Payback (15 page)

“Oh, yeah, fresh air coming in from ahead. Have we been going uphill or downhill?”

“I'd say slight uphill,” Victor said. “Got to be an old lava tube or a damn powerful underwater river.”

They ran again. This time, far ahead they could see a faint light. The tunnel took a steep slant upward, and they walked instead of ran. Now there were moist spots on the rocks.

Murdock didn't know if it was from condensation, or if there had once been a furious river flowing through here. The tunnel kept getting smaller and smaller, and soon they had to bend over to move ahead. But the light was coming closer.

“There's an opening ahead for damn sure,” Lam said. “From here on we're going to have to crawl to get to it. Hands and knees should do it.”

Lam led the trio. He moved quickly, and for a moment the light ahead cut off and Victor yelped. Then it came on strong and Lam was gone.

Victor crawled up to the opening and pushed his head out. “Be damned, Skipper. We're back in the open halfway up the mountain and at the end of a good-sized arroyo.” He pushed out and let Murdock crawl out.

The three stared at the runoff scene. “The water must come down the slope; part of it goes into this hole and down through the tunnel, and the rest of the water goes on down this gully,” Murdock said. “So where are the other two Koreans?”

Lam did a quick scan of the country ahead of them, the mountains. He spent five minutes on it, then came back to one spot a third time.

“There, on the side of the slope maybe a half mile over. See those two figures moving?”

“Oh, yeah,” Murdock said. He lasered the figures and pulled the trigger. Seconds later the SEALs saw the flash, and then the sound came drifting over.

“They still moving?” Murdock asked.

“Not that I can see. But a small tree that was nearby just lost all of its leaves and a lot of branches.” He kept watching. “Not a sign of movement. Either they are good at playing dead, or they got the real roles.”

Murdock used the Motorola. “DeWitt, what's with you guys?”

The sound came back faint. “Almost out of range. About six miles south of you. Found the car. The men scattered when they heard us coming. My guess is there are just three of them, but could be more. We're tracking them. One is a KIA, one a POW, and the third one is still running. Jefferson is on him with a Bull Pup, so I'd put a bundle down that Jefferson wins this one.”

“We found the first car. Tell you about it later.” Murdock pushed the mike back up to his floppy hat. “Let's find the mouth to that cave and see what we can take back for show-and-tell.”

 

Six miles south, Jefferson struggled through a sea of huge boulders. They were everywhere, and from house size to basketball size. He moved up the side of one, stared ahead over the devil's marble yard of huge rocks, and tried to find the running Korean. The man didn't have a weapon; at least Jefferson didn't think he did. Jefferson jumped off the rock just as he felt splinters of granite fly as a bullet missed him by a foot. He reconsidered.

This time he moved more cautiously. He had an idea where the Korean was, but getting to him was another problem. If Jefferson could pinpoint him well enough, the laser and an airburst should do the trick. The SEAL found a point where he had cover, and fired six rounds of 5.56 at the area forty yards ahead of where he thought the Korean had picked for his defensive position. A moment later the man fired a round from just to the left of where Jefferson had targeted. Jefferson moved to the 20mm, lasered a spot on the rocks to the left of his former target, and fired. Then he fired a second lasered round.

The sharp report of the airbursts came through the clear air with a deadly crack, and Jefferson watched and listened. He heard a low moaning sound that rose in pitch until it was a high keening, and it put Jefferson on his feet running around and over the boulders to the spot where he had fired.

He peered around the last boulder and saw the man lying on his back, one hand over his eyes, the same high-pitched
wail coming again and again. There was no weapon in sight.

Jefferson charged the position, and kept the Korean under his gun until he searched him and threw away an ankle hideout revolver. The Korean's second hand held his chest, where he was vainly trying to hold in his blood. It coursed through his fingers and pooled under him in the rocky ground.

A moment later the Korean tried to sit up. He screamed and fell back to the ground, his head turning slowly to the side so his unseeing dead eyes seemed to stare directly at Jefferson. It took the SEAL a few minutes, but he found the rifle the Korean had used. He put it beside the man, and looked around for three rocks he could lift. He found them and piled them on the nearest large boulder. The three-rock stack would serve as a marker, because he knew he was going to have to lead some officials out here to pick up the body. He took the rifle and made his way back to the out-of-gas car where the rest of Bravo Squad waited.

By the time Jefferson came to the car, the chopper had already landed and they were waiting for him.

“Damn, but you're getting slower and slower killing these damn Koreans, Jefferson,” Donegan chided.

“Would have been faster but the sonofabitch actually took a shot at me. Slowed me down some.”

“He's dead?” Fernandez asked.

“Hey, a man don't give up his rifle when he's alive and kicking,” Jefferson said.

“Murdock told us to meet him back at the turnoff to the cave,” DeWitt said. “Let's get loaded up.”

Back by the cave entrance, the two officers conferred.

“What the hell county are we in?” DeWitt asked. “The county coroner is going to be interested in all these dead bodies.”

“The county sheriff too, unless we can shortstop them. With the coast still blacked out and no military around, our best bet is to call Stroh and let him sort it out. Bradford, front and center with the SATCOM.”

“Right there, Skipper.”

It took four tries before they made contact with Don Stroh in his office in Virginia across from Washington, D.C.

“Heard about you boys on an outing,” Stroh said. “What happened?”

“Tracked them down. One may have got away. We have the rest. Five of them are still alive, and six more cashed in. We can't contact anybody locally to take care of those who perished.”

“Call your CO and have him contact the Riverside County authorities. I'm sure that's the county you're in. He should be able to get them by phone or through some emergency ham operators. Best to sit right there until the sheriff gets there. Yeah, I know, a hassle, but the locals have certain rights too.”

“Since when did you get to be such a going-through-channels guy? A change of spots for you, Stroh. Hell, might as well call Masciareli. Take care, Stroh. Out.”

The top frog in San Diego said he'd take care of it, and yes, they should stay put until the sheriff's chopper arrived. Shouldn't be long.

By the time the sheriff and three deputies arrived, they had been well briefed by the military that this was a highly classified mission and that it was a matter of national defense. The SEALs could be questioned, but not quoted. The military would arrive as quickly as possible to take charge of the live Koreans for questioning. The dead ones were to be referred to the United Nations.

Sheriff Windy Wheeler stepped out of his chopper two hours after Murdock's call. He had on khaki pants and shirt and a .45 on his hip. The SEALs had carried the dead out of the cave, and walked out the live ones, then retied their feet.

It was nearly dark before the sheriff's vans had loaded up the dead and the prisoners and left the area. Sheriff Wheeler shook hands with Murdock and DeWitt and grinned.

“Be damned. You got the bastards that helped turn the coast into a black hole. I don't know what kind of a report I'll make, but you gentlemen won't ever be mentioned. We'll send out a search party tomorrow to scour that hill you showed me to see if you did nail the other three North Korean bombers up there. You say a 20mm rifle? Damn, I thought that was a cannon the jet fighters use.” He shrugged.
“Whatever, it worked damn good. I think I can release you boys so you can scoot back to Coronado. Of course, I never have met you or seen you and these deaths are by person or persons unknown. Oh, yeah! You boys have a safe trip now.”

 

It was a quick flight back to Coronado. Some of the men slept, some relived the chase of the bombers. Murdock tried to remember when he'd had a good night's sleep. Maybe tonight, if he could drive through the two traffic lights he had to pass to get to his condo. He hoped traffic tie-ups were smoothed out by now. Sleep, yeah, maybe tonight.

Jack Mahanani parked in the lot outside the luxurious casino and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He had remembered correctly. The Indian management at the casino had been worried about rolling blackouts during the electrical energy shortage, so they'd bought and installed a large commercial turbine to power their huge generators. They could provide enough electrical power themselves to run the whole casino and the rest of the tribal reservation. He had heard them talking about it several times.

Once the SEALs hit their home base that afternoon, they had cleaned up equipment and weapons and been cut loose for the day. Nothing to do until 0730 the next morning. Mahanani had stewed around in his condo for two hours, cursing the coastwide blackout that still held. His portable radio said the big shots were working on it. Some of Washington state was powered up, and some areas of Los Angeles.

No traffic lights, no house lights. Then he remembered that the casino would be up and running. This might be a good time to take another trip to Tijuana. The electronic stuff at the border would be off. Or would it? No matter. He could chisel another four hundred dollars off his IOU. Yeah, and bet that against ten years in Chino State Prison. At last he talked himself into it, and drove to the casino east of San Diego.

Now he kicked out of the car and locked it. Wouldn't matter. The Hammer had a key to it, along with the pink slip,
the ownership certificate. If they wanted it, they would take it.

He saw the lot had only half as many cars as usual. A lot of people had forgotten that the casino would be running, blackout or no. Mahanani strode toward the big front door, and was halfway to the tellers to buy some chips when Harley pulled up in front of him and held out his hand.

“Hey, buddy, haven't seen you for a couple of days. Business?”

“Yeah, Harley, I have to work for a living, remember?”

“You sure aren't a good enough gambler to make a living off us, Mahanani. Doesn't matter much, because you're blacklisted now until you work off your IOU and get your Buick back. No more gambling for you.”

“Not even twenty bucks for the slots?”

“Not even that. You want to talk to the Hammer?”

“Will he want me to make a run tonight?”

“No way. With the blackout you could be crashed into, or held up somewhere. Besides, we don't have a full load ready to go. Tijuana is having some trouble with the cops over there. The damned cops get bought off and then steal half a load and sell it themselves. Nothing crooked-er than a crooked Tijuana cop.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I can't play and I can't drive.”

“Suck your thumb or anything else you can reach, buddy. That's up to you. Just thought I'd save you some embarrassment at the window, that's all.”

“Thanks a load of shit, Harley. Get out of my face or I might just lose my temper and throw your ass across the room.”

Harley stepped back. Mahanani outweighed the small Indian man almost two to one.

“Don't get nasty. Nobody made you come here and play. Remember that. Now, probably be better if you just headed for the door and drove away.”

“Yeah, a lot better.” Mahanani gave him a scowl and walked toward the door. He was outside the casino and one row from his car when a man came up in front of him and asked about the time. Mahanani looked down at his watch
and the big guy slugged him in the gut, doubling him over. A knee pumped upward, met the big Hawaiian's chin, and dumped all 240 pounds of him on the blacktop. He gagged and turned to get up. Then another man came from behind a car and kicked him in the side just over his kidney. Mahanani shrilled in surprise and pain and rolled to the side away from his attackers.

They were ready. A third man kicked him in the other side and he slid onto his back, one arm over his face. The pain was worse than he had ever known before, even when he was shot in the left arm. He tried to get up. Surprisingly, somebody lifted him from behind so he could sit up. He tried to look around as a jolting fist crashed into his jaw and spun him sideways. Somebody behind held him now in a choke hold around his throat. The fist came again, and then a third time, and Mahanani tried to shake the cobwebs out of his brain, but it wouldn't clear. The man behind let loose of him, and a fourth blow hit him on the side of the cheek, and he flopped to the parking lot's freshly striped blacktop. He wanted to pass out, but he couldn't. The parking lot lights were fuzzy balls.

Somebody dropped beside him and picked up his head. Mahanani didn't recognize the face that jammed in an inch from his. “Look, Mahanani, I thought we had a deal. You drive for us and be nice to the help. You just keep doing that and we're all friendly again. You threaten Harley or don't drive, and we find you and my boys will really put the fear of the tribe into you. You dig, Hawaiian beach bum?”

Mahanani blinked and tried to see who it was. Then he knew. The Hammer. “Yeah, I dig,” he said through cut-up lips and with blood running down his chin.

The Hammer let his head fall the eight inches to where it hit hard on the blacktop, causing some blue stars to go off in Mahanani's head. The other men turned and walked away.

It was ten minutes before Mahanani could sit up. He had to hold himself up with both hands. His car, where in hell did he park? He couldn't remember. His vision cleared and he stared at the rows of vehicles. One car was only six feet away. He crawled to it and tried to stand. On the first three tries, he couldn't get his legs under him. On the fourth, he
made it only when a guy with a teamster's hat and a month of body odor helped him up.

“Hey, pardner, looks like you had some trouble,” the teamster said. “Know where your car is?”

Mahanani shook his head.

“What make and color?”

The SEAL told the man.

“Yeah, shouldn't be too hard to find. Lean right there on this Cadillac and I'll do a quick recon.”

He was back three minutes later. “Got her, right over here about twenty feet. Can you walk, or you want some help?”

Mahanani held out his hand for help, and five minutes later he was inside his car with the window rolled down.

“Thanks,” he said to the trucker through cut-up lips and cheeks.

“Hey, no problem. Had me a fight or two myself and didn't always win. You sure you can drive?”

“Yeah, I'll take a break, then drive.” The trucker waved and went on to his big eighteen-wheeler parked at the far end of the lot. Mahanani sat there trying to figure it out. He'd been beaten up just because he'd made a small threat to Harley?

After sitting there for a half hour and trying to think it through, Mahanani knew what he was going to do. These guys were going down, one way or the other. He would risk two more runs to TJ for them and bring back the drugs. Then, on the third one, he would bring in the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Agency, agents. The more he thought of it, the more certain he was that the tribal council and the people who ran the huge Casa Grande Casino did not know about the strong-arm tactics and the drug smuggling. They had too much at stake to risk it all. Now, all he had to do was figure out how to bring the DEA in on it without getting charged himself.

He started the engine and headed for the exit. He was almost there before he realized it had grown dark and he hadn't turned on his headlights. He stopped, turned them on, and put on his seat belt, then checked both ways and made sure his vision was acceptable. Yeah, okay. He pulled through the parking lot and back on the freeway driving at
fifty-five mph in the right-hand lane. He didn't want to have to make any quick decisions that fast driving might call for.

The big SEAL tried to figure out how to do it with the DEA. He would say this was his first run for them. They'd threatened him, and were going to turn him in to his commanding officer for gambling, which could get him thrown out of the Navy. Yeah. Good start. He wouldn't agree to wear a wire. The DEA would have to trail him. He'd make it easy. They could hang back when the car went into the garage in TJ. Yeah, and then tail him back to San Ysidro and the garage and take them down. Then go to the casino and arrest Harley and the Hammer and their wrecking crew. That is, if they could get to the casino without the San Ysidro men warning the Hammer.

Mahanani settled down to drive carefully. He knew he was driving so safely a cop might think he was steady-drunk. He hadn't had a drop, no problem there. He speeded up to sixty miles an hour and moved into the second lane. Yeah, he could do that. Now all he wanted to do was get home through the blacked-out four-way-stop intersections and across the bridge into Coronado and his condo. It was spooky driving with no house lights anywhere and no freeway signs lit. You really had to know where you were going.

He tried to relax. Oh, yes, he'd give somebody half a month's pay just to magically zap him into his own bathroom. Then he could start repairing the damage to his face and lips. For sure he'd have a black eye, and maybe a broken nose. He was going to look terrible by tomorrow morning. Maybe a little makeup would help, or some camo paint.

He had stopped the car twice on the way home to vomit from the aftereffects of the kidney kicks. At last he cruised into his parking spot at the condo and sat there thinking. Or was he stalling, wondering if he could walk up the steps to his condo? He stepped from the car and threw up again. He wiped his mouth, and hurried up the stairs and inside so he could rinse out his mouth. His face was a mess. He washed it tenderly, then patted down the cut-open areas with alcohol swabs, and decided to let it be until morning. Then he'd have to decide what to do. Call in sick? Not an option unless he
was half dead. He wasn't even a quarter dead. He'd be there bruises, Band-Aids, and all.

For the tenth time that morning, Murdock realized how much he missed the use of the Internet and e-mail. The damn lights were still out. A newsman on his battery-powered radio said it might be two more days before all sections of the San Diego area were powered up. Strange how he had come to rely on the Internet for several aspects of his job and his communications with Ardith in Washington, D.C. He looked at the sheaf of papers that the master chief had given him when he arrived that morning. Most of them were routine. MacKenzie had copied them down from SATCOM transmissions. It was still their only communications off base.

The telephone still worked for local calls, but the military radio net had been vital to the whole operation. Murdock had worked through most of the stack of material when Master Chief MacKenzie rushed into the office about 0930 that morning. DeWitt and the platoon were at the O course running it again for time.

The usually calm old salt MacKenzie had a sheen of sweat on his brow and his eyes were spiked open with alarm.

“This just came in, Lad sir. It's bad news.” He thrust a paper at Murdock who read it.

“From Don Stroh. To Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock, Third Squad, SEAL Team Seven. We've had tight security about the fact that the President and Vice President and his top planning staff have been at a secret retreat for the past two days. The President has kept on top of the attack on San Francisco and the hijacking of the cruise ship and has issued the required orders to deal with the matters. Communications had been with his usual travel group of high performance radios. When the power grid went down yesterday morning just after daylight on the Pacific Grid, it also blacked out the President's radio communications from his retreat. He's up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

“Their only communications is by SATCOM, and their last report was four hours ago. It said that they were being attacked by an armed group of men operating like soldiers.
They were having to scatter so they wouldn't be captured. That was the last report we had from him. Something must have happened to the SATCOM.

“One of the last messages reported that the three helicopters at the site were destroyed with what looked like RPG's. So they couldn't fly out. The SATCOM report said they were under a heavy military attack and were on the run. Then the transmissions stopped.

“A rescue force is now being put together by the FBI and the military. It has been suggested that two Army Ranger platoons and one platoon of Navy SEALs be included in the package.

“I have made a strong pitch that Platoon Three from SEAL Team Seven be assigned to the rescue force. Will keep you informed. If this plans flies, the forces will be activated almost at once today. Stroh out.”

“The President,” Murdock whispered. He held up his left arm and looked at the homemade bandage. “I guess I should have had the medics take another look at this arm and get it ready for some action. Yes, it bothers me some, but my buddy ibuprofen is a real help. Show this paper to DeWitt when he comes back. Tell nobody else and ask DeWitt to keep mum on it until I get back. I've got to see the medics. I'm gone.”

Ten minutes later, Master Chief MacKenzie called to Lieutenant Ed DeWitt as he came back from the O course.

“Lieutenant, sir. Something for you to read here, if you have a moment.”

DeWitt looked up, sensing a note of urgency and shock in the master chief's tone and demeanor that he hadn't seen before.

“Right, Master Chief,” DeWitt said, and reached for the sheet of paper.

He read it, his frown turning into a scowl. “The damn North Koreans knew the President was up there and are making a play for him. What a coup it would be if they could kill him. The bastards.”

“This is not to be spread around. It's for you and Murdock and me right now. If we get orders, they will come through channels. I'll keep the paper. Commander Murdock went to
the medics for them to look at his in-and-out gunshot wound to his left arm.”

“I didn't know he was hit.” DeWitt shook his head. “This could be a damn big problem. The North Ks must already be on the ground, and we're just starting to get into action. We could be there in two hours if we had firm GPS coordinates.”