Free Chopper Ops by Mack Maloney

looked like planets orbiting a rectangular star.  
    Usually found next to all this high-priced stuff was the chow table. It was well-stocked by the CIA-run kitchen located in the basement of the restaurant. The line of hot dishes was always substantial here, the coffee always fresh, the Cokes always ice-cold. Spooks had to eat too, and considering the location and the circumstances, the fare on Seven Ghosts Key was very good. But there was no hot food steaming today. No bucket full of icy Coke. Not even any coffee brewing.
    Instead the buffet table was closed, the coffee machine stood mute, and there were three guys who looked very much like doctors sitting on folding chairs. In front of them was a smaller table with three black bags containing huge hypodermic needles opened up for all to see. And instead of plastic coffee mugs, there was a line of paper cups, each with several pills inside. None of this looked particularly inviting.
    The first thing Delaney spotted as he and Norton walked in was the hypodermic needles. He almost passed out on the spot.
    "Man, this is not going to be good," he whispered. "Not for me. Not for anyone."
    They avoided the table of needles, and took seats in the last of five rows of chairs set up facing the big screen. The air-conditioning was working full blast, and it was actually chilly inside the room. Norton felt his sweat turn to ice; he wished he'd been able to finish one more beer. Delaney simply slumped in his chair and began a long series of burps.
    More of the base's invisible occupants drifted in. A few of the tech support people. The guys who ran the simulators. The security team. The CO of the Marine contingent, Captain Chou Koo—who everyone called "Joe Cool"—arrived with a flourish. Four members of the U.S. Army Aviation Corps wandered in next, distinctive in the bright green fatigues. Behind them were four Navy SEAL medics, the tiny Red Cross patches over their left breast pockets identifying their function. What the SEALs' role was in all this Norton didn't have a clue. But like the Army pilots, they had certainly managed to keep themselves well hidden until now.
    Behind the SEALs came a man Norton had seen his first day on the island and not since. He was a tall, powerful-looking individual, early forties, with a slightly Nordic look about him. He was wearing a black flight suit and a pair of Keds sneakers, the same outfit Norton had seen him in the first time. His baseball cap had a patch above its bill that read: Angels Do It Forever .
    Norton elbowed Delaney when this character walked in.
    "Who is that guy?" he asked his colleague. "He seems familiar."
    Delaney burped once. "He looks like a pilot. But I haven't the foggiest."
    Smitz came in next. The young CIA case officer arrived, as always, briefcase and omnipresent IBM NoteBook in hand. He nodded to Norton and Delaney, who returned his greeting with mock salutes. Others stood and shook his hand. Still others ignored him completely. Accompanying Smitz was a middle-aged CIA officer Norton knew only as Rooney. Norton had figured out that where Smitz was the one actually running the mystery operation, Rooney was the guy in charge of Seven Ghosts Key itself. Following them in were a half-dozen civilian types, unknown to Norton and Delaney, but undoubtedly CIA as well.
    The last ones to arrive were Gillis and Ricco. They walked into the Big Room like aggrieved parties walking into court. Slightly flustered and confused, looking this way and that, checking out every door and window as if they were already plotting out an escape route. It was clear they wanted no part of whatever was about to happen here.
    They were about to take seats when they spotted Norton and Delaney. Their demeanor changed instantly. Gone were the twin baffled looks. Both faces now turned red. They began walking over to Norton and Delaney. It was clear they wanted to talk.
    "Oh, boy," Delaney slurred. "Here we go . . ."
    "You two assholes are dead meat,"