Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Beret Series) Read online

  Riley considered this. The change made sense, but he could also see intraservice politics worming its way into the operation. The army wanted to justify the billions of dollars it was outlaying for the new Apache attack helicopter. However, Apache or Spectre, it didn't really matter. The end result would be the same. Plus, getting the Apaches to fly cover on the exfiltration was something they hadn't thought of. It was a good addition. He had thought Linders's reasons for using the HH-53 for Eyes Two's exfil had been kind of lame. If they could fly Apaches in from the navy ship, then a Blackhawk also could make the distance. But Blackhawk or Pave Low—it didn't matter to Riley as long as the damn thing flew. He glanced over at Captain Vaughn. The captain was accepting the change without comment.

  Macksey looked at Riley. "The C-130 for infiltration for Eyes One will be here tonight to give you a chance to coordinate with the crew and set up the aircraft. A KC-10 is scheduled for your in-flight refuel. NSA will set up a base station for the SATCOM radio here. Are you all set on your weapons and personal gear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Macksey closed his notebook. "Well, then. I would have to say that you're ready to go."

  4:00 P.M.

  Riley tried to be satisfied. The mission looked good. At first he had thought that taking six people in was a little heavy for what looked like just a reconnaissance and targeting mission, but on reflection he realized it allowed them a bit of flexibility. It also increased their odds of surviving a chance contact with some of the paramilitary folks the drug runners used for security. The plan was a sound one. Nothing overly fancy.

  Riley shook his head. It was all too simple. Something was bound to go wrong. They had prepared several contingency plans in the E & E packet, the most extreme being a plan to walk out of Colombia to a U.S. Army post in Panama. The team was carrying a backup laser designator and two PSC-3 radios to up their odds against equipment malfunction.

  Riley looked at the members of his team as they packed their gear. All the equipment was supplied by the CIA and was sterile. If captured it could not be traced back to the United States. Unfortunately, Riley mused, the same couldn't be said for the people. They carried no identification and would probably be disowned by the government if captured, but it would still be an ugly international scene.

  "Hey, get a load of this!" Riley turned and saw Atwaters holding some glossy paper in his hands. Having gained the team's attention, Atwaters unfolded the paper. "Now who do you suppose put that up in the latrine?"

  Riley chuckled to himself. The centerfold from a Playgirl magazine was dangling in the air under Atwaters's fist. Riley had seen the other centerfold one of the team members had put up in the latrine. He'd considered asking them to take it down, in deference to Westland having to use the same bathroom, but he'd decided it was probably better not to make an issue of it. Now he was glad he hadn't. He liked Westland's reply.

  Atwaters threw the centerfold in the bum bag, where all the team's paper trash was thrown. Riley held his hand up and pointed at Atwaters. "Take that out and put it back up, or take the other down too and burn it."

  Atwaters turned in surprise and sneered. "Why? You want to look at some naked guy, Chief?"

  The room fell silent. Atwaters was one of the new guys and had rubbed Riley wrong from the first day he had joined the team. Riley didn't give a damn about the centerfold but he did give a damn about professional respect. Atwaters had just crossed his line. He strode across the room toward Atwaters as Powers quickly moved to intercept him.

  Powers put a hand on Riley's shoulder. "Chill out, Chief. I'll handle this pisshead."

  Riley stopped and looked at the senior NCO. "Make it good, Top. Because that's his last chance." He turned and left the room.

  Powers turned to Atwaters, who had watched the confrontation. He looked at the young soldier and slowly shook his head. "You're probably too dumb to understand that I just saved your ass from a whupping."

  "Bullshit, Top. What's the chief got the hots for this CIA bitch that he allows her to put this shit up in our latrine?"

  Powers took a deep breath to control himself. "You know, the lady didn't even need to ask you. I could have told her you were better known as asshole than butthole."

  He moved his bulk closer to the young soldier. "The chief allowed you to put up your shit, and he only figures turnabout is fair play. And quite frankly, you dumb shit, I don't care about any of that. You open your mouth to the chief or me again like you just did and you're going to be talking out your ass, cause that's where I'm going to put your head. You got ten seconds, boy. Either put that back or take the other down like the chief said."

  As Powers was talking, the other old members of 055 gathered around him and added their glares to his. The other new members remained where they were, uncommitted. Vaughn stayed at his desk, obviously having enough sense to stay out of NCO business.

  Slowly Atwaters was starting to realize that he had screwed up. "Hey! It's no big deal. I was just joking."

  "You'd better readjust your sense of humor or it'll get readjusted for you." Powers shook his head. He looked at Atwaters and the other new members of the team. "Let me tell you people something about the chief. He don't talk much, but when he does you'd better listen to him. You also do not want to get into a pissing contest with the man. Size don't mean shit. There ain't three of you in here that could stand against him at the same time. Chief's got a second-degree black belt in tae kwon do and a first-degree in hapkido. Above and beyond that, he's one of the toughest sons of a bitch I've ever met. And I've met a lot of them in my travels. I've seen the chief empty bars when people riled him up enough."

  Powers fixed Atwaters with a long, hard stare. "And you, boy, have riled him. You ain't gonna get another chance to walk away."

  BOGOTA

  5:15 P.M.

  The taxi pulled up to the front gate of the American embassy and Stevens got out. As he lifted his bag, he glanced across the street to the Embassy Cafe. He wondered if the bar girl Maria was working tonight. He also wanted a drink real bad. It had been a long, boring flight from Washington.

  After tossing his stuff into his room at the embassy quarters and checking in with the deputy ambassador, Stevens went out of the compound and over to the cafe. Going through the swinging doors, he let his eyes adjust to the dimness inside. There she was behind the bar. Just as beautiful as he had remembered. Stevens had planned on eating first, but he passed by all the tables and went up to the bar.

  Maria's face was split by a radiant smile as she spotted the DEA man.

  "Welcome back, Mister Rich. I missed you." Stevens blushed and smiled. He hadn't hoped for such a positive reception. "It's just Rich, Maria. Not Mister Rich."

  8:10 P.M.

  Stevens finished another tequila. He knew he shouldn't be drinking so much with an operation coming up the next night, but that was the main reason he was drinking. He knew he wouldn't be able to for the next two days while Operation Hammer was being implemented. Stevens dreaded the thought of two whole days without alcohol.

  Maria had been extremely friendly the last three hours. Stevens had enough alcohol in him to work up his nerve. As she came by to give him another round he raised his hand and smiled at her. "Maria, I have something to ask you. Would you like to go out with me?"

  The young girl looked at him quizzically. "Go out? Go out where?"

  Stevens cursed to himself. He knew she was confused by his terminology, but she had asked a good question nonetheless. Where could he take her? He hadn't thought of that. Grasping at anything, he blurted out: "Come with me over to the embassy quarters. I'll show you some of those books in English you were asking about. They're in my room."

  Even as he said it, Stevens realized she was probably thinking he was making a pretty overt pass. But she hadn't said no yet. She stood, regarding him with a half smile on her face. "That sounds like fun. Yes, I would like to see those books. I get off in an hour. We can go then."

  It was a long and a
nxious hour for Stevens. He kept expecting Maria to reconsider and tell him she would not come. But she had remained pleasant and now, at the end of her shift, here she was, ready to go. He couldn't believe he was walking with such a beautiful woman. He didn't dare think of what would happen when they got to his room.

  Stevens signed her in at the embassy guard shack, as required, ignoring the curious glances of the two marines on duty there. He took her around to the back of the embassy compound where all the living quarters were and led her to his one-bedroom apartment. He was slightly embarrassed as she took in the normal state of disarray. Even having a maid come in every other day did little to dent the mess he managed to generate in between.

  He closed the door and looked at Maria. Somehow she seemed older and more experienced now. She came up to him and looked into his eyes. "Maybe we can look at the books later. There are other things we can do now." He couldn't believe it when she put her arms around his neck and tilted her face up to his.

  Stevens managed to survive the rest of the evening without having a heart attack, although a doctor monitoring his pulse rate surely would have compared it to that of a runner battling for the lead in the Olympic marathon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THURSDAY, 29 AUGUST

  FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  9:00 A.M.

  Riley picked at his breakfast as he surveyed the main isolation room. The gear was packed and Eyes One was almost ready to go. At 1300 they would ride over to the airfield. They had done their initial coordination with the aircrew the previous evening. All that was needed was to rig the aircraft prior to takeoff at 1400.

  The schedule today called for a few items to be accomplished prior to departure, the major ones being weapons firing and zeroing and a final sterilization check.

  Riley had had a hard time falling asleep last night. He'd run the mission through in his mind innumerable times, looking at it from different angles, trying to find a mistake or some possibility they had overlooked. While tossing and turning, he'd also spent some time evaluating himself. He knew his strengths. He was an expert shot with both the pistol and submachine gun. He was proficient in the martial arts and in excellent shape. He was experienced in Special Forces operations. He felt he was a good leader who utilized the strengths of his men effectively and worked around their weaknesses.

  Absently rubbing the two pockmarks that adorned his lower right stomach, Riley continued his self-analysis as he sipped his coffee. He considered another advantage that only Powers and he shared: both had been in the heat of combat. Although Riley's combat experience had lasted less than a week, it had impressed upon him the difference between training and the real thing. He hoped the other four members of Eyes One would react well when it occurred.

  Riley put away his worries for now. He'd find out soon enough.

  Having finished what he could eat of his breakfast, Riley sought out Powers. "Let's do another equipment check. This time you look at the rucks, and I'll do weapons and personal gear."

  Powers nodded. They lined up the men and rucksacks in the hallway, leaving the isolation area to Eyes Two. Riley checked the people while Powers went through the rucksacks.

  Each man was dressed in unmarked green jungle fatigues, a common enough outfit for paramilitary people throughout Central America. They wore jungle boots—leather boots with canvas sides. For headgear they would wear the radio helmets. This wasn't something they were used to but it shouldn't be a problem. Most carried gloves of one sort or another. Riley used flight gloves, of thin leather and Nomex. Although it would be warm where they were going, the gloves were useful in negotiating the vegetation and handling hot weapons if it came down to that.

  Over his fatigues, each man wore a nylon mesh combat vest that fastened in the front with Velcro. Hanging on the vest were two one-quart canteens, ammunition pouches for extra magazines, a strobe light, a knife, a pistol, and a small butt pack that held critical supplies.

  Every man carried a knife of his own choosing. Riley had managed to break most of the men of the habit of carrying a big, Rambo-type knife. Such a weapon might be useful if the bearer got into a sword fight with a Roman gladiator but was next to worthless for what most combat knives are used for—silent killing. Riley himself carried a slender, double-edged, six-inch-long commando knife. He maintained the edges in razor-sharp condition. The thinness of the blade allowed it to penetrate between bones—whether in the back, chest, or neck. The double edges meant he could slash in either direction without having to fumble around in the dark.

  For a personal side arm each man carried the Beretta 9mm semiautomatic pistol on his combat vest. The Berettas were the same as those being issued in the army but were not engraved with serial numbers, since they had been supplied by the CIA.

  Riley, Frank Partusi, and Hosea Marzan each carried the MP5SD3 9mm submachine gun as their primary weapon. The collapsing-stock weapon was equipped with an integral silencer and would be effective at close quarters. Powers carried his favorite weapon—the Soviet-made AK-47 with a folding metal stock. He had carried an AK ever since Vietnam and swore by its reliability under adverse conditions. Holder carried the SAW machine gun. Firing 5.56mm rounds from a hundred-round drum, the weapon was a fine piece of machinery with a range of nine hundred meters. Riley hoped the SAW would keep any bad guys out of arms' reach if they made contact.

  Lane carried the heaviest and most unique weapon. The Haskins .50-caliber sniper rifle looked like an overgrown elephant gun. The bolt-action rifle held a five-round magazine and broke into two pieces for jumping and transporting. A ten-power night-vision scope could be mounted on top. The massive bullet, a half inch in diameter, could reach out over two thousand meters and was guaranteed to put its hapless victim down. A .50-caliber round could tear off a man's arm or leg. They were carrying the Haskins for insurance. If Spectre didn't take care of the whole target, or some people escaped, Lane would use the sniper rifle to reach out and touch someone. Trained at the Special Operations Target Interdiction Course, Lane could hit a five-inch circle at one and a half kilometers with the Haskins.

  The rucksacks Powers was checking were regular army-issue Alice mediums with external frames. They were in use by various government and guerrilla forces throughout Central and South America. Although the team would be on the ground for less than twelve hours, the rucks were needed to carry the technical equipment.

  Riley and Marzan each carried a complete PSC-3 radio along with a Vinson crypto device. This added up to almost thirty pounds of weight per system. Holder was packing some spare batteries for the radios along with extra drum magazines for his SAW machine gun. Powers and Lane each carried a laser designator. Partusi carried an M-5 medical kit along with several different types of IVs in his ruck. Each man also carried a substantial survival kit in his ruck, supplementing the smaller one in the butt pack. Additionally, each ruck contained two Claymore mines and spare ammunition for their weapons.

  Having checked the men and their weapons, Riley had Powers look him over. First, Powers checked Riley's weapon. Then he went through Riley's pockets and equipment to ensure that nothing indicated a point of origin—no rings, ID tags, pieces of paper, wallet, and so on. When Powers was done, Riley glanced at his watch—two hours before they were due at the range to test-fire their weapons. Riley sat the team members down and started quizzing them on the mission.

  BOGOTA

  9:30 A.M.

  Stevens lay in bed and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. His eyes couldn't quite focus. Maria was gone physically but she was conspicuously present in his mind. Stevens knew he should be getting up and going to work but he couldn't yet. He wanted to rewind and replay one more time his mental video of the events of the previous night.

  Some of the pictures on his mental screen portrayed acts he hadn't known were physically possible. Stevens laughed to himself. Hell, his wife had never even come close to coaxing that kind of reaction out of him.

  Not only that, but before Mar
ia had left a half hour ago, she had hinted of even more exotic things to be experienced tonight. Stevens could hardly wait for the dark to come. Then he cursed to himself as his brain kicked in. He couldn't do anything tonight. It was the night of the raid and he was supposed to be on duty in the communication room of the embassy.

  FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  10:00 A.M.

  The range was set up to accommodate fifty firers at a time. The twelve members of the detachment took up only a small portion of the firing line. The range had zeroing bull's-eyes at twenty-five meters and E-type pop-up silhouettes that simulated the top half of a person ranging out to the far limit of a thousand meters. Each man took his time getting a combat zero on the twenty-five-meter target and then checked his zero at the various ranges.

  Riley waited as calmly as he could. His weapons were ready. He could sense the nervous tension in the other members of his six-man team. He watched closely as the last two members of Eyes One finished test-firing their weapons. On the far side of the range, Lane seemed to have just about completed zeroing in the scope on the Haskins, plinking away at pop-up targets ranging from a hundred meters out to the barely visible ones at a thousand meters. To use the night scope during daylight, he had it set on reduced power with a cover that reduced the aperture.

  Riley glanced over at Westland, the CIA agent. She seemed visibly impressed with Eyes One's proficiency with their weapons. After zeroing, Riley had led his team through their basic close quarters combat firing drill with both the pistols and the automatic weapons. They had practiced firing on the move and from stationary positions. Firing while doing forward rolls and wilting left and right. Firing when pivoting left and right and 180 degrees. Then they had done the same with the automatic weapons, firing from both the hip and shoulder.

  "What do you think?"