Читать книгу The Doctrine of Presence - Benjamin Vance - Страница 10

When I briefed the gentlemen, everyone was quiet and thoughtful except Fredo, who blurted out, “No fucking way man. I been a poor Chicano all my life and I’m gonna die that way. You can’t buy me man, no way.”

He was straight faced and blank, while we all looked at him with equal degrees of suspicion and disbelief. Then he screamed, “Suckers! …You guys fuckin’ kill me; hell yes---count me in. Who do I have to kill? Where do we gotta to go; China?”

After the other four of us threw something handy at Fredo, we got down to business. The Google Earth facsimile wasn’t focused enough to interpret any fine detail, but we got a good lay-of-the-land, and roads were plentiful enough to make surreptitious egress, convergence and exit very possible. We had to work earnestly on reconnoitering and safe entry; Gimp didn’t have a current passport, so he was out for the first Venezuelan entry. We would each try to enter at different points and converge in the same town for planning. Then, we would split up again and converge in Maracay to do the deed after Fredo returned. Fredo, with his well-used passport, was chosen to enter early, via Caracas. He said he was thrilled about meeting the right green-eyed Venezuelan lady. I feared he would screw up more than a few females if he wasn’t escorted properly.

I called Fredo two days later and delicately expressed my concern. He assured me his machismo was just his thing and that he was more than serious about his responsibilities, had no intentions of meeting any lady or ladies, and said he would cut me some slack because I really didn’t know him.

Because I didn’t have anyone to ask about Fredo’s history or reputation, I fretted about him for weeks. Finally, I questioned an old acquaintance who’d known Senator Barry Goldwater when he was in the Air Force Reserve. Surprisingly, he knew Fredo well, and said Alfred Alvarez was the best communications man he’d ever encountered. Obviously, that was enough for me.

Our plans involved basic Spanish classes for those of us who never condescended to learn the language. That included me. The only things I learned over the years were Thai, Vietnamese and Tagalog; with Spanish, just the bad words. Fredo met the challenge, helped us a lot and within a month we understood quite a bit. Of course there is rather a deep rift between understanding and fluently speaking a language. We didn’t have time to do it all. Leo and Greenie had the responsibility to survey the area via maps and Google. They made their report after one of our Spanish lessons.

The series of warehouses and manufacturing facilities which housed the items of interest were not in a valley although they were close to a major highway and airport. The facility was just north of a freeway called Avanida Casanova Godoy, near an interchange and secondary roads. It was entirely enclosed by an eight foot electric fence, and probably patrolled by motorized guard patrols. We could get a battalion in and out without too much interference, but not after an explosion or fire of suspicious origin. It would be up to Fredo to bring us detailed information on the facility. We needed work shift times, number of employees, types of weapons guarding the place and essential points of weakness.

Fredo left on a Friday and was scheduled to visit Trinidad and then Aruba prior to landing in Caracas. He took an attractive escort as cover. I only heard; I was never introduced. Greenie said “One could set a plate on her tits and it wouldn’t slide off.” If that was the case, Fredo was smarter than I gave him credit. Misdirection is credible subterfuge.

Upon his return, he briefed well and managed to scare the hell out of all of us; well maybe not Leo. The facility was guarded by at least fifty military or para-military personnel, who lived on the facility grounds. It was centered on about thirty acres and had one road in and out with a well-guarded double gated entrance. All entering vehicles were completely opened; hood, doors and trunk, prior to gaining access. There was no easy way in or out on foot. The only saving grace was the fence was marked as electric, but wasn’t. The ground was rocky and had a berm inside just before the fence in order to maximize cover from any hostile fire.

There was considerable quiet prior to Leo’s question. He asked, “Are the military vehicles checked well?”

Fredo hesitated a moment and said, “No, I don’t think so, especially the mess-truck. They must cook the food somewhere else and cart it in. It only happens once a day, in the evening, and it’ll soon be after dark if we wait much longer … I mean they’ll be serving after dark in another two months.”

I said, “We haven’t got another month. Our benefactor wants it done ASAP … although we aren’t getting anyone killed or captured. Shit, listen to me, I sound like we’re in combat. If anyone wants out now, I’ll understand. I think we’ll all understand.”

Leo said, “I won’t understand. This will be a piece of cake if we plan it right. You guys need to understand that the machos guarding this place don’t want any part of us. They have it good inside that wire. I’ve been in places like this and they don’t want to see you, even when they see you. Think about it. They are gettin’ paid to drive around the place, carry weapons that are on safe and probably aren’t even chambered, and probably visit their girlfriends or wives on off-shifts. They are undoubtedly fat and lazy. I ain’t sayin it’s gonna to be a piece of cake, but if we plan down to the gnat’s ass we’ll be in and out before they know we were there. They may never … know we were there if we do it right.”

Greenie said, “I’m fat and lazy. I don’t think I can run much.”

Leo said, “You ain’t lazy, Greenie.”

Several laughed nervously.

After Leo’s pep-talk, we dove into the planning with a ferocity that would trademark us for the rest of our lives.