Payback (24 page)

They ran faster then, and at last had to stop. Franklin struggled forward at a walk, his Bull Pup down and ready. At the end of the little valley he went up a sharp slope, and when he looked over the top he saw the smoke.

Two men stood near the campfire-sized blaze, and they were pushing it into the brush and trees. Both wore cammies and had long guns. Without hesitation Franklin brought up the Bull Pup, lasered directly on the two men, and fired. The round exploded on a tree just in front of the two men, and one went down screaming. The other one darted behind a tree evidently unhurt.

DeWitt caught up with Franklin, saw the fire and the man down, and the two plunged down the slope toward the fire fifty yards ahead. They raced to the blaze, kicked what they could away from the brush, and stomped out the rest. Both were blackened with soot and smoke when Mahanani and Fernandez hurried up and finished off the fire-fighting duties.

“He went that way,” Franklin said, motioning ahead and up the side of a hill. Before the words were out of his mouth, a rifle bullet slapped into a tree a foot from his head and the SEALs dove behind protection.

“I'm on him,” Mahanani said, and darted to the side into some brush and then up the slope. He had no idea how to track a man. He'd been watching Lam and now Franklin, but still he wasn't sure. Scuff marks he could find, and broken branches. He'd watch for movement of brush. He gained the top of the hill without getting shot, and peered over the crest.

Nothing but green Oregon timber below and the start of a small stream. He took it by areas, watching one section at a time. Yes, there. Just to the right of the creek, brush moved where someone or some animal had gone through. He put a 20mm round into the brush and as soon as the round fired, he charged down the slope toward the target. He didn't go gracefully or without noise. He crashed brush and dodged trees and came to the spot he had fired at quickly. He found
a riddled clump of brush, a tree with some bark blown off, and on the ground some spots of blood.

Now he studied the ground carefully. It was full of grass and weeds and young fir trees a foot high. Twice he found drops of blood and the trail led downstream. Again he crashed forward, unmindful of the danger or the wisdom of such a move. He just wanted to catch up with the little guy and nail his hide to the wall.

The creek took a jog to the right, and around that bend he came to a more open area where the stream picked up water and had carved out a small valley. Near the end of it he saw the man limping along. Smoothly, Mahanani lifted the Pup and lasered a round on the man. The enemy was about seventy-five yards downstream, and the round went off almost at the same time as the report of the weapon.

The North Korean firebug had just taken a step forward. He never completed it. His foot hit the dirt as more than a dozen shards of shrapnel from the 20mm round blasted into his head and shoulders after detonating twenty feet above him. He crumpled to the ground.

Mahanani dropped to his knees and wiped sweat from his forehead. He flipped down the Motorola mike from where it had rotated against his floppy hat.

“Now hear this,” Mahanani said. “The second little bastard is now communing with his ancestors. Scratch the other half of this firebug team.”

“Copy that,” DeWitt said. “Make your way back to where we dropped the first one. We're still making sure that this fire is completely out. We'll wind up the SATCOM and see if we can get a lift out of this forest wonderland.”

“Where are they gonna land?” Mahanani asked.

“Probably back at the same spot where they dropped us off. We'll move that way after you get here.”

“I'm coming. Not even bothering with getting this guy's weapon as a souvenir.”

DeWitt had Fernandez set up the SATCOM. It took three tries before he got the small fold-out dish antenna positioned right so it looked through the trees to find the satellite. On the fourth call they made it to Forestry Four.

“Yes, Four. This is DeWitt. You can cross out that
two-man team in here by the old burn where you dropped us. They are down and out. They started another fire, but we got there in time to snuff it as well.”

“DeWitt, good work. The State Police nailed one pair of firebugs and a sheriff's detail grabbed another pair. We think that's all of them. No more assignments. You can fly back to Portland now.”

“Have the chopper pilot pick us up where he dropped us off by the old burn,” DeWitt said.

“Copy that, DeWitt, by the old burn. Should be there in about thirty.”

Fernandez turned off the set, folded up the dish antenna, stowed it with the SATCOM, and they moved out toward the burn area.

“Maybe two miles,” Mahanani said. “Then I'm due for one of Jaybird's little naps.”

It was forty-five minutes before the chopper arrived to pick them up, but DeWitt didn't mind. It gave him time to think about this whole operation. What in hell were the North Koreans trying to do besides cause a little hell? Saving face? How could you save face when your teams were smashed and crushed and captured? He'd never understand the Oriental mind, but he had to keep trying.

Murdock and his men waited at the Portland airport for De Witt to fly in. The same business jet that had brought them to Portland was serviced and ready to go. The SEALs climbed on board and settled into the airliner seats.

“Now this is more in keeping with my station in life,” Jaybird said as he leaned back in the soft seat.

“Your train station just went out of business, chatterbox,” Mahanani said. “Now don't bother me while I take a Jaybird kind of nap.”

“The big kid learns fast,” Jaybird said, and closed his eyes.

Murdock talked with the pilot. In two and a half hours they would be home. Not a bad afternoon's work. He wondered if the North Koreans were done. They had inflicted a lot of damage, killed over two hundred people, set fires, blown up an airliner, caused a horrendous blackout in the Western states that must have cost business firms billions of dollars in lost revenue and services. They'd sent missiles into
San Francisco and hijacked a luxury liner. Besides that, they'd captured and almost made off with the President of the United States. How could they have done all of this? Who coordinated the whole thing and where did they operate from? Not from the North Korean frigate. It was just a player in the game, not the leader.

They had to have a GHQ somewhere. He'd have to think on that. It would be good to be home. Maybe Ardith would drop in. He dozed off thinking about her. Now there was a woman. Oh, yeah. He hoped she'd show up again in San Diego real soon.

It was dark when they landed at North Island and went by van to their quarters on the strand. The men cleaned their weapons, reloaded their combat vests with the usual ammo and supplies, and checked out over the Quarter Deck.

Murdock and DeWitt sat in the small office, not quite ready to give it up for the day.

“Where in hell did these Koreans come from?” DeWitt asked. “Been wondering if they might have arrived by commercial air. They did a lot of planning for this series of strikes.”

“Been bugging me too, DeWitt. They must have a control group somewhere, a headquarters. We better find it and wipe it out or we could have these hit-and-run attacks for months.”

Murdock looked at his second in command. “You have a minute?”

“Sure. Milly doesn't know when to expect me.”

“DeWitt, the Navy is wasting your talent here in my platoon. You should have a platoon of your own. I'm putting a recommendation to Masciareli tomorrow that you get the next platoon opening here in GRUP-ONE.”

Ed frowned slightly. “You don't want me around?”

“I depend on you too much, and you take up the slack. You deserve a platoon of your own.”

“Yeah, and if and when I got it, I'd be out of the loop with this action platoon. Wouldn't get in on all of the juicy assignments.”

“Sure, and you wouldn't get shot at so often. The average platoon here in the whole group averages only one action
assignment a year. Most of them are no-shoot affairs. Milly will love it and you'll still be with the platoons. Besides, you've had three serious wounds in the past two years. You've done your duty here, more than your duty.”

“I want to ask you not to send in that paper, Skipper. I like it here. Keeps my juices running. A transfer, even if it meant my own platoon, is something I'll have to think about. Don't send in the paper until we talk again, okay?”

Murdock watched his best friend. They had been through a lot of hell together these past three years. This was about the reaction he'd figured DeWitt would have.

“Okay. Talk it over with Milly. Now get out of here and go play old married man.”

DeWitt grinned. “Hey, thanks for the thought about the letter. I might go for it yet. I'm a long way off from another stripe, but wouldn't hurt to be in a spot where it could happen. I'll let you know.”

He left the office, and Murdock put his feet up on the desk and let his mind wander. There had to be some answer to this North Korean affair. What kind of a GHQ would they need? Could a submarine offshore do it? They had two subs that he knew of. Not likely. They'd need an onshore headquarters for good communications and movement. He was going to concentrate on the problem and worry it to death until he had something he could take to the brass. The fucking North Korean brains had to be right there on the coast somewhere.

 

Jack Mahanani checked his watch as he pulled away from the BUD/S parking lot. It was seven-thirty civilian time. The DEA guys would be home, but the operator might still be on. He drove to Chula Vista just south of San Diego and found a phone booth. He dug the number out of his wallet and dialed it.

“Good evening, this is the DEA task force.”

“Hi, this is the Reverend. Do you have a message for me?”

“The Reverend? Oh, yes, just a moment, it's here somewhere. Yes. I have it. We have two of our men who want to talk to you. They told me to set up a time convenient to you
and they will be there. They suggested a restaurant might be a good meeting place.”

“Good. Tonight at eight-thirty in a place in Pacific Beach called Tony's. I'll meet them at the bar.” He hung up quickly before they could trace the call. Then he remembered they for sure would have caller ID on all of their phones, so they would know what phone number the call came from. It wouldn't help them any. He took a deep breath. Was he going to meet with them? Did he really want to set up a raid on these smugglers? Damn right. He had to get out of this smuggling trap and stay alive. He would make the DEA promise him that his name would not be mentioned and that he would get a guarantee of no prosecution for his part. Yes, it could work, if they could nail all of the smugglers working at the casino.

He looked at his watch. Plenty of time to drive to PB. He used to live over there, knew all the best spots. He'd get to Tony's early and have a steak. He could use a good steak about now. Sure, then what did he tell the DEA guys? Hey, I just happen to be a narcotic mule and I wanted to spill my guts to you for immunity? Actually, that was about it.

He'd start with the gambling and the hole he'd dug for himself, and then talk about Harley and that damn Martillo. Yeah, he could make a good case for himself. He wouldn't tell them too much, not even which casino, not right away. There were seven or eight Indian-run casinos in the county by this time. Yes, he could do it.

Halfway into Pacific Beach, a section of San Diego, a water main break closed off the main access and he had to take a five-mile detour. When he got to Tony's and parked, it was five minutes to the meet time. He was sure the DEA guys had arrived early and had two or three other men lurking about.

A man read a newspaper in his car in the faint light coming from the dome. He was a ringer for sure. Mahanani shrugged and walked into the restaurant. He hadn't incriminated himself yet. He wouldn't unless he got a guarantee in writing of total immunity and his name not being used.

He went into the bar and checked the men standing there. There was only one pair of men: both in suits and both
looked like cops. He walked up and stood beside them and ordered a beer. One looked at him.

“Are you the Reverend?” he asked.

“Might be. Who are you?”

The man flashed a badge that could have been from any agency.

“I better take a better look at the badge,” Mahanani said. The man handed it to him. DEA, the right one. They moved to a booth toward the back and waved the waitress away.

“Now, you said you know about a mule operation.” The larger man did the talking. No names were given or asked for.

“Right. I got suckered into it. I was stupid.” He told them about the gambling and how he was threatened and how they would go to his commanding officer if he didn't pay up or work for them as a mule out of TJ.

“So, you Navy or Marines?”

“Navy. I would have been booted out of the service.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“First I want it in writing that I will not be prosecuted in any way for what I might have done, and I want to be completely anonymous. I want to get out of this without getting killed by the druggers.”

“That we can't guarantee, the not-getting-killed part. If your story is good enough, I can get the immunity and we'll never use your name. How about some details?”

“Not until I get that letter from your local office chief on stationery that I won't be prosecuted and my name will be kept out of it.”

“The problem is we'll need more than that to get the letter.”

“Fine, I'll go to the San Diego Police narc squad.”

The men whispered a moment.

“All right, you said TJ to San Ysidro, numerous trips, with coke worth about half a million. What's that, fifty kilos?”

“I don't know. I never saw the drugs going or coming.”

“How many trips do they make a week?”

“My guess is five or six, but I can't be sure.”

“That's enough. Give me tomorrow. Then tomorrow night
you call in and ask for a message for the Reverend just the way you did this time.”

“Okay, but if I don't get the letter, you can forget all about this. I know a little how you guys operate. I know you've probably got pictures of me by now, and that one of your men out front has my license plate. Please don't run it. You don't need to know who I am. If this deal falls through, I'll deny everything, even if one of you is wearing a wire. We do this my way, or you don't get a good-sized smuggling operation iced out of business.”

He stood and left before either of them could respond.

Outside, he went to the car where the man was still reading the newspaper and tapped on the window. The man rolled down the window.

“Hey, your two DEA buddies inside said you can close up and go home. The party's over.”

Mahanani grinned at the surprise and shock on the agent's face. Then Mahanani laughed and walked up the street to his car. Nobody followed him as he drove away.

 

Murdock went over and over what they knew about the North Koreans assault on the United States of America. He charted it and evaluated it and grouped the acts and separated them, and in the end came up with nothing. It could have been run by one master control, or six or eight different groups could have been launched, funded, given the know-how and weapons, and told to go and do as much damage as they could. He drove home with the start of a headache.

When he pulled into his parking slot at the apartment, he saw lights on in his second-floor unit. For a moment he tensed. No, if the Ks were coming for him, they wouldn't turn on the lights. Either he had left them on when he left the last time, or someone had come for a visit.

He ran up the steps, pulled open the front door, and found Ardith Manchester a step away. She wore a pure white silk blouse and a sleek, tight-fitting black skirt. Her long blond hair hung over one shoulder and framed her beautiful face.

“Hi, sailor, welcome home,” she said with the sly grin that he had loved forever.

He swept her up in his arms and walked her across the
room to the sofa, where he put her down gently, sat beside her, and kissed her soundly.

She came up for air smiling. “Now I know that tourist-class flight was worth it. Master Chief MacKenzie said he thought you'd be home tomorrow.”

“He's not always right.” He pulled her into his arms so her head rested on his shoulder. “Now, any other reason you flew all the way out here from Washington, D.C.?”

“One small reason, not really important.”

“How unimportant is it?” He watched her. She was hiding something. There was a hint of excitement in her voice and her brows were a little too high for normal.

“Nothing we need to talk about really. I was just about to get dinner. I'll change the menu. I see you have some good-looking pork chops in the freezer.”

He held her fast. “Ardith, that other unimportant reason why you came?”

“Oh, nothing. Actually it's minor, just a small job offer. Now let's get dinner. Do stuffed pork chops sound okay?”

He held her. “Just a small job offer? A job for a midget, right? Nobody over three feet tall need apply?”

Ardith laughed. “Well, the job is for a normal-sized person, but I'm not sure that I want it. I'm just feeling them out. They talked to me in Washington.”

“And they bought your ticket out here?”

“Well, yes. But that's common enough.”

“Just some little job offer. So tell me about it.”

He let her go, and she pushed back and he saw the sparkle in her eyes, the anticipation spreading over her face.

“It's a highly respected firm in the software industry. Yes, a dot-com, but one that isn't tied to dot-com customers. It's keyed to industry as a whole, and works for many hundreds of different clients in every field.”

“And what would you do for them?”

“I'd be the assistant manager of the creative applications department. We take a company's problem, figure out a solution to it, and design and develop the software to take care of the problem. It's so creative and exciting that I can hardly sit still.”

“But your background isn't in computers.”

“Doesn't have to be. In fact they told me they wanted someone in the creative side who wasn't a computer person. Then I wouldn't be thinking ahead that it couldn't be done, or it would be too expensive or too time-consuming. I get the ideas and build the plans to solve the problem. Somebody else does the design and application work.”

“Some little job offer.”

“Okay, so I lied. It was worth it to see your expression when I explained it.”

“When?”

“I go in to see them tomorrow.”

“Now we talk about the other. Do you really want to leave government work? You've been happy back there with all the conniving, backbiting, lying politicians. Your father excluded, of course.”

“We've talked about this before. I love my work in D.C., but this seems so much more exciting, so on the edge of the science of business, education. They even do some work for state governments. Do I want to leave? I'm not sure. If this job works out, it would be a tremendous move.” She reached up and kissed him tenderly. “Then there is that other reason I want to come out here. But we don't talk about that.”

Murdock gently eased her down on the sofa and lay half on top of her. He kissed her nose, then both eyes, and gently brushed her lips with his. “Now, little lady, let's talk about that other reason for you to move out to San Diego.”

He kissed her again and she moaned softly. When the kiss ended she stroked his face lovingly.

“Hey, there, cowboy. Do you want dinner sooner or later?”

“I think I'll vote for later. Do you want to call the roll?”

“Then later wins by a landslide.” They sat up and both grinned. He cupped one of her breasts and bent and kissed it through the white silk blouse.

“Hey, maybe it would be better if we continued this discussion on the merits of the issue before the Senate in the bedroom.”

“I'll vote for that,” Murdock said. “We can have dinner any old time.”

Much later, over dinner, Ardith was enthusiastic about the job. That was part of it, he knew. She also glowed as she always did after a good romp in bed.

“It's a firm offer. I can take it or turn it down. One good thing is the salary, a hundred and fifty thousand a year.” Her eyes were bright. He could see her anticipation, her delight.