The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [29]
"Please tell Pablo that Miguel is here Gracias." And with that he walked to a cantina for a drink. The local beer wasn't all that bad, Mohammed found. Though it was contrary to his religious beliefs, he had to fit in to this environment, and here everybody drank alcohol. After sitting for fifteen minutes, he walked back to his hotel, scanning twice for a tail, which he did not see. So, if he was being shadowed, it was by experts, and there was little defense against that, not in a foreign city where everyone spoke Spanish and no one knew the direction to Mecca. He was traveling on a British passport that said his name was Nigel Hawkins of London. There was indeed a flat at the indicated address. That would protect him even from a routine police stop, but no cover legend went forever, and if it came to that then it came to that. You could not live your life in fear of the unknown. You made your plans, took the necessary precautions, and then you played the game.
It was interesting. The Spanish were ancient enemies of Islam, and this country was composed mostly of the children of Spain. But there were people in this country who loathed America almost as much as he did-only almost, because America was to them a source of vast income for their cocaine as America was a source of vast income for the oil of his homeland. His own personal net worth was in the hundreds of millions of American dollars, stored in various banks around the world, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and most recently, the Bahamas. He could afford his own private plane, of course, but that would be too easy to identify, and, he was sure, too easy to shoot down over water. Mohammed was contemptuous of America, but he was not blind to her power. Too many good men had gone unexpectedly to Paradise for forgetting that. It was hardly a bad destiny, but his work was among the living, not the dead.
"Hey, Captain."
Brian Caruso turned to see James Hardesty. It wasn't even seven in the morning. He'd just finished leading his short company of Marines through their morning routine of exercise and the three-mile run, and like all his men he'd worked up a good sweat in the process. He'd dismissed his people to their showers, and was on his way back to his quarters when he'd encountered Hardesty. But before he could say anything, a more familiar voice called.
"Skipper?" the captain turned to see Gunnery Sergeant Sullivan, his senior NCO.
"Yeah, Gunny. The people looked pretty sharp this morning."
"Yes, sir. You didn't work us too hard. Good of you, sir," the E-7 observed.
"How did Corporal Ward do?" Which was why Brian hadn't worked them too hard. Ward had said he was ready to get back into the swing, but he was still coming off some nasty wounds.
"He's puffing some, but he didn't cave on us. Corpsman Randall is keeping an eye on the lad for us. You know, for a squid, he isn't too bad," the gunny allowed. Marines are typically fairly solicitous to their Navy corpsmen, especially the ones tough enough to play in the weeds with Force Recon.
"Sooner or later the SEALs are going to invite him out to Coronado."
"True enough, Skipper, and then we're gonna have to break in a new squid."
"What you need, Gunny?" Caruso asked.
"Sir-oh, he's here. Hey, Mr. Hardesty. Just heard you were down to see the boss. Beg pardon, Captain."
"No problem. See you in an hour, Gunny."
"Aye, aye, sir." Sullivan saluted smartly and headed back to the barracks.
"He's a pretty good NCO," Hardesty thought aloud.
"Big time," Caruso agreed. "Guys like him run the Corps. They just tolerate people like me."
"How's about some breakfast, Cap'n?"
"Need a shower first, but sure."
"What's on the agenda?"
"Today's class work is on comms, to make sure we can all call in air and artillery support."
"Don't they know that?" Hardesty asked in surprise.
"You know how a baseball team does batting practice before every game,