“Not as far as I know.”
Ricks grunted. “Why is it some of these guys think they can get away with this shit,” he said disgustedly.
“Same old thing. We’re the big bad Americans. ‘I’ll get you,’ and all that. They really aren’t too smart,” said Whitman.
“Ain’t that the truth. And as usual, we get to clean up their mess. Anybody special we might have heard of?”
“Not really, but it turns out one of the mayors is married to some navy admiral. The news has made a little fuss over it. Other than that…”
Ricks sat up and looked hard at Whitman. “You know the name?”
Whitman was a little surprised. Suddenly the water had turned really cold. “I think it was something like Hammer or Hanley, or something.”
“Roger Hammond?”
“Yea, that was it. Why?”
Ricks pulled himself quickly out of the water and grabbed his towel.
“What’s the matter, Dale? You know this guy or something?”
Ricks turned and looked at Whitman. To Whitman, Ricks face had changed from its normal easy going look to one that made him shiver. It was a face you didn’t want to see on a dark night. “He’s a friend of mine,” said Ricks.
Whitman was about to say something when a young Private came into the gym shouting Ricks’ name.
“Master Sergeant Ricks, the CO wants to see you and your team ASAP,” the young man said.
Ricks glanced at Whitman. “I guess you were right,” he said as he headed for the dressing room.
Chapter 6
Assembling Assets
The red-eye flight from San Diego to Washington was not Hammond’s favorite, but it was the quickest way to get involved that he knew of. The minute he got off the Kings Mountain in San Diego, he had been surrounded by security. Back in his office, they briefed him on the man following his car and a plan was hatched. A senior officer in the security detail was given the keys to his car and his home. While everything was getting set up, Hammond got a briefing from his staff on all that was known about the incident so far. The CNO’s office had personally made sure they were in the loop for anything that came up. Hammond was told that his boss, the Commander in Chief, Pacific, had ordered him to temporary duty in the office of the Chief of Naval Operations until the situation was over. He was also given a reservation for the evening flight leaving San Diego at 8 pm. By 5 pm, a bag had been brought from his home back to the office. The senior officer, a Navy Commander, was now dressed in a vice admiral’s uniform, and went out of the building. He climbed into Hammond’s car and drove back to his home. Just as expected, the tail followed him. Hammond, now in civilian clothes, was placed in the back of one of the security cars and driven to the airport. There was a two hour delay in Los Angeles, but finally he was in the air headed toward Washington.
Hammond tried to sleep, but the events were too much to handle. He was still trying to run things through his mind, going through details over and over again. The movie was some comedy about college teens which usually ended with a prank played on some unsuspecting character. Searching through the seatback pocket, he pulled out a magazine and began leafing through it. He was interrupted by someone kneeling beside his seat.
“Admiral, how are you holding up?” asked the person kneeling.
Hammond looked over to see Petty Officer Golden beside him with a concerned look on his face. Seeing one of his crew brightened his whole evening. “Golden! What are you doing on this flight?” Hammond asked with a grin as he shook his hand. A quick nod to the federal marshal sitting across from him in the aisle kept Golden from being grabbed.
“Couldn’t hang around this time. My wife called and our son is in the hospital with a bad appendix. I’m making a quick dash in to make sure things are okay before I head back,” Golden said.
Hammond got a surprised look. “Going back? Okay, what are you and the rest of the crew up to?”
An innocent look crossed Golden’s face. “Oh, nothing. Some of us are going to hang around in case we’re needed. You never know, Captain, you might need some help. Besides, it’s always good to carry a big stick,” he said referring to the Iowa.
Hammond chuckled. “Just like last time, huh? Well, I appreciate it, but right now I doubt we can use you. This is a whole different situation from the last time.” He said.
Golden grinned. “Just let us worry about that one. Have you heard anything new?” he asked.
Hammond shook his head. “No, still no word on who has them or where they are. I’ve got some ideas, but we need a little more information. I’m on the way to Washington to help out where I can.”
Golden patted Hammond on the arm. “That’s probably the best way to go right now. Just do us a favor. If you do find out anything, let us know. You’ve got a lot of guys pulling for you back on the ship and around. If we can help, call on us.”
Hammond smiled and offered his hand again. “Don’t worry. I know. I’ll get the word to you guys as often as I can. Now you get home to your family. They need you more than anything right now.”
Golden nodded. “Okay, I get off in Houston, but if you need to talk a while, come on back.”
“Thanks. I’m going to try to get a little sleep, but if I can’t, I may join you,” Hammond said.
“You’re more than welcome,” said Golden as he stood. He waved as he walked toward the rear of the plane.
Hammond glanced at the Marshal. “He’s one of my former crew. Nice guy.”
“I kind of figured that. Good thing he kept his hands where I could see them,” said the Marshal with a grin.
Hammond chucked, “I guess so,” he said as he sat back in his seat. As he sat in the darkened plane, he thought back about the times he and his men and shared during the war. Golden was a good Boatswain’s Mate and one of his helmsmen. He had always been eager to help out around the ship. The thoughts helped put his mind at ease, and although he didn’t sleep, they helped him feel more rested.
The padded envelope with a DVD disk was delivered to the Señal Colombia, a Bogotá television station just one half hour before the evening news. The outside of the package was covered with the message, ‘Open immediately, news item.’ A young news team member opened the package. Inside was a typewritten note from the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), announcing their capture of fourteen American hostages. The young man let out a yell and immediately placed the disk into his computer. By the time the first image appeared on the screen, there were a dozen people around his desk. The video clearly showed the Americans in some sort of cell. Their clothing was wrinkled and there was straw clinging to hair and clothing. One older man looked a little ill, but the rest seemed to be doing well. On the audio portion was the voice of a man proclaiming that the FARC could no longer abide by the capitalist ventures of Colombia, and especially its ongoing relationship with the United States. The person blamed the United States for all the ills of South America and demanded that Colombia release its leaders from its prisons and the ouster of the United States from its embassy in Bogotá.
Within minutes, the video was ready for broadcast. At the same time, it was passed to the CNN office in the same building. By midnight, Washington time, the world was convinced that the FARC had committed a terrorist act and was holding the American mayors. The Colombian government acted quickly. FARC offices were raided and leaders detained for questioning. Mounds of paperwork and computers were seized and units fanned out throughout Columbia to every place the FARC was known to operate. Three hours later, a second bulletin was released by the Venezuelan government stating they too would assist in weeding out the FARC organization and finding the American hostages.