The maintenance records of the blue Huey indicated the mechanics had dedicated themselves to keeping the helicopter airborne. Routine work exceeded requirements. When one hydraulic hose showed a crack, the mechanics replaced all the hoses and refilled the system with new fluid. Mechanics replaced control cables before even one strand frayed.
"I want this one," Grimaldi told Tennessee.
"Don't you want to wait on the bodywork?" Tennessee pointed to the bullet holes. "Isn't it amazing what birds can do to aluminum? Fly into an aircraft, punch their little beaks through the sheet metal. Sure messed up the company paint job. You'd think it was deliberate."
The Stony Man flier put the tip of his finger into one dent. "Seven-point-six-two-millimeter beaks. The birds must be Kalashnikov snow storks. Didn't think their migratory patterns took them through Central America."
The Agency man laughed. "Pesky critters. Flying around everywhere these days."
"The birds get to any of the workings?"
"No mechanical damage whatsoever, sir. No, sir. Would've fixed that first. We worry about sheet metal and paint last around here. But while you're waiting for your passenger signal, we'll do the touch-ups."
"And what other equipment can I requisition? Like some guns for the doors. To keep those snow storks back."
"M-60s do? Got mini-Gatlings. Or 40mm machine guns. Those Gatlings put down a flock at a time."
"Interesting. What happens if I need additional equipment and aircraft? Maybe my people will need some kind of backup."
"Whatever you want, Mister Eagle. We got it all. Personnel on one-hour call. Give us a ring, we wake them up."
The pager at Grimaldi's belt buzzed. The signal meant the ultra-high-frequency radio in his plane had received a burst transmission. The transmission meant something had gone wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, Grimaldi piloted the midnight-blue Huey into the storm.
21
All the Democratic Front fighters volunteered to join in the assault on the fascist stronghold in the Honduran mountains. But the Huey could carry only the weight of fourteen men and their weapons. The former Salvadoran army officers and soldiers drew lots to determine who would accompany the North Americans across the Honduran border.
A plastic tarp sheltering them from the drizzling rain, Able Team went through all their weapons and equipment by the light of an electric lantern. The three North Americans took only what they needed for the assault. Their suitcases, backpacks, rations and field equipment would remain with the Democratic Front fighters who stayed behind.
"You know what happens if the politicians ever find out about this?" Gadgets asked his partners. "Foreign policy nightmare."
"About what?" Lyons asked. "Us killing fascists? You got it. Hope it starts an international fad."
"No! This stuff. We're giving it to guerrillas. Even if they aren't Commies, they're antigovernment."
"We need their help," Lyons said. "If Quesada ran off to someplace safe, I figure that place will have more defenses than his plantation did."
"Elementary, my dear Ironman. They teach you to think like that in college?" Gadgets countered. "But think about this. We're donating this gear to the guerrillas. The guerrillas are fighting the government of El Salvador. The government of El Salvador is a regional ally of the United States..."
"No ally of mine! How many U.S. citizens have the Salvos murdered so far? Nuns, social workers, lawyers, reporters, tourists! All the killers were army or national guard. Any of those goons go to trial? Captain Lizco says his men specialize in wiping out death squads. I don't mind helping his people, not at all. Wish I could donate a ton of ammunition."
"Ironman the hardcore diplomat," Gadgets said, laughing. "You make it simple."
"What's difficult? Kill an American, die."
A voice called out from the crowd of Democratic Front fighters. "Hey specialists!"
Floyd Jefferson splashed through the muddy water flowing down the hillsides. "Those guys say eight of them are going in the helicopter. Counting you three and the lieutenant, his brother and the teenager, that doesn't leave room for me. You cutting out the press coverage of this revolutionary event?"
"No room for the press corps," Gadgets told him. "Besides, you can't take pictures in the dark."
"I can write a story."
Lyons groaned. "Just what we need. I can see the headline. 'U.S. Paramilitary Agents and Communist Terrorists Attack Convention of Salvadoran Businessmen.' "
"How 'bout this one. 'Justice in the Night! Freedom Fighters Annihilate Nazis!' " Floyd said.
Lyons laughed. "Sounds good. Good enough to get us into a congressional investigation. Here's another headline. 'Freedom Fighters Rot in Leavenworth.' "
"Okay, no story," Floyd told them. "But I got to go. I've spent the past few months working on this. Checking out every Nazi group in the Americas. The Argentinian, the Chileans, the Salvadorans, the North American gangs. All of the groups. I made contact with the Democratic Front so that I could join their group here to check out Quesada. We know Quesada's one of them. Now he's run off to someplace named The School. I want to go. Maybe La Escuela is just one more fincain the mountains. But maybe it isn't. Look at the map"
The young reporter spread out a map of El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua. "Here's the Contra war zone in northern Nicaragua. There are reports of Argentinians working with the Somoza gangs. Here's El Salvador. I've spotted blond guys working with the national-guard death squads. They talked Spanish but they weren't Salvos. A report came out of Honduras of death squads led by Chilean secret police. Now here's Reitoca. If you had an international operation going, wouldn't you put the headquarters in a central location?"
The three men of Able Team glanced to one another. They knew much more about Nazis than Floyd. They had fought the conspiracy of Unomundo to seize Guatemala with an army of Guatemalan traitors and Salvadoran fascists and foreign mercenaries. They had seen Salvadoran fascists at parties with United States lawmakers. And now, Quesada had escaped because of a traitor in the United States government.
Careful not to betray his own knowledge, Blancanales questioned Floyd. "You think there's a Pan-American Nazi movement?"
"That's what I think."
"Couldn't your Nazi conspiracy just be right wingers cooperating with one another?"
"I think it's more than that. In Argentina and Chile and Bolivia, there are Nazi communities. They march around behind the swastika, do the 'Sieg Heil' boogie. In Argentina, the army keeps pictures of Hitler in the barracks. In El Salvador, you ever seen the salute of the Arena Party?"
Floyd snapped his right fist to the center of his chest, then shot out his arm in a Nazi salute.
"There it is. That's what goes on. Even in the U.S. of A., things are weird."
"What do you mean?" Blancanales continued his questioning.
"Like how Quesada skipped Miami. The FBI waited twenty-four hours after they got the warrant before they actually went to his mansion in North Beach. And the other Salvadorans who've murdered Americans they've got condos and cars and businesses in Miami. Makes you think they got friends in high places.'
Lyons shook his head. "It's going to be fourteen of us against whoever we find. Everybody who goes carries a weapon."
"I can pull a trigger," Floyd insisted. "I'll take an M-16."
Lyons looked to his partners. "What's the vote?"
Blancanales nodded. "Floyd speaks English and Spanish. We could use him."
"Talks jive, too." Gadgets grinned. "I need a translator."
"Go work it out with them." Lyons pointed at the men of the Democratic Front.
"All right!" Floyd splashed away.
Gadgets laughed. "The Ironman authorizes press coverage of a Team event. This is a first."