Deadly Force (23 page)

“Halstrom. Murdock here. Just barely hear you. Where are you?”

“Almost five miles north of the drop-off point. I waited there after the second run with Mojombo. He said wait there. An hour later a bunch of gunmen started shooting. I had to lift off. Took some rounds and some damage. I flew out a ways and set down so I could inspect the ship for any real problems. I found some. They cut up my bird pretty bad. Three rounds into the engine. I have a cut oil line, a messed-up fuel line, and control-surface damage. Just no way I can put this bird in the air. Afraid I can't ferry you guys back to the village.”

Shortchops Jackson waited for the white cop to come up to his rolled-down window.

“What's the problem, Officer?”

“Will you please get out of the car and put your hands on the roof?”

“Sure.” Shortchops did as he was told. He was frisked quickly and then told to turn around.

“So what's the problem?”

“Your left taillight is out. With a nice car like this, I figured you'd want to know. Can I see your registration and license?”

“Registration is in the glove box.”

“I'll get it,” the cop said. He sat in the Caddy and pushed over so he could open the glove box. He took out an owner's manual with the registration paper clipped to the first page. He took it out and read it with his flashlight.

“Are you Arnold Jackson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your license says Arnold S. Jackson.”

“Right, I don't always use my middle initial.”

“Okay, sit down in the car. I'm going to give you an equipment violation. You get it repaired within thirty days and send in a receipt with the signed ticket, and you'll be square.”

“Yes, sir.”

Five minutes later the cop pulled away from Shortchops and the thin black man gave a sigh of relief. He changed
his mind about going to Las Vegas. Hell, the cops would find him sooner or later. Maybe he should just go down to the Central Police Station and say he'd heard they wanted to talk to him about Joisette. Yeah, maybe, maybe not. For now he'd go home and get some sleep. If he was going to clean up and get straight, this was the time to start. He had to get clean; he had to get a lawyer. A new shirt and some good slacks wouldn't hurt. Some nice ones. Even new shoes. Shortchops grinned. He was feeling like a rich man already.

The cops worried him. How do you prove that you didn't do something? Tough. They had to prove that you did. Tougher when you didn't do it. He drove carefully back to Southeast San Diego, and parked down the street from his apartment. It was the worst place he had ever lived. Maybe in a few months he'd have lots of money. Or maybe he'd be in jail waiting trial for murder. First thing he had to do was vanish. Leave everything in the apartment and get the hell out and find a new place. Yeah, move. All he'd take would be his fiddle. That's why he liked the Caddy. It had room enough to tote the bass wherever he went. That was the problem. Where did he go? The cops could be down at his place right now waiting for him. They were smart, had contacts. He did know quite a few people in town, especially around his apartment. He grinned. And he knew a few hookers. So where this time of night?

He decided. He'd have to sleep in the car tonight. In the morning he'd find a cheap apartment somewhere. He could even stay at one of the missions downtown. Pray and sing a little and you could bunk there for a week at a time. Yeah. Praise the Lord.

Murdock knew that everyone in the platoon had heard the word from the chopper that it couldn't ferry them back to their camp at Tinglat. Conference time.

“Lam, Sadler, Jaybird, JG, Mahanani, Sandari, and Stroh, front and center for a powwow. Now.”

They gathered under some tall trees at the edge of a field where the chopper was supposed to land.

“Sonofabitch, they did it to us again,” Jaybird said.

“Somebody said if you get raped enough times, it doesn't hurt anymore,” Mahanani said. “This must be our tenth time.”

“Enough,” Murdock said. “Our concern now is how we get out of here and up north. Evidently the federal folks have patrols or blocking units or something in this area. They may have been expecting some reaction from the Loyalists or us.

“First, our main package. Mahanani, how is the Vice President holding up?”

“He's tired, but delighted to be out of prison, as he put it. He can walk and looks to be in good shape. What do we have, about fifteen miles yet?”

“Close to it,” Jaybird said. “Do we have any energy bars, chocolate, anything that might give him an energy boost?”

“Tried chocolate bars, but they melted and ran out of my vest,” Mahanani said. “We have something else that I don't remember the name of. We'll give him a bar every hour.”

“Good. Lam, about how far are we from the trail north and should we take it?”

“Not the one along the river. The federals will have that zeroed in. They know we go north. It's a no-brainer for them.”

“So, do we crash jungle for fifteen miles?” JG Gardner asked.

Sandari shook his head. “No jungle. There are dozens of trails that go to the north. Some move away from the river a mile. The federals can't cover them all.”

“Can you find them for us?” Murdock asked.

“I know the trails, but I can't guarantee that they will be safe.”

“Pick out what looks like the safest one. You and Lam recon it for a mile, then come back. Go, now.”

Murdock looked at the other men. “Okay, you guys. We've got ourselves a little problem here. Put on the other uniform. In their place what would you do about us?”

Senior Chief Sadler took the lead. “Patrol forces squad
size so they could cover more trails. Then in back of them, I'd put a blocking force for a surprise. Say we blast through a seven-man squad and think we're home free. The blocking force hears the firefight, moves up and establishes an ambush, and catches us in a deadly crossfire with their AK-47s, MGs, and sub guns.

“They would have a good-sized force at the five- and ten-mile docks, knowing that we've used river transport before. It wouldn't make any difference if there was no boat there. We could call it in when we arrived and they could blow us out of the water and off the dock.”

Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner took the floor. “Why not go out three miles from the five-mile bridge and set out two-man patrols walking six or eight of the main trails north out of town? Cover them all. Walk these men back and forth from the eight- to ten-mile marks. These men would be expendable, but if they made contact with the enemy, it would pinpoint the location of the Loyalists. Then we rush in massive forces and overwhelm the bad guys, in this case us.”

Murdock held up his hand. “So when we move, we go slow and easy. If we run into any enemy, we reduce them with the EAR if possible to keep from giving away our position. Then hope to squeeze through their dragnet and move up the trail toward the village. How far will we need to move north before we're out of the danger zone?”

Jaybird looked up. “They want us bad, Skipper. I'd say they'll have troops out at least fifteen miles.”

“Mahanani, how are our two tenderfeet?” the commander asked.

Mahanani slapped Stroh on the back. “This gung-ho, shit-kicking CIA desk man who never thought he'd be in the field has actually fired a few shots in anger. Him and his trusty AK-47. He's now a genuine, imitation, ersatz SEAL. He'll make it fine if he doesn't try to be a hero and learns to keep his head down.

“Our other man could be a problem. He's showing some signs of stress. His pace has slowed, but there doesn't seem to be any physical impairment, except one small limp. Hey, damn big word for me. I don't think we'll get to the point where we have to carry him. I've thought about a horse
cart if Sandari could scare up one. Most of the trails are good for another five miles before they close in. One of those motorcycles would have been great. I'd suggest the cart if possible, and that would give him a rest, and then maybe we can put him on the horse for the last ten miles.”

“Can you saddle a cart horse?” Jaybird asked.

“Most horses over here would probably go either way,” JG Gardner said.

“To find a horse and a cart, we'll need a village,” Murdock said.

“Lam told me he smelled cooking fires a while ago,” Jaybird said. “He figured there was a small village about a mile ahead. We're downwind.”

Ten minutes later Lam and Sandari came back. Both were sweating from the run back down the trail.

“We found a trail looks good,” Lam said. “No sign of any military.”

“How close are we to a village?” Murdock asked Sandari. “We hope to buy, rent, or steal a horse and a cart that the Vice President can ride in.”

“Half mile straight ahead to a village,” Sandari said. “For cash dagnars I can find a renter.”

“Go now and meet us on the trail. We'll be moving ahead at once.”

He took the stack of bills Murdock gave him and left.

“Lam, take the point. We're walking, and keep it reasonable so the Veep can stay with us. Let's keep five yards apart. Move out.”

The Vice President was hurting. He had developed a slight limp, and now it became worse. It took them ten minutes to do the half mile to the village, Murdock realized. He was glad when he saw a cart with cushions in it and a sturdy-looking horse hitched to it.

“I don't need no stinking horse cart,” Adams shrilled when Murdock asked him to step on board.

“You might not need it, Mr. Vice President, but the rest of us do so we can make better time. The quicker we get out of the danger zone out about fifteen miles, the better off we'll be. Doesn't that make sense?”

Adams wilted as he stepped onto the cart and settled into
the cushions. “Yeah, you're right, Murdock. I'm being bitchy. Sorry. I want my AK-47 back just in case. Hell, I can still shoot.”

After that they made better time. Murdock put the horse cart in the middle of the line of march, and Lam had them at a seven-miles-an-hour pace. It was an easy jog that they could keep up for miles. Even the horse liked it at somewhere between a walk and a canter. One of the SEALs led the horse by a line.

They had hiked another three miles before Lam used the Motorola. “Better hold it in place, troops. We have a small problem up here.”

It was the simplest kind of roadblock Murdock and Gardner saw as they worked their way up to take a look through the murky night air.

“Damn log across the trail. We can get over it easy, but the cart will have trouble.”

“Anybody defending behind it?” Gardner asked Lam.

“I smelled some cigarette smoke but it's gone now. Not sure if it came from there or some nearby village.” Lam shrugged. “Odds are there's at least a squad behind the log. They must have cut down a tree to get it in place.”

Murdock called up Rafii. “That leg wound hurt your knife-throwing arm?”

“Not a bit, Skipper.”

“Good. We may have visitors up front. I want you, Lam, and the JG to work up on the right-hand side of the trail. Go through the brush and vines and be as quiet as Lam is. If it's only two or three, see if you can get them with thrown knives. Any more, Lam, take the rest out with silenced shots. Take MP-5s.”

The three men faded into the jungle, and Murdock tried to hear them moving forward but he couldn't. He was sure Lam was showing the others how to get through, around, under, or over the vines and trees and plants that luxuriated in the tropical rain forest.

Murdock tried to watch ahead. The platoon had moved up to within thirty yards of the roadblock. They couldn't hear anything. Murdock watched, but saw no flare of a match that might be used to light a smoke. They waited.
Twice Murdock thought he heard the short grunt of a silenced shot, but he wasn't sure.

 

Lam led the two men, showing them how to move without making noise. They penetrated ten yards into the thickets away from the trail, then moved forward paralleling it for thirty yards. Then Lam headed them back to the trail. They stopped just behind the fallen tree. The top of it extended far into the jungle, where it had created a sweeping path as it came down. Lam eased through the brush until he could see along the heavy trunk lying on the ground. Nothing.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them he sectionalized the area, looking at one small section at a time, before moving on. He had left the other two men ten yards behind him. In the third section he found a cammy-clad soldier holding a weapon and leaning against the tree. He could be sleeping. Lam kept looking. He found the second man three feet behind the log lying on the edge of the trail. Also could be sleeping. At last Lam found the third man, sitting upright against the two-foot-thick tree trunk, rifle in his hands, peering over the top of the log.

Lam clicked his Motorola twice, and the two men behind him worked up silently. He pointed out the alert soldier, and Rafii nodded. He worked closer until he was ten feet away, then lifted up and his right hand came down sharply. Lam couldn't see the knife flying through the air, but he heard the groan from the man it hit. He fell forward and moaned as he rolled over. He tried to shout, but the sound came out as a gurgle. The noise was enough to awaken both the other men. They waved their rifles. Lam shot one of them with his silenced MP-5, and Gardner nailed the other one with a three-shot burst. Then all was quiet.

Lam motioned for the others to stay put, and he worked ahead without a sound to check on the three and see if there were any more defenders. He paused at the edge of the trail. He couldn't see or hear anyone down the trail. The three bodies in front of him hadn't moved since the attack. He surged out and checked all three. Lam touched his Motorola.

“We've got a clear field here, Skipper. Three down and out. But the damn tree is a problem.”

The rest of the platoon came up, and Sandari grinned. “No big worry,” he said. “Trees fall down over trails all the time. We unhitch the cart and ten men lift it over the log and put it down. Then I talk to the horse and lead him around the end of the log through the trees. Happens all the time.”

Fifteen minutes later the Vice President was back in the cart, and they moved up the trail, which was becoming increasingly rough and narrow.