Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Berets) (10 page)

"We there yet, Mister Riley?"

Riley shook his head. He felt like a parent on a long car trip with children whining in the backseat: "We there yet?" Except it sounded a lot worse coming from a captain in the army. During the hustle of getting the team ready to move out yesterday, the team had been assigned six additional bodies to fill out Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) 055, as the team was formally called, to its authorized strength of twelve.

One of those new bodies was Captain Vaughn, who had nominally taken over as team leader. Riley hadn't had the chance to really talk with the new captain yet. It had been enough hassle just loading out and getting everyone up here to Belvoir. So far, Captain Vaughn had left Riley particularly unimpressed.

Riley spotted what he was looking for according to the map. "That's it there. Turn in."

Holder turned the van and they rolled through the gates into a fenced compound. The van pulled up to the front of a two-story brick building that looked as though it had once been some sort of unit headquarters. A sedan with government plates was parked outside.

Riley turned to Powers, seated behind him. "Let everybody out to stretch their legs but don't unload the gear yet. I'm not sure if we'll be staying here or not. I'll take the captain in and see what we can find out."

Powers tapped his forehead with two fingers. "Roger that."

Riley turned to Captain Vaughn. "Let's go in and see what we've got, sir."

The captain nodded and put his beret on his head. "Let's go." Watching Vaughn struggle to get his new beret adjusted correctly, Riley quietly sighed. A Q-course cherry. Why'd he have to get saddled with that?

Riley followed the captain through the front door. Standing in the hallway a slender figure was waiting. Riley smiled with genuine delight in recognition. "Congratulations, sir! I didn't know you were on the promotion list."

Pike shook his head. "I wasn't. It's just temporary for this mission we're going to be running." He looked at the captain. "I'm Mike Pike," he gave a dry laugh, "and you can call me General Pike. I'll be your commander for the duration of this mission."

Vaughn didn't know whether to salute the general or shake the offered hand. So he quickly snapped to attention and popped off a salute that Pike indulgently returned, and then they shook hands.

"We aren't going to be busting into nuclear power plants are we?" Riley asked hopefully as the general ushered them into a large room that took up the majority of the first floor of the building.

"No. This one's a little bit different, Dave. I want to brief you two before the others get here."

"Others, sir?" Riley asked.

"Come on in my office and I'll fill you in. This here's the isolation area, and I'm set up in that office to the left," he said, pointing to the first of a series of three doors on the far side of the room.

Riley hesitated. "Sir, should I tell Powers to have the guys unload their gear?"

"Yep." Pike pointed. "Up those stairs and to the right are eight rooms with bunks in them. The work area is down here. Might as well get your team settled in."

Riley went outside and told Powers to have the men move the gear inside. Then he invited Powers to the meeting with the general. Pike hadn't specified bringing Powers in, but the general knew how the team worked. Of course, now that they had a commissioned officer as team leader, things might be changed, but until Vaughn said something different, Riley would keep things the same. Leaving the rest of the team at work, the two walked across the iso area into the small office where Vaughn was trying to exchange small talk with Pike.

Pike sat behind a standard army-issue desk with several plastic chairs surrounding it. He stood up, seeing the newcomers. "Master Sergeant Powers. Good to see they dragged you along for this trip." Pike came forward with his hand extended. Pike was one of the few senior Special Forces officers whom Powers liked and respected.

Powers shook the hand. "Didn't have much choice, sir. If I'd have known it was an alert I'd have never answered the phone."

Pike laughed. "That's the way it goes. I figured you'd be getting bored sitting around at Bragg doing nothing for two whole days, so I thought I'd liven things up for you."

He gestured around the office. "You all grab chairs and let me tell you what's going on." He waited until they were settled. "I just moved into this building last night, which was also when I got picked for this job. So I've only got a twelve-hour head start on this thing."

Pike steepled his fingers and placed his elbows on the desktop. "Our mission is to conduct unilateral interdiction missions into Colombia against cocaine processing laboratories."

Riley's heartbeat kicked up its pace for a few seconds and then settled down.

Pike continued. "These missions are sanctioned by the Colombian government; in fact, they're the ones who will be supplying the information we'll use to find our targets. However, the timing and method will be completely up to us and we'll receive no assistance from the Colombian government or military. I'm not sure how many of these missions we'll be conducting or the duration of this task force.

"We'll be getting a CIA and a DEA liaison here in about a half hour who will support this operation. The CIA rep will be bringing the first couple of potential targets and will provide us with CIA and NSA intelligence and imagery. I've got contacts in the Department of Defense from each of the services providing us with whatever support we request. The DEA man is the DEA embassy liaison from Colombia and can give us firsthand information on the in-country situation."

It was all sinking in slowly. Riley processed each piece of information separately, trying to come up with the whole picture. "Who else from the military, sir?"

Pike indicated the building about them. "We're it right now. Whatever specific support we need, we request on a case by case basis. This task force is supposed to be kept quiet to the max. I received a personal briefing from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff last night on the political sensitivity of these missions. Each one has to get personally approved by the chairman himself before it can go.

"In reality, you're the verifying and targeting team. We need somebody on the ground to make sure the right target gets hit and that it is legitimate. We've got the resources of the entire Department of Defense to make the hit with—that's the hammer. You could say that you men and your team are the eyes of the hammer. And when I say hammer, I mean it. The targets are going to be a free-fire zone. Once you verify, everything and everybody in it is expendable."

"You mean we kill everybody," Powers clarified. Riley smiled. That was one reason he brought Powers to meetings. The burly team sergeant reduced the bureaucratic jargon to terms everyone understood.

Pike nodded. "Everybody. This administration means business about drugs. You want facts and figures, they gave me a whole book full last night—about the number of Americans who die each year from drugs and drug-related crime, and all that. After what happened in Springfield, Virginia, this past week, there are a lot of pissed-off people in the government. General Macksey told me that as far as this administration is concerned, it's war."

Riley shook his head. "Yes, sir, but even in war we couldn't just waste everybody in a certain area. What if there are women and kids there? What if the drug people are forcing peasants to do their work?"

"Technically, Dave, if it's a processing laboratory, it gets blasted. In reality, that decision is up to you on the ground." Pike looked them in the eyes. "That's why I picked 055. I trust your judgment and I'll back you up on whatever you do."

Riley glanced over at his new team leader, who seemed a little overwhelmed with all that had been said. They didn't teach situations like this in the Special Forces qualification course, Riley thought to himself. This was the real thing.

Riley turned back to Pike. "Do we have anything in writing, sir? Or are we going to do all this on a promise from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs that we'll be taken care of? I'm concerned that if this leaks to the media we'll get fingered as murderers or some crap like that. I don't want to be left hanging in the wind, particularly if something goes wrong down south and someone gets stuck there."

Pike let out a deep breath. "To be honest I don't know how much support you'd get if this thing blew up. I haven't seen anything in writing other than this authorization order from the chairman to alert and use DOD forces. It doesn't specify for what purpose or where those forces would be used. You know I'll back you up, but as far as official reaction goes, you know as well as I do that it's going to depend on the circumstances. All I can do is guarantee you that if your ass is in the wind, mine will be right out there next to yours."

Figures, Riley thought. It really didn't matter. Promises were only worth the paper they were printed on. If this thing blew up, there'd be elbows flying all over D.C. as the politicos tried to cover their butts. Pike's word was worth more than any paper they'd ever get.

Riley sorted the pieces out again and examined his initial feelings. It was a good, worthwhile mission. One that most experienced men in 7th Group had figured would come along sooner or later in one form or another. Riley had heard rumors that Task Force 160 and Delta Force were doing some drug interdicting off the coast of Florida. No arrests or any of that legalese. The law of the bullet on the high seas, out of everyone's jurisdiction.

Riley didn't need to look at Pike's book of figures to know about drugs. He'd grown up on the streets of the South Bronx, where he'd seen firsthand the effects of drugs. It wasn't an abstract thing that he read about in the papers or saw on TV and thought: "How awful." Riley had lost boyhood friends to drugs. He'd seen the bodies and the families torn apart. He also knew that, but for the army and Special Forces, there was a damn good chance he'd have been one of those statistics. Fighting drugs was a cause that could make a man feel good about himself and his job.

Riley briefly remembered China—a little over two years ago now. There he'd given his blood, and half a year recovering in a hospital, on a mission that had ultimately meant little, except to the men and women who had participated. The lines had been blurred there—here the lines seemed crystal clear.

The question Riley now pondered was: how effective would all this be? Even if they shut down some labs, the addicts would still get their stuff one way or another. The price may go up, but as long as the demand existed, and people were willing to pay a lot of money, someone would always be willing to take the risks to meet the demand. On the other hand, Riley reasoned, doing nothing was tantamount to throwing your hands up and saying, "I'm defeated." That was something Riley had never said in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

Riley turned to the new team leader. He figured he'd done enough of the talking so far. It was time for the captain to earn his pay. "What do you think, sir?"

Vaughn looked slightly startled but quickly regained his composure. "I didn't hear the general asking us if we wanted to do this mission, Mister Riley. I do what I'm ordered to do. Sounds like a good mission."

Riley smiled to himself. Good answer. Nobody had asked them. Sure, they could make a big stink, but the bottom line was that they really didn't have much choice. That was part of being in the army.

Pike stood up. "You all have about twenty minutes to get settled in. The DEA and CIA will be arriving then. We'll meet across the hall in the main isolation room. We don't have much of anything in there except office supplies and furniture. The CIA is supposed to be bringing all the maps and intelligence you'll need to start planning."

9:45 A.M.

Riley dumped his rucksack and duffel bag in the small room he would share with Dan Powers. Glancing out the window, he saw another government sedan pulling into the compound. He grabbed Powers and they went down the stairs and out into the lobby. The sedan pulled up in front of the door. A woman got out of the passenger side and a man out of the driver's. Riley watched as they opened the trunk of the car and started unloading cardboard filing boxes. Riley opened the door as they came in with the first load. He stood in front of them. "CIA or DEA?"

"CIA."

Powers stepped in front of the man, his bulk completely blocking the door. Riley knew Powers didn't like the CIA. "Don't mind if I see some credentials, do you?"

The man looked irritated. He set the box down, pulled out his wallet, and showed his ID card. Powers nodded. "You and your secretary can dump all that stuff in the room there to the left."

Powers turned and looked into the isolation area. He spotted two figures. "Marzan and Partusi! Get over here." The two came out. "Give these people a hand unloading the car," Powers directed them.

The woman called over her shoulder as she went back out for another load. "There's more in the backseat."

"Yes, ma'am."

Two trips later the car was unloaded. The two CIA agents shook hands, and one got in the car and drove off. The other turned to Powers. "My associate won't be working with us. I'm Agent Kate Westland. I'll be your liaison from the agency for the duration of the mission."

Riley almost laughed out loud as Powers blushed and stammered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just thought, well, I don't know. I didn't mean nothing. It's just that, well—"