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

/> who were now running to join the approaching soldiers.
The open sides of the chopper presented an
inviting refuge for the three Americans. One and Two
loaded Four and McKenzie first.
Two jumped in pulling the team leader behind
him. Hitting the floor plate, One alerted the chopper
Commander.
“Three - Go!”
Three drifted up and back trying to keep both a
low profile, and an angle advantage over the
approaching trucks. He thought they would have
rocket propelled grenade support, RPG’s, and he didn’t
want to have to tangle with that.
Their egress would be North - the trucks were
coming out of the East.
It was too late, One had miscalculated their
time of arrival.
He should have taken them out in the air.
The Huey’s powerful bow light illuminated the
dismounting troops - some of whom were firing
automatic weapons - others preparing their RPG’s.
Small arms ricocheted off the chopper’s steel-plated
underbelly and its super high-tempered windshield.
Bates broke code and cursed the team leader.
“Damn it, Snake.”
Coverty knew this was no time to have
multiple leaders shouting orders. He gave the mission
to Bates.
“Your op - your way.”
336
Allen Bates assessed the situation. He was in
the chess game of his life. They were too close for his
rockets. The concussion would knock out his own
power. There were too many for his gatling guns,
someone would still get off an RPG.. That was it - the
RPS’s - they were the only thing he had to fear. They
would need time to assemble and load.
He had a move.
Using full power, he maneuvered into their line
of fire, placing the Huey directly over their heads, the
troops beneath him all huddled from the wind
generated by the awesome prop wash of his bird.
Reaching for a set of toggle switches, the
commander released 90 gallons of aviation fuel from his
tanks. Spread out by the draft of the rotors, the liquid
drenched the soldiers’ uniforms, as well as Belize and
Salazar’s clothing.
In a tight maneuver, Bates brought the chopper
to a point southwest, directly behind the conflagration
in the villa. Putting the Huey’s tail toward the ground,
he pushed the rotors to max torque. He was at almost a
forty-five degree angle to the ground.
With full power at this angle, his rotors were
blowing on the fire like a bellows, throwing thousands
of white-hot embers on everything in front of him,
including the troops, the Cuban VP, and his mistress.
The fuel he’d dropped ignited immediately creating a
fireball of burning clothing and flesh.
Coverty looked at Courtney and decided he
wouldn’t ask why he’d set them free.
Feeling the threat eliminated, Bates set the
Huey for a straight out egress. At five hundred feet
altitude, he pointed the nose northeast and began his
flight to a Zero drop facility.
337
Sunday, May 28, 6:43 a.m.
David Eisenberg pressed the keys on his phone
that would connect him with the Director of the United
States Central Intelligence Agency. He wasn’t looking
forward to breaking this news to his boss.
The connection made after two rings, the
Director sounded like he’d been up for hours.
“Scott Orefice.”
“It’s David.”
The tone in his voice suggested something very
serious. Orefice, calm, prepared himself for hard news.
“What is it, David?”
“George Tollman is dead, Scott.”
An audible drawing and release of breath, and
then a five second period of silence, didn’t suggest any
type of bereavement, but rather that the Director was
forming a logistic plan. That assumption would be
correct - he needed information.
“Give me the details.”
For the next ten minutes, David Eisenberg
would tell him a story about tracking Kathleen
McKenzie from Boston to Washington. How their
agents had lost her temporarily, but had picked up her
trail again after she’d left Dulles airport. In the
meantime, she’d been able to contact Tollman, confront
him, and also get herself in a position of extreme
danger. When they finally caught up to her, it was in
his best judgment to take out the Secretary.
There was silence on the line again.
The fact that Orefice was not chastising him
led him to believe something he’d thought all along -
that Tollman was a liability.
Had Kathleen McKenzie been able to, she could
have told him that.
338
What Eisenberg didn’t know was that Tollman
played an important role in another agenda with a
Japanese businessman that was now blown to hell,
unless a remedial act could be put into place.
Orefice had to act quickly.
“David, keep your people away from Tollman’s
house. I’ll take charge of this. Have we gotten any
closer to the Yankee Echo people?”
“No, we lost them in Miami, but we’re almost
certain they’ve entered Cuba.”
“Alright - I need Yankee Echo at high profile for
now - what’s Wirtham doing?”
“He’s supposedly under Courtney’s supervision
right now. The organization’s anti-Cuban writes will be
out next Friday.”
Tell Wirtham to halt those writers. You and I
are going to dedicate ourselves to bringing in Courtney,
St. Croix, and anyone else they come back with, but we
want Courtney first. We have an extreme situation,
David. We need to use whatever it takes, but I want
them in good shape.”
“I understand, Scott. I’ll make it my priority.”
Sunday, May 28, 7:04 a.m.
Robert Wirtham, still in his bathrobe, stood in
his kitchen spooning milk into his third cup of coffee
when the wall-mounted phone to his left rang. He felt
both relief and inquiry.
“Yes.”
“Robert, it’s David.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I spoke with the Director - he wants the
Cuban writes stopped.”
“When, why?”
“He and I both feel that Courtney and St. Croix
will be able to secure Pat - and with him back, the
breachers have no authority.”
339
“But we don’t know that for sure.”
“We will soon.”
“David, I don’t know how much Michael’s found
out about how we’ve manipulated him over the past ten
years, but I guarantee you he’ll put the whole thing
together.”
“I know that. Until I secure him, I won’t know
how much he knows. When I find him, I’ll handle the
situation.”
Sunday, May 28, 7:11 a.m.
Allen Bates held the Huey on a bee-line to the
Florida Keys, his destination an unmanned Zero
outpost established years ago as a final origination
point for access to Central America.
Nothing more than three quarters of a square
mile of fenced compound, it contained only one building,
two satellite-connected telephones, and an aviation fuel
pumping system.
Bates didn’t care about the phones - he needed
fuel.
Pat McKenzie sat on the starboard side of the
Huey’s back seat, directly across from Michael
Courtney. St. Croix was portside to McKenzie, Coverty
next to Courtney.
The senior Zero had applied a salve to
Courtney’s wound, and had dressed it with a bandage.
Although no one was talking, everyone was still
strapped into their communication systems.
The warmth and brightness of the morning sun
had fallen across Courtney’s face alerting a numbed
mental state. His first words after mounting the
chopper were directed at Coverty.
He pointed to his head set. “Can I take this off
now?”
Coverty nodded affirmatively.
340
There was something else he wanted to do, but he need
to know if he had permission for it also.
“Can I change seats with Andy?”
Another nod of affirmation.
St Croix, hearing both communications
acquiesced, both he and the analyst now carefully
exchanging seating arrangements.
Courtney, now seated next to Pat McKenzie
would set Law Fifteen into motion for himself.
The exploding missiles striking the villa had
thrown McKenzie against a wooden bureau causing a
hairline cheekbone fracture. His face, slightly swollen
and bruised made him look more weak and tired than
he actually felt. His eyes, now cast in Courtney’s
direction, suggested good mental alertness. He wanted
answers.
“Who were they, Michael?”
“The guy I let go on the lawn was the Vice
President of Cuba.”
McKenzie’s eyes narrowed.
Courtney continued.
“They broke the organization, Pat. We’re
pretty sure we were compromised by a writer in Miami.
Someone else in the states is pressuring us to write
negative against the President’s reform plan for Cuba.
We still have that to take care of.”
The CEO said nothing.
“As far as I know, with you back, we’re stable
again. The USA contact has been through me, but I
think we’re going to be hearing from some other people
about cleaning this thing up.”
“Where’s Kay.”
“The last time I spoke with her she told me she
was driving from Massachusetts to Connecticut. I’m
sure Robert and Eisenberg are taking care of her.”
The mention of the second name didn’t go
unnoticed.
341
“Who?”
Courtney, slipping his head set back on, used
the action to make it clear he was terminating the
conversation for now. He’d given his boss enough to let
him know he’d want to continue it later.
“David Eisenberg, Deputy Director.”
Their eyes met - it was McKenzie who
abandoned contact.
Andy St. Croix, hearing the conversation
through his sensitive microphone, allowed himself a
slight smile, and a thought.
‘You’re the fucking best at this shit, Courtney.’
Sunday, May 28, 8:05 a.m.
Randall Benson had also been up early this
morning.
There were two people who had access to him
at any time, his wife, and Scott Orefice.
The CIA Director has spent the last hour
developing a plan to dispose of the body of the United
States Secretary of Commerce while at the same time
taking care of the Kushima agenda.
Reaching for his phone, he fingered the digits
to connect himself with the President of The United
States, who happened to be in the Oval Office alone.
Had he not been there, he would have been found easily
for this caller by the White House staff.
Looking at the lights on the phone alerted him
to who was calling.
“Yes, Scotty.”
“Mister President, we’ve had an urgent
situation develop.”
The tone in the Director’s voice indicated as
much.
Benson drew a breath.
“Tell me.”
342
“George Tollman is dead, Sir.”
“Oh God. What happened? How many people
know about this?”
Orefice answered the questions in the order
they were presented.
“Kathleen McKenzie went to his house last
night, there was a confrontation, and he attacked her.
Eisenberg and two of our agents had been following her
and arrived on the scene during an ugly moment. They
used extreme prejudice. I have two agents there now.
More people know about this than I would like, but it’s
a tight group.”
“He’s dead? What the hell do we do now?”
“We dispose and cover, Sir.”
“Dispose and cover? How do we handle that?”
“It can work out well with your approval, but
let me tell you something first, Randall.”
He infrequently addressed him by his first
name, but this moment was too emotional to stand on
formality.
“George Tollman wasn’t just a political liability.
He was a human being capable of inhuman actions. He
and Kushima were cut from the same mold, and the
same prejudice we’re going to use on Kushima was used
on Tollman. It’s terrifying, Randall, that we act like
this, but I believe sometimes a Higher Authority puts
absolute power in our hands when there’s justifiable
cause.”
The words weren’t as calming as they were
realistic, and he still needed an answer.
“What’s your plan, Scotty?”
It took ten minutes to detail.
The President concurred.
“Alright, I’ll have Pete Radler release a
statement. Call me as soon as it’s done.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Lines were closed.
343
He dialed another of his Deputy Directors at home.
“I need a Boeing dressed out to look official,
U.S. Presidential.”
His next call connected him with Elizabeth Hendrecks.
“Forget Courtney’s meeting with the President,
I need you for something else.”
344
Chapter 13
Endings
Sunday, May 28, 8:31 a.m.
Randall Benson