Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode (21 page)

Mahanani with his first aid kit was already kneeling in front of Sadler. He ripped open the senior chief’s bloody cammy and found the chest wound.

“Damnit!” Mahanani shouted. “It’s an exit wound, Cap. Sadler got shot in the back by a good-sized round and it came out his chest just under his clavicle. I can get the bleeding stopped, but you better get that chopper down here fast. The pilot still have a Motorola?”

Murdock touched his mike and called the chopper. He had his Motorola turned on.

“Chopper Sixty on the atoll. Hope to God you’re still there.”

“Yes, Murdock. I’m here waiting for your call.”

“Good. We have a casualty. Hit bad. Lift off and come down south. There’s a white crushed coral road that goes past the little airstrip. Keep coming another five hundred yards and you’ll find us. Get here as fast as you can, and alert the carrier to have a trauma team on the flight deck when you land. Move it. Now.”

“That’s a roger, Murdock. Warming up and lifting off.”

Murdock went into the fringe of trees next to the coral road and waited. He heard the bird coming a few minutes later and went into the middle of the road to flag it down.

Lam and Fernandez jogged the first fifty yards past the bunker, staying in the trees.

“He had to be on top of the bunker to get a shot at us,”
Lam said. “Highest point on the whole damn atoll. Where would he go from there?”

They had been moving with little noise; now they slowed and made no sounds whatsoever as they walked slowly toward the center of the hill covering the bunker. They were well to the side, away from the road. Lam held up his hand and both stopped and listened. Nothing. They were in sight of the hill now and moved slowly from one covering tree to the next. Lam used the radio, whispering.

“I’ll fire at the top of the hill and dive behind cover. You watch for any return fire and blast him.”

Lam fired and dove behind a fallen tree. His rounds peppered the top of the hill. There was no response. Lam held up his hand again for silence. Fernandez shook his head. Lam nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got some movement well ahead. Like he’s trying to circle us and get back to the village. Not that much room here to get around us. We stay together.” Lam gave the forward motion with his hand, and they moved to their right, edging away from the bunker and toward the widest part of the island, which was less than a quarter of a mile here.

They moved cautiously, from cover to cover, then waited in one place for five minutes, listening. Fernandez shook his head. Lam nodded. “Yep, he’s coming toward us. Out maybe a hundred yards. Not being careful, like he’s in a hurry to get somewhere.”

“Maybe more of them in the village,” Canzoneri said on the net.

“Cap, you copy us?” Lam asked.

“Roger. Heard about some more might be in the village. Let this one come past you and tail him wherever he’s going. We’ll be staked out in the village to net him in if he’s just running. We moved the senior chief out by chopper. He should be near the carrier by now.”

“Will tail him. Roger.”

In their jungle cammies and floppy hats, Canzoneri and Lam blended in well with the green of the growth around them. Lam nodded again that he heard something and pointed to their right. They were still a hundred yards
inside the shore of the lagoon. Both men had sturdy trees to hide behind and settled down to wait for the terrorist to come to them.

It took him another five minutes. He moved with more caution now. Lam spotted him first. The man wore khaki pants and shirt and no hat on his black hair. He had a full black beard and glasses. He lifted up from behind a fallen log and studied the area ahead of him. Lam eased fully behind his tree. The Arab stood then and jogged through an open space and into a thicket of brush and small trees. Lam let him go. He gave him a two-minute lead, then he stood and waved at Fernandez and they followed.

The Arab never looked to his rear. He studied the area ahead continually, sometimes pausing a minute or two between movements.

Back at the road into the village, Murdock held up the march as Rafii questioned the prisoner. He spoke to him in Arabic and the words came quickly on both sides. Rafii stared hard at the young Arab, then took out a knife from his pocket and snapped open its four-inch blade with a flick of his hand. The gleaming steel knife was Rafii’s favorite shaving tool. He placed the side of the steel against the Arab’s neck.

“I can kill you with one quick swipe of my pet here, you know that?” Rafii spoke in Arabic and the other man responded in the same language.

“Every man dies. Some die for the glory of Allah.”

“You lie. I am a Moslem, too. Allah does not condone killing or terrorism or any violence. Your leaders have betrayed you. They are using you for their own ends.”

“You lie. If I die I will be a glorious martyr for Allah.”

“If you insist.” Rafii moved the blade and made a slice down the man’s cheek, four inches long and deep enough to bring a gush of blood running down his cheek and dripping on his legs where he knelt in the grass. His hands were still tied behind him.

“Bastard,” the Arab shouted.

“Pain is the mother of all heroes,” Rafii said. “Or have you forgotten that part? You will suffer much pain in the
next half hour, then you may die. Tell me if there are any of your group still in the village.”

The Arab shook his head, and some of his blood splattered on Rafii. “I will be an honored martyr for Allah.”

Murdock had watched the interrogation. He touched Rafii on the shoulder. “Do what you have to do, but don’t kill him. The CIA will want to roast his bones in their oven.”

Murdock then moved the rest of the platoon down the road past the airstrip, to where a police car blocked the road. He called on the Motorola to the second SH-60 chopper that had brought them in.

“Chopper two, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. Go.”

“Contact the carrier on your radio and tell them we have a small problem. It’s what could be a live radioactive chamber with two large jugs of plut that may be uncorked. Have them send in their top radiation experts to evaluate and see who and what needs to be sent here to reclaim the plut. We also have two crates not opened. Get a reply for me.”

“Will do, Murdock.”

Before the platoon made it to the edge of the village, Murdock’s Motorola spoke.

“Murdock, have some messages for you from the carrier.”

“I’m all ears.”

“First, the head man on the nuke power plant on board is coming in on a Sixty with five of his top men and equipment and testing gear. They’ll take charge of the plut. Next, they want to know when you’ll wrap up your work here. Third is a note that they have tracked the other three small ships that may have plut on them. They are heading for different atolls but none have reached one yet. Keeping them under surveillance.”

“Roger, Sixty. We’re still tracking one of the terrorists. There may be more in the village. We have one prisoner. Tell Don Stroh. He’s still alive but beat up some. Will let you know how much more time we need.”

The chopper responded and Murdock took his men into the village. He could see it better now that it was light. There were about twenty houses, five or six small stores, a post office, and two good-sized warehouses near the dock. Small boats would have to bring in any freight or goods from large ships that stopped by. He hit the net.

“I’m wondering if the terrs had an in-village house? Did they have a place to rest up and relax while waiting for the arrival of their goods?”

“We could ask the mayor again,” Jaybird said.

“We could do a house-to-house,” Bradford said.

“Let’s check at the restaurant down there,” Claymore said. “Any men even in this place would eat out most of the time.”

Murdock sent Claymore to the small cafe and Jaybird to find the mayor. The rest of them went over to the Sixty and waited.

Rafii slapped the Arab terrorist gently on the cheek, splattering the slow stream of blood.

“You disappoint me. What did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t.”

“Attitude, you have an attitude, even though I can kill you with one quick swipe of my blade. Should I cut off your trigger finger? Would that help your memory? Or just cut off your cock and let you bleed to death. I could stop you bleeding to death and let you live with half a prick, knowing you’ll never fuck another woman as long as you live. Yeah, that sounds better.” He moved toward the man’s crotch with his knife. The Arab tipped over, smashing into the ground away from Rafii.

“No, no, wait. I don’t know much. No more with the knife. I came here with the construction crew. This is my part in the whole operation. I don’t know anything about anything else. Just here. We were to get in four big bottles of plutonium. Our job to break it down into twenty-pound lead boxes, seal them, and ship them out as regular cargo.”

“That’s it? Who’s behind it? Who paid you the cash to do this job? Where were the finished boxes of twenty pounds supposed to be shipped to?”

“We were to be told that by email when we were ready to ship.”

“How many more men in town?”

“Town? It’s just a village. I had twenty men to start. The boat that left the plut took four men away. Seventeen of us left.”

“We killed seven inside. Where are the other nine?”

“Who knows?”

Rafii kicked the terrorist in the side, on his left kidney. The man on the ground howled in agony and doubled up with his knees to his chest to fight the nausea and pain.

Rafii used his Motorola. “Cap, Rafii here.”

“Go, Rafii.”

“This asshole says there are nine more men in town. I don’t believe him but that’s his line.”

“Bring him up to the village. We need him alive. He has to be able to talk to the CIA. Don Stroh is going to have some work to do after all.”

Claymore pushed open the screen door on the cafe and went inside. He kept his weapon slung over his shoulder, with the muzzle down. Most civilians were afraid of guns. The eatery was a small affair, with six booths and a counter. A woman with a wipe rag paused in her work on the counter and looked up with a big grin.

“Well now, we do get to see some of the Navy boys. I hear you’re SEALs and here to help us get rid of those sombitches who dropped in on us about three months ago.”

“Yes, ma’am. I wondered about them. They eat in here?”

“Eat like sows in heat.” She grinned, and it lit up her shy face with a friendly glow. She was in her thirties, tanned, blond, and probably wishing she could lose fifteen to twenty pounds. She pointed at his Bull Pup. “That thing loaded?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can’t very well do much good with an unloaded rifle.”

She nodded. “What can I do for you? Breakfast?”

“No, ma’am. Wondering about the strangers who came. How many of them are still here?”

“Well, let’s see. I’ll get you a cup of coffee while I figure it out. Were about forty of them for the construction. We did a great business then. After it finished, they were down to about fifteen. Somebody said that five of them left on the boat that dropped off those big packages last night.”

“So, maybe ten of them left?”

“If my arithmetic is any good. Here, coffee. Never knew a sailor to turn down a cup of joe.”

Claymore sipped it, then gulped two big swallows. “Yeah, ma’am, that’s good coffee. So, about ten of them. I better talk to my boss.” He turned to leave, then looked back. “Oh, pardon me. I thank you kindly for the coffee.”

She grinned, stretching so her pink uniform pressed tightly against her full breasts. “More than welcome. You just come back and see me anytime.”

Claymore hurried out the door and used his radio. “Lady at the cafe says there could be only ten of them left on the atoll,” Claymore said without calling in first.

“Roger that, Claymore. We’ve got a nine count on them, which could leave only one missing, if her count is right. On the other hand could be six or eight more. Now all we have to do is find the fuckers who must be playing hide and seek.”

Just as he said it, a rifle snarled from nearby and a heavy slug skidded off the concrete-hard coral street and whined off into the lagoon.

The sound of the rifle shot came from the left, back toward the cafe and the post office. The SEALs dove for cover that would protect them from that direction. One more shot blasted into the morning stillness but missed the target. This time Murdock saw the muzzle flash from an upstairs window on the only two-story building in town.

“It’s from the post office,” Murdock said into the Motorola. “Who has cover to get to the side of that building?”

“Yeah, I can make it,” Mahanani said. “First that old sedan down about ten, then the pickup and I should be free. Kick a couple of rounds into that window up there, Cap, and I’m off and running.”

Murdock sent a three-round burst of 5.56 into the open window. He saw Mahanani leap up and race for the sedan, then the pickup. No more shots came from the window.

“I’ll look for a back door,” Mahanani said on the radio as he ran. The medic carried his usual Bull Pup. He peered around the end of the pickup at the second-story window. The guy had no shot at him from that angle. Mahanani stood and sprinted for the side of the post office thirty yards away. Once there he took some deep breaths and worked his way to the back and peered round it. Yeah, he could see a back door. Before he could move, a man came out the door. Mahanani put a three-round burst of 5.56 into the air.

“Hold it right there. Don’t move or you’re a dead man.”

The figure turned slowly and pushed both hands into the air. Mahanani saw that the man was in his sixties or
seventies, had no weapon, and must belong there.

Mahanani ran up to him. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you. Our platoon was shot at from this building. How do I get to the second floor?”

“No sweat, young fellah. My building. Stairway just inside. Didn’t hear nobody upstairs. Mostly empty, yeah, sure enough.”

“Thanks. Anybody else up there?”

“No, mostly empty. Storage.”

“Stay out of the place for a while. I’m going in.” Mahanani edged up to the door and looked inside. “You get that, Cap?”