Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (55 page)

 
          
“We
heard about the unfortunate incident in
San Diego
the other day,” Salazar continued. “One
hundred kilos. A small shipment but an incident of large consequences.”

 
          
“Don’t
gloat, Salazar,” Gachez said. “That was one small shipment. Others have been
making it through ...”

 
          
“Liquid
cocaine? Frozen cocaine? Very imaginative, senor. Except it took only two weeks
for the Hammerheads to discover it. Now the whole southwest is closed up tight.
Radar balloons are flying everywhere—
Arizona
,
New Mexico
,
Texas
—and Customs has doubled their investigators
at every inspection station. All because of one hundred kilos.”

 
          
“Let
me know when we can talk some business.”

 
          
“You
tried to cut me out, Senor Gachez. You tried to renege on our contract ...”

 
          
“You
were the one who reneged. We had a deal for six thousand dollars a kilo—”

 
          
“And
because of you the price has again gone up,” Salazar interrupted. “With the
entire American border on full alert, it will cost extra for every shipment.”
He paused, considering his thoughts, then decided: “It will now cost you twelve
thousand dollars a kilo for delivery, anywhere. Half up-front, half on delivery
to the place specified by your ground crew.”

 
          
“Twelve
... thousand ... dollars ... I will never pay. I will see that you are executed
instead—”

 
          
“For
that amount, I will guarantee delivery to any place in the
United States
,” Salazar said. “No matter what the
Hammerheads do, you have my guarantee. And it will not be for a few measly
kilos—we will ship every kilo you and the rest of the Cartel has ready.” There
was a long pause on the line; Salazar thought Gachez had hung up on him again.
Then: “Ten thousand a kilo.”

 
          
“Twelve,
senor.
The price and the terms are
not negotiable.” Another long pause, then: “Done.” And the line went dead.
Salazar leaned back in his chair. The boy had scurried around to the other side
of the desk to do the other boot. “We’re back in business, gentlemen,” he said,
“at twelve thousand dollars a kilogram.”

 
          
Hermosa
was silent, his face grave as it usually was of late.
Trujillo
nodded his approval. “Good news, Colonel,
but what I said about the Border Security Force is true. Their detection and
interception systems are accurate and reliable. It will be very difficult to
defeat them, even with fighter escort.”

 
          
“We
multiply our assets, spread the shipments out over more territory, move farther
north and west ...”

 
          
“That
depends on where Gachez wants the deliveries made, sir,”
Trujillo
said. “If he insists on the southeast
again, we may not be successful unless we devise another tactic.”

 
          
“You
will think of something, Major. I have confidence in you.” Salazar glanced down
at the youngster busily running two soft-bristled brushes across his boots.

 
          
“I
think I may have an idea, Major,” Salazar said. “Yes . . .” And he reached down
to pat the boy’s head.

 
          
Hermosa
saw the cold look on Salazar’s face, and his heart felt as if it had dropped to
his feet. No, he screamed to himself. Not even Salazar could possibly be
considering
that
. . .

 
          
Hammerhead
One Air Staging Platform, 0715

 
          
Two Days Later

 
          
“Attention
on deck. Prepare for drone launch, prepare for drone launch.”

 
          
Geffar
was in the Seagull drone launch area as the drone-deck crew wheeled a
delta-winged black Seagull drone out from the elevator near the center
maintenance building to the catapult launch pits. Standing alongside her was
Patrick McLanahan, now a full deputy- commander of the Hammerheads, in charge
of drone operations. He was monitoring reports from the flight-operations tower
on a wireless headset. “They sounded the alert at five past the hour,” he said,
checking his watch. “They should have this baby airborne within five minutes.”

 
          
“Where’s
the target?”

 
          
“One
hundred fifty miles off the west coast of
Florida
,” McLanahan said. “No flight plan, no
Customs clearance, smuggler’s profile. The Seagull will nail him in thirty
minutes.” He listened for a moment, then added, “A Sea Lion tilt-rotor bird is
reporting ready to go at
Homestead
for the follow-on.”

 
          
The
deck crew was like an Indy race-car crew prepping a racer in the pits. The
Seagull drone was pushed and pulled into the launch- catapult area and lined up
with the left launch rail, a fifty-foot-long channel in the deck, where a large
hook was set. A bar on the Seagull’s front landing gear was set into the hook
and tested for position, then raised out of the hook. “Drone in place, catapult
checked and set, one minute gone,” McLanahan said, copying the times and a few
notes on a clipboard. The deck crew secured the drone with a chain leading to
tiedown bolts under each broad wing.

 
          
“Why
don’t you leave the gear bar in place?” GefiFar asked him.

 
          
“In
case the catapult accidentally fires we don’t want our guys flying ofif along
with the drone. We also put the bar in place just before launch, when
everyone’s clear, the engine’s running, and the data-link is active. We learn
these things the hard way,” McLanahan told her. “We were preflighting a
truck-launched model when the catapult accidentally went off. The wings nearly
took a guy’s head ofif. The front gear got modified the way it is now.”

 
          
Four
technicians now moved around the machine. The multi-sensor cameras, the engine,
propeller, fuel supply, antennae and overall condition of the bird were checked
and a thumbs-up given to the safety officer. “Power-off preflight completed.
Two minutes gone,” McLanahan said.

 
          
The
technicians scrambled and the safety fence at the end of the launch rail
leading to the edge of the deck was lowered out of the way. “They’re activating
the data-link,” McLanahan told GefiFar. The safety officer made one last check
around the aft end of the drone, then signalled to the command center via his
own headset. A moment later the engine coughed to life, the propeller snapped
around, stopped, spun around, caught and roared to life. “Engine started,
beginning power-on preflight,” McLanahan said. “Three minutes gone.”

 
          
The
controllers in the command center now performed a preflight on the Seagull,
checking its flight control, recovery, backup, emergency and sensor equipment.
The wing ailerons and wingtip rudders moved, the sensor ball could be seen
swiveling around in its turret, and lights popped on and ofiF all around. The
lone whine of the propeller oscillated up and down as the engine power and
propeller pitch were changed—the drone danced on its wheels as the power was
increased to full, despite the chains holding it securely to the deck.

 
          
Moments
later the power eased back to idle. “Power-on preflight completed, thirty
seconds to go,” McLanahan said. “Pre-launch and launch checklists.” The tiedown
chains were removed, the launch deck was cleared and safety nets were erected
around the launch deck in case a brisk breeze blew the bird off course at
launch. A holdback bar was placed on a bracket at the rear of the craft to keep
it in place just before launch. The rudders were cocked to the left to
compensate for a slight breeze from the left; at launch, its nose would then
swing into the wind and prevent it from skidding back into the platform. The
last step was the safety officer going out and engaging the catapult bar on the
front landing gear of the Seagull.

 
          
“Ready
for launch, deck clear. Clear for launch.” The Seagull’s engine revved up to
full power, creating a small whirlwind against the backstop net. It shook on
its holdback bar, as if asking to be let free. Suddenly the holdbar bar popped
out of the landing-gear bracket and the Seagull shot forward out toward the
edge of the deck. The left wing dipped, and in response the nose angled upward
and the bird rode on its rear landing-gear wheels as it cleared the platform.
When it dipped several feet after leaving the deck, even with its nose high in
the air, Geffar was afraid it would stall and crash into the ocean. But a few
seconds later its nose-high descent subsided, it leveled off, shot into the sky
and was quickly lost from sight.

 
          
“Good
data-link being received from the Seagull,” McLanahan reported. “It’s already
tying in with the KEYSTONE aerostat and receiving intercept data on the
target.”

 
          
For
back-up, just in case, a second Seagull was wheeled off the elevator and over
to the launch area as they headed toward the maintenance building to the
elevator that would take them down to the command center.

 
          
Hardcastle
was in the commander’s seat, studying the central radar display that showed the
west coast of
Florida
within one hundred miles of the target they had just launched the
Seagull against. Geffar logged into the commander’s terminal, and Hardcastle
made room for her at the console. “KEYSTONE has contact with Seagull, on course
and approaching Plantation Key,” he said. “We have radar contact on several
vessels west of
Cape
Romano
and Ten Thousand Islands that might be
pickups.”

 
          
“Any
of our boats in the area?”

 
          
“Nothing
in the immediate area. Closest would be an SES out of

 
          
Key West
, about two hours cruising time. We should
get a Sea Lion airborne and cover the target’s flight path.”

 
          
“Right.
Launch one out of
Alladin
City
.”

 
          
McLanahan
glanced at Hardcastle. The veteran ex-Coast Guard officer looked less than
ecstatic when Geffar suggested launching an aircraft out of the Hammerheads’
Everglades
air base—no doubt he was hoping to fly a
Sea Lion off the platform himself, McLanahan thought. Except for instructional
and ferry flights, Hardcastle had been virtually grounded by Elliott since his
so-called incident near
Boca Raton
—no operational flights. It had taken its obvious toll on him. Not to
mention the snide shots taken at him by some in the media about his alleged
drinking. And his son Daniel, part of the same story ... All of these because
of the death of one of the smugglers? He had done what the Hammerheads were
authorized to do, what he had envisioned would be the solution to the drug
problem in the
United States
. And instead of being recognized for his
actions he was being condemned. Damned unfair, McLanahan felt, and he wasn’t
alone. Many of the line people in the Hammerheads agreed, and their morale was
being affected.

 
          
After
he had issued the orders to launch the Sea Lion tilt-rotor aircraft from
Alladin
City
, Hardcastle stood and headed out to the
elevators. McLanahan followed.

 
          
He
found Hardcastle leaning on the safety fence between the maintenance building
and the aircraft elevator. A Sea Lion was just being raised up to the main deck
in preparation as backup to the ongoing chase operation in west
Florida
. He leaned up against the fence alongside
him.