The Hunters by Griffin W. E. B

Author:Griffin, W. E. B. [Griffin, W. E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Mystery, Adventure, Fiction, War, Suspense, War & Military
ISBN: 9780399153792
Google: -3A703VNVAsC
Amazon: 0399153799
Goodreads: 140059
Publisher: Putnam
Published: 2007-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

[EIGHT]

Carrasco International Airport

Montevideo, República Oriental del Uruguay

2030 7 August 2005

“Legal Attaché” David W. Yung, Jr., was in a strange, good—almost euphoric—mood as the Policía Federal helicopter carrying him, “Cultural Attaché” Robert Howell, “Assistant Legal Attaché” Julio Artigas, and Chief Inspector José Ordóñez came in for a landing at the military side of the airport.

It was an almost complete turnaround of feelings from when he’d gotten on the same ancient and battered Huey at eight that morning for the flight to Estancia Shangri-La in Tacuarembó Province.

Then he had been very worried. He had just about convinced himself that the whole thing was going to blow up in his face and God only knew what that would mean, either to the mission ordered by the Presidential Finding or to David W. Yung, Jr., personally. And he hadn’t been the only one worrying that he was about to fuck up spectacularly. He could tell that Howell and Artigas were watching him almost as closely as was Ordóñez.

That hadn’t happened. He hadn’t done anything stupid, even though on the flight to the estancia he had wallowed in the discomfiting thought that while he had conducted a great many interrogations himself, this was the first time he had been on—and all day would continue to be on—the receiving end of an interrogation conducted by an interrogator as skilled—perhaps, better skilled—in that art as he was.

And since he was lying through his teeth—and had very little experience doing that—the odds were that he had already said something, had revealed something, that he shouldn’t have. And, if he hadn’t, that would happen before the day was over.

That hadn’t happened, either.

There had been three police vehicles—two cars and a small van—parked in front of the estancia and, as the helicopter approached, a half dozen policemen came out from under the shielded veranda of the house to watch the helo land.

And there was another man, a burly, middle-aged Uruguayan wearing a suit jacket and tie and gaucho pants stuffed into red rubber boots. He knew that had to be Ricardo Montez, the manager of the estancia.

Early in the assault, Montez had been tied, blindfolded, and “tranquilized” by one of Castillo’s Green Berets, but there was still a very good chance that he would somehow recognize Yung, or at least eye him suspiciously, which, of course, would immediately be picked up by Ordóñez.

That hadn’t happened. When Ordóñez introduced them to Montez and the police as “representatives of the U.S. embassy” and said they had come to have a look at the crime site and to begin the process of protecting the late Señor Lorimer’s property, there had been not even a glimmer of recognition.

Ordóñez gave them a guided tour of the crime scene, beginning by showing the Americans the chalk body outlines indicating where two of what everyone was now calling the Ninja had fallen on the veranda.

Next, Ordóñez showed them the chalk body outline of the Ninja who had fallen just inside the front door. Yung had been more

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