“Could be, but I always go after the best one first, your client, Mr. Shortchops Jackson.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Think all you want. I’ve got enough now to bring charges and get a warrant. I’ll be doing that tomorrow at noon. Give me a call before then, and I can put off the warrant a day or two.”
Petroff walked to the door leading out of the office. “Now then, Mr. Emmersome, you have a nice day.” He paused. “Emmersome, you have anything to do with the over-the-line tournament on Fiesta Island every summer?”
“No. Why?”
“Just wondered. The name sounds familiar.”
Alpha Squad slept in until 1000 the next morning after the river trip. Murdock talked with Don Stroh over a late breakfast the kitchen fixed for the SEALs.
“The end result of our little trip was that the two villages we stopped at were fully behind Mojombo. The men were afraid of the Navy commander, and at first didn’t want to talk in front of him. My guess is that villages farther upstream and more distant from Sierra City are also just as enthusiastic about Mojombo.”
“So, where the hell does that leave us?”
“We need to contact Mr. Washington and have a sit-down,” Murdock said. “We have to find him without getting our heads shot off. That’s the first big job.”
“Choppers. Do they have any helicopters in this runty little Army?”
“I didn’t think to ask,” Murdock said. He sent Jaybird to find out by phone or a visit to the Army headquarters.
“Say they do have a bird, even a small one that will fly,” Murdock went on. “I can take a run upstream and try to find the location of the camp. The military says they think it’s about twenty-five miles upstream. In the boat we weren’t more than twelve.”
“It’s a government chopper, so why won’t they shoot it out of the sky?”
“They will if it gets close enough. I ID the place and then we go in another way.”
“How?”
“The road goes up ten miles, then there are horse trails. If horses can get through, a dirt motorcycle can too. I take another biker and we see how close we can get to their camp on the trails.”
Jaybird came back to the conference room table. “They have two choppers and both are four-passenger types. Civilian models and with no weapons. I didn’t ask if we could use one, but I’d bet the word would have to come from the general himself.”
“Thanks, Jaybird,” Stroh said. “I’ll call the general and make the pitch. Maybe the CIA will have some clout with him.”
He went across the room to the telephone, found a number, and called.
“Who’s going?” Jaybird asked Murdock.
“You, Lam, and me. They’ll want their own pilot. That’s if we get a bird. Don’t get your jockstrap on just yet.”
Stroh came back looking as if somebody just stole his all-day sucker.
“Who ate your canary?” Jaybird asked.
“Fucking General Assaba. Says we have to talk. He hinted at the idea of our renting the damned chopper. I’m on my way over there right now.”
“Going rate for that size bird is a hundred dollars an hour,” Jaybird said. “At least in civilized countries. Don’t let him bleed you dry.”
“We’re doing this bastard a favor and he’s trying to wheedle some cash out of us? Ridiculous. How bad do you want the bird?”
“I’d say up to a-hundred-fifty-an-hour bad,” Murdock said.
“Only if that’s the only way I can get it.”
Stroh stormed out of the embassy, yelled for a car, and rode to the general’s office thinking up all sorts of arguments for the general to be more than glad to lend them the chopper. The big man made him wait for ten minutes. Then a lieutenant let Stroh into the inner office.
It was huge, with game trophies on the wall along with large-caliber rifles, fishing rods, and pictures of the kills.
General Assaba remained seated when Stroh came in.
“Yes?”
“We just spoke on the phone about our making a recon trip for your Army, up the Amunbo River to tie down the exact location of your major enemy, Mojombo Washington.”
“Yes. I’m not convinced that it would be helpful.”
“Right now do you know exactly where his camp is?”
“No.”
“Then how could it not be valuable information? With this intelligence we also plan on using the SEALs to make some kind of a move against the camp, but we need the data first.”
“Our Army pilots argue against the flight.”
“Your Army is democratic where the soldiers tell the officers what to do?”
“No. We command.”
“Then it’s your decision. We brought the SEALs here to help you with your permission. Our Vice President is in jeopardy every minute he’s in that camp. We think it’s in your best interests to help us get him out of there.”
General Assaba turned and looked at the wall. When he turned back, he nodded. “Very well, we’ll rent the helicopter to you, and our pilot will fly it and determine if he is in any danger of ground fire. You can use the chopper for one hundred twenty-five U.S. dollars an hour.”
“That’s not a diplomatic offer, General. We are here to help you and you want to charge us for using your equipment?”
“I’m not a diplomat, Mr. Stroh. I’m an Army officer. That’s my first and final offer. Take it or stop blabbering.”
“I’ll take it, but our ambassador will also send a stern note to your President.”
“Do what you wish. I’ll need cash in advance for four hours. None is refundable.”
Stroh felt his face turning red. He shot an angry glance at the small general, then turned quickly and hurried out of the room before he exploded.
An hour later the money had been delivered and the route chosen. They would move out from the river five miles and go upstream. Then when they were thirty miles away, they would start moving downstream and watching for an encampment.
Murdock inspected the craft before they took off. It looked as if it had been serviced and maintained properly. The last problem he needed was to crash the bird into the jungle.
They whipped north along the river for five miles. Then the pilot moved to the right of the river for five miles before turning north again, which would take them upstream.
“Sir,” the pilot, a second lieutenant, said. “We’re upstream about twenty-five miles.”
“Good, do another five miles, then let’s go find the river,” Murdock said. He had been watching the jungle below, and was amazed how thick it was and what few clearings and signs of smoke he saw that could indicate habitation.
A few minutes later they swung to the left and back to the river. It was only a stream here, maybe ten to fifteen feet wide, and there were several stretches of rapids where the water raced downhill. There were no villages on this part of the river. But after three miles they began to find small settlements along both sides of the stream.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” Murdock told his men. “Anything that moves, give us a yell.”
“On the left,” Jaybird chirped. “Looks like six men. Yes. A small puff of smoke, had to be a rifle shot.”
At once the pilot wheeled away from the river and dove to get out of the line of fire.
“Stay close enough so we can see the river,” Murdock shouted. “Go up another five thousand feet. Then get back to the river.”
“Too dangerous,” the pilot said.
Murdock put his KA-BAR blade against the young pilot’s throat. “For now, I’ll tell you when it’s too dangerous. Now take us up to five thousand feet and get us back so we can see the fucking river.”
The pilot’s forehead beaded with sweat and he swallowed twice. “Yes, sir. Will do.”
Higher in the sky gave them a wider view, but even so, they almost missed it. The pilot said they were twenty-five miles from the airport. In the distance, about a half mile from the river, they spotted a large clearing, and could see tents, many fires, and as they came closer, dozens of men.