COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN by Joe Bergeron (best beach reads txt) 📕

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225
He noted their position on the screen with his
lipstick.
It was coming together.
Courtney rewound to the blind spot and froze
the frame.
He didn’t want to review it again, but needed a
white surface to draw on.
Holding the lipstick against the screen, he
created a likeness of a head where he’d made the first
circle. He then drew a gun, a horizontally-held rifle
where he’d put his second mark.
Finally, he drew another rifle, vertically-held,
where he’d made his last mark.
Deductive logic.
‘These two guys were pretty close. There’s an
explosion, then one of them fires in the other’s
direction. The guy on the left fires up in the
air….DAMN, he got shot by the guy on the right - he’s
reflexing his trigger after he’s been hit. How did he let
himself get so close to danger without firing first?’
Nothing came to him.
He walked to the bathroom replacing a lipstick
tube with a now flattened tip on the counter.
Inductive reasoning.
‘Why did she tell me I didn’t know what I was
involved in? Maybe I should call Andy. When’s
Breacher One going to call again? Who the hell wears
metal on their head during a war? Who said it was
metal? What if it is…an Officer!…a Lieutenant, a
Captain, A Major…No - they all wore subdued rank
designations in Nam. They wouldn’t reflect.’
He’d returned to the couch. Sitting, he
continued his thoughts.
226
‘ How did they get so close?…they KNEW each
other…they were on the same side…the guy on the left
ended up on the bad side of this…Oh No, John! Who
was the guy on the right - the guy with the metal on his
head. Why wasn’t he there when the TV crew got
there? He bailed out…of course…he took off after he
shot John. Where are those newspaper articles?’
She’d left them on the night table beside the
bed. Retrieving them, he went to sit on the couch.
He started reading.
‘Tollman - Commanding Officer of John
McKenzie’s unit - Lieutenant - decorated for bravery at
La Dang…’
Nothing came until he’d read seven stories.
One reporter had done a lot of background
research through his own sources on the Commanding
Officer at La Dang. It was noted, from anonymous
sources, in his article that First Lieutenant George
Tollman had been reprimanded twice by his Battalion
Commanding Officer for wearing brass insignia on his
fatigues and steel helmet rather than regular-issue
subdued rank designation.
Courtney had finished.
‘It was Tollman.’
227
Chapter 9
Zero Time
Thursday, May 25, 4:15 p.m.
A weapon for a Navy Zero could be anything
from a pistol, to a machine gun, to an attack helicopter.
Duel disciplines are required learning. Each Zero team
is composed of members complimenting each other in
all the functional roles. Zeros are all Naval
Commissioned Officers who, with the exception of their
white dress uniforms, wear no rank designations on
their uniforms, which can be varied depending on the
operation they are engaged in.
Most Zeros serve an average of four to six years
in the Navy, but are never decommissioned from either
rank, or from the organization.
There are Zeros who choose to make a career of
clandestine operations with this elite group.
Anthony ‘Snake’ Coverty was one of them.
St. Croix had arrived in Miami at 1:00 p.m.
Wirtham knew he was there, but didn’t know where
specifically.
Cash was available at St. Croix’s request. Two
hundred thousand dollars could be wired through any of
seven banks in Miami twenty-four hours a day.
He knew he’d need most, if not all of it.
Although he had received several JGM credit cards he
could have used at The Hyatt Regency, The DuPont
Plaza, or any of the better hotels, he chose instead to
take a small room in a small motel adjacent to the
North end of Runway 66 at Miami International
airport.
Within the perimeter of the airport, on the far
side of Runway 66, there were two buildings.
228
One was all metal, two hundred feet long,
sixty feet wide, and officially belonged to the
Department of The Navy.
It was off limits to airport management staff,
including security personnel. The smaller building, also
off limits, was made of wood, was windowless, and most
usually had three vehicles parked on its east side. All
were turbo-charged, four wheel drive GMC Jimmys.
Five men called this smaller building home
base.
Four of them would change every three years,
and one stayed all the time.
There were two phones. One was red, the
other black. Many people had the number of the black
one, although it wasn’t listed in any phone book or
military directory.
Only ten people had the number of the red one,
and one of them was dialing it now
A compact, very dark, muscular and serious
man who was studying maps on Mediterranean
shipping lanes pushed himself away from a drafting
table to answer.
“Snake here.”
“Hey, you little rascal, where ah come from ah
ain’t never seen a snake friendlier than y’all.”
Recognition was instant, laughter spontaneous.
“That’s because you’re always choking the poor
bastards before you get to know them. What the Hell
are you doing, Andy?”
“Ah was in the neighborhood, and ah decided
ah’d reacquaint myself with the good life.”
“Where are you?”
“If y’all had a window in that shack, y’all could
look out and see me.”
“If I had a window, you could shoot me too.”
“Hell, when did we ever need a window to take
care of a little detail like that?’
“You’re right…why the red phone, Andy?”
229
“Ah need to talk to you…real private.”
“I know where you are, I’ll pick you up…are
you in trouble?”
“No, but ah got a good buddy who is…big time.”
“Where is he?”
“Short hop over the water where they speak
Spanish.”
“Oh great…I’ll be right there.”
“Snake.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s spooks around here, don’t be followed.”
“OK, better give me a half hour - what room?”
“Twelve.”
“See you, Buddy.”
He took the Jimmy nearest the door. It’s black
tinted windows allowing no one to see in from the
outside, but allowing clear, unrestricted vision from the
interior of the vehicle.
The Cobra tattooed on his left bicep seemed to
open its already large mouth even wider when his arm
extended clockwise to back out of the parking space.
Andrew St. Croix was never too far from his
mind. They’d spent twenty months together as part of a
primary Zero team in Vietnam.
When he and Lee Doc, the delicate and
beautiful daughter of a South Vietnamese Army
General decided to marry, it was St. Croix who stood up
for him. It was also his friend, Andy, who stood by his
side when he buried his bride three months later after
her car had been riddled with ninety rounds from AK-
47’s in an infiltration ambush just outside five clicks to
the West of Saigon.
Snake flew choppers, did weapons, and
maritime law, then, and now. He was one of the best,
and he was career.
Approaching the motel following a roundabout
route, the recalled pain of Lee Doc’s memory lessened,
replaced with the thought of his friend.
230
He didn’t need to knock - St. Croix saw him
coming.
“How y’all doin, Snake?”
“Better - now.”
They embraced, two men who could kill ten
allowed each other their emotions.
“What time did you get in?”
“About one…want a beer?”
“Sure…what’s the deal.”
Pulling two Buds out of an icy Styrofoam chest,
he formed his thoughts. Snake would want to know it
all, he could be trusted, and he deserved the truth.
He’d tell him all the truth he knew.
St. Croix started with the organization as he
knew it, continuing with names and character
descriptions; Yankee Echo, Bellcamp, Salazar, Belize,
Courtney, Wirtham, McKenzie, Benson, Tollman,
Breacher One.
He worked through the reasons and the logic,
taking an hour to profile the mission.
Finishing, he waited for a comment.
It wasn’t long coming.
“Your crazy.”
“That ain’t the first time y’all told me that, but
you can believe all of it.”
“Andy, you’re messing around with the Vice
President of Cuba because some asshole was robbing a
house and gave you his name.”
“Don’t forget all the wobbly stuff goin down
with the Heavies.”
“You still haven’t convinced me McKenzie is
where Belize will be.”
“Courtney’s real good with this stuff, Snake.
Ah wouldn’t ask Y’all if ah wasn’t comfortable with his
call.”
“We’d be doing a night op, could he handle a
weapon?”
“Nope, probably shoot himself in the foot.”
231
“OK, so let’s say we do this; he’s the
philosopher, you’re close contact, and I’m weapons. We
still need intelligence and a flight man.”
“Ah’ll get the intelligence work done, we just
need a chopper, and a damn good driver.”
“I have a kid on my team - he’s just as whacky
as you are. He’ll do it. The rest of the team’s off until
next weekend anyway.”
“This ain’t just escape and evade, Snake. Ah
think Courtney’s gonna logic out to shit can both
buildings and personnel.”
“Well then just make sure the intel’s right. I
don’t want to walk up and knock on the wrong door.”
“How much lead time do you need?”
“Give me two days. The fly out and back will
require bribes. I’ll have to pay off some radar jocks on
the coast to look the other way when they pick us up.
There’s also guys here in Miami I’ll need to reach. We
can get out and back without anyone knowing we’re
gone, but we could run into a load of problems on the
island. If we do, we’ll be prepared. They won’t know
what hit them, but they’ll probably know it came from
stateside. If we screw up, we’re going to need every
medal owner you know in the military to get us out of
this.”
“Ah thought about that. This has to be done.
Yankee Echo’s a force, Snake, and it’s gonna blow the
hell out of Benson’s Reform Plan. If we get known over
there, the President himself is gonna be dragged into
this.”
“OK, I’m in. I’ll brief the pilot, but I’ll tell him
he can only know about the mission, not the
background stuff. I think he’ll still be with us. You
take care of Courtney. We’ll need at least a hundred
fifty G’s to pull this off - cash. You’d better have two
hundred available.”
“Ah’ll get you fifty to start. Ah can get it all, no
problem.”
232
The career man flipped open another beer, sat
back in his chair, and looked through his friend’s eyes.
A smile broke.
“You’re crazy, Andy. A clandestine writing
organization?”
Thursday, May 25, 4:32 p.m.
He didn’t expect the call.
“This is Courtney.”
“Get your pen going, Courtney. We want the
first set of stories in the newspapers by next Friday.”
His emotional platform wasn’t ready for
Breacher One. He caught the word ‘we’, it registered,
analysis would come later…no, it wouldn’t, ‘focus…pay
attention…use presence……damn…focus’
It seemed like the words would never come,
and when they did, they were delivered almost in
surrender.
“I understand.”
“We’ll be watching for the bylines.”
Thursday, May 25, 5:15 p.m.
“Kay, where have you been…what’s wrong?”
Her eyes were hollow - hair wind blown and
disheveled by
slightly-warmed cool Spring breezes.
Walking with her hands straight to her sides,
she approached him with little sense of purpose.
“I went for a walk.”
That was half the truth.
“You’ve been gone seven hours…what
happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Kay?”
Her eyes fell to his chest.
233
“You’re into something that may be way over
your head, Michael.”
The statement, less than rhetorical, had an
emotional truth attached to its brevity. It was subtle,
an effect demonstrated to cause an action.
“I’m not bailing out, Kathleen.”
Less hollowed,