"We got it under control, sir. Putting people into the plane now. Finally bagged that Cuban snooper, we did. This here's Roberto. Ain't talked to the other one yet."
"Roll him over."
A rough hand flipped the pilot faceup like a rag doll, and he saw what the hot breath came from. The biggest German Shepherd dog he'd ever seen in his life was staring at him from a distance of three inches. When he looked at it, it started growling.
"Don't you go scarin' my dog, Roberto," Gunnery Sergeant Black warned him unnecessarily.
"You have a name?"
Bert Russo couldn't see any faces. Everyone was backlit by the perimeter lights. He could see the guns, and the dogs, one of which stood next to his copilot. When he started to speak, the dog over his face moved, and that froze the breath in his throat.
"You Cubans ought to know better. We warned you not to come snooping into our exercise last time, but you had to come bother us again, didn't you?" the captain observed.
"I'm not a Cuban – I'm an American. And I don't know what you're talking about," the pilot finally managed to say.
"You got some ID?" the captain asked.
Bert Russo started moving his hand toward his wallet, but then the dog really let loose a snarl.
"Don't scare the dog," the captain warned. "They're a little high-strung, y'know?"
"Fuckin' Cuban spies," Gunny Black observed. "We could just waste them, sir. I mean, who really gives a damn?"
"Hey, Gunny!" a voice called from the airplane. "This ain't no spy-bird. It's full of drugs! We got us a drug runner!"
"Son of a bitch!" The gunny sounded disappointed for a moment. "Fuckin' druggie is all? Shit!"
The captain just laughed. "Mister, you really picked the wrong place to drive that airplane tonight. How much, Corp?"
"A whole goddamned pisspot full, sir. Grass and coke both. Plane's like full of it, sir."
"Fuckin' druggie," the gunny observed. He was quiet for a moment. "Cap'n?"
"Yeah?"
"Sir, all the time, sir, these planes land, and the crew just bugs the hell out, and nobody ever finds 'em, sir."
As though on cue, they all heard a guttural sound from the swamp that surrounded the old airstrip. Albert Russo came from Florida and knew what the sound was.
"I mean, sir, who'd ever know the difference? Plane landed, and the crew ran off 'fore we could catch up, and they got into the swamp over yonder, and like we heard some screams, y'know… ?" A pause. "I mean, they're just druggies. Who's really gonna care, sir? Make the world a better place, y'know? Hell, it even feeds them 'gators. They sound right hungry to me, sir."
"No evidence…" the captain mused.
"Ain't nobody gonna give a good goddamn, sir," the sergeant persisted. "Just us be out here, sir."
"No!" the copilot screamed, speaking for the first time and startling the dog at the back of his neck.
"Y'all be quiet now, we be talking business here," the gunny observed.
"Gentlemen, I find that the sergeant makes a pretty good case," the captain said after a moment's contemplation. "And the 'gators do sound hungry. Kill 'em first, Sergeant. No sense being cruel about it, and the 'gators don't care one way or the other. Be sure you take all their IDs, though."
"Aye aye, skipper," the gunnery sergeant replied. He and the remainder of the duty section – there were only eight of them – came from the Special Operations Center at MacDill. They were Recon Marines, for whom unusual activities were the rule rather than the exception. Their helicopter was half a mile away.
"Okay, sport," Black said as he bent down. He hoisted Russo to his feet with one brutal jerk. "You sure did pick the wrong time to run drugs, boy."
"Wait a minute!" the other one screamed. "We didn't – I mean, we can tell you–"
"You talk all you want, boy. I got my orders. Come on, now. Y'all want to pray or something, now be the time."
"We came in from Colombia–"
"That's a real surprise, ain't it?" Black observed as he frogmarched the man toward the trees. "You best be doing your talking to the Lord, boy. He might listen. Then again, He might not…"
"I can tell you everything," Russo said.
"I ain't int'rested!"
"But you can't–"
"Sure I can. What do you think I do for a livin', boy?" Black said with amusement. "Don't worry. It'll be quick and clean. I don't make people suffer like your kind does with drugs. I just do it."
"I have a family…" Russo was whimpering now.
"Most people do," Black agreed. "They'll get along. You got insurance, I 'spect. Lookie there!"
Another Marine pointed his flashlight into the bushes. It was as large an alligator as Russo had ever seen, over twelve feet long. The large eyes blazed yellow in the darkness, while the rest of the reptile's body looked like a green log. With a mouth.
"This is far enough," Black judged. "Keep them dogs back, goddammit!"
The alligator – they called him Nicodemus – opened his mouth and hissed. It was a thoroughly evil sound.
"Please…" Russo said.
"I can tell you everything!" the copilot offered again.
"Like what?" the captain asked disgustedly. Why can't you just die like a man? he seemed to ask instead.
"Where we came from. Who gave us the load. Where we're going. Radio codes. Who's supposed to meet us. Everything!"
"Sure," the captain noted. "Get their IDs. Pocket change, car keys, everything. As a matter of fact, just strip 'em naked before you shoot 'em. Let's try to be neat."
"I know everything!" Russo screamed.
"He knows everything," Gunny Black said. "Isn't that nice? Take off your clothes, boy."
"Hold it a minute, Gunny." The captain came forward and shined his light right in Russo's face.
"What do you know that would interest us?" It was a voice they hadn't heard before. Though dressed in fatigues, he was not a Marine.
Ten minutes later it was all on tape. They already knew most of the names, of course. The location of the airstrip was new information, however, as were the radio codes.
"Do you waive the right to counsel?" the civilian asked.
"Yes!"
"You willing to cooperate?"
"Yes!"
"Good." Russo and the copilot, whose name was Bennett, were blindfolded and led to a helicopter. By noon the next day they'd be taken before a U.S. Magistrate, then a judge of the Federal District Court; by sundown to a remote part of Eglin Air Force Base, a newly built structure with a high fence. It was guarded by serious-looking men in uniform.
They didn't know that they were the lucky ones. Five downed planes qualified a pilot as an ace. Bronco was well on his way there.
CHAPTER 10
Dry Feet
ark Bright checked in with Deputy Assistant Director Murray, just as a matter of courtesy, before going in to see the Director.
"You must have caught the first bird out. How's the case coming?"
"The Pirates Case – that's how the papers are treating it – is just fine. I'm up here because of what spun off of it. The victim was dirtier than we thought." Bright explained on for several minutes, pulling one of the ring binders from his briefcase.
"How much?"
"We're not sure. This one's going to take some careful analysis by people with expertise in the world of high finance, but… well, probably on the order of seven hundred million dollars."
Murray managed to set down his coffee without spilling any. "Say that again?"
"You heard right. I didn't know that until day before yesterday, and I didn't finish reading this until about twenty-four hours ago. Christ, Dan, I just skimmed it. If I'm wrong, I'm off on the low side. Anyway, I figured the Director needed to see this PDQ."
"Not to mention the AG and the President. What time you going in to see Emil?"
"Half an hour. Want to tag along? You know this international shuffle better than I do."