Clear and Present Danger

"Same guy who chopped off the radio. I know who it is. After this is all over, I want his ass, too. You don't send people out in the field and then pull this crap on 'em."

"So what are you going to do?" Vega wanted to know.

"I'll slap him firmly on both wrists. Now listen, people, you worry about tonight. One job at a time. You're soldiers, not a bunch of teenage broads. Less talkin' and more thinkin'."

Chavez, Vega, and Le n took the cue. They started checking their gear. There was enough room in the van to strip and clean weapons. Clark pulled into Anserma at sundown. He found a quiet spot about a mile from the house and left the van. Clark took Vega's night goggles, and then he and Chavez went out to take a walk.

There had been farming here recently. Clark wondered what it had been, but that and the fact that it was close to the village meant that the trees had been thinned out for cooking fires. They were able to move fast. Half an hour later they could see the house, separated from the woods by two hundred meters of open ground.

"Not good," Clark observed from his place on the ground.

"I count six, all with AKs."

"Company," the CIA officer said, turning to see where the noise was coming from. It was a Mercedes, and therefore could have belonged to anyone in the Cartel. Two more cars came with it, one ahead and one behind. A total of six guards got out to check the area.

"Escobedo and LaTorre," Clark said from behind the binoculars. "Two big shots to see Colonel Cortez. I wonder why..."

"Too many, man," Chavez said.

"You notice there wasn't any password or anything?"

"So?"

"It's possible, if we play it right."

"But how..."

"Think creatively," Clark told him. "Back to the car." That took another twenty minutes. When they got there, Clark adjusted one of his radios.

"CAESAR, this is SNAKE, over."

The second refueling was accomplished within sight of the beach. They'd have to tank at least once more before heading back to Panama. The other alternative didn't seem especially likely at the moment. The good news was that Francie Montaigne was driving her Combat Talon with her usual aplomb, its four big propellers turning in a steady rhythm. Its radio operators were already talking to the surviving ground teams, taking that strain off the helicopter crew. For the first time in the mission, the air team was allowed to function as it had been trained. The MC-130E would coordinate the various pieces, coaching the Pave Low into the proper areas and away from possible threats in addition to keeping PJ's chopper filled up with gas.

In back, the ride had settled down. Ryan was up and walking around. Fear became boring after a while, and he even managed to use the Port-A-Pot without missing. The flight crew had accepted him at least as an approved interloper, and for some reason that meant a lot to him.

"Ryan, you hear me?" Johns asked.

Jack reached down to the mike button. "Yeah, Colonel."

"Your guy on the ground wants us to do something different."

"Like what?"

PJ told him. "It means another tanking, but otherwise we can hack it. Your call."

"You sure?"

"Special ops is what they pay us for."

"Okay, then. We want that bastard."

"Roger. Sergeant Zimmer, we'll be feet-dry in one minute. Systems check."

The flight engineer looked down his panel. "Roger that, PJ. Everything looks pretty solid to me, sir. Everything's green."

"Okay. First stop is Team OMEN. ETA is two-zero minutes. Ryan, you'd better grab hold of something. We're going to start nap-of-the-earth. I have to talk to our backup."

Jack didn't know what that meant. He found out as soon as they crossed the first range of coastal mountains. The Pave Low leapt up like a mad elevator, then the bottom dropped out as it cleared the summit. The helicopter was on computer-assisted-flight mode, taking a six-degree slope-it felt much worse than that-up and down the terrain features, and skimmed over the ground with bare feet of clearance. The aircraft was made to be safe, not comfortable. Ryan didn't feel much of either.

"First LZ in three minutes," Colonel Johns announced half an eternity later. "Let's go hot, Buck."

"Roger." Zimmer reached down on his console and flipped a toggle switch. "Switches hot. Guns are hot."

"Gunners, stand to. That means you, Ryan," PJ added.

"Thanks." Jack gasped without toggling his mike. He took position on the left side of the aircraft and hit the activation switch for the minigun, which started turning at once.

"ETA one minute," the copilot said. "I got a good strobe at eleven o'clock. Okay. OMEN, this is CAESAR, do you copy, over?"

Jack heard only one side of the conversation, but mentally thanked the flight crew for letting the guys in back know something.

"Roger, OMEN, say again your situation... Roger that, we're coming in. Good strobe light. Thirty seconds. Get ready in back," Captain Willis told Ryan and the rest. "Safe guns, safe guns."