Quinley cut him down with a two-round burst from the Bull Pup’s 5.56 barrel.
The other two guards were behind a low rock wall that ran across the front of the compound. Ostercamp threw a grenade, saw it bounce against the mansion wall, then come back toward the guards. It exploded a moment later, and one of the guards screamed in pain, then went quickly silent.
They saw nothing more of the third guard. DeWitt figured the man crawled behind the wall to the far end and vanished into the night.
The front door stood open. “Let’s get over the stones out there to the mansion wall,” DeWitt said into his mike. The SEALs lifted up and ran for the front wall of the big residence. They took no enemy fire. DeWitt edged toward the front door. It was still open.
“Franklin, with me. I have the right, you go left. Now.” The two SEALs charged the door, dove in left and right, their weapons up ready for any enemy.
DeWitt came up on his stomach and cleared his half of the room. It was an entryway with two soft couches and chairs and a table filled with liquor bottles and mixers.
“Over here, JG,” Franklin said, his voice husky. DeWitt looked at the other side of the room. A man sat in one of the soft chairs. The whole side of his head had been torn off, probably by a fifty-caliber round. Beside him on the chair sat a shapely naked woman who looked up at them with a tear-stained face.
“You bastards, you fucking murderous bastards!” she screamed.
“We’re inside at the front,” DeWitt said into his mike. “We have one DB, one naked lady alive. She speaks English.”
“Shake the place down,” Murdock radioed. “Careful on the shooting.”
DeWitt brought the rest of his men inside and watched both doors leading off the entryway. He sent Franklin to one, and he took the other one. They both pulled the doors open at the same time. Shots boiled through Franklin’s door. He had flattened against the wall, and the rounds missed him. He dropped to the floor and edged out to look into the room from that level. He spotted two gunmen standing with handguns up, waiting. He pulled back, pushed his MP-5 around the doorjamb, tilted it up, and ground off ten rounds. On his next look, he saw one man down, the second one sitting against the wall, holding his stomach. Franklin hit him with three more rounds, and he crumpled.
“Clear left,” Franklin said.
Franklin took Canzoneri and Quinley into the room. It had one door leading out.
DeWitt took Mahanani, Ostercamp, and Jefferson into his room and eyed the next door. Suddenly, it burst open, and four women ran through it. All were young, all pretty, and all birth-naked. They stopped when they saw the cammy-clad warriors. One shrieked. Another one fainted and slumped to the floor.
DeWitt waved them through the room. He stepped around the unconscious woman and looked into the next room. Two men sat at a desk. Both were Colombian, both dressed impeccably, both with stacks of banded money in front of them.
“Gentlemen, it seems there has been a serious misunderstanding. We have no fight with the United States Navy SEALs. You are free to come here as you please. We ask you no more gunfire. Some of our people have been hurt, and we’re seriously upset about this turn of events.”
DeWitt stood openmouthed even as he aimed his Bull Pup at the men. He found his voice. “You an American?”
“No, actually no. You see, I lived in Miami for several years, so I picked up the language. English is easy. But we’re getting off the subject. Those of us here today wish to make a deposit in your retirement account.”
DeWitt motioned with the Bull Pup muzzles. “Away from the desk, and keep your hands up. Move.”
“Of course. We’re reasonable men. We have cash for you, no wire transfers and no problems. On the table are eight million dollars in one hundred dollar United States currency bills. It’s yours for the taking.”
“Murdock. How far front are you? I have a non shooting problem here.”
“About two rooms away. No opposition. Problem?”
“Eight million dollars, U.S., in cash.”
“Cash?”
“Greenbacks. Get in here.”
DeWitt motioned Jefferson to check the far door. He opened it and looked around the next room. “Clear,” he said.
He looked again. “Right in here, Cap,” Jefferson said.
Murdock came through the door cautiously. When he saw the situation was under control, he marched to the desk and looked at the stacked and banded bills. They were all hundreds in packs of what he figured were 100. Ten thousand to a bundle.
“Counterfeit,” Murdock said.
“We couldn’t stay in business a week if we used counterfeit bills,” the Colombian said. “We would be cut down in a tornado of hot lead. You know that’s legal tender. It’s yours. Your platoon can split it any way you choose. Sounds like a half million each. Sailor, what could you do with five hundred thousand dollars, all tax free?” The Colombian had directed his question to Canzoneri, who stood closest to him.
Canzoneri grinned. “You fat pig, I’d take it all and jam it right up your asshole and laugh.”
DeWitt and Murdock had a quick conference.
“We found one in the lobby,” DeWitt said. “Then we nailed two more suits.”
“We cut down three in a back room,” Murdock said. “These are the last two.”
“Suggestions?” DeWitt asked.
“We do our job.” Murdock and DeWitt turned and fired six rounds each into the two men, who slammed backward from the force of the rounds and died against the oak-paneled wall.
“We take the money and turn it in,” Murdock said. “That way these bastards can’t buy more cocaine paste with it. Find a plastic garbage bag, a pillowcase, or a suitcase. Go now.”
The SEALs split up and searched the rooms. Jefferson came back with a green canvas barracks bag.
Murdock nodded. “Stuff the bills in there and take it with us. Jefferson, it’s your baby. You lose it, and it’s a statement of charges out of your pay for eight million. Who has Willy Peter?”
Two men called out.
“Use them. One here, one farther back. Want to see this place burned to a crisp. We’re out of here.”
They were soon a quarter of a mile away, heading for a series of low shacks such as they had seen near Cali at the processing plant. Behind them, the mansion began to burn through the walls. The buildings they aimed for were what Murdock had figured.
The SEALs found no guards around the processing sheds. Canzoneri gave some instructions. “Put the charge at the center of one side of the tank. That will blast it inward and crumple it so the vat can’t be fixed. A quarter pound of either TNAZ or C-4 should do the trick.” He looked at his commander.
“Timers, Cap. How long?”
“We’ll use the net. How many tanks here?”
“Twelve, Commander.”
“Plant the charges, get a check by radio, then we’ll set the timers, depending on where else we go. Lam, see what you can find out about some larger buildings for storing the finished product.”
Five minutes later, Canzoneri had a radio check that the charges were all ready. Lam had not returned. “Set the timers for thirty minutes and get back up here pronto,” Murdock said.
They had to find the finished cocaine storage area, and the one for the local ethyl ether, then the planes. A good night’s work yet to come.
Lam caught up with them two hundred yards from the production facility.
“Two buildings up there beside the runaway,” Lam said. “One of them has a loading ramp. We should check it out for the coke.”
They jogged across the open ground toward the buildings that had a few night-lights on. They stopped in the darkness a hundred yards away. Now they could see more lights. A pair of floods snapped on.