Franklin stopped after a quarter of a mile and asked DeWitt to come up for a look. Not a lot to see except trees and brush and vines and a few wildflowers. Green on green. Then DeWitt found it. Thirty yards ahead along this open stretch of trail a lone lookout leaned against a thick tree trunk smoking. He wore jungle fatigues to blend in with the foliage, and held a radio in one hand and the end of a smoke in the other.
“Can’t risk a silenced shot,” De Witt said. “Too damn close to where there must be others. Keep the rest of our guys here. I’ll go up and shake hands with him.”
“How about Lam?” Then Franklin realized. “Oh, yeah, he ain’t here. Lieutenant, you be careful. I’ll be up about halfway with my MP-5 if you get in trouble.”
DeWitt slung his MP-5 across his back, and a moment later had vanished into the thick brush. Time to shit or get off the pot. Never ask one of the men to do something that he wouldn’t do. Yeah, now was the time. De Witt moved with more caution than he had ever done, working slowly, never putting weight on one foot until he was sure nothing would go swish or snap. He angled slightly toward the river. At the higher elevation it was much shallower now, and the gurgle and splash as it came down mini rapids gave him some sound cover.
He worked forward for five minutes, then took a break and relaxed all the muscles in his body a pair at a time. The process took two minutes; then he was on his feet and moving again. He drew his KA-BAR fighting knife. He’d honed the blade last night so it was far, far sharper than it ever had been. He bent back to the left toward the trail. Yes. There it was. The smoker?
The sentry had put out the cigarette, and held a sub gun in both hands as he looked up the trail toward the camp. Why was he looking that way? Then he turned and stared down the trail, then relaxed against the large trunk of his favorite tree.
Twenty feet.
Almost no cover.
How would he do it? The old distraction trick? A rock the other way to make the sentry look that way? Could he take a half-dozen steps silently, then charge toward the man before he realized someone was coming? Maybe. How about a knife throw? DeWitt vetoed that one at once. He could throw a knife and hit a target, but he wasn’t going to bet his life on it. He came back to the rock.
Twice more the sentry turned and looked toward the camp. Maybe a replacement was coming. Wait for the next turn. It took two or three minutes. As soon as the sentry turned again, DeWitt came upright and took six running, almost silent steps toward the man. Just as the guard was due to look down the trail, the lieutenant threw a fist-sized rock beyond where the guard had been looking. The pirate jolted his gaze that way for another two seconds.
It was long enough. DeWitt kept up his charge at the sentry, holding the knife straight in front of him like a lance, gaining four feet of distance and precious tenths of a second.
The sentry never even started to turn. Instead he pulled up his weapon and aimed it at the rock sound. DeWitt’s KA-BAR sliced through the man’s shirt on the side, missed his ribs, and slanted through half a lung and stabbed two inches into his heart, killing him instantly. DeWitt caught him before he fell, pressed the sub gun against his chest, and dragged him off the trail into the brush.
By the time De Witt had returned to the trail, Franklin knelt there looking upstream. He flashed the officer a grin and gave him a thumbs-up, then waved his arm forward and the rest of the SEALs moved silently up the trail with five-yard intervals.
“Out twenty yards, Franklin,” DeWitt whispered, and the scout moved forward with caution. DeWitt and the rest of the squad followed. Franklin found no more guards, and five minutes later he and the rest of the SEALs stared at the group of buildings ahead from a fringe of brush that bordered a cleared area. DeWitt scanned the structures and decided there were three houses, a large garage, and two outbuildings that could be used for storage. It was still daylight, and he could see electric wires strung around, so they had power.
“Could be thirty guns in there, Lieutenant,” Franklin said. “We got any help coming land side?”
“Supposed to be. The spotter plane man said as soon as our boat vanished into the woods, they would get land troops out and cover all roads, buildings, and houses in our general area. Let’s hope that they do.”
“Hey, Cap. How about a small diversion?” It was Mahanani.
“Like what?”
“I was thinking maybe one of them outbuildings could catch on fire. One twenty-mike-mike WP into that far one should make it burn like a torch.”
“Too much noise. They’d know we were here.”
“Right, Lieutenant,” Franklin said. “But what if I was to slip up on the back side of that shack and drop in a couple of Willy Peter grenades. They don’t make much more than a pop.”
“Good. Get in position, but don’t drop the WP until I give the word. We’re supposed to have help out front. They gave me a radio, and I hope to hell it works. Donegan, you still have that GPS to pinpoint our location?”
“Sure do, Cap. You want the coordinates?”
“Work them out. I’ll see if I can raise anybody on this tin box.”
He turned on the second radio he took from his vest and lifted a two-foot antenna.
“Skyhook, this is Grounded. Do you read me?”
There was no response. He tried again. “Skyhook, this is Grounded off the Pegasus. Do you read me?”
“Yes, Grounded. Skyhook here with the land troops. We have fifty men on roads leading into the area where you vanished. What have you found?”
DeWitt told him the setup. “Can’t see any cars from here, but there must be some in front. Here is the GPS coordinates.” He read them off, and the Coast Guard man repeated them.
“Yes, we have men near there. We’ll move forty men to the one lane leading into those three houses. The old Bamford place. Sold recently. We’ll be on station in about fifteen minutes.”
“Let us know when you’re ready. You bring your men in from the front on an attack, and we’ll bottle them up if they try to come down the river. We have their boat.”
“Good. Talk to you in fourteen.”
Five minutes later, Franklin said he was ready. He was against the side of the building. It looked like it once had been a barn with hay and stalls, he said. “Even has a window with the glass out,” Franklin said. “I’ll toss in the WP and haul ass on your command.”
“Make it in ten minutes, Franklin.”
“Roger that.”
DeWitt started the timer on his wristwatch, and then told the rest of his men what was going down. “We spread out along here as a blocking force. We’ll wait until we see if they are armed, then give them a chance to surrender. If they don’t, we’ll blow their asses all the way into San Juan.”
The SEALs spread out, found cover, settled in, and waited. Then DeWitt gave Franklin the go, and they heard the WPs pop. A short time later smoke gushed from a broken window on the side of the old barn, and there were shouts from the houses.
Quickly a dozen men, women, and children ran out of the houses and stared at the fire. It was beyond a bucket brigade, and the one garden hose had no pressure.
While they watched the barn burn, a submachine gun chattered off a dozen rounds in front of the houses.
“Men in the three houses,” a powerful bullhorn blasted. “This is the FBI. You are surrounded. Come out the front doors of your homes with your hands in the air and we won’t fire. Don’t endanger the lives of your women and children. You have three minutes to move.”
The people around the fire raced back into their houses. A short time later the bullhorn sounded again.
“No, we don’t want your women and children to come out. We want the men to show themselves with their hands in the air.”