Treaty Violation (20 page)

“When that boat docks in Panama,” Collins said, “it’ll be in our area of operations. But as I told you, this tipper is an update.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Devlin interjected. “We’ll go after a boat or an aircraft. We just want to chase some bad guys.”

“Sir,” Collins said more forcefully, “the shipment leaving Colombia was canceled.”

“Captain Price,” Vasquez said and set down the phone, “our
A
-
37
s can’t launch. They could get shot down by small arms fire when they descend to strafe the plane.”

Price gestured crisply to Devlin. “How does this affect you?”

“We’re fine as long as long as we maintain a safe altitude.”

Price looked at Collins, finally understanding that he was referring to an update, not to a new tipper. “What do you mean the shipment was canceled?”

Collins relaxed now that he had center stage. “We received an update. The shipment has changed. A boat is taking the cocaine from Colombia to Puerto Obaldia, where it’ll be loaded onto a plane destined for the drop site in the Bahamas.”

“What’s your source?” Price asked. Nicholas had said he would call to notify him of any changes. No call.

Collins folded his arms. “I can’t tell you the source, sir.”

Price shook his head. “These guys don’t move five hundred kilos of cocaine from a plane to a boat on a whim.”

Collins gritted his teeth and walked to the secret chamber.

Price grabbed the radio. “Key West, be advised, unable to assist. Request you launch your alert aircraft. How copy?”

“Good copy…Will launch our alert aircraft, over.”

Price set the radio down and looked at Devlin. “Tell your guys to
stay over Colombia and find that aircraft.”

Devlin nodded and reached for his radio.

“Sir,” Price continued and faced Vasquez, “you said something about guerrillas?”

“We have reports that guerrillas are in the area. They will probably try to shoot down our aircraft,” he said.

“Sir,” Master Sergeant “Skip” Higgins, the Senior Watch Technician, interjected, “Colonel Dupree told us to destroy all suspect aircraft before they take off. We can’t wait.”

“That’s my understanding,” Devlin added. “They have to launch now, or we’ll never get there in time.”

Price exhaled. Regulations outlined how to respond to all situations, except the real world ones he faced each day. He knew what he wanted to happen, but the law required the Colombians to make the decision to use deadly force within their own sovereign territory.

“Sir,” Price said to Vasquez, “I don’t understand.”

Vasquez gestured to the corner. Price followed him. “Captain Price,” he said, “my pilots will be in grave danger. Our reports indicate the guerrillas received a shipment of weapons yesterday. They might use them to shoot our aircraft.”

Price nodded. “I understand the threat, but by not flying, don’t they win? Don’t we have to show them we’re willing to fight?”

“Why do you say
we
?” Vasquez asked. “We’re worried about smugglers selling weapons to the rebels who kill our people. Your country is concerned only about cocaine. We participate when it helps our cause, but you can’t expect us to solve your problems. I can’t order my pilots to fly into a dangerous situation to stop one cocaine shipment.”

Price couldn’t refute Vasquez’s logic, but he could attack one of his premises. He gestured to Devlin. “Can your guys do some surveillance of the area?”

Devlin shrugged. “We can, but unless the
A
-
37
s launch now, they won’t be able to attack the aircraft before it takes off.”

“Sir, what do you think?” Price asked Vasquez. “Our guys will look first, but can you launch your aircraft now and tell them to orbit until the area is declared safe?”

Vasquez looked at Devlin and nodded. “I’ll make the call.”

Nicholas passed a mass
of suits huddled around a big screen
TV
in the El Panama hotel lobby.
CNN
Headline News was summarizing the financial activity for the day.

“Bad day?” Nicholas asked a distraught gentleman.

“Bad?” he said and laughed with whiskey soaked grace. “Try horrible!” He rattled the cubes in his drink and shook his head solemnly. “The markets plummeted again!” He sighed. “I should have bought those index put options.”

“And I should have invented the microchip,” a man retorted.

“I was going to buy them,” the first man assured Nicholas.

Nicholas nodded knowingly and walked to the swimming pool
where Daisy Holland was sitting at a table listening to a salsa band. She wore a black dress, a tasteful step ahead of the other women but not excessively formal or out of place. She offered her cheek for a kiss and squeezed his hand.

“Does Willie always dance with the band?” Nicholas asked and gestured to the stage.

Willie raised his hands joyfully and gyrated his derriere as the attractive singer rubbed up against him.

Daisy rolled her eyes amusingly. “He loves those vixens.”

Nicholas lit her cigarette.

“Thanks, love,” she said. “Who wouldn’t?” She blew a stream of gray smoke. “Such perky tits. Look at them. Perfect.”

“They are nice,” Nicholas said.

Daisy gestured to her cleavage in disbelief. “These are nice. Hers are spectacular.”

“Magnificent,” Nicholas said.

The eccentric drug dealers were a nice break from espionage and bullet wounds. He could finally relax, knowing that everything was in
place for a successful shipment. Alfredo was only minutes away from the drop site in the Bahamas with no U.S. aircraft following him. Captain Tony Price, he conjectured, deserved some credit for that.

“Tequila, love,” she said.

Nicholas raised three fingers.

The spirited song about a man whose homosexual tendencies come out when he drinks, something about paddling a canoe, ended. After the applause, the singer escorted Willie to the table and kissed him on the cheek. She wore a gold sequined dress. Her long black hair, obviously a wig, was combed straight. Willie beseeched her to join them for a drink, but she refused politely and gestured to the other band members. Daisy handed Willie a napkin to wipe his face. He looked exhausted but exhilarated as he plopped onto his chair.

The waiter set three shots of tequila down and put the salt and lime wedges in the middle of the table.
Nicholas licked his hand, showered it with salt, and grabbed a lime wedge.

“A toast,” he said, “to the good life.”

“The good life,” Daisy and Willie chorused.

Nicholas licked the salt and lifted the shot glass to his mouth. The tequila vapors cleared his sinuses as he poured the golden potion and leaned his head back. He endured the jitters before sinking his teeth into the lime. The citric acid neutralized the aftertaste as he licked his teeth. He felt the effect immediately: a mysterious adrenaline that drove men to test the boundaries of their tragic flaws.

“Shall we discuss business in our cabana?” Daisy asked.

Willie nodded and stood, still breathing heavily. He told a passing waiter to put the check on his room tab and led the way.

Daisy entered the cabana first and sat near the window. She removed a cell phone from her purse, dialed a number, and held it to her ear. The high-tech gadget clashed with her classical aura. “That’s wonderful,” she said and ended the call. “We’re in business. Your plane is circling and ready to make the drop.”

Daisy dialed a different number and pressed a sequence of numbers, as if playing a tune on a keyboard. “Five, zero, zero, zero…zero,
zero, zero.” She looked at Nicholas as she pressed the send button. “Five million coming your way, love.”

Nicholas called the Enterprise Associates computer to verify receipt. “Got it,” he said.

The tequila had been a mere prelude to the rush he felt when the digital voice said, “five million dollars.”

Captain Price entered Colonel D
upree’s office the next morning. He’d followed the rules—in other words, he’d done his job—but the nine to five staff weenies would undoubtedly focus on the failed endgame, something beyond his control. He was disappointed, though, mostly because Nicholas never called.

“Have a seat,” Dupree said from his desk. “I only yell at people when they do stupid things or don’t follow orders.” He sipped his steaming coffee and leaned back. “I know you’re not stupid, so guess why you’re here.”

Price took a deep breath before speaking, but Dupree cut him off.

“The more I think about it, the more your decision was just plain stupid.”

Price decided not to comment. The boss obviously wanted to have a one-way conversation.

“The
J2
called,” Dupree continued, referring to the Chief of Intelligence. “He asked why we didn’t respond to his tipper update last night. I told him I didn’t know. Fill me in.”

“Remember the shoot-down last Saturday?” Price asked. Dupree nodded. “We got a tipper two days ago for a plane leaving from the same place last night. We had a
P
-
3
in the area and two
A
-
37
s on deck. I decided to play that game.”

“We’ll discuss the
A
-
37
s later,” Dupree said. “Tell me why you didn’t respond to the tipper update. I know that’s not exactly disobeying orders, but you were told the new tipper superseded the original one, were you not?”

“Sergeant Collins said they had a new tipper,” Price said, relieved he hadn’t disobeyed orders, “but he wouldn’t say anything about the
source. How could I be sure? If we changed our plans every time the
J2
gave us a new tipper, we would be doing somersaults. Besides, boats are outside of our area of operations.”

Dupree’s nod indicated that Price had a point. “Fair enough, but why did you have so much confidence in the original tipper?”

“The other night,” Price said, “I gave a tour to
Nicholas Lowe.”

Dupree rubbed his hands as if shaping a lump of clay. “Nicholas Lowe?”

“We went out for a beer the other night,” Price continued. “I got the impression he was
CIA or something
because he knew so much about the operation.”

Dupree gestured for more and worked another lump of clay.

“He told me about the tipper, about how one of their sources might be talking to two people. The important part was he told me the shipment last night was a sure thing.”

“And you believed him?” Dupree asked.

Price cringed—the first question he didn’t want to hear. He couldn’t explain why he trusted Nicholas. Judging from Dupree’s tone, he clearly had made a mistake.

“He has a security clearance,” Price said. “He seemed for real.”

“Did you ask him for a job?” Dupree asked.

T
he second question Price didn’t want to hear. “No…I mean, he asked me. I faxed him my resume, but I don’t know what agency he works for.”

Dupree grabbed a fax from his in-box. “I received this from Dylan Dirk saying he would like to schedule an interview with you. Your friend Nicholas apparently works for the
CIA
.”

Price was relieved. He reached for the fax.

Dupree yanked it back. “You had no business playing spy. I don’t know whether you want to work for these guys, but they have their own agenda. To be honest, I’m pissed off they talked to you. I understand if you want to help them, but this is over your head.”

“Yes, sir,” Price said. Dupree’s domineering attitude seemed less threatening now that he’d decided to quit. From this perspective,
he realized how dedicated and patriotic Dupree was. His harsh comments were never personal.

“Something else,” Dupree said. “I talked to the
J2
. The source we have is well placed and very reliable. Trust me on this one. I’ll tell the
J2
what this Nicholas fellow said, but in the future, respond accordingly when you get a new tipper. Got it?”

Price nodded.

“As you know, the tipper update was correct. A plane departed Panama and made a successful drop in the Bahamas. The bad news is the Coast Guard vessel could not arrive on time. The drugs weren’t seized. I’m not blaming you, but we could have improved our chances of success if you had responded to the tipper.”

“Yes, sir,” Price said solemnly. He accepted some blame, but he also knew that if the tipper update had been bogus, the staff weenies would have criticized him for responding to it.

“Hey,” Dupree said. Price looked up. “If you want to work for these guys, I’ll give Mr. Dirk my recommendation.”