He pulled away from the eyepiece and glanced over at Westland. She had spotted the two men and had drawn her pistol. Riley gestured for her to take no action. He quietly put the rifle down in the crook of the branch and took hold of his submachine gun.
The two men moved with evident field experience. The lead man had the shotgun at hip level and swung it back and forth in concert with his head as he scanned their way up. The second man carried the Uzi, folding stock extended, and was trailing the first, allowing a good tactical separation of almost twenty meters. The mistake they were making was one that even the most experienced soldier can make: They were focusing on the ground and not checking up in the trees. It was a universal bad habit. There was a good chance the two would pass right beneath his and Westland's position without noticing them. But Riley knew he couldn't afford to take that chance.
He got Westland's attention and pointed at the lead man, indicating that he was hers. She nodded. Riley centered his sights on the second man. He waited until the lead man was within ten meters of the base of their tree. "Freeze, I've got you covered," he yelled out in Spanish.
They froze. The lead man slowly lifted his head until he could see into the tree. He took in the two people crouched up there and their weapons. The odds were against him. He called out to his partner in Spanish. "There's two in the tree. Man and a woman. They've got a sub on you and a pistol on me."
"Shut up," Riley yelled. Now that he had frozen the action he wasn't sure how to proceed. The trail man was easing himself over toward a tree trunk, trying to get its cover. "Move another step and you're dead."
The man stopped. The lead man was still looking up at them. "Perhaps we should talk."
"Who are you?" Riley called out.
The lead man seemed rather confident for someone who had a pistol pointing at him. "That's a good question. One we might ask you. But I think I might know more about you than you know about us. Your name Riley?"
Riley studied the man. Who the hell would know his name?
The man switched to English. "And the lady there is Westland, I presume. Only a goddamn Green Beanie would take a woman into a tree on a date."
Riley was confused. "Who the hell are you?"
"Let me ask you something first. If you answer right we can do all the talking you want. What was your first car?"
Riley recognized the question. It was from his finger card — the card every member of the team had filled out prior to the mission and placed inside the escape and evasion packet that had been given to Pike. Each man's card had his fingerprints and photograph, plus three questions only he would know the answers to. The purpose of the questions was to verify identity in case a link had to be made with an unknown party. The person asking had access to the information in the E & E packet, which meant he was legitimate; the person being asked established his identity by answering the obscure question correctly.
"A '64 Plymouth Valiant," Riley answered. The man lowered his shotgun. Riley sighed. He turned to Westland, who had followed the exchange in confusion. "They're friendlies."
He led the way down out of the tree. By the time they got to the bottom the two men were waiting there. The shorter one gestured and the tall blond man climbed up to take their place. Getting to the branch, he rested his rifle on it and started scanning the compound.
The other man stuck out his hand. "Andy Thompson. That's Ron Tremont up there."
Riley shook his hand. "Dave Riley. This is Kate Westland."
Thompson nodded. "I know. We were told you all might be hanging around here."
Westland took the offered hand. "Where you from?"
The man shrugged. "I'm not supposed to tell you that, but suffice it to say that I'm from the same place you are, Dave. Used to be in 7th Group myself. We're here to help you all out with your mission."
Riley's suspicions were confirmed. They had to be from Delta Force. "What were you briefed our mission was?"
The man pointed down toward the villa. "From what we were told there's a very bad man living there who isn't supposed to see the sun rise tomorrow. We've got a plan we think will do that."
Riley shook his head. "There's a complication."
Thompson frowned. "What complication?"
"My team sergeant is a prisoner down there."
"What!" The man shook his head. "We weren't told about any hostages. Shit. I'm going to have to call the old man and let him know. Fill me in while I get the radio set up."
As Riley updated him, Thompson slipped the ruck off his back and pulled out a SATCOM radio. He unfolded the tripod legs of the little dish and angled it up to the sky, then hooked in a scrambler and put on a small headset. He did a trial shot and got a successful bounce back from the satellite, indicating he was on the right direction and azimuth.
Satisfied he was set, Thompson keyed his mike. "Eagle Leader, this is Snake Leader. Over."
The reply came back in less than two seconds. "Snake Leader, this is Eagle Six-Kilo. Wait one while I get the Six. Over."
After about thirty seconds another voice came over the radio. "This is Eagle Leader. Go ahead. Over."
"Roger, we've linked up with the surveillance element down here. They're in good health. We've got the compound under surveillance. There's a slight complication. Riley says there's an American hostage in the villa. His team sergeant who was captured during an earlier op. Over."
There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Roger. I'll have to talk that over with the planning cell. I'll let you know what we come up with at the 1800 contact. In the meantime continue on as planned and find out as much of the information we need as possible. Over."
"Roger. Over."
"Out here."
The radio went dead and Thompson switched it off. Riley and Westland looked at him expectantly. They had been able to hear only his end of the conversation. Thompson looked up at them. "Our forward element is down in Panama by now. They're going to work in the hostage. They'll let us know if there are any modifications at our 1800 contact."
Riley nodded. "What's the plan in the meantime?"
"We wait and observe. I've got a whole list of questions we need answered about that place down there."
Riley was beginning to feel a bit like Tarzan with all this hanging around in trees. Tremont was on the other side of the trunk, continuing to scan the compound through the scope on the rifle he carried. Riley had never seen that particular sniper rifle. It was bolt action with a bulky covering around the barrel.
Tremont seemed more than happy to explain his weapon. Riley had found that most military men liked talking about the tools of their trade.
"This is an Accuracy International Model PM sniper rifle, made by the Brits. We used to use the M21 like you guys in SF, but this thing is more accurate. Fires 7.62 match ammo. It's single bolt action because the receiver is high-carbon solid steel. Tightens up the whole action. The barrel is free floating and never comes closer than an eighth of an inch to the stock."
Riley pointed at the barrel. He'd never seen an accurate silenced sniper rifle. "That a suppressor?"
"Yeah. It's an integral one, like the one on your MP5."
"What about the round? Don't you get the supersonic crack?"
Tremont enjoyed being the expert. "Nope. I use Lapua subsonic match ammo. I lose some range but I can still hit out to about eight hundred meters and put someone down forever, and no one will hear a thing."
Riley was impressed. "How fast can you reload and fire?"
Tremont looked down at the villa. "At this range, at a man-sized target? I figure I can put a round out every two seconds and hit. The British SAS have…"