The Hamlet Warning (21 page)

“I don’t think Ramón is going to cooperate in any way,” Loomis said. “He’s really putting on the pressure.”

“Ol’ buddy, I think you’d better reconsider that offer from the company,” Johnson said. “Look on the bright side. What you’ve got is a kind of shitty job, anyway.”

“They all are, in our line,” Loomis said. A plan began to take shape in his mind. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“Back entry,” Johnson said. “I don’t want to be seen. If word gets back to Langley, they’ll think I’ve lost my mind.” He paused before adding, “And maybe I have.”

Chapter 24

Minus
16
:
44
Hours

Loomis circled around past the bungalows to the back entrance of the hotel. Johnson wasn’t in sight. Irritated, Loomis killed the jeep engine, prepared to wait.

From a hundred yards away came the sound of the surf. A band was playing somewhere in the hotel, and through the open doors at back Loomis could hear the chatter of the kitchen help. Otherwise, the night was quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

Within minutes his irritation turned to worry. Johnson was not a man to be late. Not unless there was a reason.

Loomis picked up the two Hecklers and stepped from the jeep. Moving away from open moonlight, he edged into the darkness beneath the palms. He waited until he heard footsteps on the graveled drive, then eased around the trunk of a palm, his weapon ready.

“Hold it, ol’ buddy,” Johnson said softly. “Wherever you are, don’t shoot. It’s me.”

Loomis stepped out. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

Johnson put a forefinger to his lips. “Keep it down,” he said. “There’s a well-armed delegation out front. I have a hunch they’re waiting for you.”

“What makes you think
I’m
the target?”

“Adds up,” Johnson said. “You leave your palatial pad, obviously headed for the hotel. A lookout phones ahead, and four men move into place. Come on. I’ll show you.”

He led Loomis to the third floor. Cautiously, they eased down the corridors to Johnson’s room at the front. Without turning on the lights, Johnson moved to a window and parted the curtains. “Down there,” he said. “Other side of the hedge beyond the pool.”

For a moment, Loomis saw only pool, palms, and a row of orange and white deck chairs. Then he saw something move behind the hedge that screened the pool from the drive.

“Four?” Loomis asked.

“All I counted. They may have a hole card hid out in the trees.”

“How long they been there?”

“Since about two minutes after I hung up the phone from talking to you.”

“How’d you come to notice them?”

“That’s the way I’ve managed to live these forty-some-odd years. By noticing things.”

Loomis figured Johnson probably was right about the lookout and phone call. The timing jibed. But if the phones were tapped, they would have known to ambush him behind the hotel. He was seen leaving the
palacio
, and they had assumed he was headed for the front entrance. The assassination squad had moved into position.

The problem was what to do about them.

“We could go ahead, play like we didn’t see them,” Loomis said.

“We could,” Johnson agreed. 

“But they might just wait and ambush me some other time. Right when I was least expecting it.”

“Probably,” Johnson said with elaborate disinterest. “You don’t go out of your way to help anyone make a decision, do you?”

“What you ought to do doesn’t matter,” Johnson said. “What’s important is what you’re gonna do. I have the definite feeling you’re gonna go out there and blow the living shit out of them.”

“I’m thinking strongly in that direction,” Loomis admitted. He now could make out the shape of another assassin in the trees behind the hedge.

Johnson sighed. “I sure wish I could help,” he said. “It’s a hard life, being a neutral in the middle of a war.”

“I could use a good neutral,” Loomis said. He was looking through the blinds, fixing the location of each man firmly in his mind. “I’ll sneak down there onto the balcony above the entrance. You can move around to that pavilion on the east side of the swimming pool and practice your neutrality. When I open fire, you can neutralize anything that moves in your direction.”

“Hot damn, I knew there was bound to be a loophole there somewhere,” Johnson said. “Langley will be proud of me, working so hard to practice neutrality.” He stepped to the window and studied the pool area, figuring the angles of crossfire.

Loomis handed him the Heckler MP5 and an extra clip. They backed out into the hall. Johnson stopped to check the load.

“Give me time to get down there,” he said.

“Five minutes,” Loomis said. “No more. They’re probably already beginning to get nervous.”

Johnson went out the back way to circle the hotel. Loomis walked down the long corridor of the L-shaped building, to the balcony that jutted over the front entrance. The swimming pool was nestled in the angle of the L, with the pavilion at the far end. 

Fortunately the revolution had driven the few remaining tourists inside. The corridors were deserted, and despite the heat no one was using the pool.

The reinforced concrete railing of the balcony was slightly more than waist high. Keeping low, Loomis moved to the front of the building, directly over the entrance where, except for a bit of luck, he would have been assassinated.

He waited five minutes by the sweeping second hand on his watch, flipped off the safety on his weapon, and stood up abruptly.

None of the gunmen had shifted position. They turned, bringing their weapons up. Loomis killed two with short bursts before return fire chewed into the concrete behind him.

Ducking below the balcony wall, Loomis waited until Johnson started the crossfire. Confident his target was otherwise occupied, Loomis again swung his weapon over the balcony. He fired a dozen rounds into a man fleeing down the driveway. He was knocked sprawling, his weapon bouncing along the gravel.

Johnson’s final burst sent the fourth man tumbling into the swimming pool.

Either there was no fifth man, or he had fled. Loomis walked cautiously down the first flight of steps, rounded the flagpole on the landing, then edged down the last half-flight. Inside the lobby, three hotel employees were flat on the floor, judiciously awaiting the outcome of the battle. No one was curious enough to come out and learn what had happened.

Loomis crossed the wide entranceway to the pool area. With his toe he rolled one of the assassins over onto his back into a spreading circle of blood.

He’d never seen the man before.

Johnson walked up, looking at the body in the water. “Shit, now I’ve messed up the pool for the tourist trade,” he said. 

With the shooting over, Loomis allowed himself the luxury of anger. “Four of them. With AK-47s. Sons of bitches weren’t taking any chances, were they?”

“You should be flattered,” Johnson said. “You must have one hell of a reputation in this part of the world.”

“Let’s go,” Loomis said. “I feel like cracking a few heads tonight.”

Johnson pointed to the bodies. “Shouldn’t we tell the hotel people what to do with the debris?”

Loomis started back toward the jeep. “That’s their problem,” he said.

*

Minus
15
:
32
Hours

The streets of the Old Town lay relatively quiet and peaceful under a bright quarter-moon while both rebel and government troops made preparations for the battle anticipated at dawn. All electric power to that section of the city had been cut, and above the darkened buddings the stars were bright in a cloudless sky.

Loomis drove slowly toward the government headquarters at the old fort just north of the rebel lines. Johnson rode shotgun, keeping his Heckler at ready, watching the doorways and overhanging balconies.

“Tomorrow they’ll move on the
palacio,
” Loomis said.

“What are the odds?”

“For El Jefe, not so good,” Loomis said. “Not without help.”

“What are
you
going to do? Don’t you think it’s about time to bail out of this mess?”

“I’ve got several alternatives working,” Loomis told him. “What I’ll do depends on what happens. We’ve heard that a U.S. Navy task force left Gitmo yesterday, headed this way. You know anything about it?” 

“Your sources on that are probably better than mine,” Johnson said.

“El Jefe may request intervention. Allowing for the bomb situation, what do you think are the odds on that?”

“My own opinion?”

“Yes.”

“Your best estimate would come from somebody at State,” Johnson said. “But since you ask me, I’ll tell you. I wouldn’t count on the President doing a damned thing.”

“But it could happen?” Loomis insisted.

“Depends on how much pressure is brought to bear, and from what direction. If Alcoa needs the bauxite, that’d bring pressure. If the sugar is needed, that’d be more. There are a lot of little factors that are beyond my purview. The President might risk it.”

“I admire a man with firm answers,” Loomis said. “What about the atomic bomb? Doesn’t that enter into it?”

“That’s one of the little factors I mentioned,” Johnson said.

Loomis parked the jeep on the sloping street in front of the old Santa Barbara Church. While Loomis lifted the hood, removed the distributor cap, and lifted out the rotor, Johnson backed into the street, looking up at the old church with its ancient arches, grilled windows, and impressive bell tower.

“That thing must be old as hell,” he said. “When was it built?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Johnson,” Loomis said, irritated. “Do you always have to be the fucking tourist?”

“I’m serious,” Johnson protested.

“Hell, I don’t know. But it’s fairly modern. Built some time in the seventeen-hundreds. Now the old fort, where we’re going, is more your speed. It was built in fifteen-seventy-four.” 

They passed through a checkpoint manned by six government marines. Then they climbed the six tiers of steps leading up through a flowered park to the fortress. A row of ancient cannon, unused for centuries, still pointed out over the harbor. Loomis could see two of El Jefe’s generals sitting on a cannon in the moonlight, deep in a heated argument. One of the generals, Eduardo Arango Jimenez, wanted to move artillery and tanks from the Duarte Bridge westward to form a wedge between El Conde Gate and the
palacio
. He pointed out that the rebels for the moment had little use for the bridge. He doubted any effort would be made to capture the bridge or its approaches. The other general, Jorge Gomez Franco, thought the rebel advance on the
palacio
could best be thwarted by a heavy attack on the flank. Gomez pointed out that tanks and artillery could sweep southward at daylight, diverting rebel attention from making any more efforts toward the west.

Loomis joined them and listened quietly to the debate, asking occasional questions to pinpoint troops and lines of contact. Johnson wandered away, examining the old fort.

The discussion continued more than an hour. At one point the generals asked Loomis for his opinion. He agreed that both plans had merit. A combination of the two might be best, he pointed out. If the rebels could be contained at El Conde Gate, only time might be gained. On the next try the rebels might succeed. But if they were contained at the gate, while a thrust southward along the river managed to cut their lines of supply, then defeat would be clear-cut.

The generals were dubious. They felt the government lacked the manpower for such a wide front. Loomis didn’t argue with them.

The only person he had to convince was El Jefe.

Eventually, he tired of the talk. He felt he knew the lines and general dispersion of forces as well as could be expected. He only needed one more bit of information.

“Where is Ramón’s center of operations?” he asked.

“The Primate Cathedral seems to be the staff headquarters,” Gomez said. “But Ramón isn’t there. We don’t know where he is. We suspect he may be with a force somewhere in reserve.”

“Who seems to be running things over there?”

“Professor Salamanca of the university.”

“Formerly of the university,” Loomis said.

They laughed. Loomis shook hands with them and wished them luck. After rounding up Johnson, he returned to the jeep, thinking.

The plan that kept nagging him was just crazy enough to work.

“You like to have some fun?” he asked Johnson.

“It all depends,” Johnson said. “What’s your idea of fun?”

“The rebel headquarters is in the Primate Cathedral, just a few blocks south of here. We might sort of reconnoiter, see what’s going on down there.”

Johnson made a silent whistle. “Look, Loomis, I know these rebel guys are amateurs. But I assume they know enough to post a few guards, load their rifles, and all that.”

“You worry too much,” Loomis said. “We can move right down the riverbank. We ought to be able to take care of anyone we happen to run into.”

“Loomis, you’re nuts. You know that? What would be the point?”

“They tried to kill me tonight. I’d like to stir up their shit a little.”

“People have been trying to kill you for thirty years now. You’ve never taken it personal before.”

“It’s always personal.”

“The girl. That’s it. You must be worried about the girl. You wouldn’t let a friendly little ambush upset you so.”