“Two more rounds each,” Murdock said to the Bull Pup shooters, and they blasted away. This time Murdock saw that three crewmen were caught on deck. Two of them went down, and the third smashed into the rail and went over the side. The patrol boat kept coming toward them.
“Bradford, get out that fifty and some AP rounds. Hit the bridge on that craft if you can. We need some help here.”
Bradford grinned and primed the big bolt-action, fifty-caliber weapon and pushed in a five-round magazine of armor-piercing rounds. He fired, swore, and fired again. The second round jolted through the plating on the outside of the bridge and exploded inside.
The patrol boat slowed, then swung sharply to the left and went dead in the water.
“Didn’t think you needed me, right?” Bradford said.
“Three more, for good measure,” Murdock said.
Two of the three rounds hit the bridge and gun mount and exploded inside.
“Two minutes to contact,” Ostercamp said.
“Keep motoring west,” Murdock said. “That wounded duck back there might still be able to fire his forty. We don’t need any more casualties.”
It was nearly five minutes before they heard a chopper. It came in high, then low when Murdock threw out a floating red flare. It swung around into the wind and settled toward the now dead-in-the-water fishing boat.
A speaker from the chopper cut through the sound of the rotors.
“Welcome, SEALs. We’ll send down a litter for your KIA. He comes in first. Then, if we have time, we drop you a ladder. Anyone who can’t climb the ladder?”
Murdock gave a thumbs-up gesture, and the aluminum litter dropped down on a line. They let the litter touch the deck and short out the high charge of static electricity it built up from the rotor wash, then they grabbed it and lifted Quinley in and tied him securely.
A moment later, the litter lifted skyward.
Ching talked to the Colombian boy.
“You tell your grandfather we needed to borrow his boat. We didn’t hurt it any, and here is a hundred U.S. dollars to pay for the fuel. You understand?”
“Many, many dollars. Understand.”
“You can run the boat?”
“Sí, it is easy. Drive for Grandfather many times.”
Murdock watched the ladder come down. Two men held it while the others went up. Jaybird motioned Murdock up, pointing to his wrist. Jaybird was the last man up the ladder, now swaying on the bottom. It’s twice as hard to climb with no one holding the bottom. He made it, and the SEALs inside cheered as the crew chief closed the hatch and the Sea Knight headed back for the carrier Jefferson.
28
As soon as the Sea Knight came to a landing on the carrier, a formal delegation arrived with a gurney and a body bag. The SEALs stood around as Quinley’s body was zipped up in the heavy black plastic and gently placed on the gurney. They all followed it to the elevator and down to the ship’s hospital.
A lieutenant without a line on his young face had Murdock sign some papers.
“We’ll handle your man until we get directions. I understand that the deceased has requested a burial at sea. We’ll need a day’s notice for the ceremony.”
Mahanani took Canzoneri, Dobler, Jaybird, and Murdock to the emergency room, where their wounds were examined and treated. Most of Canzoneri’s stitches were intact, but one small section had broken loose.
The woman lieutenant who treated them all stared at Canzoneri a moment longer. “I want to keep you here at least over the rest of the night and tomorrow. There’s some infection starting in that broken-open section, and I want to be sure we catch it right now before it gets bad. The rest of you are released to duty.”
Murdock thanked her and took the men to their quarters. They dropped their equipment in the assembly compartment they had been assigned to. Murdock had taken the stacks of one hundred dollar bills from Quinley’s shirt before he went in the body bag. He whispered to Canzoneri, who dug out the bills from his shirt before they took him to a hospital room.
“Let’s take out the cash, guys. No way we can keep eight million dollars. Stack it up on the table here, and we’ll see if we lost any.”
“Remember, we spent some of it,” Ching said. “A thousand for the truck and breakfast and the guide.”
“All down in black and white,” Murdock said.
Everyone took out the stacks of bills and stood around as Murdock and Jaybird counted it.
“A whole shit pot full of bundles,” Jaybird said. He had counted out ten and stacked them, then stacked the rest next to them. Murdock dug into his shirt again and came up with the last bundles. Murdock told the men to hang around.
He called the officer of the day and explained the small problem.
“You kidding, Commander? Eight million dollars in cash? Where the fuck… No, I don’t want to know. I’ll send two armed guards down there right now to guard it until morning.”
The guards with loaded M-16s reported five minutes later.
“Eight million in cash?” one of the men asked.
“Right, and your ass will be in a forty-year-long federal prison if it isn’t all there in the morning.”
Murdock sent his men to bed, then used the phone again.
“Commander, can you get a flag officer down here now? A captain will do. I want this cash put in a more secure place.”
“Damn, I don’t see how.”
“It’s eight million dollars, Commander, I want it out of my hair.”
“I could try the XO, Captain Wilson. Yes, I’ll give him a call.”
Five minutes later, the phone rang in the compartment.
“Commander Murdock here.”
“Murdock, is this a leg-puller? Captain Wilson here. The OD tells me you have eight million bucks in cash you want stashed in a safe place.”
“True, Captain. Fortunes of war. I want to get rid of it and have you sign off on it for me.”
“Whose cash is it, Murdock?”
“Yours, I guess. It lately was owned by a pair of big shots in the Medellin drug cartel. They don’t need it anymore.”
“Christ. Found money. Must be some Navy reg to cover this. All right. Stay right there.”
Fifteen minutes later, the captain had signed a paper stating that he had taken charge of $8,000,000 from Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock, less about $1,400 in expenses incurred in leaving Colombia. Said cash a result of a raid on the Medellin drug cartel in Colombia.
The two armed guards stuffed the money in a duffel bag and carried it between them as they vanished up the hall with the captain. Murdock hadn’t even guessed at the time. It was a little after 0400 when he dove into his bunk and slept at once.
By 1000 the next morning, he was up, dressed in clean cammies, and having breakfast when Stroh tracked him down. He brought a cup of coffee to the small table in the wardroom and pointed at the other chair.
“Okay if I sit down?”
Murdock stared at him coldly. “How does it feel to sign the death warrants of fifteen men?”
“I didn’t make the decision.”
“Sure, Adolph, you were just following orders. One of my men died because of you. Shot though the head. I want you at his burial ceremony just to know how it feels.”
“Come on, Murdock. You’ve been in this game long enough. You know the odds. We’re 80 percent politics, 20 percent action. The political always comes first. Always has, always will.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“This is a volunteer project. The CNO told you that at the git-go. Any time you want to pick up your marbles, you can walk right out the front door.”
“Then you pick another platoon leader and con him and his men about the great service to their country.”