Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The buzzing of the phone woke Pike out of an exhausted sleep. His hand shot out and grabbed the receiver. "Pike here."

"Go secure." Pike obliged the caller. "Where'd you get that information on the guards and their shifts and the helicopter? Do you have a source on the ground down there?"

Pike relaxed as he recognized the voice on the other end. "I've got a man pulling surveillance on the target."

"Do you have commo with him?"

Pike reflected on his conversation with Turrel late the previous evening. He was just guessing that Riley and Westland had gone into hiding at the surveillance site near the villa. But he figured it was a good guess, since the two hadn't shown up at the embassy or used their escape route back to the States. Unfortunately, their going into hiding had severed his communications link through Turrel at the embassy. "No," he responded.

"Shit." The voice on the other end paused for a second. "I guess that's not a problem. We already have our own surveillance en route. I just hope the two don't bump heads. Is there any way my people can identify him?"

"There should actually be two people there. A man and a woman.

"The man's a guy from 7th Group named Dave Riley. The woman's name is Kate Westland."

"Is this Riley the same guy as the finger card in the file you gave me?"

"Yes."

"I'll assume they are there for the same reason we're going in. That's all I need for now. I'll get back to you if we need anything else."

Pike forestalled the quick hang-up. "How're things looking?"

"Well, we're refining a couple of ideas and we've coordinated with the aircraft we're going to need. It's cutting it tight but we'll have something ready." The voice paused briefly. "Hey, I got to go, Mike. I'll keep in touch when you come up on the SATCOM later this morning."

"All right. Thanks."

Pike hung up and slumped back on the couch in the office. The emptiness of the building reminded him of the loss of the men of Eyes Three even more than the memorial service had the previous day.

The forces he had set in motion were now rumbling and moving. Pike just hoped they made it through the day without someone getting wind of what was going on and questioning it.

Riley was disoriented for a few seconds as he awoke. He felt cold on one side and warm on the other. The comforting feeling of a woman nestled alongside him contrasted with the harshness of the hard ground. He stared up at the branches above his head, dimly lit in the approaching dawn.

The reality of his situation hit him with a rush. He sat up and peered around in the dark. The lights from Ring Man's villa lit the sky to the southwest, slowly being overwhelmed by the rising sun.

Riley looked over at Westland, who was still sleeping peacefully. For a moment he wished they could simply leave this all behind. If it was just the Ring Man mission, Riley would have been willing to. True, Ring Man had been responsible for the killing of his teammates, but they had all known the risks when they signed on for the mission. He'd kill Ring Man if he had a chance, but he wouldn't throw away his, or Kate's, life on it.

The anchor that held him on this knoll in the mountains of Colombia was the presence of Powers in the villa below. Riley wasn't going anywhere until he gave rescuing his old friend the best possible shot. He still didn't have much of a plan, but he was going to wait until this evening and see if anything developed.

Of course, Riley knew, Westland didn't have the same commitment, and she was crazy if she still believed in the Ring Man mission. Riley was determined to lay it on the line when she woke up. He would tell her that the Ring Man hit was off. He didn't want her here. He wanted her safely back in the U.S. embassy or even better on a flight back to the States. Riley didn't know what the next twenty-four hours would hold, but he was certain it would be dangerous.

He sat back against his lookout tree and let his eyes adjust to the growing light. As he waited for Westland to wake, he broke down his weapons one by one and cleaned them. Using his sweatshirt as a rag he wiped the morning moisture off all the parts. He carefully reloaded the magazines, bullet by bullet, and checked the functioning of the weapons' actions. He put the M21 back in the plastic case. The Berreta was strapped back under his left shoulder. The MP5 he placed on his lap.

Finished with his morning priorities, Riley turned his gaze back on Kate's relaxed face. He realized he'd never had such strong feelings for a woman. He'd lived with a girl for a while at Bragg several years ago, but like all his other short-term relationships, he'd ended up drifting out of it. All those women had seemed too weak. It was hard for him to put his finger on the reason Kate attracted him, but it had a lot to do with her personal strength and self-confidence. She didn't need him but she wanted to be with him. That made a lot of difference. He felt they were on an equal footing.

Riley switched his thoughts to the mission at hand. Sitting in the lotus position, he relaxed his breathing and contemplated the villa below. There had to be a way in. Riley took it one step at a time. He had all day to think.

Ariel knocked on the door to the Ring Man's bedroom with caution. The Ring Man's moods in the morning were known to vary widely.

Waking him was considered a move fraught with danger. Ariel felt that the information he had just received was worth the risk. The boss would want to know.

"Enter."

Ariel opened the door and peered into the darkened room. He shut the door and walked to the foot of the bed. The Ring Man was sitting up, back against the headboard. The young girl was looking out from the other side of the bed with wide brown eyes.

"I assume you would not be disturbing me if it wasn't important."

Ariel nodded. The Ring Man considered him for a few seconds, then pushed the girl's head underneath the covers toward his crotch and leaned back. The man's a pig, Ariel thought.

"What is it?"

Ariel tried to ignore the movement under the covers. "I just had a talk with the president's aide, Montez. Alegre is looking for a truce."

The Ring Man's face cracked in a wide smile. "A truce?" He laughed. "That is very good. A truce. They must be running scared. It figures Montez would be the one to call. He is the more sensible one. What kind of truce did he have in mind?"

"He says Alegre will stand down from the state of emergency and pull the troops off our operations in the cities if we stop the war."

"What about the extradition treaty?"

"It will be suspended indefinitely."

Ariel was somewhat surprised at the Ring Man's initial reaction. He had thought Alegre's betrayal was something his boss would never forgive. He had expected the Ring Man to explode in anger that Alegre dared propose a truce. His boss's next words confirmed his thoughts.

"I will never agree to anything with that pig. The fact that he wants a truce and is also willing to anger the Americans by reneging on the extradition treaty means he must really be in a bad position. Also the Americans are probably not supporting him as much. Maybe their loss at Barranquilla took the wind out of their sails. If Alegre wants a truce we must increase the pressure on him and break him. That pig betrayed me and he must pay for that."

Ariel wasn't sure he agreed with the Ring Man's reasoning. If Alegre fell, then someone else would take over. He knew the Ring Man was not yet in a position to assume that role and doubted whether he ever would be. They were having enough trouble right now consolidating their grip on the cartel. It was not working as smoothly as the Ring Man seemed to think it was. Ariel felt they would be better off accepting the government's offer. However, he also knew that was what his predecessor had recommended. His very dead predecessor. "What do you want me to do?"

"Have you come up with a way to kill Alegre?"

Ariel had anticipated that question. "I think there may be a way to do that using this new offer and the American we have prisoner."

The Ring Man was intrigued. "Wait a minute outside."

Ariel nodded and exited the room. About two minutes later the Ring Man came out, slipping on his robe, with a satisfied look on his face. He headed for the dining room, where his breakfast was being laid out. "Join me for breakfast and tell me more."

"I'll guard while you wash off and then we'll switch."

Kate gave Riley a sidelong glance as she stripped down. Riley was scanning the trail down to the road. As she slipped her foot into the water he casually mentioned, "By the way the water's real cold."

Kate pulled her foot out and gave him an accusing glare. He was pretending to look down the trail. "Thanks for the warning." She took a deep breath and dove into the water. The shock of the cold caused her to lose her breath and sputter to the surface. She wondered if feeling clean was worth this.

After a freezing two minutes she clambered out. Shaking off as much water as she could, she quickly dressed, slipping the Beretta back into its place under her shoulder. They'd thrown the Colt into the bottom of the pool on the way up yesterday, since it was out of ammunition.

"Your turn."

Riley shook his head. "No thanks. I've already had my share of that mountain water. I hope you feel better and that it was worth coming here."

"What happened to 'I'll guard and then we'll switch'?"

Riley came over and put his arms around her. "That was just a ploy to get you naked."

She looked at him and smiled without humor. "Well, it worked. What now?"

Riley let go of her. "Now we talk about getting you out of here."

Kate's smile disappeared. "What do you mean 'get me out of here'?"

"Exactly what I said. Either to the embassy or preferably out of the country."

She squared off and faced him, her face set into those determined lines Riley had seen before. "Why should I leave?"

"Because the Ring Man hit is off. I'm not here for that."

It was her turn to surprise him. "I knew that yesterday."

"What?"

She shook her head. He still didn't know the first thing about her. "I knew that as soon as you told me about Powers. I knew you'd make him your first priority."

"Then why did you come up here with me?"

She couldn't believe his obtuseness. "To help you, of course. You told me early on that rescuing Powers was your number one priority, and I went along with you and helped you. I'm not going to quit now."

"I don't have a plan, and whatever I do is going to be dangerous," Riley argued. "I can't ask you to take that risk."

Westland was starting to get angry. "Don't take that attitude with me. I'm capable of making my own decisions and I'm also capable of taking care of myself. In case you've forgotten, I've managed to do that pretty well so far. It's not up to you whether I stay here or leave. It's up to me."

Riley tried another line of reasoning. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. You have no responsibility toward Powers. He's my friend and that's why I'm doing this. You ought to get while the getting's good."

Westland put her hand on Riley's shoulder. "Let me tell you a few things. First off, don't ever try to tell me what to do. You can ask and suggest, but don't order me. Second, I do feel some responsibility toward Powers. Third, I also feel some sense of responsibility toward you, and I'm not going to let you get your head blown off by doing something stupid. And last, I do what I want and I want to stay here."

Riley was staring at her. He'd expected her to be obstinate but he hadn't realized the depth of her feelings. He was at a loss for words.

Westland let go of his shoulder. "So what's the plan?"

Riley gave in. "Your guess is as good as mine. We go back up and continue surveillance. I don't know if Pike has come up with anything, and even if he has there's no way we can contact him. Whatever he may have done he'll probably have to cancel now. We have to assume we're on our own. Between the two of us we have to come up with a way to get into that villa, rescue Powers, and get out again — hopefully keeping all of us alive."

Westland nodded. "We'd best get back on up the hill then and put our thinking caps on."

Montez had seriously considered not passing on the message from the Ring Man's aide. The whole thing stunk and Montez didn't trust the Israeli. The problem was that this was the only way to get things back to normal. They would have to take a chance that the offer was legitimate.

Montez had waited patiently while Alegre finished a meeting with the mayor of Bogota. The mayor was complaining about the increasing toll the revenge of the cartel was exacting on the city. Montez found the whole thing darkly amusing, considering it was well known that the mayor was on the payroll of the Ring Man. Appearances were important, though.

After ushering out the still-protesting mayor, Montez joined his old friend at his desk. Alegre poured them both a stiff shot of brandy, then waited until Montez had swallowed his before querying him. "Any news?"

Montez put his glass down. "I have heard from the Ring Man's representative. He says they agree to the truce but they cannot speak for the other members of the cartel."

The news didn't make Alegre feel any better. He felt as if he had sold a part of his soul. "They agree to stop the bombings and killings?"

"The representative, one of those Israeli mercenaries named Ariel, said that they would stop any attacks against what he called 'civilian targets,' but that the fighting in Cartagena and Medellin would go on as long as there was opposition to the Ring Man's rule. He promised peace here in Bogota but said they could not be held responsible for any attacks instigated by other families."

Alegre nodded. That was the best they could expect. The problem was that this truce assisted the Ring Man more than it did him. It allowed the Ring Man to concentrate on the war against his fellow drug dealers, with no interference from the government. Alegre's main concern was that the Ring Man would once more turn his attention to toppling the government when he had secured his power base within the cartel.

Montez poured them both another brandy. Handing one to the president he added, "The Israeli also added something to the terms of the truce."

"What?"

"As a sign of good faith he says they are willing to turn over an American soldier they captured during the raid on the Ring Man's lab."

Alegre looked up in surprise. "Another secret the Americans did not tell us. Do you think they really have a prisoner?"

"I don't think they have any reason to lie about that."

Alegre couldn't follow the logic of the offer. "Why didn't they put him on the video, and why are they giving him to us?"

"I think they didn't put him on the video because it would have given the Americans an excuse to come down here and intervene. As to why they are giving him to us," Montez shrugged, "your guess is as good as mine. I am concerned, though, by the conditions this Israeli set for the turnover." He looked Alegre in the eye. "They want you present when they give him to us."

"Why?"

Montez could make a good guess. "I think it is a ploy to get you out into the open."

"What do you recommend?"

Montez finished his brandy with a swig. "I recommend we accept the offer. However, I will insist that the Ring Man also attend the turnover."

Alegre smiled as he realized his aide's cunning. "When and where is this scheduled?"

"I will call the Israeli back to set up the timing and see if we can work out a mutually acceptable site. I imagine we could do this tomorrow."

Riley sat on the opposite side of the tree trunk from Westland. They were perched on branches, almost twenty-five feet over the top of the knoll. He pointed while he briefed her on the plan he had devised. As he spoke, he realized how bad the plan was.

"An hour before the guards change at 0300, if they do it the same time they did it the night before last, is when I'll go in over the east wall where the wing of the house comes closest. The way we'll do it is that you stay up here with the M21. You should be able to see the guards through the scope because they keep the place illuminated all night. I'll have on the PVS-5s and the MP5.

"I'll go down to the wall and wait. When you see that the guard on that side is out of sight of the place where I'll be going over, or walking away with his back to it, you light a match. You only need to light it and blow it out — it'll be like a flare in the goggles. I'll go over at your signal. I'll only have to make it from the wall to the building. I can do that in a few seconds." He didn't add that he had no idea whether there were sensors on the wall that would pick up his intrusion.

"The windows are barred and maybe even rigged with alarms, but I think I can climb up to the roof of the wing and make it over to the second floor of the main building. I'll have a better chance of getting in there.

"Once I'm in.." Riley paused. Something wasn't right.

Westland was startled by the pause. "What's the—" Riley held up his hand, signaling her to stay still. He scanned the immediate area, first with his naked eyes. Seeing nothing unusual, he surveyed the area using the sight mounted on the M21. He could sense Westland becoming restless as the minutes stretched out.

Powers had always told him to trust his sixth sense. The experienced NCO had explained his theory of sixth sense one evening at Fort Bragg, and his reasoning had seemed logical. Powers told him that people took in much more input with their senses than their minds could handle. The mind filtered out many of the things a person's eyes actually saw and their ears actually heard or any of the other senses were picking up. The sixth sense was some part of the mind alerting you to something seen or heard or smelled or felt that the active mind wasn't focusing on.

Riley was trying to find whatever it was that had caused him to alert. Finally he picked it out. The noise of the birds and other small creatures on the hillside had altered. Riley knew patience was important now. Whatever, or whoever, had disturbed the wildlife would either make its presence known or go away. Riley was willing to wait it out.

He scanned the sides of the knoll in small arcs, noting the plant life, looking for any disturbances. Finally he was rewarded. He spotted a branch sway, its movements contrary to the direction of the wind. Riley focused in on the spot, about one hundred twenty meters away on the west side of the knoll.

After five minutes a man materialized at that spot, standing up and stretching. The man turned and spoke to someone still concealed by the undergrowth. Riley inspected the person he could see. About six feet tall, well muscled, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. The man was dark haired and sported a large mustache. In a sheath tied off on his backpack, he carried a machete. What really caught Riley's attention was the weapon slung over his shoulder. A Mossberg Model 500 Bullpup shotgun nestled against the man's hip, ready for action. Not a typical sicario's weapon, Riley thought. Although the twelve-gauge automatic shotgun was a devastating weapon at short range, Riley knew he held the advantage at this distance with the M21.

That advantage of weapon range disappeared as the second man stood up. This one was blond haired with a full beard and stood even taller than his partner, at almost six and a half feet. He had a long-barreled rifle slung over his back and an Uzi submachine gun on a sling hung over his belly.

The two men were obviously discussing their position. The taller man was gesturing up the hill toward Riley's location. If the man intended to use that rifle against the villa, or cover the villa from attack, Riley knew the top of knoll 8548, where he and Westland were sitting, was the place. He wondered who the two men were. He figured either they were extra security placed out by the Ring Man to cover his villa or they were enemies of the Ring Man and were up here for some of the same reasons Riley was. Although not Colombian, the two could be foreign mercenaries. The tall man looked as though he might be German. The two had apparently reached a decision. They headed upslope.

Riley focused his cross hairs on the chest of the man with the long-barreled weapon. He debated firing. If they were enemies it was best to kill them now, while he still had the range. Every step they took up the hill decreased his odds of successful engagement. However, his firing would also be heard down in the villa and would undoubtedly bring a reaction force. It was this last thought that stilled Riley's finger.

He pulled away from the eyepiece and glanced over at Westland. She had spotted the two men and had drawn her pistol. Riley gestured for her to take no action. He quietly put the rifle down in the crook of the branch and took hold of his submachine gun.

The two men moved with evident field experience. The lead man had the shotgun at hip level and swung it back and forth in concert with his head as he scanned their way up. The second man carried the Uzi, folding stock extended, and was trailing the first, allowing a good tactical separation of almost twenty meters. The mistake they were making was one that even the most experienced soldier can make: They were focusing on the ground and not checking up in the trees. It was a universal bad habit. There was a good chance the two would pass right beneath his and Westland's position without noticing them. But Riley knew he couldn't afford to take that chance.

He got Westland's attention and pointed at the lead man, indicating that he was hers. She nodded. Riley centered his sights on the second man. He waited until the lead man was within ten meters of the base of their tree. "Freeze, I've got you covered," he yelled out in Spanish.

They froze. The lead man slowly lifted his head until he could see into the tree. He took in the two people crouched up there and their weapons. The odds were against him. He called out to his partner in Spanish. "There's two in the tree. Man and a woman. They've got a sub on you and a pistol on me."

"Shut up," Riley yelled. Now that he had frozen the action he wasn't sure how to proceed. The trail man was easing himself over toward a tree trunk, trying to get its cover. "Move another step and you're dead."

The man stopped. The lead man was still looking up at them. "Perhaps we should talk."

"Who are you?" Riley called out.

The lead man seemed rather confident for someone who had a pistol pointing at him. "That's a good question. One we might ask you. But I think I might know more about you than you know about us. Your name Riley?"

Riley studied the man. Who the hell would know his name?

The man switched to English. "And the lady there is Westland, I presume. Only a goddamn Green Beanie would take a woman into a tree on a date."

Riley was confused. "Who the hell are you?"

"Let me ask you something first. If you answer right we can do all the talking you want. What was your first car?"

Riley recognized the question. It was from his finger card — the card every member of the team had filled out prior to the mission and placed inside the escape and evasion packet that had been given to Pike. Each man's card had his fingerprints and photograph, plus three questions only he would know the answers to. The purpose of the questions was to verify identity in case a link had to be made with an unknown party. The person asking had access to the information in the E & E packet, which meant he was legitimate; the person being asked established his identity by answering the obscure question correctly.

"A '64 Plymouth Valiant," Riley answered. The man lowered his shotgun. Riley sighed. He turned to Westland, who had followed the exchange in confusion. "They're friendlies."

He led the way down out of the tree. By the time they got to the bottom the two men were waiting there. The shorter one gestured and the tall blond man climbed up to take their place. Getting to the branch, he rested his rifle on it and started scanning the compound.

The other man stuck out his hand. "Andy Thompson. That's Ron Tremont up there."

Riley shook his hand. "Dave Riley. This is Kate Westland."

Thompson nodded. "I know. We were told you all might be hanging around here."

Westland took the offered hand. "Where you from?"

The man shrugged. "I'm not supposed to tell you that, but suffice it to say that I'm from the same place you are, Dave. Used to be in 7th Group myself. We're here to help you all out with your mission."

Riley's suspicions were confirmed. They had to be from Delta Force. "What were you briefed our mission was?"

The man pointed down toward the villa. "From what we were told there's a very bad man living there who isn't supposed to see the sun rise tomorrow. We've got a plan we think will do that."

Riley shook his head. "There's a complication."

Thompson frowned. "What complication?"

"My team sergeant is a prisoner down there."

"What!" The man shook his head. "We weren't told about any hostages. Shit. I'm going to have to call the old man and let him know. Fill me in while I get the radio set up."

As Riley updated him, Thompson slipped the ruck off his back and pulled out a SATCOM radio. He unfolded the tripod legs of the little dish and angled it up to the sky, then hooked in a scrambler and put on a small headset. He did a trial shot and got a successful bounce back from the satellite, indicating he was on the right direction and azimuth.

Satisfied he was set, Thompson keyed his mike. "Eagle Leader, this is Snake Leader. Over."

The reply came back in less than two seconds. "Snake Leader, this is Eagle Six-Kilo. Wait one while I get the Six. Over."

After about thirty seconds another voice came over the radio. "This is Eagle Leader. Go ahead. Over."

"Roger, we've linked up with the surveillance element down here. They're in good health. We've got the compound under surveillance. There's a slight complication. Riley says there's an American hostage in the villa. His team sergeant who was captured during an earlier op. Over."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Roger. I'll have to talk that over with the planning cell. I'll let you know what we come up with at the 1800 contact. In the meantime continue on as planned and find out as much of the information we need as possible. Over."

"Roger. Over."

"Out here."

The radio went dead and Thompson switched it off. Riley and Westland looked at him expectantly. They had been able to hear only his end of the conversation. Thompson looked up at them. "Our forward element is down in Panama by now. They're going to work in the hostage. They'll let us know if there are any modifications at our 1800 contact."

Riley nodded. "What's the plan in the meantime?"

"We wait and observe. I've got a whole list of questions we need answered about that place down there."

Riley was beginning to feel a bit like Tarzan with all this hanging around in trees. Tremont was on the other side of the trunk, continuing to scan the compound through the scope on the rifle he carried. Riley had never seen that particular sniper rifle. It was bolt action with a bulky covering around the barrel.

Tremont seemed more than happy to explain his weapon. Riley had found that most military men liked talking about the tools of their trade.

"This is an Accuracy International Model PM sniper rifle, made by the Brits. We used to use the M21 like you guys in SF, but this thing is more accurate. Fires 7.62 match ammo. It's single bolt action because the receiver is high-carbon solid steel. Tightens up the whole action. The barrel is free floating and never comes closer than an eighth of an inch to the stock."

Riley pointed at the barrel. He'd never seen an accurate silenced sniper rifle. "That a suppressor?"

"Yeah. It's an integral one, like the one on your MP5."

"What about the round? Don't you get the supersonic crack?"

Tremont enjoyed being the expert. "Nope. I use Lapua subsonic match ammo. I lose some range but I can still hit out to about eight hundred meters and put someone down forever, and no one will hear a thing."

Riley was impressed. "How fast can you reload and fire?"

Tremont looked down at the villa. "At this range, at a man-sized target? I figure I can put a round out every two seconds and hit. The British SAS have…"

Tremont paused, swung up the rifle, and looked down the hill. Riley followed suit with his M21. Two cars were rolling down the driveway, heading for the gate. It was impossible to see through the dark windshields. Riley watched until the cars were out of sight, heading down toward the main highway.

Tremont turned and looked at him. "Do you think this Ring Man fellow was in there?"

Riley shrugged. "I really don't care if he was or wasn't. What worries me is that Powers may have been in there. Let's hope not."

Linders punched in the numbers on his phone and waited. After two buzzes the other end was picked up.

"Pike here."

"This is General Linders. Just checking to see how things are going."

There was a pause on the other end. "Fine, sir. Everything's looking good to go."

Linders still wasn't feeling comfortable with the whole setup. He hadn't been involved in the actual running of the previous Hammer strikes either, but this time, using Delta Force in a selective strike, there was a higher level of compromise. Linders was surprised they were doing this after what had happened to the third Hammer mission.

"Anything else I can do for you, Mike?"

"No, sir. Everything looks good to go."

"I assume this mission goes tonight?"

Another pause. "Yes, sir, but I'd rather not go into too much detail. We're keeping this in extra tight after what happened to the last one."

Linders felt a little put off by that answer. "I understand, Mike. I assume the chairman is on top of things?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Out here."

Linders put down the phone and leaned back in the chair. The trend in Special Operations over the past decade had been for fewer and fewer people to be informed and involved in actual operations. The after action report on the debacle at Desert One had shown glaring faults in the number of people who were actively involved in the decision-making process, from the president on down. The military had pushed for less outside involvement and more autonomy for the leader on the ground.

Linders himself agreed with this: He believed that the military should get mission statements and then be left alone by the civilians to do the job. But right now he was wondering if that streamlining and canalization of operational information wasn't working against him. Something didn't seem right with this whole operation. In reality, Linders realized, he had only Pike's word that this operation was legitimate. Not that he had any problem with that. Pike did have a letter of authorization from the chairman. It was just that someday, Linders was afraid someone with enough knowledge might be able to circumvent the system. He decided to have one of his staff officers write a staff study examining whether or not that could really happen.

Linders glanced at his watch. He had to attend a formal reception over at Fort Myers this evening. He needed to head on home now if he was going to make it on time. Turning off the light, he left his office.

Tremont was still up in the tree. He hadn't been inactive. With Riley's help, he'd constructed a brace for his rifle, using broken branches and 550 cord he had carried in. The muzzle of his weapon now rested securely in front of him and he could scan the entire compound with ease.

Riley and Westland were on the ground, providing local security around Thompson as he made his 1800 contact. He was on the air quite a while. Riley had an instinctive distrust of staying on a radio a long time even though he knew his fears were groundless. The Colombians certainly had nothing that could intercept signals from a SATCOM radio. Still, old habits died hard. He gave a sigh of relief as Thompson shut down the radio.

Thompson gestured for Tremont to come down out of the tree. He left the rifle in its cradle and shimmied down. The four gathered in tight as Thompson outlined the plan for the evening. Riley had to admit it was a bit better than the one he had come up with earlier in the morning.

"Hammer Base, this is Eagle Leader. Over." Lieutenant Colonel Edberg released the transmit button on the radio and waited.

The radio crackled. "This is Hammer Base. Over."

"This is Eagle Leader. I'm calling for final mission authorization. Authenticate please. Over."

Edberg released the send and licked his lips nervously. This was when they would find out whether the mission was a practice dry run or the real thing. Since Edberg had taken command of B Troop, Delta Force, a little over a year ago, his troop had participated in eleven deployments. Six had been in response to real-world alerts but had not progressed further than deployment and planning, because the crises had been resolved in other ways or because the politicians had decided not to commit Delta Force. On the other five deployments, they had been given, just like this one, what looked like a real mission and had forward deployed to a staging area. After completing the planning and being ready to go, these deployments had ended when final authorization was not given; an evaluation team from Delta headquarters then came in and evaluated the plans and preparations. Not knowing if a deployment was real or not kept the men honed to a sharp edge of performance but was also extremely stressful.

The radio hissed. "I authenticate Bold Gambit. I say again, I authenticate Bold Gambit. Over."

Edberg stared at the radio in surprise, then looked at the members of his assault force. It was the real thing.

"Roger, Hammer Base. I copy Bold Gambit. Over."

"Hammer Base, out."

Edberg keyed the mike again. "Tiger Leader, this is Eagle Leader. Did you copy Hammer Base? Over."

From two hundred fifty kilometers to the south the reply came back. "Roger that. I'll get it cranking. Over."

"Good luck. Out."

Sergeant Major Ed Rabitowski signaled for Griffin to pack up the SATCOM. He looked at the pilot. "Crank her up, Cullen. We lift on time."

The pilot, a rated aviator from Delta, nodded and went over to start his helicopter. The aircraft was an OH-58, the military version of the Bell Jet Ranger. The twin-bladed helicopter could hold only the pilot and the three men of Tiger element.

The four men were dressed similarly, all in black, including black balaclavas pulled over their lower faces. Night-vision goggles hung around their necks, and each man wore a headset for communication among the team and with the other elements. They wore combat vests with the various tools of their trade hanging on them.

The single turbine engine started to whine as Cullen began his startup procedures. Rabitowski glanced at his watch just before getting in and taking the left front seat, next to the pilot. Since the OH-58 was the slowest aircraft involved in the operation, it would leave first, even though it was two hundred fifty kilometers closer to the target than the Eagle element up at Howard Air Force Base. This whole mission depended on split-second timing from the various elements involved.

As soon as Cullen had sufficient engine speed, the blades started turning and the aircraft began rocking. Rabitowski looked over his shoulder at the two men seated in the back. Jacobs and Griffin both gave him a thumbs-up. Their RPG rocket launchers were between their knees, muzzles pointing down.

Rabitowski nodded calmly. This was going to be a bit hairy and a lot of things could go wrong. But Rabitowski prided himself on not worrying about things he couldn't control. Twenty-nine years in the army had taught him that. He pulled his cut-down SAW machine gun closer to his side. The comforting feel of the weapon's cold metal was what he believed in. The SAW was something he could control.

Rabitowski would be retiring in one month, and Colonel Edberg had been against his going on this mission. Sergeant Major Rabitowski had been adamant. He wanted to go in his assigned place with his troop. He wanted one last live mission after twenty-nine years.

He pulled out the acetated map with their flight route on it. Written in grease pencil along the route were the time hacks for the various checkpoints on the way in. A stopwatch was taped to the map. Rabitowski checked his watch. Cullen lifted the aircraft to a three-foot hover. When his second hand swept past the twelve and the watch indicated 7:54, Rabitowski indicated go and clicked the stopwatch. Cullen pushed forward on the cyclic and they were on their way.

Linders entered the officers' club and immediately headed for the bar. He was over an hour and a half late but he didn't care. He hated these formal functions. This one was being sponsored by Linders's own service, the air force, under some pretext or other. In reality, it was a chance to invite some of the politicians from across the river to come rub elbows with the brass. Linders knew the hot topic of the evening would be the B-2 bomber, and the party line would be to support that effort. He couldn't care less about the B-2 bomber. Any aircraft that cost that much was ridiculous, in his opinion, but he didn't dare voice that heresy. He was here because protocol required it.

He circulated through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances. Linders wasn't very popular with his air force cronies because as DCSOP-SO his priorities were somewhat different. He fought his own service for funding for more Combat Talon and Spectre Special Operations aircraft. Linders had a bitter appreciation for where the priorities lay: In the last air force budget, procurement of more Combat Talons was forty-fifth on a fifty-two-item aircraft priority list.

Linders's musings on the skewed sense of priority of the air force were interrupted when he spotted General Macksey holding court on the other side of the room. Why was the chairman here when he was supposed to be overseeing the operation by Delta Force? The only logical answer Linders could come up with was that the general would be returning to the war room of the Pentagon later this evening.

Linders worked his way across the room toward Macksey. He was further surprised to see that Macksey was drinking alcohol. There was no way the general would be drinking with an operation pending later in the evening. Linders elbowed his way through the crowd of sycophants and insinuated himself next to the chairman.

Macksey noticed the intrusion. "General Linders. How are you?"

Linders grabbed the chairman's elbow. "Sir, I need to talk to you privately." Macksey nodded. He led the way out of the main ballroom and into the foyer. Ignoring the people entering, he fixed Linders with a hard gaze. "What's so important?"

Linders figured the direct approach was the best. "Sir, do you know about a Delta strike this evening in Colombia?"

Macksey frowned. "The Hammer strikes have been canceled since the third one was compromised. What are you talking about?"

"Sir, Delta Force was alerted yesterday and elements of it are presently forward deployed in Panama preparing for a strike tonight."

"What!" Macksey grabbed Linders's shoulder. "Who authorized that?"

"Mike Pike came to my office yesterday with the OPORD. He said it was authorized as a continuation of your Hammer order. Since I hadn't heard any cancellation of the Hammer missions, I assumed it was part of the same mission and verified the OPORD."

Macksey closed his eyes briefly as the reality of what Pike had done sank in. He thought rapidly, trying to sort out the pieces. "Do you know when the strike is happening?"

Linders shook his head. "All I know is it's tonight. I called Pike today and asked him what time. He wouldn't tell me. He said security was being tightened."

"Where did you call him?"

"He's at the same STU-III he was for the other missions." Macksey made up his mind. He called for his aide, who was hovering out of conversation range. "George, get my car around front." He turned to Linders. "You're coming with me."

The Combat Talon lifted off the runway and its four powerful turboprop engines drilled it into the night sky. Inside the cramped cargo bay, Edberg sat as comfortably as his parachute and equipment would allow on the web seats rigged along the side of the aircraft. He wore a headset connected by a long cord to a SATCOM radio nestled in among the electronics gear in the front half of the bay. The other nine members of his team were spread out in the rear half.

This was Edberg's first live mission. He hadn't expected to get the final go. He'd anticipated another no-go and mission evaluation, especially after the haphazard way General Pike had alerted them and with the tight time limit that had been imposed.

They had an hour-and-fifty-two-minute ride to their infiltration point. The Combat Talon was going to rely on something besides its terrain-following ability for this flight. The electronic warfare people in the front were sending out a transponder signal indicating the Talon was a civilian airliner en route from Panama City to Buenos Aires, Argentina. The aircraft would fit this profile except for the brief one-minute slowdown over the infiltration point for the drop.

Edberg's ears perked up when he heard the radio come alive.

"Eagle, this is Hawk. I have lifted and am en route." Edberg checked his watch. 8:44. The HH-53 Pave Low helicopter had lifted from the USS Raleigh off the coast of Colombia on time. All the pieces were moving.

Riley waited at the base of the tree with Westland and Thompson. The Delta Force soldier had on the headset for the SATCOM. Tremont was in the tree continuing surveillance and in place for the role he would play shortly.

Thompson gave a thumbs-up. "Tiger, Hawk, and Eagle forces are all en route."

Riley turned and stared at the lit compound below. His adrenaline was starting to flow. He forced himself to calm down. They still had a while to go before things started happening. Another hour and twenty-five minutes.

Thompson pulled one of the cups of the headset off his ear. He reached into his ruck, took out two small radios with headsets, and handed them to Riley and Westland. "You know how to work that thing? We brought spares in case we found you all."

Riley nodded as he put the radio into a pouch on his vest and rigged the headset. He showed Westland how to work hers.

Thompson waited until Riley was done. "All right. You and Westland head down at 2200. You'll be able to talk, but remember that those guys coming in are going to shoot anything moving. I don't know why the old man agreed to have you two go in, but he did, so I'm not going to argue with him. I guess he figures he needs all the help he can get, plus you're a backup for Tiger if they don't make it in. The elements have been told you're going in over the wall, but you know how it gets in the dark when bullets are flying."

Thompson pulled a roll of tape from his ruck. He peeled off a long strip and wrapped it completely around Riley's chest, taking care not to seal any of his ammo pouches. With other strips he encircled Riley's wrists and ankles. For a finishing touch he put a strip around Riley's head. "That'll give you better odds of not getting shot. All the good guys will be wearing this IR tape in the same places. It'll show up like a strip of light in the goggles. Shoot anyone who doesn't have it."

Thompson removed his combat vest and gave it to Westland, who put it on. He then taped her with the IR chemical tape. Reluctantly he handed his Mossberg Bullpup to Westland. The squat weapon was only thirty and a half inches long. Thompson ran her through a quick overview of the weapon. "You got eight rounds in the tube under the barrel. As you can see, the sights are on top of the handle so it aims high. If you're going to fire from the shoulder, aim about half a foot low."

Westland hefted the bulky gun. "What about recoil?"

Thompson smiled. "It's a beauty. You fired shotguns before?" Westland nodded. "It's got less recoil than any shotgun you've ever fired. You can fire it from the hip."

Riley interrupted. "What kind of load you got in there?"

"Alternating slugs and number four buckshot." Riley whistled lightly. That thing could clear out a room. Thompson pointed at Westland's vest. "You got solid slugs on your right side and number four buck on the left. Don't forget that if you reload. It's best to alternate the rounds. The slugs will knock the shit out of someone if you hit. The buckshot gives you some dispersion. Alternate them and you raise hell."

Westland nodded. "I can handle it."

Thompson pointed out one last important feature. "You've got two safeties. First is a normal cross-bolt safety, right here. See, this is safe and this is fire." Thompson flicked the switch. "The second safety is in the grip, kind of like the .45-caliber pistol. You have to maintain pressure on the pistol grip to fire."

Westland nodded. Thompson slapped her lightly on the back. "Take care of my gun now. Hate to lose it."

Riley had grown to like the gruff commando over the course of the day. He'd been surprised to find out that Thompson was a major and the assistant operations officer for his troop. He certainly had not seemed concerned about rank in dealing with Riley or Tremont. Thompson's role in the upcoming conflict was to be the coordinating point for the attacking elements from his bird's-eye view up here on the hill. With the SATCOM he could talk to the incoming aircraft and with the small FM radio he could talk to the members of the Tiger and Eagle forces along with Tremont up in the tree.

Thompson looked the two of them over. "Looks like you're ready to party."

Pike watched the headlights turn into the parking lot. He counted two cars, one of which was a military police vehicle. Pike looked at his watch and then at the SATCOM set. Since giving the final authentication he had monitored B Troop's traffic. He knew all the elements were in the air and en route.

Unfortunately, he also knew there was still plenty of time for those forces to be recalled. If only he had another hour.

The door to the building swung open and General Macksey strode in, followed by Linders. Pike stood and faced the oncoming storm. He decided he'd open the pleasantries.

"You didn't have to get all dressed to come see me, sir," he said, noting the dress mess uniform in which Macksey was regaled.

Macksey failed to see the humor. "What the hell are you doing, Pike? Is Delta actually on alert in Panama?"

Pike considered several possible stalling replies. The only problem was the SATCOM radio behind him on the table. All Macksey had to do was pick up the mike and he could talk to the B Troop commander himself. "Yes, sir."

Macksey glared at him. "What the hell are you doing?" he repeated.

Pike stopped the general in his tracks with his next statement. "Sir, do you realize that one of the men from that last mission, the one who escaped, has been sent by the CIA down to Colombia to assassinate one of the members of the drug cartel?"

Macksey seemed stunned. "What?"

Since he was being honest, Pike decided he'd overwhelm the general with the bald facts and hopefully forestall him getting on the radio with a recall. "Let me start from the beginning, sir. I think you'll find this all quite interesting. The day that last Hammer mission was compromised, the…"

Rabitowski looked at the fuel gauge. They were down to less than a third of a tank. He checked the map as the helicopter whizzed over a single-lane road. "Checkpoint 15, on route and on time."

Cullen nodded but didn't speak. They were flying terrain contour, approximately twenty-five feet above the highest obstacle. Even with the night-vision goggles it was a tiring operation for the pilot.

Rabitowski checked the map again. "Turn left. Stop turn." He peered ahead through his goggles. "The route goes slightly to the left of that hill ahead."

Cullen made the slight adjustment and the aircraft steadied on the new course. Rabitowski checked the time again. Another forty-five minutes to target.

Macksey shook his head as Pike finished his tale. "That's all fine and well, but you had no authority to do what you've done. I'm canceling your party." He gestured toward the SATCOM radio. "Do you have commo with the Delta Force commander down there?"

Pike nodded reluctantly. As Macksey moved toward the radio Pike decided to play his trump card. "Sir, did you also know that the missing man from the Eyes Three mission is alive and being held in the target Delta is heading for?"

That stopped Macksey in his tracks. "I was told he was dead."

Pike drove the nail home with a vengeance. "I told you not to write him off. We have a verified visual sighting of Master Sergeant Powers being held by this Colombian, Ring Man."

Macksey looked Pike in the eye. "You're already in enough trouble as it is. I'm asking you to tell me the truth. Is Powers really alive and being held there?"

Pike glared back. "Sir, one thing I'm not is a liar." He pointed at the radio. "You make the decision. Are you going to abandon the only chance we're going to have to rescue him?"

Macksey seemed torn for a few seconds and then shook his head. "I have to cancel. This whole thing is unsanctioned. We'll never get away with it."

Pike was starting to get angry. "Is that all you care about? Covering your ass?"

Macksey stood firm. "Goddammit, man. Why didn't you go through channels if you knew Powers was alive?"

"Because the CIA would probably not have allowed verifying, and the bottom line is that there wasn't enough time."

Macksey picked up the handset for the radio. "I'm sorry, Mike. You screwed up and I'm going to have to fix things. What's the call sign for the Delta commander?"

Pike sighed. "Eagle Leader."

Macksey keyed the mike. "Eagle Leader, come in. Over."

The reply was almost instantaneous. "This is Eagle Leader. Please identify yourself. Over."

"Eagle Leader, this is General Macksey. I'm ordering you to abort your mission and return all your elements to friendly territory. Over."

There was a pause on the other end. "This is Eagle Leader. I need verification of abort. Over."

Macksey turned to Pike. "What's the code word for abort?"

Pike didn't answer, but even as he stood there saying nothing he realized he had made a mistake in that area. Macksey glared at him, then keyed the mike again. "This is General Macksey. General Pike has authorized this mission without proper authority and refuses to give up the abort code word. I'm ordering you on my authority to abort. Over."

There was an even longer pause on the other end. "I'm sorry, sir, if this is General Macksey on the other end, but I cannot abort without the proper code word. Over."

A thought struck Macksey. "The code word is Cage Thunder. Over."

The reply was quicker this time. "Roger, I verify Cage Thunder. Over."

Edberg looked up in dismay as he verified the abort code word. The other members of his force were still in their positions. His ops officer was looking at him strangely, wondering what the long conversation was about. Edberg gestured for him to come over. The man waddled over awkwardly and threw himself on the adjacent seat. He yelled in Edberg's ear to be heard over the roar of the engines. "What's up?"

"I just got the abort code word from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

The ops officer rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ! It's a little too late for that."

Edberg looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Shit, sir, Tiger element is already past the point of no return. They don't have enough fuel to make it back out."

Edberg winced as he remembered that. The OH-58 had barely enough fuel to make it to the target on a one-way trip. That was the way it had been planned. He decided to hold off on giving the turnaround order until he put this monkey on Macksey's back. He didn't know what the hell was going on up there in Virginia, but it was a little late to be pulling this stuff.

"Hammer Base, this is Eagle Leader. Over."

He heard the chairman's voice come back over the radio. "This is Hammer Base. Over."

"We've got a problem with an abort at this time. One of my elements is on a helicopter that doesn't have enough fuel to make it back out of Colombia. Over."

There was a pause. "What's time on target? Over."

"2230. Over."

"Is there any way you can get those people in the helicopter out? Over."

Edberg considered the options. "My best bet would be to link up the Tiger element with our exfil bird coming in from the coast, but that will be kind of flaky. We don't have a linkup point designated other than the target." Another thought hit Edberg. "I've also got two men on the ground in addition to Pike's two people, pulling surveillance. They were supposed to come out by the HH-53. Over."

The irritation in the chairman's voice was evident. "Do you have a backup plan to get them out? Over."

"Roger, they have an alternate for coming out covertly, but there's no provision in there for Pike's people. Over."

"Wait one. Over."

Macksey put down the mike and looked over at Pike and Linders, who had been following the conversation. He shook his head at Pike. "You sure managed to get things rolling, didn't you?"

"Sir, things are so far in motion that it's just as dangerous to abort at this point as it is to continue the mission," Pike argued. He was still mad at himself for not having changed the abort code word from the other Hammer missions. It only stood to reason that Macksey would remember it.

Macksey turned to Linders. "What do you think?"

Linders carefully weighed his answer and then committed. "Sir, I agree with Pike. The plan is to hit the target, not to abort. I think they can execute the plan better than they can piecework out an abort this late."

Pike wasn't through. "Sir, that's an American soldier being held by those people. An American soldier who went on a mission under your orders. Are you going to quit and not even take a chance at rescuing him? I've heard you speak out at the POW and MIA meetings. Were those just words you were spouting or did you really mean what you said?" Pike was also hoping the tirade he had thrown in Macksey's office earlier in the week was still fresh in the man's mind.

Macksey's next statement indicated he was wavering. "What's the chance of success for this strike? For getting Powers out?"

Pike shook his head. That was a question he expected from a politician, not a military man. "Sir, you know I can't give you that. It's a good plan and they're the best soldiers you have. There's risk involved, but those men are willing to take that risk. Give them a chance."

Macksey turned and stared out the window at the MP car in the parking lot, the car he had brought to take away Pike. He reached over and picked up the mike.

Edberg pressed the headset in tighter as the radio came alive.

"Eagle Leader, this is Hammer Base. Ignore Cage Thunder. I say again, ignore Cage Thunder. Mission continues as planned. Over."

"Roger that, sir. Mission is a go. Over."

"Good luck. Hammer Base out."

Edberg turned to his ops officer with a big grin. "We're going in."

Thompson had monitored the entire exchange between Belvoir and Eagle Leader over the SATCOM but had not said a word to Riley or Westland, who were huddled nearby. His heart had been in his throat listening to the exchange. Like all the men of Delta he wanted action, and the thought of an abort this late made him almost physically ill.

Hearing the last go, Thompson turned to the two. "Time for you all to head on down. Good luck."

Riley gave a thumbs-up and led the way down the hill.

Pike gestured toward the chairs stacked in the corner. "You two might as well grab a seat. We've got a little while to go."

A red light started flashing and a caution segment light appeared on the console of the OH-58. Rabitowski stared at it in concern. "What the hell is that?"

Cullen kept his attention fixed on the terrain ahead. "Fuel warning light."

Rabitowski didn't like that. "I thought you said we'd have enough fuel to make it to the target. Are we going to make it or not?"

"Should."

"Should!" That answer didn't please the old sergeant major. "Listen, kid, I've got thirty years in this here green machine, and I don't want to end it by running out of gas and becoming part of the countryside."

"Relax, Sergeant Major. All that light means is that we're low, not that we're out. We should have about twenty minutes left. We'll make it. And if we don't," Cullen added mischievously, "I'll just autorotate into the trees."

"Just great," Rabitowski muttered to himself as he checked the map. "Checkpoint 24. That's the last one before we hit our final reference point." He looked at the stopwatch. "Right on time. Don't screw this up, kid, by running out of fuel. You done a good job getting us this far."

"No sweat, Sergeant Major."

The ramp opened and the air swirled in with a roar. Edberg pushed himself up tight behind the jumper in front of him. One minute out from drop. It was too late now even if they changed their minds back in Virginia. He was no longer hooked into the SATCOM. Once he got closer to the ground he'd be able to talk to Thompson on the FM radio.

Edberg kept his eyes fixed on the glowing red light above the ramp. He took a few deep breaths. The light turned green and the ten men shuffled off the ramp in formation.

Edberg felt the plane's slipstream grab him and buffet him about. He spread his arms and legs and arced his back in an effort to stabilize. He had barely achieved that state when he pulled his ripcord. His chute blossomed above him and he oscillated under the canopy.

Quickly getting his bearings, Edberg spotted the other members of Eagle spread out below him. He dumped air and caught up with them.

Rabitowski heaved a sigh of relief as the lights from the target popped into view. Cullen raised their altitude for the final approach. The blinking of the fuel warning light for the past twelve minutes had gotten on Rabitowski's nerves. They'd find out in another minute or so if the villa guards would fall for the ruse. The theory was that the guards would not fire on the helicopter since it was the same type aircraft as the one that Ring Man owned.

Rabitowski's headset crackled as he heard Thompson for the first time over the short-range FM radio. "Tiger, this is Snake. I can hear you coming. Situation at target as briefed. LZ clear. Break. Riley, you're clear to go. Over."

Cullen swung the chopper around in a left-hand bank and they approached the villa from the south.

The muted buzz of the inbound helicopter reverberated through the air. Riley boosted Westland up on the wall, then reached up and grabbed her hand as she helped him up alongside her.

They lay on top of the thick stone wall getting their bearings. The corner of the wing of the house was only twenty-five feet away. Riley spotted the guard on this side of the wall heading toward the landing pad, just as they had hoped he would. If the guards fired on the helicopter, Tremont would intervene with his suppressed rifle.

Riley slid off the wall and landed on the inside, followed by Westland. He led the way toward the house across the lighted section of lawn. As he did so a dark form leapt out of the shadow of the house. Riley fired a quick burst from his submachine gun and the dog was slammed back into the shade.

The inbound helicopter not only drew attention away from the wall, but it covered up the slight noise Eagle Force made as it landed on the main building. The dark forms touched down on the roof like winged vampires.

Edberg was the trail man in the airborne formation. He could see the canopies from the other jumpers draped all over the roof. He braked and felt his knees buckle slightly as he made a perfect landing in the center of the roof. Two of the first jumpers were already at work, prepping a charge on the locked door that barred their way down. Thompson had passed on the warning that the windows were barred, so they had changed their original plan of rappelling off the roof and going in through the windows.

Edberg looked up as the OH-58 swooped in from the south, its bright searchlight blinding the guards on the ground as it settled in toward the landing pad. The man in charge of the demolitions gave Edberg the thumbs-up. Edberg signaled for him to wait.

Lopez, the security man in charge of this shift, was confused. He was listening to the radio reports from the guards outside concerning the inbound helicopter. From his room on the back side of the first floor of the main building, Lopez couldn't see anything, but he could hear the aircraft. The guards were reporting that it looked like the Ring Man's helicopter, yet Lopez had not been told that the aircraft was en route or that the Ring Man had called for it.

He didn't even consider ordering his men to fire at it. The Ring Man would have his ass if he shot up the boss's helicopter. He keyed his radio. "Let it land and find out what that idiot of a pilot is doing up here. The boss is going to be pissed if this woke him up."

The guard at the landing pad acknowledged.

Rabitowski smiled as the skids of the bird settled on the concrete landing pad. Two Colombian guards were moving toward the aircraft from the front. Cullen suddenly twisted his throttle to flap the blades. The two guards bent their heads even further and covered their eyes at the sudden onslaught of wind.

As they did so Griffin and Jacobs leaned out of the open back doors, one on either side, and gunned down the guards, using their silenced MP5s.

"Tiger, two down LZ," Rabitowski reported over the radio as he got out. Griffin and Jacobs started sprinting for the front gate, their RPG rocket launchers over their shoulders. Cullen rolled off the throttle and stepped out next to Rabitowski; they headed for the cars parked in the lot.

Tremont started firing. He was slightly off his boast to Riley of a round every two seconds, but he wanted to be sure he hit his targets. He fired and worked the bolt like a well-oiled machine. The rifle puffed as each of the three rounds left the barrel. They were all out in slightly less than nine seconds.

"Tremont, three down, north, north, and south," he whispered into his mike.

Below him, Thompson was trying to find the last remaining guard. The man must be somewhere on the west side. He spoke into his voice-activated mike. "We've still got one on the outside. I think he's on the west side."

Lopez heard nothing but the sound of the helicopter winding down. He keyed his mike. "Hosea? Antonio?" He frowned at the lack of an answer. He was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He sighed as he realized it was the line from the Ring Man's room.

"Yes, sir."

"What is going on? What is my helicopter doing here?"

"I don't know, sir. I'm trying to find out."

"Find out and let me know." The other end slammed down.

An unpleasant, tingling feeling grew in Lopez's stomach as he continued to receive no answer from the men who had been waiting for the aircraft to land. He considered alerting the other guard shift of eight men who were sleeping in the room next to this one. Or perhaps he should go out himself to check on why the helicopter was here. He wished the Israeli was here to handle this. He was still trying to figure out what to do when the guard from the west wall called him.

"Lopez, this is Rene. I'm heading around front. I don't see—" There was a thunk followed by a brief gurgling noise.

"Tremont, one down west side." Tremont smiled as he worked the bolt and reloaded. The last guard had shown just enough of his head around the side of the building.

Thompson listened as other reports came in.

"Tiger One in place."

"Eagle going in."

Edberg signaled. There was a flash and hiss as the charge ate through the lock. The door swung open and the ten men slipped in, Edberg in the lead. They halted at the foot of the stairs and the team split. Four men headed toward the west wing, while the other six began work on the second floor.

They fanned out on the second floor, moving in a practiced routine.

They began clearing, room by room. The first indication that anything unusual was happening in the building finally occurred — the muffled roar of a shotgun echoed up from the east wing.

Getting in had been easier than expected. The patio doors at the rear of the wing had carelessly been left unbarred. Riley had pried them open with his knife. Starting from the farthest room out, they had begun working their way down the corridor toward the main building. The first three rooms had been empty.

Riley turned the knob on the fourth door and stepped through to the right while Westland stepped to the left. In the dim light shed by a single lamp, they were greeted by the sight of a man and a woman in a compromising position on the bed.

The man dove for a gun on the nightstand and Riley pinned him against the headboard with a sustained burst from the MP5. The room echoed lightly with the noise of his expended brass tinkling onto the wood floor.

"Stay put and you won't get hurt," Riley hissed at the woman in Spanish. She nodded weakly, holding the sheet up in front of herself with one hand. Riley turned for the door.

The repeated roar of Westland's shotgun reverberated in his ears. Riley turned in surprise to see the girl on the bed crumpling forward, a pistol in her hand, practically disemboweled by the slugs and buckshot from Westland's gun.

"Riley, two down east wing," he whispered into the mike as he and Westland turned for the hallway. He was conscious that he'd made a bad mistake in not shooting the woman to start with. Kate had saved his ass.

Lopez screamed for the men in the next room as he grabbed his MAC–IO. He yelled into the radio: "Jaime, get your people up here. We're being attacked!"

He waited for the brief acknowledgment from the leader of the four men manning the ambush position down the driveway before he headed for the door.

Lopez swung the door open and stepped into the main foyer. He spotted two black-clad men moving up on the second-floor stairwell. He was preparing to fire when an explosion blew open the locked front double doors. Lopez swung around to see two more dark-clad men stepping through the smoking wreckage. He fired a wild burst at them. In return, a sustained burst of machine-gun fire pummeled him back into his office.

Rabitowski let up on the trigger of the SAW machine gun with a satisfying click. "Tiger, one down first-floor foyer, main building."

He swung the muzzle slightly to the left as another door opened and a half-dressed Colombian stepped out waving a pistol. As he pressed the trigger Rabitowski could see the outlines of other men behind the first. He decided to make a clean sweep of things. Keeping the trigger depressed, he swept the doorway and then stitched a pattern on the walls.

The 5.56mm steel-jacketed rounds tore through the plaster, leaving carnage in the guard room. Rabitowski fired until he expended all one hundred rounds in the drum magazine. When the bolt slid forward and halted for lack of ammo, he expertly pulled another drum out of the bag on his hip and reloaded.

"Tiger, a bunch down, first-floor foyer, main building." Rabitowski smiled contentedly and glanced over at Cullen. The pilot shook his head. Some of these old guys sure were crazy.

Rabitowski swung his barrel to the left as two figures stepped out of the hallway from the east. He relaxed his finger when he saw through his goggles the glowing bands of tape on the newcomers. The old sergeant major's eyes widened as he noticed that one of the newcomers was a woman. Goddamn, he thought. What the hell was the army coming to?

Edberg was the second man into Ring Man's bedroom. They were met with the sight of the man, whose picture they had memorized, holding a pistol to the head of a naked young girl whom he held in front of him as a shield.

"I'll kill her if you come any closer," the Ring Man yelled out in Spanish.

Edberg keyed his mike. "Eagle. I've got our target here. Second floor. Center door. He's holding a young girl prisoner. Rest of floor secured."

From the hill Thompson updated the team leader. "Thompson. Sitrep. Compound secure. East and west wings secure. First and second floors main building secure. No sign of the prisoner. You've got the only live one there. Hawk two minutes out."

Edberg considered the situation. The girl was expendable. No one would say anything if they wasted her.

Another figure appeared behind Edberg. "Back out, sir. I'm Riley. I'll handle this."

Edberg didn't question the man and, nodding his head at his partner, he backed out the door around Riley.

Riley glared at the Ring Man. He knew the exfil bird was due shortly and they didn't have time to screw around with this fellow. He dropped his MP5 on its sling and drew his Beretta. He aimed it directly at the Ring Man's forehead.

"Where's the American?"

The Ring Man smiled. "If that is who you came for you are too late. He's not here."

The two cars that had left earlier, Riley realized. That was the only time they could have moved Powers. He took a step closer to the Ring Man.

"I'll kill her!" the Ring Man screamed as he screwed the muzzle of the gun into the side of the girl's head, causing her to cry out.

"Go ahead." Riley fired. The round impacted exactly in the center of the Ring Man's forehead, making a tiny black hole on entry. It exited the rear, blowing off half the back of his head. The pistol slipped out of lifeless fingers. The girl stayed where she was, frozen. Riley drew a bead on her momentarily, then lowered his barrel. He whipped off his belt, tied her hands together, and threw her over his shoulder.

"Riley. Ring Man dead. Has anyone seen any sign of Powers?"

"Thompson. Negative. Building has been cleared. He isn't here. Any idea where he could be?"

Riley felt as though he'd been hit with a sucker punch. All this only to find that Powers had been moved. "Riley. They must have moved him out this afternoon."

Westland appeared at his side as he carried the girl down the stairs. She pulled the mike away from her lips as she spoke to him. "What now? They must have moved Powers in that two-car convoy you saw leave earlier."

Riley nodded. His brain went into overdrive as he ran out into the backyard with his prisoner. The two cars had returned less than an hour after departing. If Powers had been in one of those cars, he had either been transferred to another vehicle or was being held relatively close by, probably in Bogota, Riley thought.

Thompson shifted his gaze as Tremont alerted him. "Tremont. Got a pickup truck coming up the drive. Probably the guards from the road. I can see two men in the back with weapons." "Thompson. Tiger, you copy that?"

"Tiger, roger."

Griffin released the safety on the RPG. He glanced over to the other side of the road where Jacobs was crouched, ready with his rocket launcher. Through his goggles he could make out the glow of the headlights coming closer.

Griffin pulled off the goggles and peered into the darkness through the NSP-2 infrared night sight of the launcher. The headlights appeared around a curve, eighty meters away, coming fast. Griffin centered the cross hairs of the RPG right between the two lights, and tracked. He waited until they were only fifty meters away before firing.

The rocket leapt from the tube. It covered the fifty meters in less than a second. The 85mm projectile tore into the front of the pickup truck and exploded, turning the vehicle into a blazing fireball that rolled off the left side of the road and tumbled down the slope toward the valley.

"Tiger, vehicle destroyed."

"Snake, roger. Hawk one minute out. All elements pull back."

Griffin and Jacobs ran back up the driveway, where they met Rabitowski, who had just lit the fuse running to the charges he and Cullen had rigged on the cars. The old NCO ran over to the OH-58 and threw in a satchel. He patted the side of the aircraft. "You done good," he muttered and then turned back to the other members of his team. "Let's go."

They raced around the building, where they were met by the other members of the strike force heading for the backyard. Edberg was standing next to the elevated diving board, counting heads as people came running up. He could hear the helicopter now, coming in from the west. He spotted Riley with a girl over his shoulder and ran over to him.

"What are you going to do with her? We can't take her with us."

Riley shook his head. "I'll keep her here. I'm not going with you."

"What!" Edberg glanced up as the massive HH-53 chattered in above them. "What are you going to do?"

"I have to find Powers. I'll take one of the cars up front."

Westland stood next to him. "I'm staying with you."

Edberg shook his head. He had no time to argue. "If you don't get on that bird you're not my responsibility anymore. Also, the cars up front are rigged to blow."

"How long a fuse?"

Edberg shrugged. "Five minutes, but I'm not sure how long ago Rabitowski lit it. He's…" His next words were lost in the roar as the helicopter settled in. Edberg shook his head as Riley and Westland sprinted off for the front of the villa, Riley still carrying the young Colombian girl.

The pilot of the Pave Low flared to a hover above the swimming pool and carefully rotated his aircraft around. The pool was the only place large enough, and clear enough, for the massive blades of the helicopter to rotate freely. As the pilot lowered the bird he listened to the instructions of his crew chief, who was leaning out the open back ramp: "Five meters. Four. Three. Little more back. Good. Two. One. Hold it. Hold it." The aft end of the aircraft hit lightly into something solid.

The pilot fixed on the horizon as he tried to steady the aircraft. In the back the members of the strike force were clambering on board, using the three-meter diving board leading to the back ramp. The pilot held the helicopter in place for the twenty seconds it took all the members to get on board.

He heaved a sigh of relief as the radio crackled. "This is Eagle Leader. We've got everyone on board who's coming." Pulling in collective, the pilot lifted and headed for knoll 8548.

In the rear, the two crew chiefs were preparing the hoist with a jungle penetrator. As the pilot brought the aircraft to a hover over the knoll they quickly lowered the penetrator. Tremont and Thompson hooked their vests onto the loop on the penetrator with snap links. "We're on," Thompson called out on the radio.

The pilot didn't wait for them to be reeled in; he lifted and accelerated to the west. They'd be pulled in while the helicopter was moving.

Riley led the way around the corner of the building. The HH-53 was already winging off to pick up the men on the knoll. He stopped at the first car he found in the lot. A blue BMW. He put the girl down and told Westland to watch her.

He tore the detonating cord off the charges on the car and opened the door. He reached under the dash, hoping his skills from childhood were still good. With his knife he slashed the ignition wires and then crossed them, ignoring the sparks. The engine coughed and then roared to life. Westland swung open the back door and followed the young girl in.

Riley spun the wheel and headed for the gate. He was halfway down the drive when the OH-58 blew. He instinctively ducked as shrapnel pinged off the back of the car. They were just passing through the gates when the charges in the cars went off, turning the parking lot into a roaring inferno.

"Hammer Base, this is Eagle Leader. Over."

Macksey grabbed the microphone. The last report they had had over the SATCOM was from the Snake element, advising that the exfiltration helicopter was retrieving the people from the strike force at the villa and that they were shutting down their radio in anticipation of being picked up.

"Hammer Base here. Give me a sitrep. Over."

"Mission a success. I say again, mission a success. No friendly casualties. Over." Three sighs of relief of varying magnitude could be heard from the generals gathered around the radio.

"What about the target? Over."

"Target completely destroyed and designated individual terminated. Over."

Pike nudged Macksey. "Check on Riley and Westland. And see if they got Powers out, too."

"This is Hammer Base. What about the assets you met down there and the hostage? Over."

There was a lengthy pause. Pike felt his stomach tighten in anticipation of bad news. "The assets chose to remain in country to search for the hostage, who was not present at the target site. Over."

"What!" Macksey exploded at Pike. "What the hell do they think they're doing?" He didn't wait for an answer as he keyed the mike. "What are they going to do? Over."

"Uh, that's unknown. I really didn't have a chance to talk with them. They made the decision as we were loading this bird for exfil, and I had more important things to worry about. Over."

Macksey dropped the mike and turned to face Pike. "What the hell do we do now? I've got to go over and brief the people across the river about what just happened, and we still have those two idiots of yours running around down there."

Pike looked the general straight in the eye. "Don't forget you also have Powers still being held prisoner. If Riley decided to stay there, he must feel there is still a chance to rescue him. Don't forget that when you brief the politicians. Also don't forget to tell them that we finally went and kicked ass, just like they run their mouths off about doing."