"I'll keep running to the south and stay about four hundred meters from the shore. You get to the boat, bring it up, and then come up on the spare SATCOM. Get Hammer to circle. I'll tie an infrared chem light to my hood and they can track me with that, and the bad guys using thermals. With Hammer giving me covering fire I can make it to the beach, and Hammer can guide you in to pick me up."
Riley's brain spun as he listened to this desperate plan. The situation called for extreme measures, but he'd be damned if he was going to leave his team sergeant holding the bag. "Sounds good, but I'll run the diversion and you swim out."
Powers grabbed Riley by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Listen, asshole, we ain't got no time to argue. It will take me twice as long as you to swim out to the boat. Also, I'm a hell of a lot better at surviving in the woods than you are. GO!" With that, Powers turned and disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Riley forced himself to remain calm. He stopped finning and looked over his shoulder back toward shore. From the curve of the beach, he knew he was very close to the buoy marking the Zodiac's watery grave. He needed to relax and search the area slowly. It wouldn't do him any good to splash around and miss the buoy by ten meters. Every so often, as he topped a swell, he would turn over onto his stomach and scan the area, trying to spot the low-lying marker.
A sense of urgency tightened its icy grip around his heart. It had already been over twenty minutes since he had heard Powers's diversion. He'd made the dash across the beach as soon as the sicarios had taken off toward the sound of the firing. Shortly after he started swimming, he'd heard another burst of fire and some explosions that sounded like grenades. He was afraid that Powers had made contact again. Since then Riley hadn't heard anything. He prayed his team sergeant was still alive.
"This is Hammer. I say again, I have negative radio contact with Eyes Three element. Over."
Westland stared at the radio, her brow furrowed in thought as Pike talked into the mike.
"Can you make contact with the Garcia! Over."
"Wait one."
Pike took a deep breath as he sat back in the chair and endured the pause. He'd much rather be out there in the action than sitting here on his ass talking on a radio.
"Roger. We have contact with the Garcia. Over."
"Order its captain to move in closer, to within forty-five kilometers. Over."
"Roger, will relay your order. Over."
Pike waited a minute and then keyed the mike again. "What about IR chem lights or strobes on the shore? Do you have anything on your screens? Over."
"Negative on that. Through the thermals we can see a lot of people running around near the target, but no indication of friendlies. Over."
Westland suddenly leaned forward. "Ask Hammer to use its thermals over the water, between the boats and shore. Maybe they're in the water, trying to swim out."
Pike nodded. "I didn't think of that." He keyed the mike. "Hammer, this is Hammer Base. Scan the water near the shore for any swimmers. Our people may be trying to swim out to the boat. Over."
The disembodied voice from the Spectre gunship rogered the message and Westland sat back in her chair as she waited for the result.
She rubbed her eyes wearily. What a screw-up. Still no word on Stevens. No word from the team. This had the potential for disaster written all over it. Always before when she'd heard about something like this it had seemed kind of distant. Like watching a TV show or reading a spy novel. But now that the men in danger were flesh and blood people she was working with, it all seemed so different. Not glamorous or thrilling, the way it sounded when field agents recounted stories of their missions.
The worst part for Westland was the realization that Dave Riley had predicted this very occurrence. She hadn't been convinced there was a leak. Now she was. The story of Stevens cavorting with a local woman had surfaced as Jameson tried tracking down the missing DEA agent. Westland was upset with Jameson for not having reported it earlier. It was a little late now to do us much good, she thought bitterly. Riley had pointed to Stevens as a weak link from the start. Unfortunately, he'd been proven correct.
She started as she heard the gunship come back on the air. "Hammer Base, I've got a heat source in the water approximately four hundred meters from shore. Over."
Riley rode the swell and finned hard, rising up out of the water to his midchest. He scanned the immediate area. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a black dot — the buoy. He swam over to it and grabbed the line. He released his ruck from its buddy line and attached the snap link to the buoy line. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself down on the line to the boat. The line was tied directly into a large carbon dioxide-charged bottle strapped to the boat's floorboards. Riley fumbled along the bottle until he felt the valve. He pulled the release, let go of the boat, and swam to the surface.
He had barely taken his second breath of air when the Zodiac popped up almost underneath him. The carbon dioxide was still inflating the boat as Riley clambered over the side. He pulled in his ruck. When the gas stopped hissing, he closed the inlet valve and the compartmental valves. Then he tore through the waterproof bags in his pack and pulled out the SATCOM radio.
He didn't bother with a bounce-back test, just keyed the mike and spoke. "Hammer, this is Nail Three Five. Do you have an IR chem light on shore, moving south along the coast, about four hundred meters in? Over."
"Nail Three Five, this is Hammer. That's a negative. We've scanned the whole area for ten klicks each direction over the past ten minutes and have found nothing. Hammer Base is patched into this net and wants to talk to you. Over."
Riley slumped down in the boat. He was too late. Powers was either dead or captured; otherwise his IR light would still be on. Riley slammed his fist into the side of the boat. His team wiped out. He'd known from the beginning that the whole mission was flaky.
"Nail Three Five, this is Hammer Base. Over."
He stared at the radio. Westland's voice drifted away over the waves. Riley shook his head. He needed a few minutes to sort things out. He ignored the radio.
He considered heading in toward shore, but he knew that would be futile, since he had no way to contact Powers. His team sergeant would be doing something to gain the attention of the gunship, even if his IR chem light wasn't working. The lack of any signal was a very bad sign.
Riley wondered what brilliant cover story was going to be concocted to explain the deaths. He was sure the CIA or DEA had one ready, which led him to the thought of what the Colombians were going to do with the bodies. Another Desert One scenario with American bodies being displayed to make a political point? And how was the American government going to explain away the bodies in the hands of the Colombian drug cartel? Probably claim there was an aircraft crash during training.
Riley drew a deep breath. It didn't matter to him what the government did. His men were dead. He had other more important questions swirling through his mind. Was Powers really dead or had he been wounded and captured? Who and where was the leak? What was going to happen to the task force now?
Riley knew that the CIA — hell, even the Department of Defense— considered him and his men expendable, just dumb GIs who didn't need to know the whys and the wherefores but just what to do. Well, Riley had a somewhat higher opinion of himself.
He picked up the mike.