Sending Messages

Chapter 9 Deployment

It only took ten minutes to transmit the images via a secure satellite link to the CIA in Langley, Virginia, and for them to be enhanced, printed and on the Director’s desk. During that time, Lozier had called personally and relayed the information. Jeff Dunning immediately picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. Two voices later and he was talking to the President.

“Boss, I know where they are.”

The President nearly jumped out of his chair. “Jeff, what have you got?”

“The whole thing, Mister President. A latitude and longitude and photos. But you’re not going to like the worst part.”

The President sat back down. “Okay, give me the bad news.”

Dunning took a breath. “Sir, I also have one of our hostages being massacred in some sort of ceremony.”

“What do you mean massacred?”

“I mean someone plunging a knife into his chest,” he paused a second, “and cutting out his heart.”

“Oh my God,” gasped O’Bannon on the other side. “Who was it?”

“It looks like Jim Mitchell. The photos are quite clear and detailed. It also shows the man who killed him. It was President Parente.”

Now even O’Bannon was angry, but he held it back while collecting his thoughts. “Jim, make copies of those photos and come to my office. I’m calling an emergency meeting with you, the FBI, State and the Joint Chiefs. Be here in an hour.”

“Yes Mister President,” said Dunning as the line went dead.

O’Bannon hung up the phone and looked down at the desk. How could this be happening? The man was murdering the hostages. That meant time was extremely limited. He reached over and hit the intercom. Beverly, get hold of the FBI, State, and the Joint Chiefs and tell them I want them here in one hour. Include General Richardson and Admiral Hammond in that meeting if they are available. Can you arrange some coffee and a few snacks? This may be a long meeting,” he said calmly.

“Yes, Mister President,” came the reply.

“Thanks Beverly. And call the Chief of Staff to my office.”

“Yes sir.”

It only took a minute before the door opened and Jim Butler stepped into the room. He could tell by the look on the President’s face that something was happening. “Bev said you were on fire. Who do I shoot?” Butler said in a joking manner.

The President grinned slightly. “Hammond was right. Damned if I know how he does it, but Hammond was right. We’ve found the hostages. They’re in Venezuela.

“Damn! Now we can get somewhere,” Butler said rubbing his hands together. “That explains the meeting Bev mentioned. Are they all safe?”

The President looked more somber and shook his head. “Dunning says he has photos a Parente killing one of our people. He’s coming over with them now.”

Butler got a stunned look. “It wasn’t Patricia was it?”

Again, the President shook his head. “No, it was Jim Mitchell. Dunning said it was some sort of ceremony.”

Butler got a stern look. “You know what this means. It means Parente is planning on killing all of them. We need to get hot on this. At least the team is ready. Just a day to brief them and they will be on their way. Is Claire on her way to this meeting?”

O’Bannon nodded. “She and Hammond both.”

Butler shook his head. “No, Roger is on his way from Panama. He’s stopping at Davis Monthan to talk to the General there. He told me how he plans on getting those people back. It’s tricky, but should work. At least they won’t have to walk home.”

“I hope you’re right. We’re sticking our necks way out on this one. It means everything has to go in our favor. If it doesn’t, there will be a whole lot of dead people and a new president in the next 30 days.”

Roger Hammond walked into General Brinson’s office and extended his hand. “Richard, how are you? Thanks for waiting up,” Hammond said. It was nine in the evening and Brinson had waited for Hammond’s plane to come in.

General Richard Brinson came around his desk to greet his friend. “Not bad Roger. How was the flight?” Brinson had been in charge of the 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group (AMARG), better known as the “Boneyard,” at the start of the last war. After one meeting with Roger Hammond he was flying high bringing all his old warbirds back to life. That alone had earned him his star and command of Davis Monthan Air Force Base. They had become good friends.

“I’m getting too old for all this flying. Give me something that floats,” Hammond joked. “Did you think about what I mentioned in my call?”

Brinson chuckled. “If it was anyone else I would have said a few rash things, I think I have just the thing. You don’t know how lucky you are. Just last week we got this Candid that used to be in Cuba. They sold it to the Nicaraguans, who finally gave up on all the maintenance. They sold it to some millionaire who had no idea what he was getting, so it finally ended up here. It was next in line for getting dismantled when you called. Since the last owner flew it here, there’s not much to do but give it a good once over. Why something so big? Wouldn’t a C-130 do just as well?”

“I would prefer it, but we need something that won’t arouse suspicions. The Venezuelans are in love with the Cubans from way back. They buy some of their equipment from them. We need something big enough to carry a medical bay and room to be comfortable and fed. It also needs to be a little faster than a turboprop,” Hammond said.

“Mind telling me what this is for,” Brinson asked. “My orders were to provide whatever you need with no questions asked, but I’d like to know what it will be used for so my guys can work their magic.”

Hammond got up and closed the door. He sat back down and looked Brinson in the eye. “You deserve that Richard. It can’t go out of this room.” He paused to make his point. “We’re getting ready to get those hostages back and we need a way to get them out quickly. I’m assuming the worst, so that’s why we need the medical bay and anything else we can think of to get those poor people back home. When we find out where they are, I’m hoping there will be some sort of airstrip nearby where we can get in and out really fast. I’m gambling that it will be somewhere in Venezuela. They seem to have these little strips almost everywhere. So now you know. What do you think?”

Brinson thought a moment. “I’d rather take a turboprop anyway, but the Candid should do nicely. It’s got the cargo space and can land and take off from a relatively short space. It can even land it on a dirt field. There’s plenty of space and I like the power availability much better.” Brinson nodded his head. “It’ll do. Let’s go take a look,” he said as he got up and grabbed his cover.

The men exited the building and got into Brinson’s car. It only took a few minutes and they came upon a fairly large four engine jet parked on a ramp next to one of the hangers. In the glow of the outdoor lights you could just see the faded markings of the Nicaraguan Air Force still on the side and a team of men and women working around the plane. A cowling was off and several people were working on an engine while the others were darting in and out of the plane carrying instruments and tools. It appeared that Brinson had anticipated the urgency of Hammond’s request.

Brinson parked the car beside the aircraft and the men stepped out to the salutes of the people working nearby. The rear of the plane was open and the two men walked up the ramp and into the aircraft.

The inside of the aircraft was quite large. It was nothing like a C-5, but large enough to drive a truck into. The deck was slotted and had numerous gripes where equipment could be attached. Unlike most American heavy lifters, the front of the plane didn’t open. Instead was a large windowed area, with ladders going to an upper deck housing the cockpit and crew. Brinson begin pointing things out.

“I’d put one of our portable galleys up forward and then fit a medical bay just aft of that. I can put seating up forward under the cockpit and maybe some cots back aft. How many should we seat?” asked Brinson.

“Maybe as many as thirty six along with any other medical people and crew.”

“I’ll install fifty. This will place most of the weight under the wing and balance it out. It shouldn’t be any less comfortable than your standard coast-to-coast flight. I’ll also see to stocking up some really good meals. They’ll probably be a little worse for the wear. You want us to dig up a medical team?”

Hammond shook his head. “No, I have a team standing by. The big thing right now is figuring out where this thing will have to take off and land. What would be the minimum sized runway?”

“Let me worry about that. I’ll have this thing rigged up so it can take off from one of your aircraft carriers. Once you get the destination, I’ll have a crew briefed and ready,” Brinson said with pride.

Hammond’s phone began to ring. It was a White House number. He activated the phone and answered.

“Roger, get up here as fast as you can,” said Jim Butler on the other end.

“News?”

“Only the best. Make it fast.” The phone went dead.

Hammond looked at Brinson. “I have to go right now. I hope the plane is fueled.”

“It should be. Get in the car.”

Both men got in Brinson’s car and he placed a revolving red light on the top. Flooring it, Brinson sped across the tarmac toward the main terminal. “I take it something is happening,” said Brinson.

Hammond didn’t say anything, but gave him a wink. The car screeched to a halt right beside the small jet Hammond would be flying in. The pilot came running out of the terminal with his notebook. “We’re all set, Admiral. Straight line to DC,” he said.

Hammond turned to Brinson. “Thanks Richard.” Both men shook hands.

“Don’t worry Roger,” said Brinson. “I’ll have this thing ready and fueled by eight tomorrow morning. We’ll be waiting for the word.”

They shook again. “Thanks,” Hammond said as he turned and ran for the aircraft.

The minute he closed the door the engines began to start. Within five minutes, he was on his way to Washington.

Jeff Dunning was ten minutes late. It had taken that much longer to pinpoint the location of the small compound both on the satellite images and a map of the area. The satellite had provided a normal photograph, an infrared and a radar picture. In doing so, they were able to cut away a lot of the surrounding vegetation and see everything clearly. They also showed all of the roads and paths around the compound as well as the larger village at the top of the mountain. The images clearly showed the stone buildings and the obelisk, as well as the post where Mitchell had been killed.

A wider picture also showed a large paved airstrip just seven miles away over the next hill. The runway was over 7,000 feet long, but not as wide as that of an airport. There were three buildings inside a chain link fence along with a fuel tank and four vehicles. The airstrip was linked to the compounds via a dirt road which linked to one of the larger “highways” running through the area. Those highways were mostly made of what looked like stone and tar, not much wider than eighteen feet across. All the images and maps were displayed across the briefing table for all the people in the room to see.

“This is where our priest took the photos you see in front of you,” Dunning said, pointing to an “X” imprinted on both a photo and the map. “According to our people, he doubles as a wildlife photographer who has occasionally been published in the National Geographic. We checked him out and he has been verified as an American citizen. His history is in your briefing papers.” Dunning pointed to one of the photos. “It was pure dumb luck that he happened to be in the right place at the right time to get these photos. But as we discussed, they provide damning evidence I could take into any courtroom and get a conviction. It also means our hostages are in grave danger. This madman could decide to dispose of them at any time, so we will need to get in and out as soon as we can.”

He pointed to the lower compound. “As you can see by these photos, our truck is here in this lower section. Our photo reconnaissance couldn’t see the truck due to this large tree that obscures it. As you can see, the infrared image shows it clearly. Right now, I have my people watching the compound with a live infrared sensor as well as the regular camera. By noon, I will be able to tell you how many people are in the compound and where the hostages are,” Dunning said as he sat back down in his seat.

Richardson was pouring over the maps and the terrain. Several times she pulled out a ruler and measured places on the map. She wasn’t too happy. “Looking at these maps and images, I can see where we could get a plane in, but it would be obvious as hell. The best place to insert looks to be right down here,” she said pointing toward a grassy meadow nearly eight miles from the compound opposite from the airstrip. “It’s clear enough to make a drop, but not any place for a pickup. If we dropped them all in here, it would take at least a day to make their way to that compound.”

“Why so long? It’s only a few miles,” said the Secretary of State.

Richardson looked over at the man. She knew he had never had any military experience. “Because, Mister Secretary, they will have to make their own path there through this thick forest. More than likely, it is full of undergrowth. In addition, they will be moving very carefully and stealthily. That makes very slow progress. If it’s too dense, it might take them two days. I’m sure Parente has heightened security all through the area, so there is no way they could move by road. Even so,” she said motioning to the map, “there aren’t any. And take a look at the topography. There are mountains and valleys they have to cross. Those guys will be bone tired by the time they get there.”

“Does that mean we give them another day?” asked the President.

Richardson grinned. “Hell no. That’s what these guys train for. Besides, from what I hear, Master Sergeant Ricks may just sprint the whole way. He’s a little peeved that someone has hurt a friend of his.”

The people around the table chuckled. All of them knew Ricks by reputation and some from personal experience. Richardson pointed at the airfield. “But this thing is perfect for getting the people out. The idea is to sneak in, rescue the hostages, kill all the captors and get out without creating an alarm. Roger Hammond had a great idea of doing this and has stopped down at Davis Monthan to check it out.” She glanced up at the people in the room. “You know, I think the man is psychic,” she grinned. “Somehow he seemed to sense there might be an airfield somewhere close, and be damned if he didn’t peg it. We’ll get the plane ready and get it there to pick the team and the hostages up. It’s fast enough to get them across the Colombian border in no time. The trick is not setting off any alarms. One stray fighter and the game is over.”

“How will you get them in?” asked Dunning.

“I can answer that,” said the Secretary of State. “I personally talked to the Brazilian Foreign Minister and General Foote, here, talked to the head of their Air Force. We will be flying the team down in a regular jet and then transferring to a Brazilian C-130. It will conveniently be making a training flight between Brasilia and Mexico and will traverse over this area,” he said.

“There’s no radar in this remote part of the country, so a plane dropping low to disgorge our troops won’t be noticed,” said Richardson. “Then it will continue on it training flight and no one will be the wiser.”

“I take it, they are unaware of where they will be going or what this is about,” said the President, a little upset that people had brought others into the secret.

State sheepishly raised his hand. “Actually, Mister President, I know the Foreign Minister personally. Have known him for years. When all this happened, he gave me a call and even suggested that Parente might be to blame. They hate him with a passion. He volunteered the services of his military in case we needed them. When he called me a couple days ago, I asked if they might be willing to provide some services. He immediately set up a direct line and then brought in only one other person, the General, besides their President. No one will have the faintest until after it is all done.”

“He also checked with us,” said Dunning. “Our people are with them and it looks iron clad. We waited until we were sure it might work before bringing it to you tonight,” he said.

O’Bannon nodded. “Okay, it makes sense. I doubt the Venezuelans would shoot down the aircraft of a neighboring country in the middle of a training flight. Should I call their President?”

“Plausible deniability,” said State. “Neither of you have spoken to the other about this.”

The President nodded and raised his hands. “I concede. Now what else is going on?”

Admiral Johnson grinned. “Hammond is giving them fits. The Iowa is underway with a small task group and today the North Carolina got underway. Hammond has mapped out several port visits and visual displays which should keep them occupied. We also ordered and LHD and an LSD to join up with them. There are only about one hundred Marines aboard, but that should be enough to scare people to death if they are expecting a landing. We have noticed that the Venezuelans have already begun building up their coastal defenses. As long as it draws them off, it should help our team get the job done. At the same time, we have Ospreys on the ships and LCACs inside. If there were an emergency, we might be able to go in and do a rescue. I already have the aircraft carrier Gerald Ford training in the Gulf of Mexico. They could respond on short notice. We’ll keep them back unless we need them. No use getting people too scared. Until you say go, they remain well to the north. But the rest of the group and the amphibs will begin operating much farther south. The port visit in Aruba alone should shake things up,” Johnson said.

The President was grinning now. “Looks like you have thought of a lot these past few days. What about the Air Force?”

General Foote smiled. “I have enough surveillance in the area to tell us if the Venezuelans take to the air, but we don’t have any fighters or bombers in the area. If we started putting them in Colombia, everyone would know about it. We’ll sit this one out and let the boys in crackerjacks handle it.”

“Okay, what’s the next step?” asked the President.

“A lot, sir,” said Richardson. “If we can find out which building the hostages are in, and where the opposing forces all are, we should be able to shove off tomorrow night. That will give us time to get the final planning and equipping done. Keep in mind; this is a quick and dirty. There’s a lot left to chance. We will have done what we can, but you never know what might happen. Despite that, I am very confident in our team and what we have set out. The rest is up to luck,” she said.

The President nodded. “What about you General?” he said to Gray.

General Gray had been sitting back watching the team work. It was amazing how well they still worked together even three years after they had first met. He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing to say. You have before you the means to get our people back and put a real hurt on that son of a bitch who killed one of our people. It’s a good thing I’m not going, or I might ride into Caracas and personally shoot that maniac.”

The people around the table laughed. “Remember what I said a few years ago. It’s still true. Spur us on and we’ll get the job done. It looks like our team is ready. We have excellent ingress and egress. There are backups and contingencies if all hell breaks loose. The worst thing someone could say if everything goes sour is that we tried, and tried damn hard. But now we know who did this. Now we know where he has them. And now we know what we’re going to do to get them back. The blame has shifted from you to him, even though the media types don’t know it yet. Let them wait,” he said.

“The let’s meet just after noon tomorrow and you can brief me on the final plans. “Get the team ready to leave by no later than 6 pm tomorrow. The quicker this happens, the quicker we can all rest soundly. Thank you all for getting the job done,” he said as he stood up from his seat.

The men filed out of the room and the President stopped Jim Butler. “Jim, is Roger coming in tomorrow?”

“Yes sir. Then he’ll shove off back to the ship.”

“Have him stop by. I’d like to see him once more before this starts. If it does go south, I just want him to know I’m here,” he said.

Butler could see the concern in the President’s eyes. They had become the best of friends and he could see that the thought of something happening to Roger and Patricia was troubling him deeply. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Steve. Roger knows we’re doing everything we can. Right now he’s a part of getting this done. That means everything to him. Besides, I doubt he would go back without stopping by to see us,” he said with a grin.

“I guess not, Jim,” the President said. “You going home tonight?”

Butler shook his head. “I’ll be down in the basement. I took over Roger’s old room, remember?”

The President smiled. Hammond had made his own little apartment in the sub-basement of the White house at the start of the last war. Now Butler stayed there when things were getting a little too sticky. “Well, at least I know where I can come when I need a shoulder to cry on,” he quipped.

Both men laughed. There would be little sleep that night, but at least something was finally happening.

Within an hour, Special Operations Command cut orders to ready a C-17 transport plane to prepare for a mission the following afternoon from Andrews Air Force Base to Boa Vista Air Force Base in Brazil. The orders were classified top secret. The draft of the message had been hand written and one of the communications technicians typed the orders and then sent them back for proofing. Air Force Captain David Ferrell had the watch in the communications center when the message returned and was surprised that the proof was signed by General Richardson herself. It was a fairly detailed message outlining the flight. But of particular interest was it was to carry a 20 man team with equipment, and then return to Andrews without them. There were also direct orders to remain radio silent during the operation except for takeoff and landing.

Ferrell knew exactly what was happening. It was something he had been told to look out for. All his life he had been brought up in a politically active family. They had achieved great wealth through different levels of politics and his grandfather’s influence in the steel industry. When Ferrell had entered the service it was in the hopes that it would further him in a future political career. His father was grooming him to be a future senator. Unfortunately, the wrong man was currently in office and the family was doing everything it could during the current elections to get the opponent in office. It was not so lightly suggested that if he saw anything which might be used against the president, it should be discreetly passed along. Former senator Williamson had personally been grooming the young man and had stressed the importance of what he would be doing for their candidate.

The message was to be sent as an ‘Op Immediate’ priority, so he quickly got it to the message center to be sent out. Afterwards, he left the communications center and walked outside for a breath of air. He walked to the A ring of the Pentagon where the food courts were and walked to a pay phone near the men’s restroom. It was a quick call. By the time he returned with a burger and fries, the message had been sent out. He spent the rest of his watch thinking about how he would enjoy an office in the Senate.

The yelling across the courtyard had gotten everyone’s attention. Obviously the sergeant had become upset with someone. After nearly a half an hour of screaming, the door flew open to the sergeant’s office and two guards escorted a third across the courtyard and into the outer room to the cell the prisoners were in. The barred door was opened and the young man thrown bodily into the cell before it was slammed shut. The remaining guard looked slightly sickened, but stood watching the scene.

Although beaten and bleeding, Patricia immediately recognized the young man as the guard she had befriended. Grabbing a relatively clean rag, she soaked it with water from one of the bottles and rushed to his side. She sat beside him and gently turned him over to examine his injuries. Someone had nearly beaten the young man to death. His eyes were badly bruised and swollen, his lips puffed and split, and there were several gashes along his cheeks and forehead. Worst of all, his nose was obviously broken. She eased his head into her lap and began to gently clean his wounds. The others helped get the rest of his body positioned to be more comfortable and then stood by to help. Glancing back at the guard, Patricia noticed that there was concern on the young man’s face, but he made no move to stop them.

Through the now small slits between the swollen tissues, the young man’s eyes turned to rest on Patricia’s. He started to move, but she shook her head and eased him back down. “You lay still,” she said. “Let me try to help.”

“It might get you in trouble,” he said through swollen lips.

She smiled at him. “Don’t see how. You’re in with us now.”

He glanced around at the concerned faces around him. “What’s your name,” asked Robert Hudson, kneeling next to him. Patricia translated his question.

“Manuel Donado,” the boy said.

“Well, Manuel, don’t worry about us, we’ll help where we can. What made them do this to you,” Hudson asked.

They could all tell the young man was struggling with something inside as he took a couple of deep breaths. “I asked the sergeant not to assign me to any more special details up at the ceremonial grounds,” he said. “I told him what they were doing was wrong.”

The people looked around at each other. “That doesn’t seem unreasonable to me,” said Hudson. “What kinds of things were they doing?”

“I only went to one,” Donado said. “But El Presidente conducts these big religious ceremonies there. I didn’t know what kind till I got there. It was sickening,” he said.

“It must have been pretty bad,” said Roberts.

Patricia nodded. “He was upset about this yesterday when I talked to him, but he wouldn’t say what it was.” She turned to Donado again. “Please tell us why this made you upset.”

“Because they killed a man and offered him to their god,” Donado blurted out.

Several of the mayors gasped, unable to believe what the young man was saying. “One of the natives?” asked Patricia.

He shook his head, “No, it was an older white man with very white hair. I think he was sick. He had to be helped into place.”

Patricia gasped and placed her hand to her mouth. Tears began to form as she translated what he had said for the others.

Now there was an outcry from the others. Everyone knew now that Jim Mitchell had been killed.

“I watched them cut out his heart with a knife. It was horrible,” he said finally, his tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.

Curtis Walker sat back on his legs. “That means we’re all doomed,” he said. “He has no plan to let us go.”

The revelation fell like a fog on the people in the room. It was interrupted by a very strong female voice. “I don’t think so,” said Patricia as she sat up straight. The determined look on her face got everyone’s attention. “We’re going to get out of this, and when we do, I intend to slam the cell door on that man myself.” She turned back to Donado. “Now tell us everything you know about this place we’re in.”

The C-17 climbed steadily into the evening sky. After turning south, the men unfastened their seatbelts and went over their gear one more time. They had been joined by several technicians explaining new equipment they would be carrying. Ricks was amazed to see all the things they would use which he hadn’t dreamed about just a few days earlier. He looked down at what appeared to be a standard IPhone in his hand.

“Each of you will carry this. If we have any communications to you, it will be in both voice and as a text message. The only difference is you will be getting the signal from a satellite instead of a cell tower. You can also send information to us. But to do so, you will need to plug it into an antenna. Some of you have already noted the piece which has been attached to your helmets. It doubles as a charger and an antenna,” said the technician as he grabbed a helmet. “You plug it in with this wire. There’s also a receptacle mounted here where the unit simply slides in. You keep it here until you need it, then simply pull it out and turn it on.” He pulled the unit out of the holder and simply pressed the button on the front. The unit even looked like a standard IPhone. “Use it like the phones you’re used to, but instead of a list of contacts, it has each of you by a number and ‘home.’ I guess you all know where home is.”

The men chuckled. “Can I call my wife,” asked Sgt. Fred Overman, a sniper on the team.

“I’m afraid not. With all the things we packed into this, there wasn’t any room for a real phone. I guess Mama will just have to wait.” The men laughed again. “But another thing it can do is act like a portable secure radio. Hit the ‘local’ setting right here,” he said pointing toward the symbol, “and simply put it back into your helmet holster. Then it will let you talk to everyone even at a whisper. Just remember something. We will also be able to hear and talk to you at headquarters. The idea is that we will be able to better understand what you are up against. I am told we won’t bother you unless you need us.”

The men on the plane were a little skeptical about that, but kept it to themselves. There were several innovative gadgets they were briefed on, but the best was saved to last. The technician turned and looked toward a section of the aircraft nearby. “Okay, you can come out now,” he said.

Amazingly, where there was nothing but some equipment, suddenly as if peeling himself into being, a man appeared in a white lab coat. Reaching back into the mass, he flipped a switch and there suddenly appeared what seemed to be a large lipstick made out of a piece of canvas.

“Son of a bitch,” exclaimed on of the men.

The technician turned back and smiled at the men. “We decided to send this along,” he said as he was handed the canvas. “This is one of only two we have. Some engineers down in Clemson University developed this. Using the Velcro tabs, you put this over yourself and activate this small computer inside,” he said as he showed the men how it worked. “This thing is fully impregnated with fiber optics that pick up what’s behind you and transmit it instantly to the opposite side. You have to stay still when you use it, because there is just a fraction of a second’s delay, but it might come in handy if you’re trying to get in close. The battery pack weighs just a little over a pound and the whole thing is less than five pounds. Try it on,” he said as he turned to one of the men beside him.

Sgt. Tim Justice slid the cloth over his head and pulled it tight over him, then attached the Velcro fasteners. It only took a few seconds and he seemingly disappeared before the men. If you looked hard, you could tell he was there, but at any distance, this thing would be totally invisible.

“Walk around a little,” the technician said.

As he did, the men could see the delay and it outlined something there, but it was very strange, almost as if looking at something through a fisheye lens on a camera.

“How long will the battery last?” asked Ricks.

“About 20 minutes. That little computer is working hard. You’ll notice it will get a little warm.”

“Yea, and this thing doesn’t breathe at all,” said Justice from under the device. Suddenly the sound of Velcro was heard and the side opened as he reached out with his hand, pointing his finger like a gun. “I can see just well enough through this to get where I’d need to go and the side openings will allow me to shoot someone,” he said as he twisted around under the covering. The hand reached up and pulled apart the Velcro on the top. He slid his head through. “Not too shabby. It’s like a sauna in this thing, but if you guys can’t see me, I guarantee I could sneak up on some guy real easy,” Justice said.

“Guys, that’s about it for the bells and whistles. I suggest you take some time for each of you to get familiar with this stuff. If you have questions, we’re here for you,” the technician concluded.

“Hang on a sec,” said Captain Chapman. “I want to make sure you all know what we’re up against. We have been training for the last few days to get this done without any mockups of where we’re going, but that just means we have to take our time and do it right. We have a fourteen hour flight head of us and we’re going to use a lot of that time making sure our plans are set. I need you to take the next hour to get familiar with this new equipment. These techs are here so let’s use them. I want you to know everything, including where to get the porn,” he said with a grin. The men chuckled at the joke. “Once you’re ready, everyone meet back up at the forward hatch and we will go over the plans we made one more time before we sack out. I know this isn’t your bed at home, but at least try to get some sleep. Now get at it.” Chapman pointed toward Ricks and Lieutenant Mason. “Let’s talk for a minute,” he said. The three men walked up to the kitchen unit and they got a cup of coffee and sat down.

“Guys, this is going a little faster than I might have wished. I’m relying on you to make sure it all works. Bill, keep checking with the guys up top,” he said to Mason. “If any more information comes in, I want to know about it. Ricks, you have the most experience in evasion tactics. What are we missing? What ways do you see for us to fall on our swords during this?”

Ricks shrugged his shoulders. “Boss, we’ve trained the hell out of these guys. They know what to look for and the things to do, but there are still a lot of unknowns. I was able to familiarize myself with the drop zone and all points in between, but there’s a lot that can’t be seen from a satellite photo. You know that. The one thing we have on our side is that our guys will be watching from the big bird upstairs. They can let us know if something is coming our way. But that adds time to the mix — something we don’t have a lot of. Luckily, this is a tight group. We’re thinking alike. That’s what makes the difference in this situation. The rest we’ll have to deal with as we get there.”

“You’re not making me feel better,” said Chapman.

“Sorry about that, but that’s how it is. I’m hoping we’ll get more info on the way and maybe some more images. The more we can see, the better off we are. Then we just have to rely on these guys to get the job done. Aren’t you glad you brought me along,” said Ricks with a grin.

“I’ll let you know,” said Chapman. “Now let’s get around the guys. Look for problems and let’s fix them now. Besides, I want to try on that suit,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

The men headed back to the group intent on learning the new gear. Ricks reflected on how good he felt about the team. On second thought, he didn’t have any reservations at all.

Angela Harrison was the true Soccer Mom, except in this case it was Lacrosse. When her son had expressed an interest, she went out of her way to learn the game, talk to parents with sons in the game, and in general, immerse herself into what her son wanted to do. Brian had gotten interested almost as soon as he could pick up one of his father’s sticks. By five, he could sling a ball into the air and then catch it. His father, Edward, had played in college. It turned out Brian was a natural player. His hand-eye coordination was astounding almost from the first and the stick was an extension of his arm. When Edward had been transferred by his engineering firm to Venezuela, the family was pleased that there was a rudimentary league in the capital where several teams played each other.

Angela looked forward to the games and scrimmages just to watch her son play and to meet the other families. It was a great way to meet other people. Tonight’s scrimmage wasn’t too bad. The boys were playing well for being so inexperienced. Brian was the stand out. But one of the new players was the one she was watching. Emilio Messina had been a walk on just a few weeks before. Up till a few days ago, he played with borrowed equipment. Then his father got him a worn, but usable set of pads, helmet, and a stick. Starting as a defender, it soon became obvious that he was nearly as skilled as Brian and eventually became an attacker on the team. Already he had scored two of the goals and had worked with Brian to maneuver the ball around the field to help with four more. Emilio and Brian were becoming close friends.

At the end of one of the time periods, she noticed Emilio join up with a very tall, nice looking man. Within a few minutes she noticed Emilio point her out and the two made their way over.

“Hi, Emilio. Is this your father?” she asked.

Emilio had a large grin on his face. The man extended his hand. “Carl Messina. It is good to meet you. I’ve been watching your son. He is very good on the team,” he said in English.

Angela beamed. “Emilio is the one to watch. I can’t believe he started playing only recently. Did you play?”

Messina shook his head. “No, we only played fútbol when I was young. But when Emilio saw what these boys were doing, he liked the game from the start. I am glad he has become interested in any sport. It keeps him busy,” he chuckled.

Angela laughed. “At this age they need it,” she said. She found Carl Messina a pleasant man, but after a few minutes of talking she noticed a slight uneasiness in him. He kept looking around as if he were looking for someone. As the game continued, both parents cheered the teams on. They continued to talk about the game and things to watch for. After about half an hour, a man in uniform came walking up. Messina smiled and waved to the man, who quickly joined them.

“Señora Harrison, this is my friend Colonel Juan Rojas,” he said introducing the two.

Rojas smiled and shook her hand. “It is good to meet you,” he said with a smile. “I hope I haven’t missed too much.”

“Almost,” Angela said. “We just have ten minutes left in the game.”

Two of the boys collided on the field and the entire crowd let out a gasp. They were relieved when both got up and continued the game as if nothing happened.

“Who is that one?” asked Rojas. “He is very good,” he said, pointing out Brian.

“That’s my son, Brian,” Angela said not taking her eyes off the game.

“Not bad at all,” Rojas exclaimed. “And young Emilio is doing very well.”

Suddenly Rojas dropped the English and shouted some things in Spanish, urging directions for the boys on the field.

Angela looked over at him. “You must have played before.”

Rojas nodded as he watched. “I was on the first team ever formed here in Caracas. I played through the time I was in the University.” He called out some more, obviously getting excited about the game.

The coach was standing nearby and heard the instructions Rojas was shouting and came over as well. After a few minutes, he and Rojas walked a short distance away to talk about the team. When they left, Angela and Messina were standing alone and apart from the rest of the parents who had moved down the field a short distance.

Suddenly Messina came slightly closer and asked in a lower tone, “Do you ever work in your embassy?”

Angela glanced at him and noticed he had not taken his eyes off the game. “I sometimes help out with events. Why?” she asked.

Glancing around the field again, Messina appeared to watch the game, but got very serious. “I need help getting information to someone there and I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

Angela resumed her gaze toward the field, but was no longer watching the game. When they had arrived, a person at the embassy had talked to them about what might happen if someone wanted to pass information through them to the embassy. Until now, she thought it was some foolish notion. But there he was and he obviously was concerned that someone might find out.

“What is it about?” she asked between shouts to the field.

“We know where your American hostages are,” he said quietly above the shouts around them. “I need to meet with someone to give them the exact location.”

Angela began to understand why he was so uneasy. “You think you are being watched?”

Messina broke into a grin. “I don’t see anyone here, but I am certain of it,” he said.

The whistle blew calling an end to the game. The boys made their way back to where the coach and Rojas were standing.

“Time for the pep talk,” she said. “You coming to the game tomorrow?”

He looked at her. “I will.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

After the talk by the coach, everyone began making their way back to their cars and home. Messina said his good byes and joined Rojas. “Looks like you made a friend,” he said.

Rojas smiled. “Yes, I’ve been recruited to become an assistant coach and help out when I can. It means I’ll be at almost every game. What about you?”

Messina nodded. “It’s a good way to meet people. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s game,” he said. Both understood the meaning. Now came the dangerous part.