The second item on the agenda concerned the presence of Americans participating in the armed conflict directed against the Falangist Army. It was no longer possible to credibly deny that norteamericanos were fighting in the Gran Chaco territory of the Republic of Bolivia. But it was workable to identify them as employees of private military companies as well as freebooting mercenaries who hired on as temporary operatives.
With everyone in agreement and putting up a united front, the session was brought to a satisfactory adjournment. However, Dr. Carl Joplin had another matter that only he could discuss with the Bolivian gentleman, Arturo Sanchez. As every one got up to leave, Joplin invited Sanchez to accompany him to his office for a rather sensitive tete-a-tete.
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CARL JOPLIN'S 0FFICE
1400 HOURS LOCAL
WHEN Joplin and Sanchez settled down in the former's private office, the Chilean knew exactly what they would be discussing. He saved a lot of time by saying, "We must address the problem of that unfortunate incident at Novida."
"The massacre of the Brazilian squatters received a lot of publicity," Joplin acknowledged. "The fact that some behind-the-scenes chicanery on my part convinced the Brazilian government that the Falangists were the culprits does not clear those muddy waters."
"Not to worry," Sanchez said confidently. "I have been informed that the removal of one man involved in the crime will silence any others with knowledge of the truth."
Joplin wasn't convinced. "How can getting rid of a single individual accomplish that much?"
"The individual in question has power and influence," Sanchez said. "All the less-ranking people involved will know that any unwise revelations or statements on their part will result in them also being dealt with in a manner of extreme prejudice."
Joplin thought a moment, then smiled at his Chilean friend. "It works for me, Arturo."
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THE LOZANO GRASSLANDS
1630 HOURS LOCAL
THE fourteen SEALs left in the OA trudged along the Rio Ancho in the direction of their base camp. The two KIAs Lamar Taylor and Wes Ferguson had been evacuated through the efforts of the same CIA guy who had picked up Ignacio Perez. The seriously wounded Pech Pecheur and Connie Concord had also been taken out. Milly Mills and Gutsy Olson were last-minute additions to the list of evacuees. They protested bitterly that their wounds were minor, but Hospital Corpsman James Bradley stated that their injuries needed proper examination. The chance for serious infection in the Gran Chaco was high enough to warrant them being taken away.
It took a stern direct order from Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan to make the two SEALs get aboard the helicopter for the trip out of Brannigan's realignment had put him, Frank Gomez and James Bradley in the Command Element. The First Assault Section was commanded by Chief Matt Gunnarson with five riflemen, and the Second Assault Section had four riflemen led by Senior Chief Buford Dawkins. However, the Odd Couple was back on scouting duty, and that would cut the First Section down to three riflemen from time to time.
Now Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz kept the pace slow as the trek continued down the river. There hadn't been any rain for awhile, and a dusty heat hung over the savannah, sapping the strengths of men who hadn't chowed down on Class A rations for the past fifty-two days.
"Drop!" Mike said. He and Dave hit the dirt in instincts developed over periods of intense training and combat.
"What the hell did you see?"
"There's a guy out there waving at us," Mike said. "Hey! Maybe you're wrong. Could it be a girl? Hopefully good-looking."
"What are you? Crazy?" Mike said. He raised his eyes and looked. "He's obviously trying to get our attention:'
Dave spoke into the LASH, informing Brannigan of the situation. Within moments, Frank Gomez showed up. "The Skipper wants me to speak to him in Spanish. It could be a trap or a Falangist straggler who wants to surrender. The guy could end up being a valuable EPW with plenty of information?'
"We'll cover you," Mike said. "Do your thing, Frank:' Frank crawled forward a dozen meters, then stopped. "Who are you?" he yelled in Spanish.
"Estuvimos prisioneros de los Falangistas," came back the shouted answer. "Estamos trece."
"Shit," Frank said under his breath, then turned to the LASH. "Sir. The guy says they were prisoners of the Falangists and that there are thirteen of 'em."
"Youguys stay where you are," Brannigan said, then addressed the rest of the detachment. "All right, now hear this!
We're forming as skirmishers. Command Element in the middle, First Section to the left and Second Section to the right. Let's go!"
The SEALs quickly got into formation, then moved slowly forward. The SAW gunners were especially watchful, keeping a lookout for any sudden attack. But nothing happened as they continued toward Frank and the Odd Couple. When they reached them, Brannigan ordered Frank to tell the man to have all his people stand up with their hands in the air. Frank complied.
Immediately thirteen men stood to the front with their hands raised. At Frank's direction they came forward slowly, well spread out until they were within fifteen meters of the Brigands. At that point the SEALs moved forward and surrounded the group.
Gordo Pullini immediately identified himself as the leader. Frank brought him over to Brannigan, who questioned him, learning that he and his twelve men were virtual slaves of the Falangists. Pullini insisted on surrendering, and Brannigan had no choice but to take them in as EPWs.
"This fucking situation is just getting stranger and stranger," the Skipper complained.
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PUERTO ALEGRE BOLIVIA
2350 HOURS LOCAL
ALL good things come to an end, and this was the case for Coronel Francisco "El Garron" Martinez of the Bolivian Policia Fronteriza, who was now in the last hours of a fourteen-day furlough in this city on the Paragua River in eastern Bolivia.
He had already seen to having his luggage sent aboard the riverboat that would carry him back to his duty station. But before he left for the trip up to the police barracks on the Brazilian border, he had wanted to have one final rendezvous with his favorite whore in the Bordello el Baron. It had been a satisfying session, since she was the only puta in the place who could stand his rough brand of sex. He left her bruised but soothed her feelings with a large tip of 200 bolivianos.
Now, completely satiated, El Garron headed for the dock to get aboard the boat. He had a bottle of rum to help him slip into sleep to get through the rest of the night. He caught up with a drunken riverboat crewman who was preceding him down the narrow walk between warehouses. The guy was weaving and singing under his breath, and Martinez grabbed the fellow and shoved him aside with a curse, then continued on his way.
The drunkard eased a .38 Colt revolver with a silencer from his waistband and pumped five shots into the police officer's back. Martinez hit the concrete to begin the double process of going into shock and bleeding to death as his assassin rushed down an alley where a car waited for him.
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SEAL BASE CAMP
21 JANUARY
1140 H0URS LOCAL
BRANNIGAN had radioed a full disclosure on Gordo Pullini and his motley group to Matrix in Colombia. Because of the intelligence provided by Ignacio Perez, Brannigan was informed the thirteen were convicts and not slave laborers as Pullini had claimed. Under some rough interrogation; the head prisoner finally came clean about being a prison gang from Patagonia known as the Cofradia, who had volunteered to go to the Gran Chaco. He also pointed out that they had built the fortified area known as Fuerte Franco and knew every single bunker and emplacement in the place. Pullini wanted to make a deal; in exchange for the inside intelligence on the defenses, he wanted permission to bring his gang to America. And he wanted all the money back the SEALs had discovered in their packs. He explained this was hard-earned currency necessary to finance their future enterprises.