Flashpoint

23

The Boeing Vertol — built Sea Knight helicopter slammed across the Colombian coast at two hundred feet. Full dark had just covered the land, and the Navy bird with its cargo of SEALs powered through the night air at her maximum speed of 165 miles per hour. The pilots didn’t want to be over hostile territory any longer than they needed to be.

The air distance from the coast to Plato was sixty miles. The pilots had planned a twenty-two-minute flight into an isolated area ten miles outside of the small city of Plato. They were told the spot would be easy to find. It was lit up like a birthday cake, would have landing lights on a concrete aircraft runway, and there would be more than a dozen houses, warehouses, and other sheds along with a half-dozen good-sized planes near the hangars.

The SEALs were ready. Six men had the Bull Pup twin-barrel weapons and sixty rounds each. Bradford carried the big .50 caliber sniper rifle with an MP-5 submachine gun strapped on his back. Each man had two pounds of TANZ and C-4, along with the needed timer/detonators.

“We do the fancy hotel-like mansion first,” Murdock reminded the men. “When we get it cleared, we move on to the next closest target.”

“We don’t know where they are?” Jaybird asked.

“About the size of it. Not enough intel on this one, it came up too fast. We don’t have a handy satellite assigned to Plato, Colombia.”

The crew chief from the chopper came back from the cockpit.

“We’re three minutes out, so get ready. The rear ramp goes down. You guys have done this before, right?”

“Three hundred and seventy-eight times,” Lampedusa said. “Yeah, we know this bucket pretty well.”

The crew chief grinned. “Good. You guys kick ass for me out there, you hear?”

Murdock checked out a small porthole window and could see light below, then water, and more lights.

A speaker came on in the cabin. “Thirty seconds to touchdown,” one of the pilots said. “We’ll be about a hundred yards from this big lit-up mansion. Biggest thing around here. After you exit, we lift off and give you support fire with our fifties. Good luck!”

The chopper touched down with a light thump, the crew chief dropped the aft hatch, and the SEALs charged out in squad formation.

Lam had the point on Alpha Squad, with Murdock right behind him. Ten seconds after the last SEAL hit Colombian soil, the chopper lifted off and pounded .50 caliber machine gun fire into the fancy mansion. Murdock saw windows shatter and round after round jolt into the place.

“Squads front for some assault fire,” Murdock said on his radio. The SEALs spread out ten yards apart in a long line and kept running for the house, their weapons firing short bursts as they charged across the open stretch of land.

A few winking lights showed return fire, but nothing came close. They came in on the side of the place.

“DeWitt, take Bravo to the front and get inside if you can. We’ll go to the rear and try the same thing. If you get in, tell us so we don’t shoot each other.”

“Roger that,” DeWitt said. “We’re swinging that way as of now.”

The flat crack of an AK-47 on full auto sounded from the mansion.

“Anybody spot that AK-47?” Murdock asked on the net.

No response.

“Watch for him.”

Alpha Squad went to ground thirty yards from the rear doors of the big mansion. It would be the kitchen, Murdock guessed. He could see garbage cans and food containers around the rear door. As he watched, the door slammed open and four men with rifles rushed out. SEAL guns cut down two of them, but the other two dove to the left behind a three-foot-high stone wall. They lifted up and fired over the top at the SEALs.

“Get the floodlights,” Murdock said. The Bull Pup’s 5.56 rounds on two-round bursts quickly blasted the bulbs into darkness.

Murdock pulled a fragger grenade from his combat harness and jerked out the safety pin. Not more than twenty-five yards to the two riflemen. He lifted up and threw the bomb, hearing the arming spoon spin off. The M-67 sailed through the air, hit on top of the rock wall, and bounced straight up before it went off in a deadly airburst.

“Move up,” Murdock said into the mike, and the SEALs charged the rear door, jumping over the low wall and skidding to a stop against the mansion’s rear wall. Lam pulled the door, and it swung outward. The room inside was lit. Lam made a quick look, saw nothing, and charged inside, diving to the left. The small room held only kitchen stores and food supplies.

“First room rear is clear,” Lam said. Murdock and Jaybird rushed inside.

Near the front of the house, DeWitt found more protection. Three men had been on guard there as he came from the side. They fired on the SEALs as soon as they could see them, then ducked into planned defensive positions.

One guard huddled behind a rock fountain. Ed DeWitt used his Bull Pup and sent a 20mm round into the wall directly behind the man. The round exploded on contact, showering shrapnel backward on the hiding man. He bellowed in pain and ran for the front door.

Quinley cut him down with a two-round burst from the Bull Pup’s 5.56 barrel.

The other two guards were behind a low rock wall that ran across the front of the compound. Ostercamp threw a grenade, saw it bounce against the mansion wall, then come back toward the guards. It exploded a moment later, and one of the guards screamed in pain, then went quickly silent.

They saw nothing more of the third guard. DeWitt figured the man crawled behind the wall to the far end and vanished into the night.

The front door stood open. “Let’s get over the stones out there to the mansion wall,” DeWitt said into his mike. The SEALs lifted up and ran for the front wall of the big residence. They took no enemy fire. DeWitt edged toward the front door. It was still open.

“Franklin, with me. I have the right, you go left. Now.” The two SEALs charged the door, dove in left and right, their weapons up ready for any enemy.

DeWitt came up on his stomach and cleared his half of the room. It was an entryway with two soft couches and chairs and a table filled with liquor bottles and mixers.

“Over here, JG,” Franklin said, his voice husky. DeWitt looked at the other side of the room. A man sat in one of the soft chairs. The whole side of his head had been torn off, probably by a fifty-caliber round. Beside him on the chair sat a shapely naked woman who looked up at them with a tear-stained face.

“You bastards, you fucking murderous bastards!” she screamed.

“We’re inside at the front,” DeWitt said into his mike. “We have one DB, one naked lady alive. She speaks English.”

“Shake the place down,” Murdock radioed. “Careful on the shooting.”

DeWitt brought the rest of his men inside and watched both doors leading off the entryway. He sent Franklin to one, and he took the other one. They both pulled the doors open at the same time. Shots boiled through Franklin’s door. He had flattened against the wall, and the rounds missed him. He dropped to the floor and edged out to look into the room from that level. He spotted two gunmen standing with handguns up, waiting. He pulled back, pushed his MP-5 around the doorjamb, tilted it up, and ground off ten rounds. On his next look, he saw one man down, the second one sitting against the wall, holding his stomach. Franklin hit him with three more rounds, and he crumpled.

“Clear left,” Franklin said.

Franklin took Canzoneri and Quinley into the room. It had one door leading out.

DeWitt took Mahanani, Ostercamp, and Jefferson into his room and eyed the next door. Suddenly, it burst open, and four women ran through it. All were young, all pretty, and all birth-naked. They stopped when they saw the cammy-clad warriors. One shrieked. Another one fainted and slumped to the floor.

DeWitt waved them through the room. He stepped around the unconscious woman and looked into the next room. Two men sat at a desk. Both were Colombian, both dressed impeccably, both with stacks of banded money in front of them.

“Gentlemen, it seems there has been a serious misunderstanding. We have no fight with the United States Navy SEALs. You are free to come here as you please. We ask you no more gunfire. Some of our people have been hurt, and we’re seriously upset about this turn of events.”

DeWitt stood openmouthed even as he aimed his Bull Pup at the men. He found his voice. “You an American?”

“No, actually no. You see, I lived in Miami for several years, so I picked up the language. English is easy. But we’re getting off the subject. Those of us here today wish to make a deposit in your retirement account.”

DeWitt motioned with the Bull Pup muzzles. “Away from the desk, and keep your hands up. Move.”

“Of course. We’re reasonable men. We have cash for you, no wire transfers and no problems. On the table are eight million dollars in one hundred dollar United States currency bills. It’s yours for the taking.”

“Murdock. How far front are you? I have a non shooting problem here.”

“About two rooms away. No opposition. Problem?”

“Eight million dollars, U.S., in cash.”

“Cash?”

“Greenbacks. Get in here.”

DeWitt motioned Jefferson to check the far door. He opened it and looked around the next room. “Clear,” he said.

He looked again. “Right in here, Cap,” Jefferson said.

Murdock came through the door cautiously. When he saw the situation was under control, he marched to the desk and looked at the stacked and banded bills. They were all hundreds in packs of what he figured were 100. Ten thousand to a bundle.

“Counterfeit,” Murdock said.

“We couldn’t stay in business a week if we used counterfeit bills,” the Colombian said. “We would be cut down in a tornado of hot lead. You know that’s legal tender. It’s yours. Your platoon can split it any way you choose. Sounds like a half million each. Sailor, what could you do with five hundred thousand dollars, all tax free?” The Colombian had directed his question to Canzoneri, who stood closest to him.

Canzoneri grinned. “You fat pig, I’d take it all and jam it right up your asshole and laugh.”

DeWitt and Murdock had a quick conference.

“We found one in the lobby,” DeWitt said. “Then we nailed two more suits.”

“We cut down three in a back room,” Murdock said. “These are the last two.”

“Suggestions?” DeWitt asked.

“We do our job.” Murdock and DeWitt turned and fired six rounds each into the two men, who slammed backward from the force of the rounds and died against the oak-paneled wall.

“We take the money and turn it in,” Murdock said. “That way these bastards can’t buy more cocaine paste with it. Find a plastic garbage bag, a pillowcase, or a suitcase. Go now.”

The SEALs split up and searched the rooms. Jefferson came back with a green canvas barracks bag.

Murdock nodded. “Stuff the bills in there and take it with us. Jefferson, it’s your baby. You lose it, and it’s a statement of charges out of your pay for eight million. Who has Willy Peter?”

Two men called out.

“Use them. One here, one farther back. Want to see this place burned to a crisp. We’re out of here.”

They were soon a quarter of a mile away, heading for a series of low shacks such as they had seen near Cali at the processing plant. Behind them, the mansion began to burn through the walls. The buildings they aimed for were what Murdock had figured.

The SEALs found no guards around the processing sheds. Canzoneri gave some instructions. “Put the charge at the center of one side of the tank. That will blast it inward and crumple it so the vat can’t be fixed. A quarter pound of either TNAZ or C-4 should do the trick.” He looked at his commander.

“Timers, Cap. How long?”

“We’ll use the net. How many tanks here?”

“Twelve, Commander.”

“Plant the charges, get a check by radio, then we’ll set the timers, depending on where else we go. Lam, see what you can find out about some larger buildings for storing the finished product.”

Five minutes later, Canzoneri had a radio check that the charges were all ready. Lam had not returned. “Set the timers for thirty minutes and get back up here pronto,” Murdock said.

They had to find the finished cocaine storage area, and the one for the local ethyl ether, then the planes. A good night’s work yet to come.

Lam caught up with them two hundred yards from the production facility.

“Two buildings up there beside the runaway,” Lam said. “One of them has a loading ramp. We should check it out for the coke.”

They jogged across the open ground toward the buildings that had a few night-lights on. They stopped in the darkness a hundred yards away. Now they could see more lights. A pair of floods snapped on.

“Why?” DeWitt asked. “They couldn’t know that we’re here. Half of them must be over at the big fire.” They could still see where the mansion burned. It was really roaring now, with fire out the windows on the third floor. A fire engine had responded, but it was far too little and too late.

“We have twelve minutes to the first charge at the vats,” Canzoneri said. The twin floodlights snapped off. Lam lifted his binoculars and watched the area. Three minutes later, the same lights flashed on.

Lam chuckled. “Some kind of a stray dog is wandering around up there,” Lam said. “It’s an intrusion sensor picking up the dog and turning on the light.”

“So we’ll have to shoot them out before we go in,” Dobler said. He shifted his weight so it would be on his good leg. His right thigh still hurt where the bullet had gone through, but it was coming along. He could live with it. Usually he didn’t even notice it. He figured it might slow him down half a step in a fast forty-yard sprint.

“How close is the dog?” Murdock asked.

“He activates the lights at about fifty feet. It’s set for a wide pattern. Silenced shots would be best.” He paused. “Oh, damn. That little dog has some company, two full-grown Doberman pinschers with studded collars. Guard dogs running as a team. Problem is, I don’t see any fence to keep the dogs in.”

Dobler snorted. “The best-trained guard dog knows his limits. He won’t go outside the area he’s been trained to protect, and he won’t let anyone inside that boundary. Must be damned good dogs.”

“Too bad about them,” Murdock said. “We have a silenced sniper rifle?”

“Yeah,” Quinley said. “I got stuck with Fernandez’s gun.”

“Bring it up,” Murdock said. “You and Lam move up. Lam, take out the dogs on their next pass with your silenced MP-5. As soon as they go down, Quinley, kill those lights. Go.”

Well behind the SEALs the first of the processing tank charges went off, followed quickly by eleven more. They lit up the landscape for a few seconds with each blast. When the last finished, they heard a siren and could see headlights bumping across the land toward the tanks.

Quinley and Lam scurried toward the target, keeping low and hitting the dirt at about forty yards. A minute later, the lights came on and showed two Dobermans. Murdock could hear the cough of the MP-5 on three-round bursts. There were two of them, and the dogs went down whining, then quieted.

As the dogs died, Murdock moved his platoon forward. An instant later, Quinley killed the first light but took two shots to get the second.

The SEALs ran into the darkness around the building. The big truck door was down at the dug-in ramp. At the far side, they found a door with a padlock. Two silenced rounds slammed it open, and Murdock and Dobler darted inside. Murdock brought down his NVGs. Cumbersome, heavy, but damned useful. He scanned the forty-foot-square building, then saw a shed leading off this one.

There he found long tables, scales, sheets of heavy plastic on rolls, wrapping tables, and at the far end a large stack of kilo-sized packages of ready-to-transport cocaine.

The other SEALs came in behind them. Dim lights around the inside of the big room gave off an eerie half-light.

“No fire hose,” Jaybird said.

“Look for any kind of plumbing and a faucet we can use,” Murdock said on the net.

“Let’s go to work on those packages. We slash them open with our KA-BARs. It’s going to be work. Wish the damn stuff would burn better.”

Mahanani found a hose and faucet halfway back on the building. There was enough hose to reach the first part of the stack of coke neatly arranged on pallet boards.

“Ronson, guard us out that side door. Watch just outside for any activity. Hope most of them are still at the fire.”

Murdock took his turn slashing the kilos until his arm ached. Jaybird worked the hose, spraying the powdered cocaine, creating a pool in the middle of the stack to further the melting. There were ten pallet boards each loaded with carefully stacked kilos four feet high.

Ostercamp found another hose at the back of the room, and this one was larger. It evidently was a fire hose. It kicked out an inch stream of water. The melting went much faster then. They slashed and sprayed and before long, all of the SEALs had white spray all over their cammies.

“Company,” Ronson said on his radio.

“How many?” Murdock asked.

“Looks like two truckloads heading this way. No way we can know if they’ll stop here.”

“Franklin, Ed, Lampedusa, Ching, get out there and hit them with the twenties with the laser if they come closer than five hundred yards. Use the airbursts, and knock them out before they get here.”

“How about six hundred yards, Cap?” Ronson asked.

“Go.”

The four men rushed out the side door and set up. DeWitt watched the trucks. They were on a road that led directly to the packaging facility. Ed had his Bull Pup on the target with the laser. The other four men did as well.

“Let’s do it,” Ed said and fired. He got the laser back on the target just as his round exploded over it. The rig teetered on the edge of the road but kept coming. Four more rounds went off in airbursts over the truck at almost the same time, and the truck veered off the road and tipped over.

They fired at the second truck now at five hundred yards. Ed didn’t use the laser this time and saw his next two rounds explode on impact with the front of the truck. One round must have gone through the windshield; the other blew apart the radiator and part of the engine. The truck died in place, and the men bailed out just in time to greet three airbursts that riddled them with shrapnel and sent them screaming to the rear.

“If you see anyone out there move,” DeWitt said, “pick a target and laser him for an airburst.”

All was quiet for a minute, then two of the Bull Pups barked, and the airbursts shattered the stillness.

“Love this damn Bull Pup,” Ed DeWitt screeched on the mike. “The bad guys are running back home.”

“We need another fifteen minutes in here,” Murdock said. “We’ve smashed the scales, slashed all of the plastic, and when we leave, we’ll put some charges around just for good measure.”

“How many you want, Cap?” Canzoneri asked.

“Don’t waste them. We still have some ether to take out. Two should do this place.”

“More company, Commander,” Jaybird said. “Three big trucks coming around the back side. Too close for the laser. We need some help with the twenties, and we need it damn fast!”