“Admiral Lawsome here.”
“Admiral, this is Lieutenant Commander Murdock in Santa Barbara.”
“Murdock, yes, good of you to call. How goes the operation?”
“Just about wrapped up, Admiral. The tower has been taken down with casualties on both sides. The freighter has suffered an explosion in the stern and will be porting quickly for repairs where it can be inspected. Twelve Korean nationals were captured at sea by a Coast Guard Cutter. The concrete blockhouse near the tower has been penetrated and documents and a box full of gold coins retrieved.”
“Anything else of value in the underwater structure?”
“Not that we could find on our first search. A later search may be needed. We counted five bodies in the flooded structure.”
“Well done, Commander. This should put an end to the North Korean invasion of our soil. You mentioned casualties. One of ours?”
“Yes, sir, a SEAL, KIA. Yeoman Second Class Colt Franklin, sir. I’m putting him in for a decoration.”
“I’ll approve it, Commander. When you retrieve your men you should proceed to the Coast Guard station in Santa Barbara where the same CH-46 is waiting for you. This mission is not covert. You will probably be hounded by the press. Let the Navy public affairs officers take care of the press.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Admiral Lawsome out.”
Murdock asked the cutter’s captain to pick up their men from the tower, then take them back to the dock. “We thank you for the ride, Lieutenant, and for the support fire with those Fifties. They really helped.”
When Murdock got back to the fantail, he found the SEALs flaked out. Howard and Bradford had returned from the freighter.
Ten minutes later they had picked up De Witt and his squad from the tower and gently brought Colt Franklin’s body on board.
“Let’s go home,” Murdock said.
Murdock sat at his desk pounding out his after-action report. It wasn’t 1500 yet. It had been an interesting morning. He’d lost a good man, and he hated that. DeWitt had picked up another wound. Murdock would deal with him later.
He had two calls from Navy divers who had been assigned to go into the blockhouse underwater and retrieve the Korean bodies. The Navy had also picked up the bodies off the tower and turned them over to a United Nations representative in Los Angeles.
Now he had to cope with the tough part, writing a letter to Franklin’s parents in Nebraska. He put it off. DeWitt came in from the medics at Balboa Hospital. The slug had nicked the bone in his upper right leg and he’d been put on light duty for two weeks. Canzoneri’s shoulder was smashed up a bit, but should heal in a month.
“I’m writing that letter of recommendation this afternoon to get you a platoon of your own. I know there’s an opening, and Masciareli might just go for it. Actually I’m sending it with or without your approval.” He studied the SEAL’s face. DeWitt frowned for a moment, then took a deep breath. Murdock thought he saw a small wave of relief break over the lieutenant.
“Yeah, I guess. Okay, do it. But I want something in return. I want to write the letter to Franklin’s family. I knew the guy fairly well.”
“Good, DeWitt. Good. You’ll do a better job at it than I would. No more duty this afternoon. I turned the men loose. Why don’t you get out of here too? We can talk about a replacement man for your squad tomorrow. I’ve alerted the master chief. He has a list of men from the other platoons who want a crack at us. We’ll look them over tomorrow.” He paused and watched DeWitt. The man had lost some of his push, his ready-for-anything attitude. When Franklin got killed right beside him, it must have taken a lot of the gung-ho drive out of the man.
“DeWitt. I’m sorry about Franklin. He was a good man. Why don’t you get that shot up leg home and be sure to take your pain pills. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. You’ve been there, buddy, and you’ve done that more than ninety-nine percent of anybody in the military. Just relax and come in about noon tomorrow.”
DeWitt looked up, and Murdock had never seen such pain in the man’s eyes. His face sagged and he nodded. “Yeah, Cap, I just might do that. I can write the letter tomorrow.”
Out in the squad room, Mahanani was the last one to leave. He had restocked his medic kit, cleaned the MP-5 three times, and at last closed his locker. Time to go. He had been stalling and he knew it. It was time to get home and call the drug task force and set up a plan with the DEA. Mahanani knew that if anything went wrong in a bust of the druggers, he could very well wind up dead in a basket. He snorted, pushed over the Quarter Deck, and ran for his Buick. It was now or never, and the now might just be deadly and forever.
26
Hospital Corpsman First Class Jack Mahanani ran up the steps to his apartment in Coronado. As he opened the door the telephone rang. He hurried in and picked it up.
“Yes?”
“Is this the Reverend?”
“So you ran my plates. I told you not to do that.” He hung up. A moment later the phone rang again. He let it sound four times before he picked it up.
“Clancy’s Bar and Grill, Clancy speaking.”
“Yeah sure. Mahanani, we know everything about you there is to know. Now don’t hang up. I’ve made a deal for you. You will remain completely anonymous, no name, no testimony, no leak to the press, nothing. All you have to do is give us the names of the guys at the casino, the spots where you pick up and deliver the cars. That’s it. Just to be sure we don’t get an empty cupboard, we’ll want you to make one more run, and that’s the one we’ll bust.”
“No way, Mr. DEA. You bust them on my run and they will know that I tipped you and they’ll tell everyone in the ring. If just one of them gets away, I’m dead meat within twelve hours. Not a chance. I’ll give you the names, and places. You set up a surveillance on the U.S. side. When you see a man drive in, leave his own car there, and take an older nondescript car out and drive to the border, you know you have a runner.”
“Might work, might not. What if it’s a decoy?”
“Won’t be. I ran a dry load last time out. They knew the inspectors were checking every six-year-old Chevy. They pulled mine over and it came out clean. They won’t do another decoy.”
“So when are you going to give us the names and addresses?”
“How about tonight? You know where I live. You probably have a man outside my place right now. Radio him to come up to my door and ask politely if I need a ride. Then we meet and drive to San Ysidro.”
“We’ll need the name of the casino and the guys there who shanghaied you so we can have a team out there waiting for us to make a grab.”
“Cool, I can do that. Tonight. When will your man be on my doorstep?”
“In about five minutes. Look, Mahanani, we want to make this as easy as we can for you. We know you’re a SEAL and good with weapons. Don’t bring anything with you. Not even an ankle hideout. Okay?”
“Roger that. No bang-bang.”
“Good. Our man will drive down the Strand and we’ll meet in Imperial Beach. You’ll have to wait for us. You’ll be riding with Hernando. He’s a good man and speaks Spanish like a native. We’ll see you in about a half hour.”
Mahanani said good-bye and hung up the phone. He looked over three small guns in the top dresser drawer. The little.32 automatic would fit nicely in a belt holster in the middle of his back. No, they just might frisk him. The DEA said no guns, so he would not take one. He checked his wallet. Twenty-one dollars in cash. He probably wouldn’t spend a dollar.
He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and face, and checked his beard. No worry. By the time he had combed his dark hair, the front doorbell sounded.
When he opened the door he saw a Mexican with a mustache, wearing chinos, a tan shirt outside his pants, dark sunglasses, and a baseball cap. He took off the glasses and held out his hand.