They stood then in the twilight next to the camper shell, waiting for Dr. Asai to complete his ritual with the second bear.
"If we miss Sonny's call, what will we do with Henry?" Butch Chareaux asked as they watched Asai set the fresh bowl of rice down next to the smaller bear.
"If we miss the eight-o'clock call, Sonny knows to call again at ten. We will know then." Alex Chareaux shrugged with feigned indifference, not wanting Butch to know how badly he wanted to hear from their brother. How badly he wanted to know, one way or the other, before it was too late.
"But we have to be at Jacall's by ten. Do we take him there with us?"
"If necessary, we will take him to Jacall's and dispose of him there," Alex Chareaux told him, relieved to see that Dr. Asai was finally finished with the second bear.
"But the risk?"
"There are always risks, my brother." Alex Chareaux shrugged once more as he began walking toward the already overloaded pickup. "Come. If we hurry, perhaps we can still get to Fishtail by ten."
Chapter Eighteen
Command Sergeant Major Clarence MacDonald had spent the better part of his thirty-two years in the United States Army helping to train Green Beret teams to reconnoiter, stalk, and kill their enemies with weapons that ranged from bare hands, rocks, wire, knives, and silenced firearms to far more sophisticated laser-guided rockets and miniaturized nuclear ordnance.
The men who graduated from his courses were considered to be some of the most skillful, creative, and deadly soldiers that the world had ever known, and they had been demonstrating the effectiveness of their training in remote battlefields throughout the world for the past two decades.
But aside from the British Army's Special Air Service Squadrons in general, and perhaps three or four Special Forces teams that he could remember specifically, MacDonald was convinced that he had never addressed a group of individuals whose expertise in weaponry, tactics, communications, reconnaissance, intelligence gathering, logistics, demolitions, guerrilla warfare, and hand-to-hand combat had come even close to that of the ICER assault group that sat before him in this underground conference room.
And for perhaps the first time in as far back as he could remember, MacDonald was standing before a man whose lethal skills in one-on-one combat situations were rumored to match, or possibly to even exceed, his own. As MacDonald gazed calmly into the pale eyes of Assault Group Leader Gerd Maas, however, he felt only professional curiosity, and even pleasant anticipation. In truth, he was looking forward to finding out for himself if the eye-opening reports and evaluations on Gerd Maas had any basis in reality.
At precisely 1930 hours, MacDonald stepped up to the raised podium that faced twenty-four padded theater chairs arranged on an upwardly sloping six-by-four grid. He stared out across the brightly lit room at the members of the assault group, all of whom were dressed in mountain-camouflaged military fatigues.
MacDonald noted immediately that one member of the Japanese contingent, Dr. Morito Asai, was missing.
"Gentlemen, and ladies," he added in deference to the three woman who comprised one quarter of the ICER assault group, "it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Whitehorse Cabin Training Center. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Clarence MacDonald, and as some of you are aware, I am privileged to hold the rank of command sergeant major in the United States Army."
MacDonald scanned the eleven alert faces.
"Some of you I know from previous training sessions. The rest of you are familiar to me only by the information in your personnel files. But I want to begin this session by making certain that one thing is absolutely clear. I am not here as your training sergeant, but rather, as your host."
MacDonald paused for effect.
"It is clear that the United States Government has gone to a great deal of effort to recruit and equip a top-notch counterterrorist team. Why this team has been established, and who your targets will be, has not been revealed to me. And I would emphasize the fact that such information is not of any concern or interest to the Whitehorse Cabin training staff.
"According to your records," MacDonald went on, "each one of you possesses an incredible amount of training and practical experience, both as a field operative and as an instructor. It is also apparent that you are well versed in general field operations, and that you each make the effort to maintain a high level of proficiency in your own area of expertise. Therefore, in my view," MacDonald said in his quiet but firm voice, "it would be a waste of time to provide a training course for you in the classical sense. Instead, we intend to make ourselves available to do three specific things.
"First of all," MacDonald raised a single callused finger, "we will provide you with the resources necessary for each of you to maintain and enhance your own personal skills.
"Second"-he raised a second finger-"we will provide a series of simulated exercises that will enhance your ability to function as a team against a wide range of tactical situations.
"And finally," MacDonald said as he brought up the third finger, "we will provide individualized instruction with respect to specific weapons, techniques or tactics to meet the individual needs of you and your team leaders."
MacDonald paused momentarily to note that Gerd Maas was staring at him expressionlessly.
"To my far right is Master Gunnery Sergeant Gary Brickard. Sergeant Brickard will be your range master. He is also in charge of this facility in my absence. His special area of expertise is simulated combat situations, utilizing multimedia displays and robotics."
MacDonald scanned the eleven faces of his audience once more, noting that even Maas seemed to be intrigued by the idea of robotics.
"Sergeant Brickard and I have a great deal of experience in using live-fire exercises to teach rapid-strike entries and small-squad tactics. Our goal will be to provide all of you with appropriate simulations that force you to extend your capabilities to their maximum effectiveness while working in conjunction with other members of your team.
"In effect, we intend to keep your skills honed to a state of readiness that will allow you to respond to a tactical situation at a moment's notice."
MacDonald paused to look around the room once more. "Before I go on, are there any questions?"
Much to MacDonald's surprise, Gerd Maas raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Maas?"
"Sergeant MacDonald," Maas said in his typical cold, gruff voice, "I am most impressed by the quality of this facility and the thoughtfulness of your planning. However, I was told this morning that we must accelerate our preparations. Therefore, I must know how soon you and your staff can be available to us."
"Starting tomorrow morning, Sergeant Brickard and I, along with the rest of the staff, will be at your disposal in these facilities from oh-seven hundred to twenty-one hundred hours, seven days a week. Meals are normally scheduled at oh-six hundred, twelve hundred, and eighteen hundred hours. At your request, with appropriate notice, we can be available at any other time of the day or night."
"And what do you consider appropriate notice?" Maas asked.
"Twenty minutes to shower and shave would be appreciated," MacDonald said matter-of-factly. "However, a knock on any one of our doors would be sufficient."
"One more question," Gerd Maas said. "Perhaps you could comment on the security of these facilities?"
"I was about to get to that," MacDonald nodded as he stepped back behind the podium.
"It is obvious that the United States Government has placed a very high value on your readiness quotient. I say that because over the past eight months, my staff and I have been allowed to spend approximately eighty-seven million dollars to create what I can honestly tell you is one of the finest covert training facilities I have ever seen."