Payback by Keith Douglass Page B

far I’ve dug up the owner of that platform. Some outfit in Texas, but it has six North Koreans on the board of directors. Also the President of the outfit has made twenty-four long-distance calls to Pyongyang within the past three weeks. His passport also shows four stamps to North Korea.”
    â€œStroh, could this be a nasty payback for the trouncing we gave North Korea when it tried to invade the South the last time?”
    â€œCould be. Those Orientals have long memories.”
    â€œSo what do we do now?”
    â€œWe wait to see how the CNO reacts to your chief’s suggestion that we do a recon over the spot tomorrow with a dozen or so Navy ships and your platoon.”
    Think the brass will go for it?”
    â€œIt’s either that or blow up the thing without knowing what’s inside of it. They’ll go for the recon. How far is it from San Diego to Santa Barbara?”
    â€œA little over two hundred miles by highway. Probably not quite that far as the ships could cut across the arc the land mass makes along here.”
    â€œAt flank speed it would take eight or nine hours to get up there from San Diego,” Stroh said.
    â€œWe wait and we see. Let’s hope we get to fly up and land on a cruiser instead of a ride on a boat.”
    Don started to say good-bye.
    â€œOh, Stroh. You told the CNO about the North Korean tie-in to that oil-drilling tower.”
    â€œYou betcha, Red Ryder. Oh, you’re too young to know about Red Ryder and his faithful Indian kid, Little Beaver. Yeah, everyone knows. I blabbed it all over town.”
    â€œTake care.”
    Â 
    The same night that Murdock drove four hours to get home from Santa Barbara, Jack Mahanani braved the Casa Grande Casino east of San Diego. He got in the door and halfway to the cashier to buy chips before Harley caught up with him.
    â€œHey, Jack, how is it hanging tonight?”
    â€œStraight down, man, not a good day. Your Buick is doing fine, not even a scratch.”
    â€œYou can’t play tonight, Jack,” Harley said. “Word just came down. Sorry.” He waited for Mahanani to react. The big Hawaiian’s shoulders slumped. Then he slammed his fist into his hand.
    â€œYou want the Buick too?”
    â€œNo, but there may be a way out.”
    Mahanani looked up. “Oh, sure, on my knees in front of some bare-assed prick.”
    Harley laughed. “Hey, nothing like that. Come on, have atalk with a guy called Martillo. He can sometimes come up with plans to help when a friend gets in the hole with too much gambling.”
    Mahanani snorted. He had heard stories about the fringes of the gambling world. This definitely would be the fringe. He frowned. “The guy is here in the casino?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe works for you guys?”
    â€œWell, he’s part of the larger picture. He’s a kind of a consultant. Talk with him. If you don’t want to work your way out of trouble, hell, you’ve only wasted a half hour.”
    â€œOkay, but I don’t make any promises.”
    Harley led him through one section of the casino into a door marked “Employees Only,” and through a hallway with offices on both sides. Mahanani decided it must take a lot of behind-the-scenes business operations to run a large casino. They stopped at a door with no name on it and Harley knocked, then opened it. He went in first and waved Mahanani in. It was an office that looked more like a den or a living room. A seventy-two-inch television set hovered in one corner. A full-sized sofa took up one wall. On the other side was a large desk that had a clean top, with the exception of one picture in a silver frame. Behind the desk sat Martillo. He was Mexican, with bushy black hair, a full beard, and mustache all kept tightly trimmed. His eyes were so dark brown they were almost black, and now his face looked up and he nearly smiled.
    â€œYou must be Mahanani, the Navy SEAL,