Feith responded, "Will do, sir."
Gore began adjusting the chopper's direction, turning more southwest.
"I'll let you do your thing," Grant said, as he headed back to the Team. "NOE coming up! Lock in place!"
Chapter 26
Grant picked up his helmet, then walked down the aisle, sat across from Holcomb, and clicked his seat belt in place. He adjusted the helmet, then wire mike. "Can you hear me?" Holcomb nodded. "Who's your friend over there?" Grant pointed with his index finger.
"Mitch Banyon."
"And your Subic contact?"
"Phillips. Jess Phillips."
"Did you ever hear the name 'Avelino Cruz'?"
"No."
Grant unhooked his canteen. "Here. Sorry, but it's just H2O." Holcomb accepted the offer and took a long swallow.
"Talk to me," Grant said.
"What the fuck do you want me to say?!"
"I know you worked for the DEA before this. Why the hell did you give it up?"
Holcomb wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, then handed the canteen to Grant. He started talking, repeating everything he revealed to Banyon, and everything he'd said to himself not so long ago. He finally went quiet.
Grant leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. Keeping his eyes on Holcomb's face, he tried to understand how one misjudgment could ruin a person's life. Pills. Energy pills. He believed Holcomb was innocent of the deaths, and was just someone caught up in an unfortunate situation. But selling any drugs would still guarantee he'd be in a world of shit.
"Listen, NIS has an agent in Subic. You have an address for this 'Phillips' to make it easier to find him?"
"No. The only times we met was at a bar not far from the main gate. Deliveries were always pre-scheduled for date, time and place. He paid with cash."
"Did this bar have a name?"
"'The Old Grog.'"
"Let me get this straight. Out of the blue, you meet this guy, and you're already discussing selling drugs — and to sailors?" Holcomb didn't respond. "Was he ex-military or still in?" Again no response. Grant flopped back against the bulkhead, never letting his eyes leave Holcomb, watching for any reaction, waiting for a response. Nothing. Then, Grant sat up straight, and practically spit the words out: "You knew him from the Agency?!" Silence. "Answer me, goddammit!"
"Yes! We both had enough bureaucratic bullshit! But we did meet only by chance in Subic. I told him my plans. We agreed to meet again after I had my facility set up, and when production was underway."
"And look where the bureaucratic bullshit got you!" Again, no response. "There'll be a helluva lot more questions once we're aboard the carrier."
Grant started to stand, when Holcomb stopped him. "Wait!"
"I'm listening."
"I wanna know that fuckin' factory was destroyed."
"Revenge?"
"Why the hell not?!"
"I can't help you with that, but when you make your statement to NIS, give an address or details on how to find the place." Grant realized he was leaving Holcomb with the impression the U.S. would handle it, but destruction of the factory would be up to the Thai government. He also considered the possibility President Carr might decide to avoid the entire issue, especially after Thai waterfront property was destroyed by a group of unknown individuals who were just passing through!
He decided to add something else for Holcomb to "chew" on. "You know, maybe you weren't responsible for those deaths or the irreversible damage done to some of those kids. But I want you to think about this. The kid who was selling your pills — the red ones — thought he was at fault, so much so that he committed suicide. He jumped overboard."
Holcomb's face drained of all color. "No. No."
"You have anything else to say before I leave you contemplating what you've done?" Nothing. Grant held out his hand. "Gimme the helmet."
The rocking and rolling finally ended, and the chopper banked to port. Continuing on a south southwest heading over the Andaman Sea, they retraced their previous route. Navigation lights were turned on. Gore adjusted the altitude, taking the chopper higher but staying at top speed.
Feith contacted the refueling aircraft. He received coordinates and scheduled a time for meeting up with the C-130, somewhere over the Indian Ocean.
Grant paused in front of his men. "Everybody okay?" All replied with a thumb's up, except for Slade, who was already asleep.
"Let's talk," he said to Adler, handing him the helmet.
Adler adjusted the wire mike. "Ready."
"First tell me if any more intel came out of those three."
"Negative. You wanna have a one-on-one with any of them?"
"Think we'll just let them contemplate their current situation."
"What'd you find out from Hawk?" Grant relayed the news. "Holy shit! But guess we've gotta consider the possibility the DEA guy's already hauled ass."
"Yeah, I know. It's more than likely he saw or read news reports on the incidents. And we still don't know how they got those drugs aboard ship."
"You gonna update your last message to the ship?" Adler asked, reaching for his canteen.
"Negative. Don't want to broadcast any more details over the airwaves."
"What?! You think somebody might be listening?" Adler laughed.
"Not a doubt in my military mind, Joe!"
"We're gonna have beaucoups to report once we're back on board."
"We can give Scott a quick and dirty, then fill out our AAR (After Action Report) at his office. The admiral and Sid will make their own reports to D.C." Grant bumped a fist against Adler's knee. "In the meantime, my friend — end of transmission." He swiveled the mike up.
Chapter 27
A brilliant sun cast glaring reflections off a calm Indian Ocean. But on the horizon, clouds were forming. Forecast was as usuaclass="underline" heavy rain expected by early afternoon.
All choppers were in the air as flight operations continued, except for a Sea Knight parked on the angle deck. Wheel chocks were in place, with tie downs fastened securely to the deck. The cargo bay was devoid of gear and passengers. Four prisoners had been turned over to the master-at-arms. Four men now locked in the brig.
Team A.T. had cleaned weapons, equipment, and organized gear in rucksacks. Everything was stacked in the V.I.P. stateroom. All they had left to do was wait for launch time, most likely before noon. A Greyhound would be their transportation, taking them back to Cubi Point, a brief stopover before heading back to the States.
After quick showers, they were feeling human again. "Okay, guys," Grant said, "why don't you grab a bite while Joe and I contact Scott. We've got another meeting with the admiral at ten hundred."
"Will you be in the radio room, boss?" Novak asked, pulling a white skivvy shirt over his head.
"Negative. EOD locker. Lieutenant Ormond gave us the okay. With flight ops underway, most of the team will be up on deck."
"How 'bout some coffee, boss, LT? One of us can deliver it to the locker."
"Sure could use some, Mike. I tell you what. Joe, go with them. I heard your stomach making some very familiar rumblings. Hungry, huh?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?!"
"Get outta here! Meet me in the locker. And bring coffee!"
"Scott!"
"Hey, Grant! Everybody okay?"
"Yeah. We're all good, buddy. Oh, before I forget. Would you contact Matt and Rob and tell them we're launching at approximately noon, before foul weather sets in."
"Will do. So, what've you got to report? I'm all ears!"
"I take it nothing's filtered down from my debriefing with the admiral and Sid."