's Pentagon liaison had gotten the deputy chief of staff for intelligence, G-2, to hack off on the request and then had one of the G-1 (personnel) people hand carry it over to military personnel headquartered down the road in Alexandria to get the classified orders cut. Pike figured that the G-2 had owed the CIA representative a favor, or now one was owed the other way, but he was sure that no one in the army knew the reason for Riley's transfer of control.

The orders themselves were classified and Pike had not been able to get a copy. He could well guess what was written on them, since he had seen those types of orders several times in his service with Delta Force. Basically they would say nothing about the reason for the transfer and would consist only of a start date, with the ending date left blank.

Pike also had found out the present location of Ring Man. A few calls to old friends in the Defense Intelligence Agency had produced the information about the CIA's request for satellite surveillance on the Ring Man's villa. Pike had called in a big favor and had had copies of the imagery faxed to him over the secure line from Fort Meade, where the National Security Agency had its headquarters.

Pike looked at the pictures laid out across his desk. If the CIA expected Riley to hit the Ring Man at that location, they were stupider than he had always thought they were. One man going against that place was suicide.

Of course, Pike smiled to himself, it wasn't just one man. His inquiries with some retired Special Forces men working at the agency indicated that Westland was with Riley. Pike had been impressed with the young woman during the time they worked together. He hoped she got out of this mess all right.

Pike had also watched the tap-dancing by the Department of Defense and Department of State on the issue of the bodies on the video, which had still not been released. Pike didn't relish the idea of seeing those young fellows he had commanded being paraded like meat. He'd seen too much death in his time. The fact that there were only four bodies wasn't lost on him either. Powers really might be alive.

Putting all the pieces together told Pike one thing: Riley was in a bad situation and it wasn't likely to get any better. Pike wasn't sure what he could do to help, but he knew he had to try. He took out a notepad and started war-gaming options.

Ponte took the phone call about Pablo's and his partner's deaths. The news was disturbing, not because two of their men had been killed but because the identity of the killer was unknown. The kid tending the bar had given a poor description of the man Pablo and his sidekick had met. It might or might not be the American who had approached the worker the previous night.

Ponte decided it was time to bring the boss up to speed. He knocked on the door of the office adjacent to his.

"Come in."

Ponte entered and walked over to the Ring Man, who was talking on the phone to the man who was leading their war in Medellin against what remained of Suarez's operation. The Ring Man's latest attraction, a slight girl of fifteen, was sitting on the corner of the desk while the Ring Man's free hand absently fondled her.

Ponte waited nervously until the conversation was over. The Ring Man never liked bad news, and the report about Pablo wasn't exactly the best.

Ring Man hung up and turned to his aide with a small smile on his face. At least it looked like he was in a good mood to start with. "We are doing well in Medellin. Many of Suarez's people are seeing the light and switching over. I think in another week we will have firm control there."

The Ring Man rubbed his hands together, oblivious of Ponte's discomfort. "Soon I will be able to focus on the government and the Ramirezes. Have you heard any word from Ariel in Cartagena? Will he be able to get to the Ramirezes?"

Ponte shook his head. "He has not called back yet. I talked to him this morning, and he said he had some ideas. He was going to see how feasible they were this afternoon. We should hear something tonight."

Ring Man nodded. "Good. Ariel is a good man even though he is a foreigner. What would we do without our Israeli friends, eh? They teach us how to kill so much better." Ring Man laughed and pulled the girl onto his lap.

Ponte agreed that the handful of former Israeli military men who were in Colombia advising the various gangs were a valuable asset. The Israeli government formally denied their presence and privately abhorred the fact that these men were there. But there were always a certain number of military men, no matter what the nationality, who were willing to sell their skills to the highest bidder.

Ariel had been a paratroop commander in the Israeli Army. In coming to Colombia he'd given up his right to go back to Israel, but he had exchanged his citizenship for money and the opportunity to exercise his "talents." The fact that Ring Man trusted him with the war against the Ramirezes spoke volumes about his ability.

Ponte knew that if the Ring Man grew any more fond of the Israeli, Ariel might well end up sitting in Ponte's office next to the Ring Man. That did little to dispel the unease Ponte felt about having to relay the news about Pablo.

"What else is new, my friend? Anything I need to know about?"

Ponte nodded. "There is a strange American here in Bogota. He's been asking questions about Maria."

Ring Man shrugged. "Kill him."

Ponte licked his lips. "I sent Pablo to take care of him this afternoon."

"Good. Then we don't have to worry about the strange American anymore."

"Pablo is dead."

The Ring Man's humor vanished and he abruptly stood up, letting the girl fall off his lap. "The American killed him?"

"I'm not sure."

"What the hell do you mean you're not sure?" the Ring Man yelled.

Ponte backed up slightly. "I mean, I think it was the American. Pablo went to the Embassy Cafe to meet the American. There was a man there. Apparently they fought and Pablo was killed."

"You have no witnesses?"

"The bar-boy saw the man, but his description is not good enough to tell if it was the American. The American who asked about Maria looked like a Latino and was short. That is the same description of the man who killed Pablo. Since the description is the same and the American was supposed to be there at that time and place, I think it must have been him."

The Ring Man sat back down, his anger changing to thoughtfulness. "Was Pablo alone?"

Ponte sighed. He'd hoped he could keep the second man out of it. "No. He took one man with him. He was killed also."

The Ring Man raised an eyebrow. "This American killed Pablo and another man? How were they killed?"

"The backup had a knife shoved into his jaw going up into the brain. Pablo's neck was broken. It looks like Pablo was in a pretty bad fight before he was killed, so maybe he hurt the American."

The Ring Man looked even more impressed. He'd expected his men had been shot. But whoever this stranger was, he used his hands well, taking out two armed men.

The Ring Man pulled the girl back onto his lap and pondered the information. The whole thing was strange. The Americans had always been reluctant to use force. In fact, the Ring Man despised the American people as a whole for their failure to use the power they had. The DEA had always been a joke in Colombia. Any aggressive agent was usually transferred back to the United States. They were more concerned with image than with results.

Ring Man stared straight ahead. His eyes grew vacant and Ponte stirred uncomfortably. That meant the Ring Man was plotting. Ponte waited for almost five minutes while the Ring Man's internal computer worked. Finally his boss's eyes refocused.

"I don't think this American was DEA. This isn't their style. What about CIA?"

Ponte shook his head. "I have had no reports on any new actions by the CIA. It's possible, though."

"Whoever this man is, he wants Maria. That means he probably knows about the connection between Maria and Stevens. Is he trying to find Stevens?" Ring Man didn't wait for an answer as a new thought struck him. "He might be after the American we captured. They must know by now that there were only four bodies on the video. So maybe they figure there is one left alive."

Ponte shook his head. "But just one man? Wouldn't they be sending more down here if that's what they are after?"

Ring Man didn't know. "The Americans are funny people. They do strange things. Maybe this man is just here to get information. Whatever the case, I want the American prisoner moved. Bring him here. They will never be able to get at him here."

"What about Maria?"

"She knows nothing about the American prisoner. She's all right where she is. Warn her, though, to be careful."

"What should I do about the American in the city?"

"Find him and kill him."

Pike had done as much as he could over the phone. It was time now to do some face-to-face talking and get the wheels moving. He took the elevator to the first floor and strode to the outer corridor. The offices here had become familiar to him over the past week during his mission coordination. Right now Pike was going to find out how far down the chairman had passed word of the termination of the Hammer missions and Pike's own loss of stature.

He turned in under a sign that read DCSOP-SO and pulled up in front of the secretary who guarded the inner sanctum. "Is your boss busy, Jean?"

The secretary smiled at Pike. "Let me buzz him, Mike."

Pike licked his lips as he waited. Throughout the Hammer missions he'd been the one coordinating all the various parts. The DCSOP-SO, Lieutenant General Linders, had been one of his key points of contact, in charge of all support from the Special Operations Forces of the different services. The only time, as far as Pike knew, that Linders had had direct contact with Macksey was the initiating phone call and his attendance at the first briefback. All other contact had been through Pike.

"The general says go in, Mike." Pike nodded his thanks and entered.

Linders stood up to greet him. "Hey, Mike, I'm sorry about those guys you lost. It's a hell of a mess. I've had a bunch of calls from 1st SOW and SOCOM about it. I did what you asked and referred them to the Public Affairs Office but I'm not sure they're buying it. Slaight down at Bragg is being a particular pain in the butt trying to find out what the hell happened."

Pike shook his head as he sat in the offered seat. "Yes, sir. It's a problem all around. The video those assholes are releasing is screwing up the cover story. The chairman's doing a lot of tap-dancing on it. I guess he's under pressure from State and the White House to keep everything under wraps, trying to protect President Alegre's involvement."

Linders cursed. "I don't know why they don't just come out and put everything aboveboard. Let us go down and kick some ass and not have to do all this sneaky stuff. Plus it's a disgrace to those men who died not to have their accomplishments noted."

Pike was relaxing. It was obvious from his comments that Linders didn't know Pike had been fired. He decided to go for broke. "Well, that's kind of what I'm here to talk to you about."

Linders looked interested. "You going to run Hammer Four on that same target?"

Pike shook his head. "No, that target has been compromised. We're moving on to Hammer Five."

Riley and Westland sat on the edge of the bed watching the Spanish broadcast of the Colombian news on the small TV in their room. The video of the American bodies made the lead story.

Riley watched the screen fill with a slow pan of the bodies of Partusi, Marzan, Holder, and Lane. The camera was obviously handheld and the video was of poor quality, yet there was no denying the identity of the dead. Nor would there be any denying that the four men had been shot up pretty badly. The back half of Lane's head was missing where a round had torn through. The video was about twenty seconds long and showed only the bodies. No sign of Powers, dead or alive.

Riley listened to the comments of the newscaster:

"This video was delivered to El Tiempo yesterday evening. It was accompanied by a letter signed 'Protector of the People.' The text of the letter is: " 'People of Colombia, see what your president has allowed in your country. American soldiers come here and attack our citizens. And President Alegre knew about it! He allows Yankee imperialists to invade our sovereign territory and kill our people. These Americans were killed attacking farmers in the Barranquilla province.

" 'Take these bodies as our warning that we will not accept this situation.' "

The newscaster came back on.

"The office of the president has denied the report that the American soldiers were in Colombian territory at the request of President Alegre.

"The American government claims that the soldiers were killed in a helicopter crash flying out of Panama. The American military maintains that the aircraft was misoriented in flight and the crash in Colombian territory was a result of this navigational error. Washington denies that American forces have been conducting any sort of operations in our country."

Riley turned off the TV as the story shifted. He didn't feel quite so bad about the sicarios he had killed this afternoon.

"Nice wheels." Riley took a walk around the beat-up Ford Pinto. "Your man definitely worked hard to get us something with a lot of power. At least it will fit in with all the other cars we've seen around here, except of course the BMWs and Mercedeses owned by the drug people. I've never seen so many fancy cars in one place before."

Westland laughed as she got in the driver's side. "I think there've been something like ten thousand new millionaires in Colombia over the past ten years, and they all want the good stuff."

Kate cranked the engine. Riley was relieved to hear that the engine sounded in good shape. "Do you know the way?"

"Si, Senor Gonzalo."

As Kate drove, Riley went to work disconnecting the interior dome light. She wound their way out of the city. By the time she cleared the northern limits of Bogota the sun was almost all the way down and night was beginning to blanket the sky. She turned to the north along a highway with the mountains looming in close on the right side.

Riley was sleeping on the passenger side. The lack of sleep and tremendous amounts of adrenaline he'd gone through in the last forty-eight hours had finally caught up with him.

Westland drove slowly along the two-lane road, allowing Riley as much sleep as possible. After twenty minutes she reached over and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's up?" he asked groggily.

Westland pointed up ahead and to the right. "See those lights on the mountainside?"

"Yeah."

"According to the plot on the map, my odometer says that's got to be Ring Man's villa." She pointed as they passed a tar access road on their right. "That must be his driveway. From here it's about three klicks up that road along the mountainside to his place."

Riley watched as the lights grew closer. He rolled down his window and peered out as they passed the site. He could see very little, since the house was almost eight hundred feet above the highway. The glow indicated that the Ring Man probably had the entire grounds illuminated. Riley wasn't sure yet whether that would be an advantage or a disadvantage.

Westland was watching the odometer carefully in the dim dashboard light. She jumped as a vehicle flashed its lights in her rearview mirror and then roared around her. A truck load of drunk farm workers leaned over the railing of the truck bed, screaming at them for going too slow.

Riley reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Relax, Kate."

She nodded, still keeping her attention on the odometer. "Anywhere along in here." She pulled over and slowed even further.

He cracked open his door and turned to her. "See you soon." Then he rolled out, throwing the door shut as he went.

Riley hit the ground and rolled into the drainage ditch on the side of the road. He landed in the cold water at the bottom, which seeped into his clothes. Crouching in the ditch, he allowed himself a few seconds to get oriented. Looking to the east, in the dim starlight, he could make out the notch in the mountains ahead that indicated the top of the draw. Down that draw ran the stream he was looking for. He figured the stream must be somewhere off to his left, since they had not crossed it in the car prior to his jumping out.

He took out his compass and shot an azimuth to the notch, rotating the glowing lines in the base of the compass to match the illuminated north arrow on that setting. Then he offset that slightly to the north. He wanted to intersect the stream prior to the waterfall.

Counting every right footfall, Riley headed up the draw. He estimated it was 1.2 kilometers to the waterfall. He knew that his pace count, normally sixty right steps for every hundred meters, would be inaccurate due to the steep terrain. But the pace count and azimuth were really backups. He was counting on running into the left limit of the stream and following that, or hitting the front limit of the steep shelf from which the waterfall dropped, and following that to the left.

It felt good to be back out in the open again. Riley took a deep breath of the cool night air as he strode along. Being alone in the dark might be a terrifying experience for some, but it gave Riley a sense of freedom. There were no distractions, and he was accountable to no one. He always enjoyed the feeling of being out in nature, even if it was during a mission.

After fifteen minutes the noise of falling water became perceptible. He turned his course a little more to the left, hitting thicker vegetation the closer he got to the water. Suddenly he broke through to a slightly overgrown path next to the stream. Riley knelt down and ran his fingers over the dirt at the base of the path, searching for recent footprints. In the dark he couldn't see anything, and his fingers yielded no information. Drawing the knife he had taken from the sicario, he headed up the path.

Riley knew the attaché had most likely used this same path to put in the cache. He just hoped no one else would be on it tonight. He made much better time on the path than he had in the thick brush and was quickly rewarded with the sound of water crashing into a pool ahead. Riley stepped out into the moonlit clearing at the base of the waterfall.

The rock mentioned in the cache report was easy to spot. It stood on the south side of the pool a short hop from the shore. Riley bounded over to the rock and knelt down. He felt along the north edge for a fishing line or anything else that might be connected to the cache. Nothing.

Riley sighed and took his clothes off, shivering in the chill night air. Gripping the knife in his teeth, he held onto the rock with his hands. Damn. He hated cold water. The icy mountain pool made his skin crawl as he slowly lowered himself in, sliding his feet along the side of the rock. Totally immersed, except for his head, he took a deep breath and pushed himself under the water. When his feet hit something, he turned upside down, and swam down the few feet to the bundle. Quickly feeling around, he determined that the cache was buoyant and held in place with an anchor cable. At that point, he ran out of breath and headed back up.

Riley broke the surface and took a few deep breaths. His body was shaking from the cold. He hoped the cable was cut-able. It should be, since the cache report had said to bring a knife. Gripping the knife in his hand, he dove again. Working his way around the bundle, he finally found the anchor cable. To his numbed fingers, it felt like rope. Probably attached to a heavy rock the attaché had found somewhere close by to use as an anchor. Riley sawed at the rope with the knife until he couldn't stay down any longer.

It took Riley two more trips before the rope parted and the cache popped to the surface. Hanging onto the cache with his numbed fingers, Riley pulled it to shore. Beaching the bundle, he dragged himself out of the water. He was shivering so badly it took a tremendous amount of willpower to rouse himself. He grabbed his clothes and, after inadequately drying himself with his sweatshirt, he pulled them on. Riley wanted to kick himself for forgetting to bring a towel.

He glanced at his watch. He had forty-five minutes before Kate did her first pass by on the road below. After that it would be once every hour. He knew there was much to be done tonight and decided to get going immediately. Besides, the walk down would warm him up.

He inspected the cache more carefully. It was a box about two feet by five wrapped in plastic sheets. An unwieldy package at best. Riley picked it up and carefully balanced it on his shoulder. He estimated it weighed about fifty pounds. He took off down the path, determined to follow it all the way to the road rather than beating cross-country through the brush. If he ran into someone that would be that person's tough luck, because Riley was in no mood to mess around.

As he walked, he felt his body warm up from the exercise. The box dug into his shoulder and slipped a few times as he descended. Finally, about ten meters ahead he saw the dark line of the road. He checked his watch. Five minutes to eleven. He edged up to the road and quickly crossed. Settling in behind some bushes he waited.

Finally he heard the muted rumble of a car heading his way from the north. He peered up the road and watched. Two headlights came into view. Riley smiled in relief as he saw the brights flash on and off three times in rapid succession. Looking back to make sure no cars were coming from the opposite direction, he stepped out into the road and lit his lighter. The car swung off the road next to him and stopped. Riley opened the back door and slid in the bundle. He crammed himself in next to it.

Westland pulled back out into the road and continued heading south. "How'd it go?"

"Could you turn the heat on, please? I had to take a swim. I hate cold water. That attaché did a good job putting it in. I just hope it has everything."

As Westland drove, Riley tore through the protective wrapping with his knife, uncovering a plastic case sealed with duct tape. He cut the tape and opened the lid. The contents had been individually waterproofed. Riley unwrapped each item carefully.

The largest was a rifle: an M21 sniper rifle. Riley still wasn't sure how he would hit the Ring Man, but he wanted to have the capability to do it from a distance if the opportunity presented itself. The M21 was a match grade M14 rifle with the upper receiver glazed into the lower with fiberglass to prevent any movement between those parts. With the rifle were two magazines of ten rounds each of national match 7.62mm ammunition and an ART2 scope already mounted. Riley had asked that the scope be zeroed in and he hoped it hadn't been jostled out of alignment during the emplacement and recovery of the cache. Riley felt confident he could hit the Ring Man out to a kilometer, maybe more, with this system if he got the chance. He placed the rifle on the floor.

Next, he unwrapped the second-largest package. A short, bulky muzzle soon appeared, attached to a collapsing-stock submachine gun. It was an MP5SD3 mounted with a silencer, just like the one he had carried on the missions. There were twenty thirty-round magazines of 9mm ammunition in the box. Ten of those magazines were already in the pockets of an assault vest. Riley slapped a magazine into the weapon and loaded it. He placed it next to himself on the seat and put on the vest.

Next he pulled out two similar small packages. Unwrapping them disclosed two canvas bags, each holding a Claymore mine with time pencil, remote clacker, and trip wire. Riley wasn't sure how he would use the mines but they opened up possibilities. A plastic case contained a set of PVS-5s with four spare batteries. Riley unscrewed the battery cover and put one of the batteries in the goggles.

The last two packages were also identical. Each contained a Beretta 9mm pistol in a shoulder holster. There were six fifteen-round magazines with each weapon. Riley strapped his on, put the rifle and Claymores back into the plastic case, and climbed over the passenger seat into the front. He placed the other pistol on the seat next to Westland. "Got you a gift. Don't ever say I never gave you anything. You can take that Colt out of your pants now. Must be kind of uncomfortable."

Westland smiled as she negotiated the road. "Thanks. Maybe I'll get you something for Christmas."

Riley had been so busy unwrapping his toys, he had lost track of their whereabouts. "Where are we?"

"We made the turn onto route 46 about a minute ago. You're done just in time. Another two klicks and we should be at the turnoff for the warehouse."

Riley looked around. This road was more heavily traveled than the one to Ring Man's villa. "Go past the turnoff and see if you can find a place to pull over."

Riley spotted the driveway the same time as Westland did. He could make out lights and the edge of the warehouse the sicario had described to him. Westland went about four hundred meters past the turnoff and then pulled off the road, edging the car between the asphalt and the drainage ditch.

Riley grabbed the MP5 and one of the Claymore bags. "Let's go." He slipped the night-vision goggles over his head and turned them on.

Westland locked the doors and then followed, strapping on her Beretta. She kept the Colt tucked into the waist of her jeans. Riley led the way through the trees, slowing his pace for Westland, who kept her hand on his back and blindly followed him.