Chapter Twenty-OneBeat: H-Hour, December 19th, 1989, 11:45p.mThe information started fast, then got faster. Navy divers had been attacked in Panama Harbor. To get beneath the range of grenades dropped into the water, they’d dived well below the limits of their breathing gear, then come up directly under Noriega’s gunboat to attach the scuttling charges.
A SEAL team had taken out Noriega’s private jet, cutting off that line of escape, but at a terrible loss of life. The Pineapple wasn’t there, nor in his palace.
Beatrice had been allowed a corner of the 160th’s control center. When the first helicopter was shot down over the marshes near the mouth of the Canal, the shock wave had rippled once around the room and been gone. She’d had lunch with “Sonny” Owen and John Hunter just last week.
