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“We leave them where they are,” Hammond said as they reached the table.

  “What good is that?” the President asked. His temper had gone and he was now simply angry and annoyed.

  “Sir, I recommend we call the President of Brazil and get them to announce the arrival of a special training team to work with their military on special operations. If he has a press conference welcoming them there, it sends a message that they were invited and takes a little of the heat off. Then that allows us to keep the team close by. We might not be able to launch the strike from there, but it gives me some room to maneuver,” Hammond said.

  Richardson was nodding her head. “It makes good sense. At the same time, I need an aircraft we can use to get these guys in.” She turned to Foote. “How about cutting loose a couple of CV-22 Ospreys and send them down to USS Wasp. She’s been detached to be a part of Roger’s group. The whole task force will be joining up in a couple hours. Mister President, the CV–22 was designed to fly low and weave in and out of canyons so that we could deposit troops in tight places without being seen. We propose eventually picking that team up, taking them to one of the ships and then make a dash toward our target from the sea. Roger’s going to get their attention elsewhere and hold it while we get these guys in. Once the team is deposited, the aircraft makes a dash into Colombia, then back to the Wasp,” she said. “The big thing is to keep these guys guessing. That gives our team the best chance of getting those people out.”

  “I had another idea that might go right along with this,” said Hammond. He spent the next ten minutes outlining his idea.

  The President was now sitting in his chair. Once again, Hammond and Richardson had a plan. Better yet, the plan sounded good. He reached over and picked up a phone. “Bev, get me in touch with the Brazilian President.”

  Brasilia, Brazil

  “We welcome our American friends to Brazil and thank them for sharing their training and experience with us,” said President Dilma Rousseff as she concluded her welcoming remarks. She reached over and shook the hands of the American Ambassador and a stunned looking Army Captain. The message diverting the plane to Brasilia had come in just 30 minutes before the plane had been scheduled to land. Their orders were to be greeted and then wait for instructions. There was applause all around as the American Ambassador finished his remarks, then the party left the platform set out on the tarmac for a cooler room in the terminal. All the members of the team followed them in. Once inside, the President shook the men’s hands. “Gentlemen, I know you are surprised at what just happened, but as you may have heard, somehow your trip here got leaked. We are making it look like you were expected and welcomed. We hope this will give you some…” she thought a moment, “cover, is what I believe you call it. I don’t know any plans, but we hope to make your stay pleasant. I am turning you over to our local air force command and we will make it appear you are training our people. I assure you, no one you will meet has any idea why you are here, but they may guess. I’m sorry it turned out this way. Now I will go about my business and wish you the best of luck in yours,” she said.

  “Thank you, Madam President,” said the Ambassador, shaking her hand. When she had left, he turned to Chapman. “Captain, your plane will remain here and you should be able to operate from there for now. Try and make it look like you are just doing a training mission. If I can help you with anything, contact me,” he said again, shaking Chapman’s hand.

  After he left, the men seemed to collapse into the seats. They didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to. Everyone was angry. The old saying, ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ could easily have been them. For an organization like Special Operations, security was everything. To have anyone decide to give out such information was, to them, treason at its highest level. To a man, they wanted to personally find out who had done it and pay them a covert visit. Chapman stood. Using hand signals, he got several of the men to scan the area for what might be TV cameras or listening devices. Looking around the area, nothing was obvious that there might be surveillance, but they would take no chances. “Ricks, take your men back to the aircraft and secure our gear. We place our own guard on the plane along with theirs. Once we find out more about this cluster fuck we will start getting things set straight. I’ll see about our quarters for the night,” Chapman said.

  “Alright, listen up people,” said Ricks as he got up out of his chair. “Head back to the plane and make sure everything is locked up. Velto, you have the first watch. Keep your weapon loaded and ready and your radio on. Everyone remain with the aircraft until the Captain gets back with our orders. I guess I don’t need to tell you not to talk to anyone. We will be friendly but shy. Now move out,” he ordered. The already tired troops made their way back into the tropical heat and to the plane, which would be towed to a remote hanger.

  After the plane was hooked up to the tractor, Ricks caught a ride by sitting on the edge of the rear ramp as the plane made its way along the tarmac. He had already forced himself to calm down. Sitting there pissed off would do nothing. After a minute, his friend, Sgt. Ben Miller, sat down beside him.

  “Got anybody you want me to shoot?” he asked. Miller and Ricks had met during the last war and had become good friends. He was one of the snipers on the team.

  Ricks grunted. “This is one I would do with my bare hands. Sometimes I wonder what people think. It’s like this was a game for their benefit.” He threw up his hands. “Probably never know anyway,” he said.

  “True. Here we are, trying to save lives and somebody, for some reason, doesn’t like that. At least we found out. If this had happened when we got to the target, it might have been all she wrote,” Miller said.

  Ricks smiled and slapped Miller on the shoulder. “And I thought all you wanted to do was shoot people,” he kidded.

  Miller grinned. “Only the right ones,” he said. “Besides, I promised Su Lynn I would take care of you. That’s an easier job considering a good quarter of you is made out of metal,” he said with a grin. Both men laughed. Kidding helped a lot. The stress of the near miss was draining off now. It wouldn’t be long before they started thinking like a team again – on mission.

  The U S Embassy, Caracas

  Pete Wilson had been out of the city at a nearby military facility when he got the call. It took until early the next afternoon to get back. After checking the usual protocols in his office, he went to the basement and entered the secure communications equipment room to check the numbers of calls that had been made in the previous 24 hours. He was surprised to find three calls that had taken place on the private phone line leading to Jonas’ desk. The first had been an incoming call from an area code 202 number just before 11 pm Washington time. He pressed the switch to play back the call.

  “Craig, you have a minute?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m all alone.”

  “Good. I know it’s late, but we just got word that a team is on its way. “

  “Where to?”

  “Some place called Boa Vista.”

  “That’s an air force base just inside the Brazilian border from us.”

  “Well, that’s where they’re headed.”

  “Do they know?”

  “I don’t know. It could be they are pre-staging this team down there to use just in case. That’s what I might do.”

  Another voice came on the line. “Craig, I don’t want these guys killed unless it’s necessary. If we go telling this guy they’re there, he might do something unfortunate. Remember, everyone is supposed to come back alive.”

  “Yes sir, I know that. I’ll just let him know a team is being prepositioned in Brazil. I’ll also tell him we’ll let him know if they receive orders.”

  “Good work,” said the second voice.

  “Let us know immediately after you call him,” said the first voice.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll call right now,” said Jonas.

  The line went dead.

  Son of a bitch! Wilson said to himself. He had figured Jonas wasn’t th
e brightest bulb on the tree, but it appeared he also thought he was immune to being found out. How stupid could you really be, he thought.

  Wilson looked down at the second call. It was a local number just two minutes after hanging up from the last call. He pressed the switch.

  “Si, Señor Ambassador,” said the voice. It sounded like Parente. The next sentence confirmed it.

  “Señor Presidente, I wanted to let you know that my government has just sent a special team to pre-stage in Brazil. My sources tell me it doesn’t have orders as yet, but are there to be ready just in case.”

  “That is interesting. You are sure they do not have orders.”

  “Yes, Señor Presidente. As soon as they do get orders, if any, I will notify you immediately.”

  “Very good Ambassador. I will take some necessary precautions and await your call. Please let our friends know that I appreciate their assistance. And I think you may be pleased with a little extra on my part.”

  “It is not necessary, Señor Presidente. I appreciate your friendship.”

  “Not at all. We both have much to gain in this. Please call me at any time when you get any information.”

  “Yes, Señor Presidente.”

  The call ended. The third call happened less than thirty seconds later to the same 202 area code number.

  “It’s done.”

  “You sure he’s not going to go off the deep end?”

  “The way he was talking, it appears he bought the line about them just pre-staging. He wants to know immediately if they get orders.”

  “Craig, they may already have orders for all we know. But if they start to move, I’ll let you know.”

  “You know I’m in a precarious position here. If they do something and I don’t let Parente know…”

  “I know, Craig. That’s why I have my people keeping a close eye on things. You just sit tight and help us get this thing finished and we can all enjoy the rewards. I’ll call the minute I know something.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good night Craig.”

  The line went dead for a third time.

  Bastards, Wilson said to himself. He took out a thumb drive and downloaded the calls and the other information. On a hunch, he reached into a cabinet and took out a small case. Attaching two leads to the private line, he set the electronics in the box to run. A few seconds later a small LED on the panel flashed red. A set of numbers and letters appeared on the display. Wilson grinned. So it appears someone else doesn’t trust you. He copied the information on the display and turned off the electronics. He would later determine that the phone had been tapped by the Venezuelan equivalent of the CIA. Wilson walked to the office of Rick Lozier.

  “You look like someone bit you. What’s wrong?” asked Lozier as he looked up from his desk.

  Wilson closed the door. “Break out the satellite link,” he said as he pulled out the thumb drive.

  Now he had Lozier’s complete attention. He pressed a button on his desk, sealing the door and activating a sound deadening system. “We’re safe,” he said.

  Wilson nodded. “You need to hear this. It is from our esteemed Ambassador’s private line.”

  Lozier played the recording. He sat back with a dumbfounded look on his face. “I know one of those voices, but we’ll need to get it confirmed. How do you suggest we play this?”

  Wilson grinned. “Let them hang themselves and then we use them. I’m sure headquarters has some nice little dirty ways to turn all this to our advantage. In the meantime, we confirm the voices and then trace the calls. If we’re lucky, we can run this back to the source. Then we plug the leak and feed the system. That way our military guys can do their job without getting shot.”

  “I like a sneaky guy,” said Lozier. “I think the Bureau will want do the ground work and my guys can be the spooks we are. Let’s get this up the chain,” he said as he opened up a special program on his computer. “I had an interesting conversation this morning as well. You know Angela Harrison?” he asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “Staff?” he asked.

  “Not really. She’s the wife of a local contractor. Helps out on some of the embassy’s events. It seems she was contacted by two officers last night who seem to know where the hostages are,” said Lozier.

  That got Wilson’s attention. “Why her? Why couldn’t they just get word to us at the embassy?” Wilson asked.

  Lozier grunted. “For an FBI man, you ask silly questions. Haven’t you noticed that there are Venezuelan security people outside the gate? You don’t think they are here to really protect us, do you?”

  Wilson nodded and threw up his hands. “Sorry, it’s been a long day already. Did she know who they were?”

  “Oh, not just who. The primary man was a Colonel Messina and the other a Colonel Rojas. The first is the pilot for El Presidente and the other is his personal military adjutant,” said Lozier. “If this pans out, we may have struck intelligence gold.”

  “What do they want?”

  “For now just a chance to talk to someone. My problem is they are probably being watched. So I am going to be very careful how I do this. I made arrangements for someone to meet with them who is not traceable and who has a nice record of getting through to the heart of things. The meeting will be this evening at a lacrosse game. If it’s a set up, my guy will know. If not, we may have some answers very soon.”

  “Damn. It looks like things are starting to fall apart for our illustrious leader of Venezuela. If we can match what they tell us with the info on these calls, we can wrap this up with a bow,” Wilson said.

  Lozier grinned. “I love happy endings. Let’s report up the line,” he said. Within two minutes the men were uploading the recordings and making their recommendations. They were surprised that their agency bosses agreed with their ideas. For now, the men were told to continue monitoring the phones and to put a tail on the Ambassador. The rest would be up to the people who could make things happen. Within an hour, over a hundred people were gleaning phone records and video surveillance to make an airtight case that would hold up in any court.

  The Mountains of Venezuela

  The evening air was cool and the wind brought a steady breeze to freshen the air. Wei lay on a mattress of feathers with the day’s maiden. Both were easing off the cocaine induced frenzy that Parente kept them in. Each day, he had been forced to drink the chichi. Parente explained that as he grew to his place as a god, this and the ocucho would awaken his powers. True enough, each day he felt inspired and powerful. He soon learned to dominate the women he was given each morning. This expanded to everyone who served him. Wei was getting exasperated that Parente was holding him back, but Parente explained everything that was happening and why it was important not to awaken his powers before their time because they might be lost forever.

  The young girl stirred in her haze beside him. She snuggled up against his side and ran her hand along his naked torso. Wei frowned. She was neither as talented nor as beautiful as the others. It seemed she was more interested in herself than pleasing him. As she snuggled closer, he felt almost betrayed. The paranoia brought on by the cocaine began working overtime. He imagined her going away from him and finding others who would please her more. His paranoia turned to fury. Sliding over top of her, he began having his way with her, causing her to moan and cry out. Faster and faster he lurched and her cries became louder. Soon even her cries seemed to madden him. He grasped his hands around her throat to stop the noise. She began to struggle for breath, but his grip tightened. In a sex-charged frenzy his mind saw visions of powerful gods inviting him to a heavenly throne. They kept beckoning as he continued his frantic efforts. Suddenly everything went white and he collapsed on top of the now lifeless girl.

  When he awoke, the girl was gone. He was left with a growing assurance that everything Parente had told him was correct. He was being raised as a god who required careful awakenings. He had just experienced one of them and knew that this was just the beginning
.

  In a CV-22

  The CV-22 Osprey was loud – very loud. Outside the cabin, the two huge three bladed propellers on the end of the wings were beating the air into a blurred submission as the craft flew along at nearly 250 miles per hour. Inside the cabin there were a few boxes of supplies and normally room for 24 people. This time there were only two. The air crewman made his way back to where a special VIP seat had been installed. Vice Admiral Hammond was going over some reports from his briefcase as the crewman tapped him on the shoulder. The “Mickey Mouse” sound deadening headset was pretty good at blocking the noise of the plane, but also prevented him from hearing someone talk to him just a foot away. The crewman held out a white box.

  Hammond smiled and mouthed, “Thanks,” as the crewman motioned toward his watch. He held out three fingers then motioned an “O” afterwards. Hammond nodded. In just 30 minutes he would be back aboard his ship. Actually, the Iowa wasn’t “his” anymore, but the ties to the behemoth were very strong. It would be good to get back aboard.

  Opening the box, Hammond found a cold chicken wrap with condiments on the side, along with some chips a can of soda and a pickle. There was even a wrapped chocolate chip cookie on the side. Picking up the pickle, Hammond chuckled. How come they always put a dill pickle in with just about any sandwich, he asked himself. Must be their idea of vegetables. Then he picked up the cookie. It was the usual circular cookie with evidence of chips along the top. Nothing like aboard the ship, he thought again. The bakers aboard Iowa had named theirs ‘Battlechip, Chocolate Chip Cookies.’ They were nearly twice as big with very large sized hunks of chocolate seemingly swimming in the cookie. Sure, they would probably lead someone into a diabetic fit, but to the crew they meant ‘home.’

  Hammond put the papers away and ate his lunch. It was clinch time for his small task force and he was now going to play his ships like some giant chess player – always ahead of his opponent and making moves the other wouldn’t have the chance to counter. To him, this was the next thing to war. He wouldn’t have the free reign he might have had in the last war, but this time he was going to play with someone’s head, not just shoot at them. He was going to get inside his enemy and make them pay.