That was the kind of thing these men looked forward to. They had all known about Hammond’s reputation in the last war. Between him and Richardson, they had done more than all the rest of the flag types combined. Add Master Sergeant Ricks into the stew and someone was getting ready to have a very bad day.
For the third day, the media ripped Press Secretary John Nichols apart. Ever since the video of the hostages came out, they all wanted to know what was going on to rescue them. He knew nothing he said would matter unless he told them troops would be on their way. Now they were reporting from deep inside Colombia, where people were being interviewed much like people had before the Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s. Polls were taken daily and public opinion, largely because of the negative press, was turning on the President.
Presidente Parente sat back in his office and watched CNN with a smile across his face. Colonel Rojas was sitting in a chair beside him. “You see, my colonel, it is all working out according to my plan. The election will change their government to one friendly to me,” he said. “Think of it. The great citadel of democracy will be forced to bow. For the first time, the United States will come to me for advice and support,” he said gleefully. “And you will be at my side — my right hand as Venezuela grows in power and influence in the world. Does this not thrill you, my colonel?”
Rojas could actually think of nothing so horrible, but he grinned widely. “It is a dream come true, Señor Presidente,” he said with some enthusiasm.
“Indeed!” said Parente. “I noticed that your admiral has managed to evade us. I believe you were right about him. I sent people out to find him and to watch these ships he could use. If they move, we will know about it,” he said.
“Most wise, Señor Presidente,” said Rojas. “I also asked our intelligence people to monitor what communications they can in Washington, so that we will know of any unusual activity. We may not be able to break their codes, but increased activity can indicate something getting ready to happen,” he said. Rojas stopped for a moment, “I hope I have not overstepped my bounds, but I feel it is my job to worry for you, Señor Presidente.”
Parente beamed. “On the contrary. You are showing initiative and your loyalty to your Presidente. I agree with you. Let me know what you find out,” he said. “By the way, I have just received a message from Cuba. Presidente Castro will be making a personal visit on the 12th. He wants to meet with me to discuss regional issues. We will meet in my office. Make the arrangements for a formal reception, the meeting and then a formal departure the same day. Let me know when things are set.” He glanced at his watch. I must be going to one of the outer provinces. Get in touch with me if there is any appreciable change,” he said.
Rojas sprang to his feet and saluted stiffly. “I will contact you immediately, Señor Presidente.” With the work done, Rojas did an about face and made his way out the door.
Parente, gathered the briefcase he always carried with him and made his way down the secret passage to his limousine. The Chief of his Secret Police was waiting for him at the helicopter. As they entered, Parente tossed the briefcase into the cabin, striking his armrest and breaking a small switch which enabled his headset communications. As a result, the plate also cracked and the switch tore a small gash in the side of the case. Parente saw it and mentally cursed himself. He might need to talk to his pilot during the flight. As both men entered the cabin, grabbed the intercom microphone and checked to see if the pilot could hear him. There was nothing. Parente told the crewman to let the pilot know it was broken. There were always hand signals. Parente then settled in for the long flight.
Colonel Carl Messina started the helicopter and obtained permission to take off. Using hand signals, he let Presidente Parente know all was set and then pulled back on the collective. The helicopter rose gently and turned toward the mountains.
The view from the cockpit was exceptional. Blue sky was all around them and two attack helicopters accompanied them. Things went well until there was some mild buffet as they passed over some hills. Suddenly the intercom system came on and Messina began to hear the conversation. He tried to contact the President, but it was no use.
“So all is ready,” said Parente to his Secret Police Chief.
“It is perfectly set up. The documents have been placed in the appropriate places so that everything points to Rojas. If the Americans begin to suspect, the ambassador will let you know and we can spring the trap. The hostages will be executed and left at a former military camp with enough evidence that Rojas was planning the coup using the American mayors for leverage. You can then say you found out of the plot and even helped the American CIA to capture the fugitive. Of course, he will be killed while trying to defend himself, but that happens,” the Chief said.
“Good. I want no one involved with this to be able to talk,” said Parente. “There should be no trace back to us.”
“Even the guards at the camp will be killed,” said the Chief. “No matter how bad it gets, you will be blameless and the Americans will look to you as a new friend,” he said. “Are we sure the new American President will do as you wish?”
Messina heard Parente chuckle. “Guaranteed. He wants to be the next president, but he knows that on his own he won’t be able to do it against someone that popular with the people. I will make him President, then he will have to do as I say. Are the documents tying him to Rojas ready?”
“Yes, Señor Presidente.”
“Then everything is set. After tonight’s ceremony I plan on returning to Caracas for about another week. After all, I must look like I am helping the Americans. Are the FARC members being rounded up?”
“Si, Señor Presidente.”
“Good. After they changed their allegiances, they have become most uncooperative in spreading conflict. It was time to get rid of them anyway. After this, they will effectively be gone, though we can still do things in their name if we need,” said Parente. “Now tell me where you are striking next.”
The conversation droned on for nearly an hour before the helicopter hit another rough spot and the system shorted out again. Messina could not believe what he had heard. Rojas was a good man. They had come to respect each other over the last year. Rojas had even offered to help his 14 year old son get started in the game of lacrosse. Parente, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Messina already thought the whole thing with the Americans was insane. Now he knew what was really happening and it disgusted him. A good Catholic, he knew this had no place in this or any other country. He had watched as terrorism consumed other countries in the world. Surely Venezuela would not become one of those. A part of him wanted to crash the helicopter into the nearest hill, but quickly a plan came into his mind. He would begin implementing it when Parente left the aircraft.
Ricks had been a tired man after the week-long sojourn into the swamp, and now a few days of briefings and plans had him exhausted. But the thought of one of his friends being held as a hostage had sparked some inner strength that kept him going. Now another spark would let him relax, even if for a few days.
He pulled his Jeep Wrangler into the driveway and turned off the ignition. Reaching into the back, he grabbed his bag and made his way to the front door. Half way there, two little three-year-olds came bounding out of the front door and latched themselves around his legs. “Daddy!” they screamed.