OCTOBER, 8:50 a.m.
Hammer was sitting on the couch, his attention divided between the sliding glass doors leading onto the small patio, and the front door. He heard Lisa Cobb upstairs long before he ever saw her. He listened to the progression from the bedroom to the shower, back to the bedroom, and now down the carpeted stairs.
Seeing him in the living room, Lisa stopped in alarm. “Who are you?”
“Frank Davis, but most people call me Hammer—and no, I don’t do rap. I had this name a long time before that guy showed up. I’m a friend of Dave’s. He asked me to look after you while he went to work. He said he’d be back later this morning to make the phone call he talked to you about. He said there were some things he had to work on before you could make that call.”
“Am I just going to get passed from person to person?” she asked, her body tense. She was wearing a loose set of gray sweats, and she knew she looked only slightly better than she had yesterday. She moved slowly, trying not to aggravate a long bruise up her right side, a result of the car getting rolled.
Hammer gave his most charming smile. “You have to look at the quality of the people who are doing the passing.”
She observed his camouflage fatigues. “You work with Riley?”
“Part-time. I’m a reservist here at Bragg for six weeks of active duty training. As such, I am expendable—which means that no one will miss me at the company this morning. But if Chief Riley isn’t there, he gets missed.”
Lisa poured herself a cup of coffee and seemed to be relaxing a bit. “If you don’t mind me asking, why does everyone call you Hammer?”
“Everyone doesn’t call me Hammer,” Davis replied. “Just those who know me and those I let.” He sighed. “Well, I guess it ain’t no big deal. I was assigned to CCN-North when I was in Fifth Group in Vietnam. That’s Combat Control North—a sort of special outfit that did a bunch of dirty jobs no one else was capable of. We were under MACV-SOG.” He saw her confused look and continued to explain. “That’s Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Studies and Observation Group, which was a fancy way of saying a bunch of guys who did what our government said we didn’t do. Anyway, I ran a few missions with them. Everyone had a nickname. They called me Hammer because I carried a Stoner machine gun that I had ‘borrowed’ from some navy SEALs, and when I fired that thing my teammates said it was like bringing the hammer down on the enemy.”
It didn’t make much sense to Lisa, but she was grateful to talk about anything but her predicament. “Why’d you get out of active duty?”
Hammer enjoyed talking, and the fact that Lisa was good-looking only added to his verbosity. “I left active duty after I got back to the States, but I stayed in the reserves. Then in eighty-nine I went back on active duty for Operation Just Cause—you know, the invasion of Panama. The general running Special Ops down there was one of my old commanders from CCN. So he got me in on some of the door busting when they were tracking people down. I was on the teams that took down Noriega’s number three and five men.” He stated it so calmly and matter-of-factly that Lisa didn’t quite believe him. She wondered what “took down” meant.
“What do you do in your civilian life?” Lisa asked.
Hammer shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait.”
FORT BRAGG
30 OCTOBER, 8:50 a.m.
A four-mile run on the sand paths of the “Mata mile.” Thirty minutes of stomach and arm work. Thirty minutes of katas. Riley felt good, his muscles stretched out and tingling with that slight edge of fatigue brought about by a good workout. He felt good mentally too; he’d finally mastered the final kata, or ritualized form, required of the third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He would be taking the test in two weeks and felt ready.
He pulled the band around
Hammer was sitting on the couch, his attention divided between the sliding glass doors leading onto the small patio, and the front door. He heard Lisa Cobb upstairs long before he ever saw her. He listened to the progression from the bedroom to the shower, back to the bedroom, and now down the carpeted stairs.
Seeing him in the living room, Lisa stopped in alarm. “Who are you?”
“Frank Davis, but most people call me Hammer—and no, I don’t do rap. I had this name a long time before that guy showed up. I’m a friend of Dave’s. He asked me to look after you while he went to work. He said he’d be back later this morning to make the phone call he talked to you about. He said there were some things he had to work on before you could make that call.”
“Am I just going to get passed from person to person?” she asked, her body tense. She was wearing a loose set of gray sweats, and she knew she looked only slightly better than she had yesterday. She moved slowly, trying not to aggravate a long bruise up her right side, a result of the car getting rolled.
Hammer gave his most charming smile. “You have to look at the quality of the people who are doing the passing.”
She observed his camouflage fatigues. “You work with Riley?”
“Part-time. I’m a reservist here at Bragg for six weeks of active duty training. As such, I am expendable—which means that no one will miss me at the company this morning. But if Chief Riley isn’t there, he gets missed.”
Lisa poured herself a cup of coffee and seemed to be relaxing a bit. “If you don’t mind me asking, why does everyone call you Hammer?”
“Everyone doesn’t call me Hammer,” Davis replied. “Just those who know me and those I let.” He sighed. “Well, I guess it ain’t no big deal. I was assigned to CCN-North when I was in Fifth Group in Vietnam. That’s Combat Control North—a sort of special outfit that did a bunch of dirty jobs no one else was capable of. We were under MACV-SOG.” He saw her confused look and continued to explain. “That’s Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Studies and Observation Group, which was a fancy way of saying a bunch of guys who did what our government said we didn’t do. Anyway, I ran a few missions with them. Everyone had a nickname. They called me Hammer because I carried a Stoner machine gun that I had ‘borrowed’ from some navy SEALs, and when I fired that thing my teammates said it was like bringing the hammer down on the enemy.”
It didn’t make much sense to Lisa, but she was grateful to talk about anything but her predicament. “Why’d you get out of active duty?”
Hammer enjoyed talking, and the fact that Lisa was good-looking only added to his verbosity. “I left active duty after I got back to the States, but I stayed in the reserves. Then in eighty-nine I went back on active duty for Operation Just Cause—you know, the invasion of Panama. The general running Special Ops down there was one of my old commanders from CCN. So he got me in on some of the door busting when they were tracking people down. I was on the teams that took down Noriega’s number three and five men.” He stated it so calmly and matter-of-factly that Lisa didn’t quite believe him. She wondered what “took down” meant.
“What do you do in your civilian life?” Lisa asked.
Hammer shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait.”
FORT BRAGG
30 OCTOBER, 8:50 a.m.
A four-mile run on the sand paths of the “Mata mile.” Thirty minutes of stomach and arm work. Thirty minutes of katas. Riley felt good, his muscles stretched out and tingling with that slight edge of fatigue brought about by a good workout. He felt good mentally too; he’d finally mastered the final kata, or ritualized form, required of the third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He would be taking the test in two weeks and felt ready.
He pulled the band around
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