Read The Devil's Footprint Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
Steele looked
across at Olsen and sighed.
"You
know, Edgar, you may have a point.
And,
frankly, that does not make me happy."
"Worse
still, Mr. Steele," said Olsen, "Edgar may appeal and argue that he
wasn't legally deported from
"Not a pretty
picture," said Steele.
"But then
again," said Olsen, "if Edgar was not legally deported, then he is
not legally here in the
States
"Which
opens a whole host of possibilities," said Steele.
He reached inside his jacked and removed an
automatic pistol.
Seconds later he
screwed on a compact silencer.
Rheiman felt
ill.
He knew they must be bluffing.
Yet it was true.
He had not been legally deported.
No one knew where he was.
He did not know where he was.
He could still be in
This could be a test.
He remembered Kathleen and then pain,
confusion, and nothing.
This was
probably one of Oshima's games, a test of loyalty.
She did things like this.
"Probing defenses," she called
it.
Well, they would not push it too
far.
He was essential to the project.
"Who are
you people?" said Rheiman.
Steele smiled.
"None of
your fucking business," said Olsen.
"What do
you want?" said Rheiman.
There was
phtt
!
Sound as Steele fired at Rheiman's
left hand.
Blood spurted
as Rheiman's thumb and half his
palm were
blown
away.
He looked at Steele in
horror.
"What do you want?" he
whispered.
"Nothing
really," said Steele cheerfully.
"We're
going to kill you," said Olsen.
"Though since you're here, Edgar, you can't die."
"A
consoling thought, Edgar," said Steele.
He raised the pistol again and fired.
Rheiman's eyes
were closed.
He felt the muzzle flash
burn into him.
Nothing
more.
He opened his eyes.
"Just to
set the tone," said Olsen.
"But you're still alive, Edgar."
"What do
you want to know?" he breathed.
"The
truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, Edgar," said Steele.
"Or we'll
blow your fucking head off," said Olsen.
"And enjoy it."
"Frankly,
we'd prefer it, Edgar," said Steele.
"Who are
you?" said Rheiman faintly.
"I'll tell you everything, but
who
— who
are you?"
"The
government calls us in when they really —
but
really
— mean it," said Olsen.
"When pushed to the wall, governments are not very nice.
Think of us as the end of the line.
We're kind of like morticians.
We bury shits like you."
"Not
everyone knows that, Edgar," said Steele, "but you're a scientist, a
curious type, and you were determined to find out."
"So now
you know, Edgar," said Olsen.
"So the thing is:
What are
you going to tell us?"
*
*
*
*
*
Vernon Slade,
National Security Advisor to the President of the
silent, momentarily stunned at what he had heard.
"But
he said weakly, "there is a great deal at stake there.
Our policy is to let
its own problems and eventually they will become truly democratic.
We can't intervene in the internal affairs of
a friendly nation."
"Mr.
Slade," said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, "
eventually
is not the problem.
It is the here and now we have got to worry
about.
As we speak, a terrorist weapon
of mass destruction is pointed at this country.
Perhaps even more to the point, it is aimed at this city by people we
know are ruthless enough and irrational enough to act.
They will use this weapon.
They have attacked this country already.
Consider the congressional killings and the
"And
sooner rather than later, Mr. Slade," said William E. Martin.
"And you should know that it is our
assessment that the Mexican government will cooperate in this venture.
They don't want Tecuno seceding any more than
we do.
The trick is to ask them to ask
us to help sort out a little internal problem."
"And if
they agree?" said the National Security Advisor.
"The 82
nd
Airborne goes into the Devil's
Footprint,
the base on
the plateau," said General Frampton, "and the Mexican Army handles
the mopping up."
He was silent.
"The
terrorist base is a strong position," said Slade, "and this man
Fitzduane's assault has already alerted them.
We will take casualties."
"Without
the Task Force on Terrorism and Fitzduane, we would not know we had a
problem," said William Martin.
He
remembered he was in
"We would
not know the
extent
of the
problem."
The slip
reassured National Security Advisor Slade.
If the Deputy Director of Operations was sufficiently concerned to let
his guard down that much, then there really and truly was a problem.
line.
He, Vernon Slade, was in actual physical
danger.
The thought gave him a strange,
not unpleasant feeling.
"Are you
absolutely sure of this supergun's capability?" said Slade.
"Can this turncoat Rheiman's information
be relied upon?"
"Mr.
Rheiman's information is accurate," said William E. Martin grimly.
"He had every motivation to tell the
truth, and unfortunately what he said checks out."
The National
Security Advisor looked intently at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
"General Frampton, if the President
authorizes this mission
are
you absolutely certain the
82
nd
Airborne will succeed?"
General
Frampton smiled grimly.
"Hooah,
sir," he said.
The National
Security Advisor looked puzzled.
"I
don't understand, General.
What does —
hooah
mean?"
General
Frampton told him.
There was
silence in the room.
"Sometimes we
forget," said the National Security Advisor, "what we ask of our
young men."
"Shall I
alert the 82
nd
?" said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff.
"Yes,"
said the National Security Advisor.
"Will you
recommend the mission, sir?" said William E. Martin.
"Hooah,"
said the National Security Advisor.
*
*
*
*
*
In shocked
silence, Governor Diego Quintana drove around the box canyon that had housed
the main camp of the Devil's Footprint.
His
examination was detailed and took over two hours.
At its conclusion, he was pale and a vein
could be seen pulsing in his forehead.
He tried to hide his feelings, but the tremor in his voice was
perceptible.
Quintana was terrified, and
his fear fed a vicious anger.
His twelve-man
bodyguard looked on uneasily.
When the
Governor was in this kind of mood, he could lash out at anyone.
The Japanese woman was the obvious target,
but you never quite knew.
"Over a
battalion of troops, armor, most of your group, Oshima, and who knows how many
fortifications and other emplacements — all destroyed as if they were
defenseless.
It's incredible.
Who were they?
How did they do it?
I don't understand.
We have radar all around the plateau.
It spotted that DEA helicopter raid last
year.
Why no warning this time?
And on top of the losses here, the damage to
the Madoa airfield has been considerable.
It's a disaster."
Oshima had
been as affected as Quintana initially.
But what was done was done was done.
Now she was focused on what action to take in the future.
Losses were just a cost of doing
business.
There was always more human
raw material to be recruited and molded.
There was no shortage of weapons if you knew where to look.
The important thing was to buy time.
That was the irreplaceable element.
"General
Barragan planned our defenses against conventional ground attack or
helicopters," said Quintana.
"His precautions would normally have been more than adequate, but
this was a land attack using some sort of new-technology vehicles — evidently with
stealth characteristics.
They caught us
completely by surprise.
But even so,
they were not entirely successful.
They
got the woman, but the weapon and the warheads are unscathed.
Charges were placed around the breech of the
supergun, but we were able to remove them in time."
Quintana
brightened momentarily, but then he remembered that Rheiman had been
killed.
The fire that had swept the camp
after the helicopter crash had burned the block that housed Rheiman and his
team to the ground.
Quite a few of the
scientists had struggled to safety, but evidently Edgar Rheiman had not made
it.
He was one of a dozen blackened
bodies found in the wreckage.
It was
impossible to tell who was who.
He had
been a revolting man in many ways, but useful.
He'd be hard to replace.
"The
supergun has never been tested," he said, "and the chief designer is
dead."
"Rheiman
was a scumbag, but he was good at what he did," said Oshima.
"He left behind a good team and a weapon
ready for firing.
We have his notes and
plans.
It won't be hard to build more
tubes."
Quintana gave
a command, and the group mounted their vehicles and headed into the valley that
housed the supergun complex.
Here the
destruction was minimal, and he could feel his spirits rise.
The weapon was
immense.
It soared toward the sky, a
symbol of his power, a monument to his achievement.
Most men would have laughed at Rheiman and
his dreams, but he, Governor Diego Quintana, had the necessary vision.
And here was the proof.
"I can
see their problem," he said.
"How could any small raiding party destroy anything so big in
twenty minutes or so?
And, of course,
the warheads were untouched."
"I don't
think they knew about them," said Oshima.
"I think this was first and foremost a hostage-rescue mission, and
I believe I know who was behind it."
"The
Irishman?" said Quintana.
"Fitzduane,"
Oshima spat out.
Her eyes blazed and she
swore violently in Japanese.
"
Yotsu-ashi no yabajin!
"
Quintana
looked at Oshima.
She had proved
invaluable in whipping his forces into shape, but she was a hard person to
control.
Impossible, it
could be argued.
Her terrorist
attacks across the border were part of their original deal but had Norteamericanos,
but they were strong and should not be directly provoked.
It was a balance.
There were ways of doing such things.
This raid was
proof
that
this balance was no longer being
maintained.
Reiko Oshima
had outlived her usefulness.
Fitzduane's
savage assault was proof.
But a dead
Oshima-
san
could well make a suitable
peace offering.
As he had learned in the
drug business, every so often it was good politics to toss the Americans
someone they were after.
They got
publicity and kept their budgets safe.
The dealers had the pressure taken off.
Meanwhile, business life went on as normal.
Smoke and mirrors.
Life was mostly about illusion.