Krashchenko walked across the room and pulled a tumbler from the shelf. He filled it from a bottle of Dolgoruki brand vodka, put it to his lips, and downed the whole thing in three gulps. After refilling the glass, he walked to the sofa and sat down.
Joplin joined him, settling into an easy chair on the other side of the coffee table. "What can I do for you, Yuri?"
"We are aware of situation on Afghanistan border with Iran," the Russian said. "We do not want to get involved."
"I think our President already knows that."
"But we can help in this particular instance," Krashchenko said. "Most surreptitious. That I emphasize. You understand?"
"I understand perfectly."
Krashchenko placed the briefcase on the coffee table, opened it, and pulled out a packet of blueprints. "Here. For you. It must not be known you have received this in Moscow."
Joplin opened the package and looked inside. "Mmm. I see. It seems to be a mine or something. And it's all in Russian."
"Is that problem?"
"Not really," Joplin said. "And what are we to do with these?"
"Here for you are complete plans of fortified mountain where Iranian and Arabs are being where you fight them on the Afghanistan and Iran frontier," Krashchenko said. "All bunkers, trenches, entrances, and exits are clearly shown."
"Good God!" Joplin exclaimed. "Yeah! That place was constructed by Russian military engineers, wasn't it?"
"We are hoping these will be help for you."
"They certainly will! Thank you very much."
Krashchenko downed the second glass of vodka and stood up. "Now I am going. Good-bye, Carl."
"Good-bye, Yuri."
Joplin accompanied him to the door, opening it. "Thank you again for the blueprints."
"What blueprints?" Krashchenko said, shrugging. "Da svidaniya."
.
SEAL BASE CAMP
HEADQUARTERS BUNKER
28 AUGUST 1000 HOURS
BRANNIGAN had called an officers and chiefs conference, and Lieutenant Jim Cruiser, Ensign Orlando Taylor, SCPO Buford Dawkins, and CPO Matt Gunnarson were all seated on rough-hewn stools waiting for the Skipper to begin the proceedings.
"I'm getting a lot of pressure from Carey about that goddamn DPV I gave to Randy Tooley," Brannigan said. "And Carey in turn is getting leaned on real heavy from Station Bravo supply. The damn thing is on their property books, and they want an accounting--in writing--now! I need some serious intelligent input and advice on this situation."
The senior chief spoke up first. "Lie about it, sir."
"It's going to have to be a pretty clever lie," Brannigan said.
"Not necessarily," Cruiser said. "You can claim it was lost in the normal course of things."
"I'd have to pay for it."
"Tell 'em the enemy stole it," Chief Gunnarson suggested. "Or destroyed it with hostile fire."
"How can I do that?" Brannigan said. "We won all the battles."
"Bad luck," Cruiser said, and then quickly added, "Well, you know what I mean."
Ensign Taylor spoke up. "I have a suggestion, sir."
Cruiser chuckled. "All due respect, Ensign, but I don't think you've been in the Navy long enough to get down and dirty about a situation like this. Figuring out a way to get away with it will take a lot of savvy and experience."
Taylor shrugged. "I suppose you're right, sir."
"C'mon!" Brannigan said. "Let's give the young man a chance. Out of the mouths of babes, right?"
"Well, sir, I've noticed that Petty Officer Murchison has a way with words," Taylor said. "Sometimes it's very difficult to understand him. Perhaps if he wrote up an explanation in an ambiguous way that really didn't say anything but looked impressive, the people at Station Bravo could write off the vehicle easily and quickly. They could attach it as an endorsement to their own report of the affair."
"Great idea!" Brannigan exclaimed. "They really don't want the damn thing back, but they have to cover their asses. That supply officer doesn't want to pay for the vehicle any more than I do."
"Murchison is in my section," Dawkins said. "I'll brief him on the problem."
Monty Sturgis, the petty officer of the watch, stepped into the bunker. "Chopper's coming," he announced. "Two visitors. Can't see who they are from here."
"Right," Brannigan said. "I can't wait to see who they might be." Then he added under his breath, "Not!"
Ten minutes later, Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer entered with PO Doug MacTavish. The SEAL who had been wounded was in good spirits as he reported in. His face, which had taken a combined load of shrapnel, rocks, and dirt in the explosion that injured him, still showed the effects of the incident. But it was obvious he was healing nicely. There was none of the tattooing that Doc Bradley had feared.
Ensign Taylor was happy to see his SAW gunner back in action. "It's great to have you home again, MacTavish. We've had need of your expertise. You play pretty tunes on that squad automatic weapon."
"Glad to be here, sir," MacTavish said.
Berringer spoke in his usual somber manner. "He's not going to be here long. And neither are the rest of you. A detachment of Army Rangers is coming in to relieve you. You're to be back at Shelor Field by tomorrow at the latest."
"What's with this shit, sir?"
"All I know is that orders came down to move you guys back to Shelor Field," Berringer explained. "And I don't think it's for R and R."
Brannigan pointed over to the informal supply dump just outside Doc Bradley's clinic. "It's gonna take us a hell of a long time to pack all this stuff up."
"Leave it for the Army," Berringer said. "All you lug out of here is your personal weapons and equipment. Leave the fifty-caliber machine guns too."
"Aren't I charged with all that?" Brannigan asked in way of a protest.
"Your name is removed from all supply and ordnance considerations here," Berringer assured him.
"Does that include the DPV?" Brannigan asked.
"There's never been a desert patrol vehicle up here on Operation Battleline," Berringer said. "And you're still going to have to answer for the one that was misplaced during Operation Rolling Thunder."
"Not to worry," Brannigan said. "The paperwork is in the mill." He turned to his section leaders. "You heard the commander. Go round up your guys. It's moving day."
"The chopper will be here at fourteen hundred hours," Berringer said.
The officers and chiefs left the bunker to muster their sections and teams.
.
SEAL HANGAR
SHELOR FIELD
30 AUGUST 1300 HOURS
BRUNO Puglisi sat next to his buddy Joe Miskoski among the other SEALs scattered around on folding chairs. The last two days had dragged by very slowly. Puglisi whispered, "They might as well leave this meeting stuff set up permanent."
"Yeah," Miskoski agreed. "I'm beginning to feel like I've spent half my Navy career getting briefed in this freakin' hangar."
Mike Assad, in the row just behind them, leaned forward. "Yeah. But this time we're gonna really be able to go at the bad guys down and fucking dirty, man!"
"Sail on!" Puglisi agreed with a wicked grin.
Brannigan, Jim Cruiser, and Orlando Taylor were in the cubbyhole of an office with Commander Tom Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer. When the latter two officers had shown up at Shelor Field after the Brigands' impromptu transfer from the OA, they had kicked up everyone's adrenaline with the revelation of the blueprints of the Zaheya mountain fortress. A well-hidden and skillfully camouflaged rear entrance was plainly shown on the plans. Now they knew how the ragheads had managed to get out and catch up with them during the exfiltration after the HALO attack.
The officers came out to join the rest of the detachment. The Skipper, Cruiser, and Taylor went behind the chairs and stayed on their feet for the briefing that was about to be delivered. Carey and Berringer tacked a blown-up reproduction of the fortress layout on the wall. Then Berringer stepped aside while Carey took the floor.