Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Riley pulled off his goggles and peered at the warehouse. He blinked for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Westland stood beside him in the shadows, her shoulder touching his.

"What now?" she whispered in his ear.

Riley spent a few moments surveying the scene. The warehouse was a squat building measuring approximately fifty meters by seventy-five. A loading dock with two large bay doors encompassed the side they faced. Two tractor trailers were backed up to the loading dock, which was dimly lit by several light bulbs. The tail ends of two cars were visible parked on the left side of the building where the road to the highway came in. Riley imagined that the office and personnel door were over there. The building had no windows that he could see on this side.

All Riley knew was that Maria might be in this warehouse. The whole setup could even be a trap. Any plan was going to have to be an improvisation at best. "All right. We got two cars and two trailers. Two cars means there might be anywhere from two to eight people in there. We don't know if they're all bad guys or if this is a legitimate business or what the hell is inside. We're going to play this by ear.

"We'll try going around the right side and see if there are any windows or doors we can gain entry through. I don't like the idea of going in the front door.

"Once inside we'll move as a team. I'll go first and you cover. If we run into someone, I'll do the talking and I want you to stay out of sight. You're my ace in the hole if the shit hits the fan."

He turned and looked into Kate's eyes. "If shooting starts, remember to shoot to kill. If it's only one person, I'll try taking them out with the silenced submachine gun. If you have to fire, then we go for broke. Let people run away but take out anyone who fights. If you see a woman who matches the description of Maria, try to take her alive."

Riley smiled grimly. "I know it isn't much of a plan, but it's the best I can come up with under the circumstances. You ready?" Kate nodded.

Riley followed the trees to the right until they got around the edge of the building. The side of the building stretched to the next corner without a break. Riley continued on around until he could see the fourth side. Another solid blank.

"All right. Let's try the doors where the trailers are."

He retraced his steps. Checking to make sure no one was around, Riley led the way out of the safety of the forest and across the open area up to one of the trailers. Sidling along the vehicle, he came up to the loading dock. He clambered up onto it and then turned and helped Westland up.

Checking the loading doors, he found both of them locked. Shit, Riley thought. "We're going in the front. Be prepared to start shooting."

Westland pulled out her Beretta and chambered a round, slipping off the safety. Riley crept up to the corner of the building, then lay on his stomach and peered around. The door was between the two cars about ten feet away. Riley hoped that it was at least unlocked. He stood up and edged his way around the corner and up to the door. Westland was behind him, keeping an eye on the driveway for any cars that might be coming.

Riley slid his hand over the doorknob and turned it. The knob rotated all the way. Slowly he tugged and the door opened with a creak. As quickly as he could, he slipped inside to the right of the door, submachine gun at the ready. Westland followed him in, moving to the inside left of the door.

They were in what looked like a small waiting room or reception area. The room was unoccupied and a dim bulb was the only illumination. Plywood walls defined the room, but there was no ceiling and the warehouse roof loomed overhead. There was one door straight ahead, another one to the left, and two to the right.

Riley could hear voices echoing from the warehouse. The two doors on the right led to bathrooms, judging from the signs on the doors. He figured, based on the setup, that the door to the left probably led to another office. The door straight ahead had to lead into the main warehouse area. Signaling Westland to cover the door to the warehouse, Riley quickly checked out the left door. The room behind it was empty.

Riley rejoined Westland. Glancing around he spotted a couch. He gestured to Westland, and the two of them picked up the couch to move it to the inner wall. He could stand on it and look over the wall before going in.

They froze as a long, drawn-out scream split the air. Westland looked at Riley; someone wasn't having a good time. They put the couch against the inner wall; Riley stood precariously on the back of it and peered over the wall.

The warehouse had stacks of shipping crates as far as he could see. From his vantage point he couldn't see the source of the screaming. Pathways large enough for small forklifts wove through the stacks at right angles.

There was another scream, followed by whimpering. Riley clambered off the couch and pointed at the door. Westland raised her pistol and nodded. Riley swung the door open and stepped through.

As he entered the warehouse, Riley sensed movement to his right. He dropped to his left knee as he turned to his right, swinging around the muzzle of the MP5. His eyes focused on a man trying to pull a gun out of a shoulder holster. As the stubby muzzle of Riley's sub centered on the target, he smoothly drew back on the trigger.

The sound of the bolt chugging back and forth as the rounds spewed out was startlingly loud to Riley. The guard grunted and slammed back against a crate as Riley stitched a pattern of five rounds from the man's chest up to his head. The expended brass casings tinkled to the floor.

Riley whirled and faced down the pathway between the crates that led to the center of the warehouse. The entire place had gone silent except for the continued sound of someone crying. Westland materialized at Riley's side, took in the sight of the body, and then turned her attention to the pathway.

Riley gestured for Westland to cover him as he started moving forward. He halted as a male voice called out, "Roberto? Roberto?" Riley pressed himself back into the shadows as he heard footsteps coming his way.

Another guard appeared, weapon still in his holster. Riley resisted the temptation to fire. Letting the sub drop on its sling along his side, he drew the knife. He waited until the man was practically upon him and then, in one powerfully smooth movement, stepped out and attacked. One hand buried the knife in the man's throat and then slashed the carotid arteries and windpipe, while the other hand applied opposite pressure against the man's head.

The guard stared at Riley in shock as his hands went to his throat. Blood bubbled over his fingers and his breath wheezed out the new opening. He dropped to his knees and fell over onto his face. Riley put the knife back in its sheath and rotated up his submachine gun. He took a deep breath and continued on his way, Westland trailing him by about fifteen feet.

The light grew stronger and the sobbing louder as they got closer to the center of the room. Reaching the end of the aisle, Riley dropped to his knees and edged forward. He could hear the voices more clearly now, raised in argument. He could make out the voices of at least two men and one woman.

Riley took a quick peek around the corner and then drew back. He examined the image imprinted in his mind. A chair in the middle of an open area. A naked man tied to the chair, his back to Riley. Two men and a woman gathered around the chair with a table next to them, discussing whether someone should go after the man Riley had just killed. One of the men called out. "Pablo!"

Riley turned and pointed, directing Westland to take a position in the shadows on the far side of the aisle. Then he stood up and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He knew he had about twenty-five rounds left in his submachine gun magazine. He quietly released the lock and extended the telescoping stock. He placed the butt deep into his shoulder. Melding his cheek to the steel stock, with his right eye over the weapon, he peered down the barrel.

Riley stepped out from behind the crates. He fired two three-round bursts in the space of half a second. The two men flew backward, fatally hit, while they were still registering his appearance. The woman reached for an automatic rifle on the table.

"Freeze!" Riley screamed in Spanish as he started to move forward, the weapon still tight in against his cheek. The woman ignored him and grabbed the rifle. Riley fired a five-round burst, aiming low. The 9mm steel-jacketed rounds tore into the woman's legs, blowing them out from underneath her.

The crack of a pistol being fired from behind caused Riley to go into a diving spin to his left. As he brought his weapon up to bear he was treated to the sight of Westland firing a second round into the head of a guard who must have circled around the warehouse and come up the same aisle Riley had. Half the guard's face was missing as he slid to the ground. Westland gave Riley a quick nod, indicating all clear.

Riley returned his gaze to the wounded woman. She was reaching for the rifle she had dropped when she'd been shot. Riley jumped to his feet and ran to her, kicking the rifle away. She glared at him from where she lay in a puddle of blood.

He looked up as Westland joined him. She kept her pistol pointed at Maria and gestured over her shoulder. "Is it Stevens?"

Riley turned his attention to the man in the chair. It was Stevens. Riley felt conflicting emotions as he stared at the bound figure. This was the man who had betrayed his team and caused the death of four of his friends. The Colombians had been doing quite a job on the DEA man. A car battery was on the table and electrodes were attached to Stevens's scrotum. A flick of a switch and current would flow. It also looked as though they had spent some time pounding him about the head and shoulders. From the droop, Riley guessed that both his collarbones were broken.

"Yeah, it's him. Keep her covered. Shoot her in the legs again if she tries moving."

"She's bleeding pretty bad. If we don't stop it she'll be dead soon."

Riley ignored the last comment and moved over in front of Stevens. The man looked up but without recognition. He was too far gone. They hadn't been torturing him for information, Riley realized. They'd been torturing him for vengeance. Riley could see where one of Stevens's fingers had been cut off.

Riley pulled his knife and cut the straps that bound Stevens to the solid wood chair. He was just starting to pull Stevens up when he realized he had made a mistake. "Get down!" he screamed as he dove for the ground, letting go of Stevens in the process.

The blast stunned Riley. He lay on the ground for a few seconds and did a mental scan of his body as debris clattered down about him. His ears were ringing and he could hear nothing. He slowly sat up and looked around. Westland was dragging herself to her knees from where the blast had knocked her down. Riley could see blood spattered on her shirt. He looked down at himself. He was covered in blood also.

Then he saw the source of the blood. A piece of gnarled meat was all that was left of Stevens. Riley suddenly remembered Maria. He got to his feet. The Colombian woman was trying to crawl away. Riley admired her guts. He tried yelling at Westland but could barely hear himself, and it was obvious that she was still too deaf and dazed from the explosion to hear him. He ran after Maria and blocked her way. She had left a copious trail of blood behind her. Weakly lifting her head, she glared at Riley.

She was trying to work up the saliva to spit at him when she died. Riley looked down on her for a few seconds. A link gone, along with Stevens. He went back to tend to Westland.

Kate had regained her senses, except for the ringing in her ears. She was staring, mesmerized by the remains of Stevens. Riley took a quick look around to see if there was anything they could use, then grabbed Kate's arm and led her out.

Riley swung up his MP5. He could hear noises ahead where they had left the car. Signaling Westland to stay behind, he crept forward.

As he got closer he could hear what sounded like two people in the vicinity of the car. He slid forward and peered out from the tree line. A pickup truck was pulled up behind the Pinto and two men were trying to pry open the hood.

Riley shook his head in amazement. After all he'd been through, he couldn't believe that these guys were trying to rip off his car. This country was worse than the South Bronx.

He pulled off the goggles and gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust, then put down the submachine gun and pulled out his Beretta. As he broke through the brush, the two men swung around to face him, one pulling a knife, the other brandishing the tire iron they had impolitely been using on the hood.

"You have three seconds, then I blow your heads off, my friends."

The pair were in their truck in two and gone in less than ten. Riley called for Westland to join him as he retrieved his sub.

"What was that?"

"Two assholes were trying to rip off our car. You believe this place?" Riley looked at Kate with concern. "Are you all right to drive?"

She nodded weakly and got behind the wheel. Riley jumped in the other side and they headed back the way they had come. As she drove, Westland asked the question that had been disturbing her. "What happened back there in the warehouse with Stevens?"

Riley sighed. "I fucked up. One of the rules of rescuing hostages is to make sure they aren't booby-trapped before moving them. I forgot all about that when I cut Stevens free. They must have wired him up. The charge was probably a stick of dynamite shoved up his ass, because I didn't see anything. I'm lucky I heard the fuse release when I started lifting him and that there was about a second delay on the charge. His body contained most of the force of the blast. We're also lucky it was a simple wood chair and there wasn't much, other than Stevens, to turn into shrapnel when it blew, otherwise we'd both probably be dead."

Westland shook her head. "What the hell are we going up against here? Why did they still have Stevens? What were they hoping to get from him? If he compromised the mission he must have told them everything they wanted to know by now."

From what he had seen of Stevens before the explosion, Riley knew that the Colombians had wrung the DEA man dry well before this night. "I think they were letting Maria work on him for fun. Maybe that was her payment for having screwed Stevens to get the timing and locations on the missions. Just remember that these people are working with a different set of values than we are. You need to keep that in mind. Don't hesitate because of sympathy or doubt. If you do you'll be dead."

Westland glanced over at him. "I think you had that in your mind when we came down here. What you did in that bar didn't leave much room for sympathy or the possibility that you might have been making a mistake."

Riley met her gaze. "When you're in hell you play by the devil's rules."

They flashed by the turnoff for the Ring Man's villa again. Riley rechecked the magazine in the submachine gun and placed the empty magazine in his vest. He waited until Westland pulled up next to the stream. "Don't pick up any strangers."

"Be careful, Dave."

Riley got out of the car and strode off up the hard-to-find trail next to the stream. He draped his night-vision goggles over his eyes and switched them on.

After fifteen minutes of walking he turned off the trail and beat his way cross-country to the southeast toward a knoll he had located on the map. The glow of the security lights from the Ring Man's villa lit the sky to the south. Riley clambered up the slope until he got to the tree-covered knoll, designated by its elevation on the map as 8548, that looked down on the villa's grounds about five hundred meters to the south.

Riley climbed one of the taller trees and settled himself down on a forked limb. It wasn't comfortable but would have to do. He scanned the grounds.

He could easily see over the ten-foot stone wall into the interior. The house was well lit with floodlights pointing down from along the edge of the roof. The main house was two stories tall with one-story wings on either side. A large oval swimming pool was behind the house. The driveway and circular parking area in the front were bordered by an extensive garden that stretched out to the walls on the front third of the grounds. The helipad was barely in sight over the east wing of the house.

Riley carefully watched the grounds and gradually started locating the guards. They moved in seemingly random patterns about the grounds. Whoever set up the pattern obviously had more of a security than military background. It would have been more effective to have hidden the guards in good defensive positions. There were six in the outer grounds that Riley could spot. Four were assigned one to each side of the compound; the other two roved the entire perimeter, one in each direction. It was a good system in that these two could quickly spot whether any side guard was no longer at his post.

Riley couldn't see down into the parking circle in the front so it was impossible to tell how many vehicles were parked there. From what he could see of the house, it was hard to ascertain whether or not there were interior guards. After an hour and a half of observation, Riley deduced that there had to be some sort of security command post inside the house. He had watched several of the guards talk into shoulder-mounted mikes attached to radios on their belts. He'd been unable to see any of the other outside guards reply. It would make sense to have them report to someone inside, and Riley also figured it would make sense to have a reaction force of at least the off-duty guards inside sleeping. He estimated that there were probably several more guards awake inside as a second line of defense and also as an immediate reaction force if an attack came.

The apparent lack of a roadblock or anti-armor weapons led Riley to assume that probably at least one ambush was set up along the one-lane drive that came up from the highway to the villa. No worthwhile security man would fail to defend that obvious avenue of approach.

Riley gave it another hour of watching and then climbed stiffly out of the tree. He waited a few minutes to let the blood circulate back into his legs and then set off downslope to link up with Kate.

Kate handed Riley another cup of coffee. "What do you think?"

Riley rubbed his eyes wearily. "I don't know. I've ruled out going into that place. I wouldn't last five minutes. If the Ring Man goes outside during the day to either the pool or elsewhere in the back, I could get a good shot at him from the knoll where I was doing the surveillance. Even then I'm not sure I could escape, since I imagine they'd react pretty swiftly. I'd have to make it from the firing point down to the road, and they would beat me there."

"What about hiding in the mountains after you shoot?"

Riley shook his head. "This is their territory. They'd have a better chance of finding me, or having one of the locals turn me in, than I would of being able to evade."

"What about using Spectre or the gunships? I could probably get a hold of Pike through the attaché in the embassy."

Riley shook his head dubiously. "It's worth a shot, but I doubt that either our government or the Colombians would be too willing to try anything like that after Nail Three and the video being released. I'm also not sure what Pike's status is right now. You said the task force had been disbanded. They've probably shoveled the colonel off into his old job, although if I know him as well as I think I do, he probably made quite a ruckus about Powers getting abandoned. Hell, he may even be out of the army by now." Riley didn't add the information about the phone call he had made prior to their flight departing from New York.

He got up, went over to the bed, and flopped on it. "I'm too tired to think straight right now." He wanted to let himself drift off, but his mind was still swirling, trying to find an answer. Plus, he still had no line on Powers.

He cracked an eye open at Westland, who was slumped wearily in the armchair. "It might be worthwhile for you to talk to the attaché later today. Let's grab a couple hours of rack time and then you can head over to the embassy."

Riley patted the bed next to him. "Come on over. I don't bite. I'm too damn tired to do anything more than sleep anyway."

Westland got up and slid into the bed, still wearing her outfit from the previous evening. Within five minutes she was breathing gently and rolled over with her back to Riley, knees tucked up into her stomach. Just before Riley succumbed to the weights on his eyelids he curled up around Westland's warmth.

The attack at the warehouse wasn't discovered until 5:10 a.m., when a new shift of guards showed up for duty. Ponte had taken the report with a certain degree of regret. He wished he hadn't gotten up so early and been present when the phone rang. The Ring Man wasn't going to like the bearer of these tidings.

Ponte ran the information through his mind one more time, summarizing it so he could be prepared for his boss's questions. The Ring Man normally swam laps in the pool at six in the morning but had been talked out of that routine by Ponte, based on the increased threat of attack. So now Ponte went down into the west wing, where a complete set of Nautilus equipment was set up. The Ring Man was already halfway through his first iteration. Ponte walked over to the biceps machine, where the Ring Man was working out. The ever-present young girl was wiping his forehead with a towel. Ring Man waved her off when he saw Ponte. "What is it?"

"The warehouse on route 46 was attacked last night."

Ring Man dropped the weights with a loud clang. "Tell me what happened."

"Someone must have hit it between ten last night and this morning. It was just discovered by the new shift of guards. All five guards were killed. Four were shot and one had his throat cut out."

"Maria?"

"She was killed also. Shot."

"What about the American DEA agent?"

"He's dead too. At least we think it was him." Ponte hastily explained as Ring Man frowned at him. "Maria had him booby-trapped in case something like this happened. There's, the remains of a body that the guard who called in says is Stevens."

The Ring Man threw his towel across the room and stalked out. Ponte meekly followed him to his office along with the girl. The Ring Man sat behind his desk and for almost five minutes stared out the bulletproof windows at the mountains stretching off to the north. Finally he turned to Ponte. "We must find this American. Do you have anything further on him?"

"The man from the Embassy Cafe who originally met him says that the American told him he was from New York City and that he had just flown in on Tuesday night with his wife. He gave the name Martinez."

"Have you checked the manifests from all flights from New York that night?"

"There was only one flight. There was no Martinez listed."

The Ring Man looked up in disgust. "You idiot! Did you check every couple that flew in? Do you think the man would be stupid enough to tell you the right name? Did the man say anything else?"

Ponte was shaken. "He said he was looking for a child to adopt. He said his wife couldn't have children and that's why they were down here. He also said that he'd heard about Maria from his brother, who had been told by a marine from the embassy that she could help."

Ring Man shook his head. "Maria never dealt in babies." He slammed his desktop and stared hard at Ponte. "I want you to go through the manifest of that flight from New York and track down every couple that came and find out where they are. Hell, track down every man on the plane, in case the story of a wife was a hoax too. Get the man at the bar to give you a better description and also keep a hold of him to identify the people when you find them. There can't be that many off that flight."

Ring Man stood up and went over to Ponte, grabbing his face between his fingers. "You'd better not fuck this up, my friend. You have already done too much with your incompetence."

Ariel felt alive. The thought of upcoming action sent the adrenaline flowing and dried out his throat. In his opinion this was better than being with a beautiful woman knowing you would soon bed her. Much better.

He peered once more through his tripod-mounted binoculars from his aerie on top of the Citizens Bank office building. The twenty-four-story building, tallest in this section of the city, afforded him a superb view. Most importantly, it gave him a lengthwise view of the main road that ran down the center of the city.

Still no sign. Ariel pulled his eyes from the binoculars and scanned the rooftop, ensuring that his local security was in place. He felt confident that their presence had not been leaked, even though Ramirez effectively controlled the city. His men had broken into the building two hours ago and covered any signs of the intrusion. Ariel had ten sicarios on the roof, four deployed guarding the staircase entrance, and one on each corner scanning the adjacent roofs and sides of the building. The last two were next to him. One had a U.S. made Redeye antiaircraft missile in the unlikely event they were spotted from the air and attacked from that direction. The other was the gunner for the bulky weapon they had hauled to the roof with great effort.

The Hughes BGM-71 TOW was designated as a heavy antitank weapon manufactured for use by the U.S. Army. TOW stood for tube launched, optically guided, wire command linked missile. The entire system had five parts and totaled 172 pounds without the missile. Each rocket weighed 42 pounds. Set up, the system consisted of a tripod with a fiberglass tube into which the missile was inserted. An optical sight with clamp was on the left side of the tube. A missile guidance system, MGS, in the form of a large black box was connected to the sight by a heavy black cable. Having been fielded since 1970, the TOW was the most widely used antitank weapon in the world. Ariel had purchased this system and two missiles from a source that had dealings with various governments in the Middle East.

Ariel was somewhat concerned because he wasn't sure of the shelf life of the two missiles he had. The little indicator window on them still showed blue, meaning the warhead was good, but Ariel's experience in Israel had taught him that missiles that sat in the depot too long sometimes developed faults without tripping the indicator.

He was also concerned with his gunner. The man had never fired the weapon before. In some ways, firing the TOW made video games seem difficult. Basically, the firer centered the cross hairs of his sight on the target. He pulled a trigger and the missile used a quad boost motor for a recoilless launch. The missile coasted briefly, then a rocket kicked in and flew the missile to its target. The key was that the gunner had to continue tracking his target, keeping it in the cross hairs. If the cross hairs were on the target when the missile arrived, the result was devastating. The warhead held 5.3 pounds of high-explosive shaped charge. It would be more than sufficient for the target Ariel had in mind.

His surveillance of the last two days had revealed a pattern. Patterns were dangerous things for men with enemies. His target left his strongly defended seaside home every morning and drove into the city to meet with his subordinates in the city infrastructure.

The target's security chief wasn't totally foolish, however. Although the timing was the same every day, the route varied. This had led Ariel to throw out the idea of an ambush or mining one of the roads with a command-detonated charge.

The bottom line, however, was that the target left one place and went to another at the same time of day. With those three constants in mind, Ariel had come up with his present plan. He checked his watch one more time. Any minute now.

The earphone running from the radio on his belt crackled. "Target is moving. Taking route B."

Ariel twisted his binoculars in the indicated direction. There they were. Two limousines trailed by a van. Ariel knew that the two limousines was another trick thrown in by the target's security chief. The main target was in one of the two, but because of the dark windshields it was impossible to tell which. An attacker might destroy one and miss his intended victim. Ariel felt a passing moment of respect for his adversary. Supposedly the target had hired a former West German commando officer to serve as his security chief.

Ariel thought that was amusing in a way. An Israeli against a German in a South American country. What a twisted world, he laughed to himself. He reached over and grabbed the shoulder of his gunner. The man had shown the steadiest hands in Ariel's testing. Now he would have a chance to put them to use. "Do you have them?"

"Si, senior."

"Good. Wait till I tell you." Ariel wanted to make sure his gunner didn't fire when the vehicles might be in a position to go out of sight before the missile completed its flight. The missile flew at about 620 miles per hour once it got up to speed but, including the launch time, it would still take almost five seconds from leaving the tube to impact. The missile was connected to the launcher by a thin metal wire that relayed instructions from the guidance system to the warhead and fired small maneuvering rockets that changed the missile's course to keep it on target. If the target went behind a building or power lines crossed the missile's path in that flight time, the shot was wasted.

Ariel watched the convoy a few seconds. He knew that the van contained a contingent of guards with heavy weapons. One of the two cars held the primary target. Ariel waited. He made his first decision. "The lead car."

The gunner nodded and pressed the rubber eyepiece of the sight deeper into his eye socket.

Ariel swung his binos from the convoy up along the street they were on. He made a quick calculation. "When they reach the middle of the next block. Do you see the gas station?"

"Si, senor."

Ariel waited, feeling his excitement rise. "Steady. Steady. Fire!"

There was a blast and a roar. The missile leapt out the end of the firing tube and screamed toward the target. It made an ear-piercing noise as it picked up speed and roared downrange.

Ariel was torn between watching the target and watching his gunner to make sure the man didn't screw up. He decided to keep his eye on the target. In two seconds the missile appeared in his binos as a ball of flame flying away.

"Yes!" Ariel yelled as the missile impacted in the lead car and the warhead exploded with a roar. He turned and helped the gunner as they unlatched the clamp, pulled the empty missile case out of the tube, and slapped the second missile in. By cranking down on the clamp, Ariel engaged the tracking system wires. He slapped the gunner on his back. "Up."

He peered through his binoculars as the gunner gained his next target. The second limousine had pulled off to the side of the street and stopped. That was a mistake. Guards were pouring out of the van, quartering the immediate area, looking for the source of the explosion. Ariel wanted to laugh from his perch over two kilometers away. The TOW belched and screamed as the second missile roared off.

The gunner cursed and Ariel pulled his eyes away from the binoculars in dismay. Instead of flying true, the second missile had curved and now flew almost straight up into the air.

"Keep tracking," Ariel yelled, in the vain hope the missile might turn. His military mind already knew it was too late. The missile was already too far off course to be able to correct. Something had gone wrong in its guidance system.

The 3,750-meter spool of guidance wire reached its end and snapped. The missile was a dim ball of flame that suddenly winked out, its fuel expended. Ariel was unconcerned with where it would land now.

He took a last view through his binoculars. The guards were pulling bodies out of the first limousine. It was impossible to tell who they were at this distance.

Ariel turned to his men. "Let's go." As they headed for the stairs, he pulled the pin on a thermite grenade and laid it on top of the missile guidance system nestled underneath the tripod. He turned and leapt for the stairwell. Oh well, he reasoned. It was a fifty-fifty chance they had gotten Roberto Ramirez.

Kate Westland stirred. She had a strange feeling of warmth along her back. As consciousness grew she realized that warmth was Riley curled up behind her. The realization caused her no discomfort. On the contrary, she felt quite secure in his arms. She lay still for a few minutes, relaxing and enjoying the sensation.

Finally, she slipped out of his arms and stole quietly to the bathroom. Coming back out she regarded the sleeping form for a few seconds. Riley's normally intense face was relaxed. The lines in his forehead were smooth. She stood there, hesitating to wake him.

"Makes me nervous to be stared at," Riley drawled as he cracked open one eye. "You ready for another exciting day?"

Westland shook her head. "I don't think I could take any more excitement. Especially on an hour and a half of sleep. What's on the agenda?"

Riley sat up. "First you take me out to the villa site again. I want to check it out during the daytime. Then you go and get a hold of the military attaché and try to make contact with Pike. I've got his STU-III number. Then you come back out and meet up with me sometime this evening to let me know what you've learned. Sound good?"

Westland nodded. "Ready when you are."

Ponte stiffened as he heard the Ring Man call for him from the adjacent office. Today had not been a good one so far and it was still early in the morning. Ponte went through the connecting door into his boss's office.

The Ring Man was on the phone. He gestured for Ponte to take a seat across from his desk and paused in his conversation. "I want you to listen in. This is the type of information I like hearing." The Ring Man punched the intercom on his phone and put the receiver down. "Tell me again what you have done, my friend."

"About an hour ago I assassinated Roberto Ramirez." Ponte cringed as he heard Ariel's accent come out of the speaker.

"How did you do that?"

"I hit his limousine with an antitank missile. Completely destroyed it. From what I've been able to find out, it killed not only Roberto but his second-oldest son, Miquel."

Ring Man laughed out loud. "The Shark is fish bait now." He turned to Ponte. "Miquel was the next in line, wasn't he?"

Ponte nodded glumly. Ariel's good work made his own involvement with the mysterious American seem all that more incompetent. "The eldest, Julio, is still in the States facing trial. He's looking at a life term. That leaves the third son, Jaime, and the youngest, Carlos. I'd say the younger is the more dangerous of the two left."

The Ring Man had already turned his attention back to the phone. "What are things like there? How are Ramirez's people reacting?"

Ariel's disembodied voice floated in the room. "There hasn't been time for them to do much of anything. They've recovered the bodies and pulled back to his house on the ocean and are fortifying themselves. In my opinion they're scared. I think the time is ripe for us to move into the city here and take over. The Ramirezes will be too busy trying to protect themselves to come out and try to stop us."

The Ring Man was all smiles. "Good. Very good. I want you to come back up here. Hold on a minute." He turned to Ponte. "Is my helicopter flying yet?"

Ponte glanced at his watch. "The repairs were just completed. It will be taking off from the airport in about forty-five minutes to go up to Barranquilla."

"Have it also pick up Ariel at the airfield in Cartagena. I want him down here."

As Ponte listened to Ring Man relay this information to Ariel, he realized that Ariel wasn't coming down here just to get a pat on the back. Job security wasn't exactly the highlight of Ponte's position. Ring Man himself had sat in Ponte's office prior to assassinating Ahate. Although Ponte knew that the Ring Man didn't consider him a threat, his boss might consider Ariel to be even less of a threat. Ariel, as a foreigner, could never rule in the cartel in Colombia.

The Ring Man startled Ponte out of his self-absorbed thinking. "Do I have to tell you again? Get moving on the call to the pilot."

Ponte scurried out of the office, half of his mind on what he had to do and the other half on what he needed to do to survive.

Ariel enjoyed flying in helicopters. He'd had the pilot fly low over the coast on the short run from Cartagena to Barranquilla. He could see the bulk of the city farther up the coast as the aircraft banked right and headed down onto a dirt runway. Ariel had heard about the aborted attack by the Americans on this lab site. He wished he had been there. The thought of meeting one of these American commandos piqued his military interest.

The pilot didn't want to shut down his engines so he had radioed ahead for the guards to have the prisoner waiting. As the skids of the Bell Jet Ranger touched down, four guards rushed forward, dragging a hooded and shackled figure. Ariel opened the back door and helped them position the man inside and lash him into the seat with the safety straps. The helicopter lifted and turned to the south.

Ariel reached over and removed the hood from the American. The prisoner blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Ariel could see that although the man's face was unmarked he was in some degree of pain. Ariel assumed that the sicarios had amused themselves with beatings while keeping in mind the Ring Man's instructions not to mark the face. Also, Ariel knew that the man had been knocked unconscious by a grenade blast during the firefight — but not before he had killed several of Ring Man's men. Ariel wanted to talk to this man who had shown such bravery and military prowess.

The Israeli grabbed the extra headset and plunked it down over the American's ears, positioning the boom mike in front of his lips. The prisoner regarded him with dark, angry eyes. Ariel knew he would have his hands full if this bear of a man got loose. There was little chance of that, though: The Colombians had shackled his wrists with two sets of steel handcuffs, and his feet were held with two rings welded to an iron bar that was tied into the floor of the helicopter.

"Can you hear me?"

The man's gaze swung around.

"What is your name?"

The man shook his head.

"You can talk. You have a hot mike. I'm interested in what you thought you were doing when you tried to attack this facility."

The man just glared.

"My name is Ben Ariel. I might be able to help you. I'm a professional military man just like you."

That brought a reaction. "You call yourself a professional, working for these scum? You're a hired killer. You're lower than whale shit."

"Ah, I see you can talk." Ariel smiled. "Yes, I do call myself a professional. I am just like you. I get paid to provide military services. I just do it for an individual instead of a government. I don't see much difference between the two."

The American shook his head. "You work for the money. I do it for my country. I would think you'd understand that, seeing where you come from if I read your name right."

Ariel shook his head. "I don't do this for the money. I do this because I am good at it. Just this morning I set up a beautiful ambush. You would have been impressed. Destroyed an enemy vehicle at almost two thousand meters. Do you have a name?"

The man shook his head. "You get no information out of me."

Ariel laughed. "If we wanted it, we'd get it. No one is immune. Everyone breaks. There isn't anything you could tell us that we don't know already. We're just keeping you alive in case we need you as a chip on the table later on. How does that make you feel? Just a bargaining piece, and not a very valuable one, I might add, since your government is still denying it did anything and is sticking to its air crash story."

"My feelings don't matter."

Ariel considered the man. He felt a certain empathy for him. From the report he had received the American had been captured by sheer luck. He'd been moving south along the coast when he'd run into one of the patrols Ring Man had ordered out after he'd received word from Maria on the impending raid.

"It is a shame that we have to waste your talents. The Americans have at least admitted that the dead men were from the 7th Special Forces Group. I'm impressed. I have heard good things about you Green Berets. Not as good as our commandos in Israel but still a potent force."

The man didn't rise to the barb. Ariel tried another tack. "Maybe I can talk to my boss about you. Would you be interested in working with me?"

The man turned and carefully spit into Ariel's face. In a fit of fury the Israeli pulled out his pistol and cocked it. The copilot in the right front seat had been following the conversation and now yelled, "Put that away! What do you think you're doing? You can't fire that in here. Besides, the Ring Man wants the American alive."

Ariel slowly regained control of his temper. He pushed the muzzle of the pistol into the man's temple. "You will pay for that. Maybe not now, but later."

The American looked at Ariel and smiled. "Fuck you. Fuck your mother. Fuck your father. Fuck your—" The rest of the tirade was lost as Ariel tore the headset off the man. That didn't stop the American, though. He rocked in the web seat as much as the restraints would let him and shouted profanities at the top of his lungs.

Ariel spent the rest of the flight pressed up against the door, as far as he could get from the crazy American, thinking of things he would do to him if the Ring Man let him.

Westland looked across the desk at Lieutenant Colonel Turrel, the army military attaché to Colombia. Turrel returned her stare with a look that ranged somewhere between amusement and concern.

His amusement came from having watched Westland fight off Jameson. The CIA man had nearly had a fit when Westland appeared in the Marine Corps' guard post in the embassy, demanding to see the army military attaché. Jameson had hustled her into the embassy and tried to steer her into his office. Westland had sabotaged that plan by the simple tactic of not getting on the elevator with Jameson and watching the door shut in his surprised face. She'd then climbed the stairs to the second floor and presented herself to Turrel. Before she could talk to him, Jameson had stormed into the room, ordering her to his office. Westland had stubbornly refused, and Jameson had just left in a huff, threatening her, telling her he was going to call Virginia and ship her ass back on the first thing flying.

Turrel's concern stemmed from his knowledge that something fishy was going on. Putting the cache in three nights ago had alerted him to that fact. This young woman seated across from him must be involved somehow.

Westland sighed deeply and tried to figure out how to begin. Riley had told her to be up front with Turrel. She decided to be as truthful as she could without giving away any classified information on the mission. She was already in enough trouble.

"My name's Kate Westland. As you can tell from the last couple of minutes, I work for the agency. I'm down here on an operation and I need to use your STU-III line to call someone in Washington."

Turrel leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you use Jameson's? He's got an even higher priority line than I do."

"He wouldn't let me. I'm not supposed to even be here."

"I gathered that much. If you're operating with a cover you've probably blown it."

"I had no choice. I have to get in contact with someone in the Pentagon."

Turrel raised his eyebrows. "Anybody I might know?"

"Do you know General Pike?"

"Mike Pike?" Westland nodded. "I didn't know he'd been promoted. I know him by reputation. Anybody wearing these crossed arrows on their collar from Special Forces branch knows about him." Turrel seemed to consider this for a few seconds. "I assume you want to talk to him privately?"

Westland nodded. "It's highly classified."

"Does this have anything to do with the cache I put in the other night?"

"I can't answer that." Westland looked him in the eyes. "Please, I need to make this call."

Turrel relented. "All right. I'll stand guard outside. Do you know how to work that thing?" He pointed at the bulky phone with a line of buttons over the normal telephone keypad.

She nodded. Turrel removed the activating key from the string around his neck, turned on the phone, and left the room.

Westland punched in the number Riley had given her. She'd feel really stupid if no one answered, after going through all this trouble. She waited anxiously as the phone buzzed twice on the other end. She let out a deep breath when it was picked up and a familiar voice came on.

"Pike here. This line is unsecured."

Westland didn't give her name, hoping her voice would be recognized. "We need to go secure."

"Roger. You ready on your end?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'm on now."

Westland punched two numbers on the top row of buttons. She heard a beep and then a hiss. A red light came on her set. "I'm showing red."

Pike's voice came back. "I've got red too. I assume that's you, Kate."

"It's me, General. Riley told me to call you. I'm in Colombia with him."

"I know that."

Westland looked at the phone in surprise. How did Pike know that? "Do you know why we're here?"

"Yeah. Some bozo from your outfit figured that Riley could take out the Ring Man."

How the hell did he know all this? Supposedly the only people in on the whole thing were at Langley or down here. Was there a leak in Langley? Then it occurred to her. "Riley called you from the airport, didn't he?"

"Of course. He figured he might need some help and he thought I was the one who might be able to do that for him. What did he tell you to relay to me?"

The son of a bitch, she thought to herself. I wonder what the hell else he's done that I don't know about. Westland shook off her surprise and proceeded to relate the information Riley had given her. She concluded by asking about the possibility of a Hammer strike on the villa.

Pike's bitter laugh wasn't distorted by the phone. "Hell, no. You got a better chance of the Ring Man having a heart attack than you do of this government taking any action. The video has caused people to head for the hills. They're still denying everything at State and here at the Pentagon.

"If Alegre falls there's going to be some hard questioning. This most recent wave of assassinations and bombings has people here running scared. The feeling is that the drug cartel is going to make a big push against the government and that the Hammer missions may have been the spark. And no one wants to admit publicly that they were part of that."

Then what am I doing talking to you then? Westland thought. "Is there anything you can do?"

"I'm working on something. I'm flying down to Bragg in an hour for the memorial service for those guys. If I come up with something useful, how can I get a hold of you?"

"I don't know."

"Whose office are you calling from?"

"The army attaché’s."

"What's Riley doing?"

"He's got surveillance on the Ring Man's villa."

"Good. Tell him not to take any action before midnight tomorrow night. I know he'll be keeping pretty tight surveillance on the target. If I can do anything, I'll get back to him somehow."

Westland was confused. How the hell could Pike contact Riley? And it was obvious that Pike also knew the deadline for the hit. "How will you contact him?"

"I'll get a hold of the attaché down there and relay a message through him to you, and you pass it on. If he's letting you use his phone he should be willing to pass a message. Will that work?"

"Yes. The attaché here is a Lieutenant Colonel Turrel."

"I know. I'll talk to him later today. Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Good luck."

Westland heard the click on the other end. She hung up and turned off the phone. When she opened the door Turrel was standing there with Jameson in front of him and an air force full colonel next to him. They all turned at her appearance in the doorway.

"What were you doing in there?" Jameson demanded.

"Nothing." Westland sidled up next to Turrel.

"Bullshit." Jameson turned to the air force officer, who was probably the ranking attaché. "Your man here has made contact with this woman despite my protests. I demand that you discipline him."

Westland could see that Jameson had taken the wrong approach with the military man. He confronted the CIA man. "I don't appreciate you telling me what to do. You can demand all you want. From what Colonel Turrel has told me, your person approached him. I don't see where he did anything wrong. If you can't control your own people that's your problem." With that the colonel turned and stalked away.

Jameson tried another approach. "Did you make a call?"

Westland played innocent. "Who would I call?"

Jameson bullied past them and looked into the office at the phone. "Where's your STU-III key?"

Turrel pulled out the key Westland had slipped him. "It's been right here the whole time she was in my office." He put away the key. "You know I'm really getting tired of the two of you. Go work out your problems elsewhere." With that the army officer went into his office, slamming the door behind him.

Jameson faced Westland. "What are you doing? What's going on?"

Westland shrugged. "I just wanted to check on some things about the cache the colonel put in for us."

Jameson was totally lost. "I gave you the information on that."

Westland nodded. "I know." She started heading for the stairs. "Well, I'll see you later."

"Wait!" Jameson cried out. "I have a call in to Langley. Strom's supposed to be getting back to me any minute now — I'll find out then what they want me to do about you."

Westland was already halfway down the stairs. "Sorry. Have to go."

As she slipped out the gate of the embassy and headed for the hotel, Westland failed to notice the man shadowing her from a discreet distance. Her mind was on the confrontations in the embassy, not on making sure she didn't have a tail. Prior to entering the hotel, she did a cursory check but noticed nothing unusual.

In the daylight, Riley had managed to find a tree with a slightly better view and a more comfortable branch. He had the M2l rifle with him and was observing the target through the ART 2 scope. He had yet to see any sign of the Ring Man in the grounds. All the windows were polarized, which prevented a clear look inside, and Riley had no doubt they were also bulletproof. Even if they weren't, the odds of getting a good shot through glass at long range were low. The first-floor windows were also covered with bars to prevent anyone going in that way.

Riley had spent the morning watching the guards, trying to determine their patterns. He shook his head. If the Ring Man didn't come out, he wasn't even going to be able to use the sniper option. His ears perked up as he heard the snap of rotor blades coming from the north. He tracked a Bell Jet Ranger swinging in through the valley, heading for the Ring Man's mansion.

Riley chambered a round. If the Ring Man came out and got on that bird, he'd take it out when it took off. It would be an excellent way of doing the job. They wouldn't figure out what had happened to the helicopter until he was long gone.

Riley started considering where the best place would be for his shot. If he got a frontal shot, he'd try penetrating the windshield in the vicinity of the pilot. He had ten rounds in this magazine. He figured he could put all ten into the cockpit in about five seconds. If he didn't get a frontal shot, he'd go for the transmission and engine to crash the bird.

The helicopter flew past Riley's position barely four hundred meters away. He kept the scope on it as it settled down onto the helipad in the front yard. The blades started slowing and three men approached the aircraft. Riley zoomed in on them. None was the Ring Man.

He watched as the doors opened. A man got out from the left side and scooted around the front of the aircraft to the right door. Riley focused on that man's face. An Anglo. Riley wondered who he was. The right door opened and the guards seemed to be helping someone out.

Riley's hands gripped tight on the rifle as he recognized the man they were lifting out. He took a deep breath to calm himself and thought furiously as he watched them drag Powers toward the villa. His finger curled around the trigger and he sighted in on the Anglo who'd gotten off the bird.

"Fuck," Riley muttered to himself as he forced his arm muscles to relax. Blowing away the man, whoever he was, wouldn't help anything and would probably get Powers killed in retaliation. Riley watched as the party disappeared behind the rise of the house. The helicopter picked up and winged away in the direction of Bogota.

Riley leaned back against the trunk of the tree and considered the situation. He'd been right all along. Now he knew not only that Powers was alive but where he was.

Gradually, Riley's initial surprise and elation at seeing Powers dimmed as he realized he still had the same problem. In fact it was even worse now. His first priority was to rescue Powers. Killing the Ring Man wouldn't accomplish that.

If Powers didn't come back out of the villa, Riley knew that meant one thing. He was going to have to go in.

The man in civilian clothes looked up from the piece of paper in his hands and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'm going to have to verify this with DCSOP-SO, you know."

Pike nodded. "Of course."

For the tenth time in the last five minutes, the man looked over the satellite imagery Pike had brought. "Goddamn, Mike. You sure have tossed a live grenade in my lap with a damn short fuse."

"Can you do it?"

The man equivocated. "I don't know. It's chancy. We could take a big hit trying to pull this off with such little heads-up. You got the aircraft lined up?"

Pike nodded. "All set. You guys had the warning order to plan contingencies for this last week. Why all the fuss?"

The man relented a little. "Well, we did the area study and some basic plans, but we didn't have anything specific to work from. You're not giving us much time to actually plan the details." The man gave Pike a hard stare. "This isn't any bullshit exercise you assholes in the Pentagon have thought up, is it?"

Pike spread his hands. "Listen, Jim. We've known each other for a long time. Would I do that to you?" If they wanted to think it was an exercise so much the better, Pike thought. It wouldn't change the way they planned or prepared.

The man thought for a few more moments, then grinned. "Guess I'd better get the ball rolling, then. About goddamn time we did something like this."

The Ring Man enjoyed watching Ponte squirm. The man had fucked up too much lately. Both Ponte and Ariel had been sitting across from his desk for ten minutes now, in complete silence. The Ring Man let it drag on. Give them both time to do some thinking. He liked toying with people mentally and physically. He was feeling good watching the two men and caressing his young girl's thigh as she sat on the corner of his desk.

Finally he gestured toward the Israeli. "You did very good in Cartagena. There will be a bonus for you."

The Israeli nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Ring Man turned his gaze on Ponte and his face hardened. "I hope you have some information on the strange American."

Ponte licked his lips. This was his chance. "I do. One of our men trailed a woman from the American embassy to a hotel nearby. She's registered under the name of Gonzalo along with her husband. We have a Gonzalo couple listed on the manifest for the flight on Monday night."

Ring Man considered that. "Did you get an identification on the man?"

Ponte shook his head. "There's no sign of the man. The desk man says he left early this morning and has not returned. His description matches the one the man at the bar gave. The woman is still in the room. I'm having it watched."

"What do you plan on doing?"

Ponte licked his lips again. "Keep the hotel under surveillance until the man shows up and then grab him."

The Ring Man turned to the other occupant of the room. "Are you familiar with the situation with this mysterious American?"

Ariel nodded. "Ponte briefed me."

"What would you do now?"

The Israeli leaned forward in his seat. "We must seize the initiative. I would take the woman now. Find out where the man is from her. If you wait, you leave the initiative up to the opponent. That is unacceptable in war. This man has killed quite a few of our people. Who knows what he is up to at this very minute. There is a purpose to his actions but we don't know what that purpose is. Maybe it has something to do with the American soldier we hold prisoner here."

Ring Man agreed. "I like your reasoning. I do not like letting this American lead us in a foolish chase." He turned to Ponte. "Get the woman and bring her here. From her we will find out where her man is and then get him too."

Ponte nodded weakly and stood up, dismissed. As he headed for the door he was stopped by Ring Man's cold voice. "This is your last chance, my friend. Do not fail."

Alegre looked up as two distant booms rattled the windows of his office. A few minutes later the door swung open and Montez strode in. "What was that?"

Montez sighed. "Two bombs went off at the Supreme Court building. We're not sure yet how many were killed. It is bad, my President."

Alegre closed his eyes and said a brief prayer for the dead and wounded. "Bring in additional troops."

"My President, we have already brought in three battalions. They cannot guard everything and be everywhere. There is suspicion that some of the troops have been planting the bombs. The commander of the army just called and said he could not afford to remove any more troops from fighting the rebels."

Alegre stood up. "I must go and see what has happened. I must make my presence known to the people and give them confidence that we will win this war."

Montez put out a hand and grabbed his old friend. "You will die if you leave here. That is what they are waiting for. You must stay inside. This is the only place you are safe."

Alegre threw the hand off angrily. "Am I prisoner in my own home? In my own country? The president is unable to leave his palace because he will be killed if he does?"

"I am sorry, my friend. That is the way things are unless something happens soon in our favor."

Riley watched the car roll down the driveway and pass through the gates of the grounds. He tracked it through the scope to where it pulled onto the main road and headed toward downtown Bogota. He wondered who was in the car and where they were going.

He checked his watch. Another four hours until he started down the hill to meet up with Westland.

Hanks slammed his desktop. "What the hell is she doing?" Strom shook his head. The news that Westland was a loose cannon running around Colombia wasn't going over very well.

The director fumed. "She's finished. You get on the horn and tell Jameson to reel her in."

Strom protested weakly. "But she's handling Riley." "Correction. She was handling Riley. I want her ass up here tonight. Jameson can take over."

Strom didn't want to, but he felt he needed to point things out. "I'm not sure Riley will still do the mission if we yank Westland."

Hanks considered that for a few moments as he let his temper cool. "All right. She stays until it's over. But I want Jameson with her from here on out. Call him and tell him to get his ass over to where she is and stay with her. He's not to let her out of his sight."

Westland stirred in her sleep. She cracked open her eyes as she tried to focus on what had awakened her. There it was again. Someone trying the doorknob. Westland's eyes flew wide open as she rolled off the bed, pulling the Beretta out from underneath the pillow as she went. Her heart was pounding as she centered the sights on the door.

She released the safety and curled her finger around the trigger, applying pressure. She tried to slow her rapid breathing. The lock turned and the door started to swing open. She was halfway through the five pounds of pressure needed to fire the gun when she recognized the figure in the door.

Jameson stopped in surprise at the sight of the muzzle aimed at his forehead. "Whoa! I'm one of the good guys."

Westland stood up, putting the pistol down on the bed. "Jesus Christ. Don't you believe in knocking? How the hell did you open that lock?"

Jameson dangled a key from his hand. "I made the arrangements, remember? Don't you think I'd have an extra key?" He shut the door behind him, strolled over to the balcony doors, and peered out. Then he turned back to the room. He winked at her. "You and Riley pretty cozy here?"

Westland was still frazzled from the near shooting and in no mood for his intimations. "What the hell do you want?"

Jameson was enjoying himself. "You are screwing up big time, girl. Your little escapade at the embassy has pissed off some very important people. The only reason you're not getting on a plane back to the States is because they're not sure Riley would still do the job without you and your, uh, shall we say assets? But from here on out I've been ordered to baby-sit you." He grinned. "Kind of a ménage à trois, eh?"

He was still grinning as the door burst open. Jameson's reactions were slow but his presence was enough to distract the men coming in. They hadn't expected anyone other than the woman.

Westland dove for the floor, putting the bed between herself and the intruders. As she hit the ground she remembered that the Beretta was still lying on top of the bed. Near the window, Jameson was belatedly reaching for his gun, inconveniently located in a holster in the small of his back. He was still reaching as the first man through the door blew the agent out the balcony doors and over the railing with a sustained burst from his Ingram MAC-10.

Westland slid underneath the bed. Looking to her right she saw the legs of three men enter the room. One of them called to her. "Come out, little lady. You left your gun on the bed. We just want to talk to you."

The man who had blown away Jameson kneeled down and peered under the bed. His eyes opened wide momentarily as he saw the black hole of the muzzle of the Colt Python pointing right at his forehead. Westland's round blew off the top half of his head.

The other two men stared in surprise. That gave Westland the time to roll back out from under the bed on the far side. The two men angrily emptied their magazines into the bed, sending feathers flying. As soon as she heard the clicks of their bolts sliding forward onto an empty chamber, Kate rose up to a kneeling position. The two sicarios stared slack jawed at this apparition of death.

She fired one round through each man's forehead.

Linders nodded as he spoke into the phone. "Yes, that's right. I verify the orders General Pike showed you. He's working on direct vocal orders from the chairman."

"What about the comm link?"

"Didn't Pike give you one?"

"No."

"I guess I'll have the normal setup prepped here, then. I'll have the comm channel opened up starting at 0600 tomorrow morning. Will that give you plenty of time for your checks?"

"It ought to. Who's the verifier?"

Linders frowned. "I imagine it's the chairman. Didn't Pike give you that?"

"He said it was operating according to something he called the Hammer strikes."

Linders paused in thought. "All right. I guess they'll be picking you up over at Belvoir then for the comm link. I was wondering why he hadn't given you that. Is Pike still around down there?"

"Yeah, he's over at the memorial service. He said he'd stop by later."

"Check with him then on that. He should be able to square you away on everything."

"Roger that. Anything else I need to know, sir?"

"No. Good luck."

Linders turned off his STU-III and swiveled his chair around. Something didn't sit right with this whole situation. He'd understood the need to keep the Hammer strikes in real tight for security reasons, but this thing was almost getting out of hand.

Linders considered calling the chairman with his misgivings. He thought about it for a few seconds, then picked up the phone and punched in an internal number for the Pentagon.

"Chairman's office. Colonel Cross here, sir."

"This is General Linders. Is the chairman available?"

"No, sir. He's across the river testifying on the B-2. Do you have a message?"

"When will he be back?"

"He left word that he'd be heading straight home to Fort Myers after finishing there, sir. Would you like me to forward a message to him over at the hill?"

Linders sighed. "No. That's all right. I'll get a hold of him tomorrow."

The chaplain stood in the shadow of the famous Iron Mike statue of a Green Beret soldier that stood outside the Special Forces Museum at Fort Bragg, across the street from the 1st Special Operations Command headquarters. His words drifted out over the crowd gathered for the service.

"We are gathered here together to honor the memory of our fallen comrades. Ours is a profession that is fraught with dangers, even during the apparent safety of peacetime. We all know the risks involved in training hard and we all.."

Pike tuned out the 7th Group chaplain. He hated the hypocrisy of the whole thing. Partusi, Marzan, Holder, and Lane had all died in combat fighting. Yet, that reality would never be acknowledged.

Pike turned his weathered gaze on the people seated in the front row facing the statue. Two of the four men had been married and both had children. The weeping families sitting in that front row had paid a high price, and they would never know how their husbands and fathers had really died.

Pike knew he could still stop the wheels he had set in motion. But looking at those crying faces steeled his heart. There'd been too much backing off and too much running away. He was going to push this to the limit. He'd probably be found out and fail, but he'd go down trying.

"I'm scrapping this whole thing."

Strom looked up in surprise at his boss's reaction to the news on Jameson. "But they don't know if Riley or Westland were compromised."

Hanks shook his head. "This thing's turning to shit. What did the local authorities say?"

Strom looked up from his briefing notes. "They say Jameson was killed during a robbery attempt."

"Bullshit!" Hanks exploded. "A chest full of 9-millimeter? Anything on Westland?"

"No."

"Think they got her?"

Strom paused for a second. "I don't know. Somebody had to waste those three cartel guys."

"You think Westland did that?"

"The report I've got says that Jameson's weapon was still in his holster and unfired. Since the bodies were still there when the police arrived, I'd have to assume that nobody was left alive from their side to retrieve the dead. Otherwise you can pretty much figure they'd have tried to cover things up."

"Where is she then?" asked Hanks. "Why didn't she show up at the embassy?"

"I don't know. It only happened about an hour ago. She could be anywhere."

Hanks considered the situation. "You think they'll still try and go ahead with the Ring Man hit?"

"My best guess is that Riley and Westland have gone into hiding. Maybe they have aborted and are on their way back. They've got to know their cover is blown."

The director made his decision. "I've already stuck my neck out too far on this one. I want you to fly to Bogota immediately on my jet and lay down the law to Alegre. Tell him he can do all the talking he wants about the Hammer strikes, but we're done doing his dirty work. I'm going over to State and brief the secretary, then take him over to the White House to let the Old Man know what's going on. It's time to cut our losses."

"What about Riley?"

"Try to use the local people to track him down and call him off if he's still on the mission, which I doubt anyway." Hanks shook his head. "I don't know why I authorized this thing in the first place." He pointed a finger at Strom. "You tell Alegre to cool this stuff with the cartel. We did what the president wanted and we've pushed it as far as it's going to go without losing Alegre. I think State will back me up on this."

The operations officer for the 1st Special Operations Wing reread the message flimsy. He looked up at his assistant. "What the hell is this?"

The major shrugged. "Got that about twenty minutes ago."

"Did you verify?"

"Yes, sir. It's genuine."

The ops officer scratched his head in irritation. "Shit. How the hell are we supposed to plan a mission off this piece of crap? I'm getting real tired of this bullshit. I hope this isn't another one of DCSOP's no-notice tests."

The major smiled. "Can't be one of those. They're giving us eighteen hours of advance warning."

The operations officer chuckled. "Keep it up, smart ass." He turned his chair and looked at the status board behind his desk. "Hotel Six is already in place. Alert Tango Three for the lift. Tell them to be prepared for whatever the hell they think those yahoos up at Bragg can dream of. Tell 'em to also make sure they can talk SATCOM to Hotel Six, and get" — the ops checked a clipboard to see who was the pilot in command of Hotel Six—"Mackelroy up to speed once they find out what's going on."

The assistant operations officer presented his superior with a mock salute. "Aye, aye, sir."

Pike poked his head around the doorway. "What's up, Jim? Pete said you wanted to see me before I left."

"Hell, yeah. I just talked to Linders a little while ago. He verified the operations order but he didn't know shit about commo or verifying. You know I got to have a comm link and a final verifier."

Pike eased around the doorway and into the office. He'd been half afraid to find the whole thing blown. He was getting too old for this stuff. His heart couldn't take much more. "I'm sorry. I guess I was just too caught up with this memorial thing. I knew those guys who were killed. They used to work for me."

"Yeah, that was a real shame."

"Anyway." Pike reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper. "Here's the call signs and comm instructions. You'll be talking back to me at Fort Belvoir and I'll have a link direct to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs." Pike chuckled. "Who the hell he'll be talking to I don't know, but I'll be relaying the verification from the chairman if it's a go. Is that good enough?"

The other man relaxed. "Yeah, that will be fine. By the way, 1st SOW just called all pissed off about not getting any operational info. I told that piss-head ops officer to go pound sand and just get me a bird up here." He shook his head. "Fucking air force thinks the world revolves around them. How the hell can I give them any operational info when I don't even know how it's going to go down yet?"

Pike nodded in sympathy. "You know how the air force is. Try to treat them good. It's a long walk without them. Got any ideas yet?"

The man smiled. "Yeah. We've run some scenarios like this in training. The troop commander is working it out with his people right now."

Riley crouched in the drainage ditch on the side of the road and watched the occasional car flash by. He checked his watch again. She was late. There were few things he hated more than someone being late. Especially with him sitting here exposed. He'd cached the rifle in his tree, and the submachine gun and other equipment were in a sack by his feet.

Riley glanced at his watch one more time. Another minute. He slid down lower in the ditch as a truck full of workers roared by. In doing so, he knocked the bag from its perch and it splashed into a puddle.

Riley cursed as he picked it up. Now he'd have to clean everything in there and recheck the functioning. He hoped the goggles hadn't gotten wet. He took another look down the road and spotted the Pinto rolling toward him. Gathering his gear, he stood up and waited by the edge of the road.

Westland rolled up and stopped briefly. Riley hopped in, throwing his sack in the backseat. "Where the hell you been?"

He looked behind to make sure no one was following. The lack of a reply caused him to look at Westland more closely. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly the whites of the knuckles showed. She was staring straight ahead as she drove unevenly down the road.

"Hey. You all right?" When she said nothing Riley tapped her on the shoulder. "What the hell is the matter, Kate? Hey, pull over."

She pulled the car over to the edge of the road. Riley waited until she shut the engine down before reaching over and grabbing both her shoulders. He turned her so she had to look at him. "What happened? Take a deep breath and then just tell me."

Kate took the breath and leaned back against the seat as Riley released her. "I went to the embassy like we agreed this morning. I talked to Turrel and he let me call Pike."

Riley watched her carefully as she related the events of the morning and afternoon. When she told him what happened in the hotel room he reached out again and held her shoulder. "What did you do after you took out the three guys?"

Westland shook her head. "I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't go to the embassy. They must have followed me from there. Plus, with Jameson getting blown away they'd probably have held me, and I knew you needed me to pick you up. So I grabbed our stuff and left."

"Didn't the cops or anyone else react to all that shooting? "

Westland shook her head. "Most everyone seemed glad to get the hell out of the way when I came out. I went down the stairs, grabbed the car, and took off out of town. I parked on a trail about ten kilometers south of here until it was time to come get you."

Riley squeezed her shoulder. "You done good, Kate. You used your brain."

"I killed three men."

"Four, if you count last night." Riley shook her slightly. "Hey, listen. I know it isn't fun to kill someone, but remember what you said to me our first night here after I killed those guys in the bar? As long as you still feel bad about it, that means there's a difference between you and them. You didn't have any choice. You did what you had to."

Westland straightened up. "What do we do now?"

"We can't go back into town. Looks like we camp out tonight. We'll park the car about three or four klicks past the stream path, then walk back to there and head up the knoll. We'll go to my surveillance point and spend the night there."

For the first time Westland thought to ask what had happened to Riley. "Did you spot anything? Any way to get the Ring Man?"

Riley shook his head. "Ring Man's not the issue anymore. Something else happened."

"What?"

"I saw Powers alive at the villa."

Ring Man stared at Ariel. "The only fortunate thing out of the incident this afternoon is that Ponte managed to get himself killed. He saved me the trouble of having to do it. I want you to find and kill this American and his woman. They have been a source of great trouble."

Ariel nodded and popped off with a hearty "Yes, sir," while at the same time wondering how the hell he would find the two Americans. The trail of the woman from the hotel had gone cold. For all he knew they were both on a flight back to the United States. That would be the smart thing to do and what Ariel would have done in their place. They were good, whoever these strangers were, but they would run out of luck sooner or later if they stayed in this country. Ariel figured that his best shot was to have the pressure on the street increased. Someone would see them eventually if they were still here.

Ring Man had another thought of even more importance. "What do you think of taking out Alegre?"

Ariel considered his answer carefully. He knew that Ponte had advised against it and that the Ring Man hadn't been pleased with that answer. On the other hand Ariel was smart enough to realize that the Ring Man's ambitions of running the country were a little too lofty for the present circumstances; nor did he understand them. Wasn't becoming the head of the multibillion-dollar-a-year drug cartel enough for the man?

"That is a very difficult target, sir. The presidential guard is a good unit and we have been unable to penetrate it with one of our men. Alegre has not left the palace since this started."

Ring Man wanted action, not talk. "I know all that. I want you to find a way to get to him."

Alegre was fuming after the brief meeting with Strom. As the door shut behind the American he turned to Montez. "Do you believe that American pig has the balls to come in here and threaten me?"

Montez shook his head. He didn't like it either, but he knew it was time to face reality. They'd taken their chances and been burned. With the audiotapes of the last meeting Jameson had had with Alegre, the Americans stood a good chance of making Alegre out to be a liar if he tried to use the Hammer missions as blackmail. Montez had sensed something funny about the meeting on Monday with the American agent. Now he knew that Jameson had insisted on the meeting in order to get Alegre on tape authorizing the killing. The Americans were using that as counter blackmail, effectively neutralizing Alegre's threat of exposure.

Alegre was feeling the growing pressure from the cartel, but he wasn't ready to quit. "We must stop Ring Man. He's the main threat now, especially since Ramirez was killed this morning. If the Americans will not do it, I will do it directly. I am going to upgrade from a state of emergency to a state of siege."

Montez knew that was the next logical step for the president if he wanted to truly fight the cartel. Unfortunately, it also ignored the reality of what would happen. Under the official title of state of siege, Alegre could suspend civil law. It gave the president more power than the present state of emergency. But they also had to consider the unwritten law of Colombian politics. For every action Alegre took, the cartel would react with increasing violence.

Between the cartel, the guerrillas, and a government crackdown, Montez could envision a return to the days of la violencia, the period during the 1940s and 1950s when Colombia was almost torn apart by a vicious, undeclared civil war. The numbers of casualties from this violence ranged anywhere from 100,000 to 300,000, depending on who was doing the estimating. The specter of that happening again was enough to chill the heart of any thinking person.

Montez decided to make another attempt to talk some reason into the president. "If you announce a state of siege, we cannot be sure how the people will react. There is already a great amount of discontent. We have pushed this war with the cartel to its limit now. If we push farther we run the risk of alienating the people.

"We must give the development of our sea bottom rights in the Gulf of Venezuela time to mature. You won a great victory there. We must allow time for the people to see that we have an alternative to the drug business. Time for that project to help the economy. If you go to a state of siege, the cartel and guerrillas will tear this country apart."

Alegre stared at his top adviser. "What do you suggest I do? Give in?"

Montez tried placating his friend. "Not give in. But we must play for time. You tried to defeat the cartel and—"

Alegre pounded his desk. "We still can defeat them. I will use the army under the state of siege provisions."

It was time for the president to crash on the harsh rocks of reality. "The army will not fight the cartel," Montez argued. "Not all the way. They'll do police work and fight some of the lesser dealers, but they will not go against the main body of the cartel. Not until we have an alternative for the people, and not until we can solve the guerrilla problem."

Alegre stared at his old friend. "Are you saying you will not support me on this?"

"You are my friend and my president, but I must do what is right for the country. If you pursue this course of action, I believe you doom this country to a period like la violencia. I do not want to see that again. I cannot support you on this."

Alegre's shoulders slumped. If even his friend Montez would not support him, he knew he stood little chance with the army. "What do you suggest we do?"

Since darkness had settled over the countryside, the temperature had fallen. Riley estimated it now hovered around fifty degrees. He took another look through the ART 2 scope at the lit villa compound. No change from last night. He still had no viable plan. The best he could come up with was trying to go in over the wall at night. He figured that plan ranked somewhere up near Custer's at Little Big Horn in tactical soundness.

Westland was curled up at the base of the tree. Riley hoped she was sleeping, but he imagined she was shivering. She'd told him about her conversation with Pike. The general's admonition not to do anything before midnight on Thursday was the only thing keeping Riley from going in tonight and trying to get Powers out. He had no idea if Pike could come up with something but he'd follow the instructions. Plus, he wasn't too keen on dying tonight. He figured that if they'd kept Powers alive so far, they'd keep him alive at least another day or so.

Riley decided there wasn't much else he could see tonight that he hadn't seen last night. Even if the Ring Man showed up in the backyard with a spotlight on himself, there was nothing Riley would do. His first priority was getting Powers out.

Riley climbed down the tree and squatted next to Westland's reclining figure. "You awake?"

"No. Of course I am. It's too damn cold to sleep."

Riley chuckled and slid down beside her. "Two's warmer than one. When we used to go on winter warfare training, the guys on the team would always buddy up against the cold. Same thing in Ranger school. I think on some of those cold nights in the mountains at Dahlonega I was closer to my Ranger buddy than any woman I've ever been with."

Kate pressed her body back against his. "Want to test that last thought?"