Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [363]
"I think you're right, sir. Excuse me, I have to see to my crew. I'll have you the SAR coordinates in a few minutes. Somebody's gotta try," she added.
"Look, General, I want -" Cutter started to say.
"Mister, you leave that crew alone," said an Air Force one-star who was retiring soon anyway.
Larson landed at Medellín's city airport about the same time the MC-130 approached Panama. It had been a profane flight, Clark in the back with Escobedo, the latter's hands tied behind his back and a gun in his ribs. There had been many promises of death in the flight. Death to Clark, death to Larson and his girlfriend who worked for Avianca, death to many people. Clark just smiled through it all.
"So what do you do with me, eh? You kill me now?" he asked as the wheels locked in the down position. Finally, Clark responded.
"I suggested that we could give you a flying lesson out the back of the helicopter, but they wouldn't let me. So looks like we're going to have to let you go."
Escobedo didn't know how to answer. His bluster wasn't able to cope with the fact that they might not want to kill him. They just didn't have the courage to, Clark decided.
"I had Larson call ahead," he said.
"Larson, you motherless traitor, you think you will survive?"
Clark dug the pistol in Escobedo's ribs. "You don't bother the guy who's flying the goddamned airplane. If I were you, señor, I'd be very pleased to be coming home. We're even having you met at the airport."
"Met by whom?"
"By some of your friends," Clark said as the wheel squeaked down on the tarmac. Larson reversed his props to brake the aircraft. "Some of your fellow board members."
That's when he saw the real danger coming. "What did you tell them?"
"The truth," Larson answered. "That you were taking a flight out of the country under very strange circumstances, what with the storm and all. And, gee, what with all the odd happenings of the past few weeks, I thought that it was kind of a coincidence…"
"But I will tell them -"
"What?" Clark asked. "That we put our own lives at risk by delivering you back home? That it's all a trick? Sure, you tell them that."
The aircraft stopped but the engines didn't. Clark gagged the chieftain. Then he unbuckled Escobedo's seat belt and pulled him toward the door. A car was already there. Clark stepped down, his silenced automatic in Escobedo's back.
"You are not Larson," the man with the submachine gun said.
"I am his friend. He is flying. Here is your man. You should have something for us."
"You do not need to leave," said the man with the briefcase.
"This one has too many friends. It is best, I think, that we should leave."
"As you wish," the second one said. "But you have nothing to fear from us." He handed over the briefcase.
"Gracias, jefe," Clark said. They loved to be called that. He pushed Escobedo toward them.
"You should know better than to betray your friends," said the second one as Clark reentered the aircraft. The comment was aimed at the bound and gagged chieftain, whose eyes were very, very wide, staring back at Clark as he closed the door.
"Get us the hell out of here."
"Next stop, Venezuela," Larson said as he goosed the throttles.
"Then Gitmo. Think you can hack it?"
"I'll need some coffee, but they make it good down here." The aircraft lifted off and Larson thought, Jesus, it's good to have this one behind us. That was true for him, but not for everyone.
30. The Good of the Service
BY THE TIME Ryan awoke on his cot in the wardroom, they were out of the worst of it. The cutter managed to make a steady ten knots east, and with the storm heading northwest at fifteen, they were in moderate seas in six hours. Course was made northeast, and Panache increased to her best continuous speed of about twenty knots.
The soldiers were quartered with the cutter's enlisted crew, who treated them like visiting kings. By some miracle some liquor bottles were discovered - probably from the chiefs' quarters, but no one hazarded to ask - and swiftly emptied. Their uniforms