Westland stared at the radio in exasperation. Why wasn't Riley answering? She'd recognized his voice even as he gave his call sign. His asking about the IR light meant he had probably left someone alive back on the beach. Maybe the whole team was hiding somewhere and Riley had swum out to bring in the boat.
She jumped as the radio came alive.
"Hammer Base, this is Nail Three Five. Over."
She grabbed the mike before Pike could get to it. "Give us a situation report. Over."
"Four dead. One missing. They were waiting for us. Over."
Oh, God! Westland closed her eyes. Pike took the mike from her limp hand.
"What's the status of the one missing and how do you know the other four are dead? Over."
"I saw the four bodies. I left Eyes Three Six on the shore. He provided a diversion for me so I could swim out. He was supposed to break an IR chem and move south along the coast. Hammer hasn't picked up his light, so he's either dead or captured. Over."
Pike nodded and took a deep breath. He did some quick tactical calculations and made the hard but correct decision. "All right. Bring it on home. There's nothing more you can do. I'm having your pickup ship come in to you. Head on the old azimuth and you should run into the Garcia. Moonbeam will direct you if you need it. I'll have Hammer hang around to see if it picks up anything. Over."
"Roger. Break. Hammer, be advised that the bad guys have Redeyes, at least two that we saw. Over."
"This is Hammer. Roger. Thanks for the info. We're too high for them anyway. Out."
Riley reached back and primed the engine. The waterproofing of the engine was perhaps the most amazing feature of the submersible Zodiac. The engine cranked on his second pull. He turned the nose of the boat away from shore and, with a last lingering look over his shoulder, headed out to sea.
Hanks looked up from the paperwork scattered across his desk as Strom walked in. His senior aide looked much the worse for wear after having gotten the alert call from Westland in the middle of the night. Hanks gestured toward the coffeepot. "Grab a mug."
He waited until Strom had his coffee and had settled in the chair across from his desk before jumping him. "What the hell is going on?"
Strom ran a hand through his carefully managed hair. "Nail Three was compromised last night. Of the six Green Beanies, we've got one back over at Belvoir getting debriefed, four dead, bodies not recovered, and one missing."
"Shit." Hanks slammed his mug down on the desk. "I thought the next mission wasn't getting run until tomorrow night. Why weren't we informed of the move up?"
Strom protested weakly. "I didn't know either, sir. Westland didn't bother to keep me updated."
Hanks shook his head. "What the hell was she thinking?"
"She says the army general in charge, that guy Pike, told her to keep the timing in tight and not let us know, based on their concern about a leak."
"Bullshit! I want her ass! I briefed her myself to keep us up to date. Who the hell does she think she works for?" Hanks fumed for a few seconds, considering the ramifications.
Strom took the opportunity to throw the blame elsewhere, trying to minimize the heat heading his way. "Those SF guys could fuck up a wet dream. I've been working on damage control. We're implementing a cover for the bodies. I already had that worked out." Strom paused in thought. "Hell, I guess we can extend that cover to the missing guy even if the cartel has managed to capture him. As long as he doesn't talk."
Hanks looked at Strom as though his subordinate had two heads. "You know as well as I do that they'll make him talk if they've got him. I don't like saying it, but hopefully he got blown away and his body is lying in the jungle somewhere. How'd they screw this thing up?"
Strom talked quickly, trying to further diffuse the responsibility. "It wasn't all the Special Forces guys' screw-up. That DEA guy Stevens was grabbed by the cartel and probably made to talk. He must have given up the time and location. We haven't been able to locate him either."
"Christ." What now? Hanks thought. He considered all the information Strom had given him. The loss of the Special Forces team really wasn't that important right now. It was history. Hanks's job was to look to the future.
What was important was hitting the Ring Man. In fact, it was even more important now that the Ring Man's lab hadn't been hit. And Hanks was no closer to having an answer to that problem. He knew the shit was going to hit the fan in Colombia today. The cartel probably already knew about the role of the U.S. if they had grabbed Stevens, and it wouldn't take them long to trace the plan back to Alegre, especially if they had captured one of the Special Forces team members. There was going to be blood flowing in the streets in a couple of days.
Hanks looked up at Strom, who had waited nervously while his boss sorted things out. "What about the Ring Man hit? Come up with any ideas on how to handle that?"
Strom answered tentatively, not sure what his boss's reaction would be. "Maybe we should talk to the survivor from the Special Forces team, sir."
Hanks looked up, interested. "Get Westland over here."
Riley was tired, depressed, and irritated. He had made it to the navy destroyer Garcia without any problem and had been hoisted on board. Two marines had hustled him, without a word, right onto a helicopter waiting on the fantail. He'd been flown to Panama and cross-loaded again onto a C-130 for the trip back to Virginia. Sitting alone in the back of the C-130 for six hours had slammed home to him the realization that the rest of the team wasn't coming back. Unable to rest during the flight, Riley had alternated between pacing the cargo bay and sitting. He had reviewed his actions during the firefight innumerable times, in a pitiless self-flagellation.
He hoped the powers-that-be wouldn't ignore the possibility that Powers might still be alive. He knew they probably wished the team sergeant was dead. That would make everything simpler for everyone, Riley thought angrily. Less ass-covering to do. The thought of Powers being still alive and abandoned triggered an impotent rage in Riley.
He had not been disappointed in Pike's reaction after the debrief. Pike was over at the Pentagon right now pleading his case to the chairman for efforts to be made to find out what had happened to Powers.
Westland had briefed Riley on Stevens during the debrief, then she had taken off for Langley. Riley should have known that the DEA man had been the source of the leak. Everyone was also writing Stevens off, assuming he was dead. If he ever saw Stevens again the man would wish he was dead.
With nothing to do, and instructed to stay in the isolation building, Riley figured he might as well try to get some sleep. Maybe that would clear away the visions of the rounds impacting into Partusi as he tried to drag Marzan to safety.
Riley hadn't been able to figure out Westland's reaction. She had seemed a little dazed by the whole thing. Welcome to the real world, lady, he mused bitterly. He sighed as he trudged up the stairs to his room. He really shouldn't take it out on Westland. It wasn't her fault.
The members of Eyes Four were studiously avoiding him. They hadn't been told what had happened and hadn't been asked to sit in on the debriefing. All they knew was that the rest of the team wasn't coming back.
Riley was at a loss as to what to do next. He was overcome with a feeling of complete helplessness — a pawn on a chessboard who couldn't see far enough to make out the next square.
He opened the door to his room and walked in. The first thing that greeted him was the sight of the other bunk with a duffel bag on top of it: Powers's gear. Riley felt a stab of grief tear through him, quickly overcome by a blanket of weariness. Too much adrenaline, exertion, and grief in the last twelve hours had taken its toll. He collapsed on his bunk fully clothed and quickly dropped off into an uneasy sleep.