Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Berets) (9 page)

Why he'd volunteered to go down there in the first place he couldn't immediately remember, preoccupied as he was with the sudden recall. Then he did. He cringed as he pictured his wife's bloated face in his mind. That bitch. It was worth being in Colombia to get away from her and the three screaming kids. If everyone was entitled to one big mistake in their lives, Rich had made his thirteen years ago when he married Norma.

And, boy, had she turned out to be big, Rich mumbled to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten laid. How could you want to with that tub? She was fine where she was—back in Boston. Being in Colombia and working with the beaners sucked, but it was better than being with her. Stevens just hoped that this recall to the States wasn't permanent.

Thinking of getting laid brought a vision of another face into his mind. Just two nights ago, he'd been sitting on his usual stool in the cafe drinking his normal combination of shots of tequila chased with a mug of beer, when he noticed a new woman bartender come on duty. The new girl was one of the most beautiful women Stevens had ever seen. He had talked to her briefly and found out that her name was Maria. He had also learned that she was working at the bar to learn English so she could go to college in the United States. Stevens hoped he would have a chance to go back to Bogota and talk with Maria again. She'd sure been friendly enough to him. He'd be more than willing to teach her some English and a lot more.

Stevens was startled as the door opened. Thoughts of the bar girl disappeared in smoke as he saw the director of the DEA come in alone. Stevens's fears and concerns returned, now even stronger. Whatever was going to happen had to be extremely important for the director himself to be here. This was the first time Stevens had ever met Director Mullins.

"Evening, sir."

"Hello, Richard. Or may I call you Rich?"

You can call me anything you want, thought Stevens. "Rich is fine, sir."

Mullins sat at the end of the conference table and indicated for Stevens to sit. "You're probably wondering what's so important that you had to fly back up here."

No shit, Stevens thought. I've just about got an ulcer from worrying. "Yes, sir."

"How would you rate the Colombian government's efforts to eradicate the processing laboratories?"

Stevens sighed inwardly with relief. Same old crap. At least it wasn't an ass-chewing. "On a scale of one to ten, with ten being doing all they can and one being doing nothing, I'd have to give them a negative five. If anything they're helping them. I've seen reports of army troops being used to guard some of the shipments and air force planes carrying the stuff. Behind coffee, cocaine's their second leading export. In terms of U.S. dollars it's got to be ahead by now.

"Since the heat's been on the past year they've tightened up some, and I've got to admit that President Alegre has shown real guts with some of the steps he's taken, but in the field the situation's pretty much the same."

Mullins nodded. "That's interesting. Nothing much has changed down there, has it?"

"No, sir. They talk a better line of denial now, but it's business as usual. Alegre wouldn't stay in power five minutes if he really tried cracking down on the cartel. He's on the edge right now with the steps he has taken. A lot of people's livelihoods down there depend on the cocaine industry, and they don't like anyone screwing with that."

Something clicked in Stevens's mind. "This meeting wouldn't have anything to do with Santia getting gunned down, would it?"

Mullins knew Stevens was an alcoholic and a burn-out, but the man wasn't stupid. "Yes, it does in a way. What would you say if I told you the Colombian government has told us they want the United States to conduct unilateral military strikes against the processing labs in their country?"

Stevens stared at his boss to see if he was joking. "I'd find that real hard to believe, sir. Once word got out, the parliament in Bogota would be in flames. Alegre wouldn't last a day. Remember what happened in November '85? When their Supreme Court decided to allow the extradition of drug people we had outstanding warrants on? The Supreme Court building in downtown Bogota was attacked and eleven of the twenty-four justices were massacred. The guerrillas were actually the ones who conducted the attack, but it's felt that the drug cartel played a strong instigating role, particularly in the execution of those judges.

"Hell, some of their judges are here in the States under our witness protection program for the rest of their lives just because they handed down an indictment or extradition order against someone associated with the cartel. That's why Santia was up here in the first place. If those judges had stayed in Colombia, they wouldn't have lasted a month.

"As far as U.S. military involvement goes, the Colombians just about went through the ceiling when the president mentioned putting that carrier task force off the coast to help interdict traffickers. And the invasion of Panama hasn't reassured anyone down there either."

Mullins nodded. "I agree with everything you say. However, the theory is that word of this won't get out. The entire operation is to be done covertly. That's why I've brought you up here. You're going to be working with the military and CIA on this operation."

Stevens considered this change in his job role. If it's not one thing it's another, he thought. Time for him to start working for a living. "How are we going to know where to hit, sir?"

"The Colombians have agreed to give us locations through a contact with the CIA."

Stevens shook his head. "I hate to say it, sir, but this is probably going to be a waste of time. They'll most likely give us abandoned locations or at best the location of one of the small-time free-lancers. There's no way they'll target one of the big boys from the cartel."

Mullins held up his hand. "The Colombian ambassador promises that we'll get information on the cartel. Alegre's goal is to break the cartel."

I'll believe it when I see it, Stevens thought. "Sounds good, sir. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow at ten at Fort Belvoir."

PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, BOGOTA, COLOMBIA

6:45 p.m.

President Alegre looked across the table at the finely dressed man seated there. "More coffee?"

"No, thank you." The Ring Man leaned back his chair and pulled out a cigar. "So, it is all going as planned?"

Alegre nodded. "Yes. The Americans have agreed."

"Good. Excellent."

Alegre wasn't entirely sure if the man was referring to the international situation or his cigar. The president shifted uncomfortably in his high-backed chair. He didn't like dealing with this man. The Ring Man had burst upon the cartel with devastating ruthlessness a little over four months ago, assassinating his boss, Ahate, in Bogota and taking over the operation. No one even knew his real name. The drug dealer took his name from the gold rings that adorned every finger. Shoulder-length hair, tied behind his head, framed the hatchet-like face. Alegre worried whenever he looked into the eyes that burned out of that face. They didn't seem totally sane.

"Do you have the targeting information for me?"

Ring Man passed a piece of paper across the table. "The map coordinates of two labs. One of Suarez's and one of Ramirez's. The timing is rather fortuitous, since my informants tell me both of these labs also hold major stockpiles of produce."

Alegre fingered the paper. "I hope this will get the Americans off our backs."

The Ring Man smiled benevolently at the president. "I have some other actions being developed as, shall we say, safeguards." He paused and his benevolence disappeared. "In fact, I am myself trying to find the people who were behind the unfortunate incident last week in America. Such foolish business practices could hurt my operation."

Alegre looked at the man across from him. His best guess was that Ramirez was responsible for the American massacre, but he wouldn't put it past the Ring Man to have done it himself to put more heat on him to get the Americans involved in this plan and put the pressure of suspicion on the Ramirez family.

Alegre knew he was playing a dangerous game with the Ring Man. Their goals were different, but for now the paths to their goals remained the same. Alegre wondered what would happen when their paths diverged and Ring Man found out.

The fact that the Ring Man sat brazenly in his office with impunity was a sign of the drug lord's power, Alegre knew. There was no way Alegre could touch him right now, legally or otherwise. To do so would be tantamount to committing suicide. Ring Man wielded too much power and had legally insulated himself from the dirty end of his business through numerous cutouts and subsidiaries. The man may appear insane but he had a mind of startling cunning. Even if Alegre had enough hard evidence on Ring Man, he seriously doubted he could get a judge to issue a warrant. It would be asking that judge to sign a suicide note.

The purpose of the meeting accomplished, Alegre stood up and escorted the Ring Man to the door. "I will relay the information through my contact to the Americans."

The Ring Man smiled coldly at the shorter man. "I hope we can continue to do business together in such an amiable fashion."

Alegre smiled thinly. "I hope so also."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

7:00 P.M.

Strom surveyed the agent seated across the desk from him. He spoke slowly, making sure every word got across.

"Agent Westland, you're going to be our representative on the task force that's being formed." He passed a folder across his desk. "This contains your instructions on how to maintain contact with Jameson so he can give you information from Bogota. You're going to be the one relaying that intelligence to the military.

"It's essential that you check out the information as carefully as possible. Since you'll be operating out of Fort Belvoir you'll have access to the air force imagery unit over there. You can also use anything you need from here. You're authorized to go up to level six on the data you can show the army people. That ought to be more than sufficient. You know Patterson down in graphics?"

Westland nodded. "Yes, sir. We worked together on the Panama invasion intelligence the year before last."

Strom steepled his fingers. "Hmm. Yes, that's right. You all did a good job on that operation. The DEA is also going to have their embassy liaison from Colombia attached to the task force. From what I have found out, he might not be too much help. The man's an alcoholic and hasn't done anything worthwhile since he got posted down there. His name is Rich Stevens.

"The whole operation is going to be run by some army general. Technically he'll be in charge of you, but in reality you report back to me. This whole thing is going to be real tricky, but whatever happens we don't want the cover blown. We've worked hard to keep Alegre in power and we bloody well want to keep him there. I'm sure you're up to date on all that's going on down there and how precarious his situation is.

"I've ordered Norton, your section chief, to give you an update briefing anyway, just in case. However, he's not to know what you're working on. As of now you're relieved of all your normal duties and responsibilities. The director and I are the only ones, besides you, who are cleared for information on this mission and I want it to stay that way."

"Yes, sir."

Strom smiled benevolently at the agent. "This is a great opportunity for you to show us what you can do. I'm sure you won't let us down."

"No, sir."

"You need to get over to Norton's office right now. The first targeting information should be coming in tonight and I want you to be ready tomorrow when you meet the rest of the task force over at Belvoir."

"Yes, sir."

Strom stood up. "Good luck and keep me informed."

CHAPTER TWELVE

MONDAY, 26 AUGUST

FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

9:00 A.M.

Bern Holder, the team's junior engineer, drove the van while Riley sat next to him navigating. Scrunched into the back were the other ten members of the team, along with all their gear. It would have made a great commercial for Chevy carryalls, Riley thought to himself.

Arriving an hour ago at the post airfield, after flying in from Bragg, the team had picked up the van that was waiting for them there. The sergeant who signed the vehicle over to Riley had handed him a map of the post with a building circled in red. Go there, he told them. The man had shrugged when questioned further. He was just a gofer. He didn't know anything. Riley felt empathy with the man on that score. Since the alert yesterday, all he'd gotten from the group duty officer was information on where to go and when, but no why’s.

"Turn right here." Riley started counting building numbers.