Phillip stared at him for several seconds, shuffling his foot, his right hand fidgeting with the edge of his pants pocket. He nodded his head, smirked and said, "There's more. I think it's a deal-breaker for the exiles."
"What is it? What do they want? Air support or something?"
"A man-portable nuke."
Olsen's face went pale. "You didn't mention that before."
Phillip smiled. "No. No, I didn't."
"You and J.-P. can't deliver that." Olsen stared at him.
The expression on Phillip's face betrayed nothing. After a moment, he asked, "Is that supposed to be an order? The official government position? You're saying, 'Don't deliver it?' Or are you asking whether we can?"
"Are you wearing a wire, Phillip?" Olsen asked.
Phillip laughed. "What, Rick? You don't trust me?"
Olsen looked uneasy. "Let's say it was a question, then. Can you deliver it?"
Phillip laughed again. "Are you wearing a wire, Rick?"
Olsen's face flushed. "No, of course not. You want to pat me down?"
"It doesn't matter," Phillip said. "I'm not going to answer that question; you and the government don't want to be part of this, anyway." Phillip turned and resumed walking.
Olsen hurried to catch up with him. "What are you and J.-P. going to do?"
"What do you think? You aren't leaving us a choice, Rick."
"I meant about the nuke."
"What nuke? Who said anything about a nuke?"
"So that's the way it is, then?" Olsen asked.
"I know I've put you in a bind, Rick. Sorry about that." Phillip gave Olsen a smug look.
"I'll have to get back to you," Olsen said. "I need to run this up the flagpole."
"Be my guest," Phillip said, "but don't use that phone except to set up another meeting. Understand?"
"Remember who you're talking to, son," Olsen said.
"You're the one who said we were both retired, now, General. I'll give you a day; no more."
"That sounds like an ultimatum," Olsen said.
"It is."
"And if we don't get back to you in a day?"
Phillip shrugged. "I need to get back to the villa, Rick. I look forward to hearing from you soon."
****
Chapter 20
"Did you two get the rental cars?" Phillip asked, looking at Connie and Paul. The three of them sat at an umbrella table on the veranda of the villa, drinking coffee with J.-P. Berger.
"Sure," Paul said. "No problem."
"We picked up some encrypted UHF walkie-talkies, too," Connie said. "I didn't like the idea of using the handheld VHF radios from the boat. There's too much chance of being overheard."
"Good," Phillip said.
"What are you planning?" J.-P. asked. "You must have been busy while I was talking with Mario."
"I asked Connie and Paul to get set up to tail Martínez," Phillip said.
"Have you heard from him again?" J.-P. asked.
"Not yet, but he should be in touch soon."
"So you have talked with Olsen, then?" J.-P. asked.
"Face to face," Phillip said, "as planned. I set a little trap." He told them about his mentioning a man-portable nuclear weapon.
"That should shake up whoever it is that Olsen works for," J.-P. said. "A suitcase nuke ... " He grinned and shook his head. "Why did you pick that as bait?"
"Two reasons," Phillip said. "If Olsen's boss is legitimate, there'll be a big reaction from the government; it will force them off the fence. The other reason is that it's so far from what Martínez has mentioned that if he hears about it, he's bound to question me on it. Given how sensitive the government is about that kind of thing, if Martínez hears about it, it means his source is probably this mysterious 'director,' or someone very close."
"And if he does bring it up, what will you tell him?" J.-P. asked. "He knows he did not request it."
"But he assumes we're dealing exclusively with him," Phillip said. "I plan to make him a little nervous on that score."
"I know I'm new to this game," Connie said, "but I don't follow your logic."
"Martínez said he was working for a consortium of exile organizations, but he won't tell us which ones," Phillip said. "I'm going to hint to him that we have independent contact with one that he may or may not be representing."
J.-P. began to laugh. "What is that saying you Americans have about the fox and the chickens?"
"Setting the fox to guard the hen house?" Paul offered.
"Yes. I suppose it does not quite describe this," J.-P. said, "but certainly there is a fox on the prowl among the chickens, here."
"Speaking of the exile organizations," Phillip said, "how did it go with Mario?"
J.-P. said, "He is to have his weekly lunch with his friends at that place in Little Havana today, so our timing is right. I am to call him later this afternoon. But he thinks that there is no such plot. He believes that he would have heard of it by now. It is the old men -- his contemporaries -- who play at invasions, not the younger ones. The young ones are too busy making money, and the old ones are the tigers, but without so many teeth, now. This is his thinking."
"I suspect he's right," Phillip said.
"If there's no such plot among the exiles, then what's Martínez doing?" Paul asked.
"I don't know," Phillip said. "He's a mercenary; he's working for somebody who wants weapons. If it's not the exiles, there are plenty of other possibilities."
"Should I get in touch with some of the people I knew from the JTTF?" Paul asked. "They may know something."
"Not yet, please. Right now, we have a limited scope. The more people who know what we're doing, the more difficult it will be to pin down who the players are."
"No problem. I understand what you're saying, but the offer is there. I have enough recent contacts there to bypass the MPD. I know they're risky, when it comes to the Cubans," Paul said.
"I'm surprised at you, Paul," Connie said. "You don't trust Luke?"
"Of course I trust Luke. But if Luke starts asking those questions, word could get around the MPD through any number of channels. Then he'd be screwed, and so would we. I'll have to square it with him afterwards, but he'll understand."
Phillip's cellphone rang. Looking down at the caller i.d., he said, "It's an unknown local number -- probably Martínez on a burner phone. Be ready to move fast; he'll probably want to pick me up and drive around."
As Phillip stood and walked a few paces away to answer the call, Paul looked at Connie. "Ready, skipper?"
She nodded. "Should we head for the cars?"
Before Paul could answer, Phillip rejoined them. "Game on! He's picking me up out front in five minutes. He's in a white pickup with landscaping equipment in the back. Where are your cars?"
"Parked on the shoulder of the causeway," Paul said. "We'd better hustle if he's coming in five minutes."
As Paul and Connie stood up, Phillip said, "Call my cellphone when you're in position. I'll stall him for a minute or two if need be."
Paul nodded and took off at a run to catch Connie, who was jogging toward the gate already. When he caught her, they shifted to a running pace.
"Good luck," J.-P. said, as Phillip stood and went inside the villa.
****
Ortiz did his best to relax; his muscles were cramping, almost bringing tears to his eyes. Being trussed like an animal bound for market was more uncomfortable than he could have imagined. At least he was on a soft surface now, and out of the sunlight. Dani had removed the chain from around his midsection, and she and Liz had used one of the ropes -- the spinnaker halyard, she had called it -- to hoist him by his wrists and ankles.
He had yelled, surprised at the pain, thinking his shoulders were going to be dislocated. Dani had threatened to knock him unconscious, and he had stifled his complaints. They had swung him around and lowered him through a hatch, dropping him on the bed in the forward cabin. Once he was below deck, one of them had reached down and u
nclipped the rope from the cords that cut into his wrists and ankles, leaving him on his belly, still immobilized. When he heard the hatch slam closed above him, he had wriggled until he managed to roll onto his side, which was marginally more comfortable.
As his initial relief that Dani had decided against drowning him faded, he began to worry about what she had in mind. He'd told her everything trying to persuade her that he was an undercover agent for Immigration and Customs Enforcement. She now knew all about their investigation of Cruz. He'd even told her that the higher ups discounted the significance of the invasion. She had taken it all in, offering no reaction.
He had offered assurances that he wouldn't press charges against her and her friend in exchange for his release. That had provoked laughter from both women. At first, he couldn't make sense of their lack of concern. Then he remembered that Dani's father was an international arms dealer. The reprieve she'd granted him might only be temporary. She'd been unmoved by his threats and promises, looking at him with an expression of mild disgust.
She'd told him to shut up if he wanted to live through the trip back to shore. When he had continued to press his case, she had produced a roll of duct tape and torn off a strip to put over his mouth, but Liz had asked if he'd promise to be quiet. He'd nodded his agreement, and Dani had stuck the end of the tape to the edge of one of the counters in the stateroom, leaving it where he could see it.
"Just a reminder," she'd said, as they left him on the bed.
He'd heard Dani calling out commands, and the boat had lurched, shifting its angle. It had been inclined to the left when they had lowered him; now, it was leaning to the right. It had taken him a few minutes to puzzle out that they had turned around. The change in the sunlight coming through the portholes confirmed it for him.
He'd initially been too stunned to think about anything beyond his immediate plight. Now that the shock was receding, he felt a wave of sadness sweep over him; he hadn't been lying when he told Dani he'd fallen for her. He'd led her on, taken advantage of her. He'd known there was no future for them, and he'd been prepared to use her for his own purposes. He'd manipulated her, but she'd gotten to him.
He suppressed that thought; there was no percentage in it. He knew he'd earned her contempt, and he regretted it. Still, he'd burned his bridges with her, and his cover would be blown with Cruz whatever happened with Dani. While he didn't know what she intended for him, he knew it wouldn't be good. There was steel in those blue eyes that he'd once found so charming. He needed to get away from her, and the sooner, the better.
If he could free himself from his bonds, he had a chance. If he were to jump overboard once they were in the Venetian Islands, he might be able to escape. There would be people around; Dani's options would be limited. Before he rolled onto his belly, he had seen that there were drawers along one side of the bed. Maybe he'd find a knife or scissors, or even a mirror that he could break. Anything sharp might allow him to free his hands, then he would be able to untie his ankles.
He worked his way back toward the drawers until he could feel one of the pulls. He hooked his numb fingers into the handle and tugged, but the drawer wouldn't come out. Then he remembered seeing Liz open one of the drawers in the galley the first time he'd been aboard. She'd shown him how to lift up on the handle before pulling it out. The drawer slides had a notch that kept the drawers from sliding out when the boat rolled. He lifted and pulled, feeling the drawer come free. He pulled it out onto the bed behind him, and then began trying to roll himself over so that he could see what was in it. He bumped the drawer and felt it tumble over the edge of the mattress. It crashed to the deck.
"What was that?" he heard one of the women ask.
Desperate, he rolled to the edge of the mattress and looked down. The drawer was upside down on the varnished teak. It took him a few seconds to make out what he was seeing. Then a chill ran down his spine.
Before he could do anything else, the cabin door swung open and Dani stepped in. She scanned her surroundings in the time it took her to get to the drawer and its spilled contents. She shook her head.
"Too bad you couldn't behave, comepinga. Lupita said you were a stupid págaro. And you've scratched my varnish, on top of your other offenses. That's going to cost you."
"You were the one who attacked her weren't you?" Ortiz asked. "You did it."
"Why do you think that, pinguero?" She said, as she bent to pick up the blackjack and the balaclava.
Before he could answer, she brought the blackjack down on the side of his head, and he slumped into unconsciousness. She put the drawer back in place and folded the balaclava, dropping it and the blackjack back into the drawer and pushing it closed. She retrieved the piece of duct tape that she'd torn off earlier and stuck it over his mouth. "Asshole," she muttered as she rolled him back into the center of the bed. "Scratch my cabin sole, will you?" She shook her head and left, leaving the door open.
****
"I'm puzzled, señor," Martínez said, flicking his eyes toward Phillip. He was behind the wheel of the white pickup truck, with Phillip in the passenger seat.
"Puzzled?" Phillip asked. "Why's that, José?"
"The agency thinks that we are seeking a suitcase nuke. This seems strange."
"You never mentioned a suitcase nuke," Phillip said.
"And that is why I am puzzled. You told General Olsen that we wanted one. Or so I am told, señor."
Phillip stared out the windshield, the muscles in his jaw working beneath his skin. His right hand rested on the dashboard, his thumb making a circular, rubbing motion against his fingers. He saw Martínez make note of his nervous gestures, and then he spoke. "I never told Olsen that it was you."
"What?" Martínez asked, turning his head to look at Phillip, then looking back at the road in time to avoid running into the car in front of them. He stood on the brakes as the traffic slowed at the west end of MacArthur Causeway. "Who else would it be, señor?"
Phillip looked at Martínez. Once the traffic stopped, Martínez looked at him, and Phillip smiled. "I can't tell you that, José. It would betray a trust. You wouldn't want me sharing your requirements with some other exile group, would you?"
Martínez looked at Phillip as he pondered this information. After several seconds, he nodded. "I see. Should we trust Olsen, señor?"
"We?" Phillip asked. "Do you mean to ask if you and your people should trust him? Or whether you and I should trust him?"
"Either one," Martínez said.
Phillip thought for a moment. "That's for you to decide, José."
"Do you trust him, señor?"
"I don't trust anyone, José. I can't help you with that."
"I cannot blame you, señor. It is clear there is a traitor in your organization. It could be Olsen, or the man who brought him in on this. There is no one else, I think."
"Why do you say one of them is a traitor?" Phillip asked.
"One of them is passing information to me," Martínez said.
"Does that make him a traitor?" Phillip asked, smiling. "We are on the same side, aren't we?"
"But of course, señor. I was overlooking that. Even so, this situation is strange, since there is someone else negotiating with you for weapons to invade Cuba."
"Did you get that from your source in my chain of command?"
"Yes, señor. Is it correct?"
Phillip grinned. "I can't tell you that, any more than you can tell me who is in your consortium."
"Of course not," Martínez said. "I think we are finished, no?"
"If you say so, José. Unless you wish to tell me who you're representing, I can't say whether one of your backers is branching out on his own."
"You are suggesting that you and I might exchange this information?"
"Perhaps. We should consider it. Otherwise one of us could be embarrassed."
"I will have to discuss this with my principals, señor, but I see your point. Shall I take you back to Star Island?"
"Yes, I believ
e so."
"What will you tell General Olsen about our meeting?"
"I think this should stay between us, for now," Phillip said.
Martínez nodded. "As you say, señor. Between us."
****
Chapter 21
"Except for the garbage in the forward stateroom, it's a beautiful day," Dani said, as Liz trimmed the mainsheet. Vengeance surged through the swell on a close reach in 15 to 18 knots of northwesterly breeze.
"You didn't think he was garbage at first, Dani," Liz said. "I think I saw remorse in his eyes before you clobbered him. Where did you get the blackjack, anyway?"
"Oh, this little place off Collins Avenue. They had a lot of odds and ends, like tasers, and pepper spray. I picked it up on that walk I took the other night."
"So you were the one who worked Lupita over."
Dani shrugged. "I don't like strange women taking pictures of me. She had it coming."
"Did you know she was dead?"
"You mean, did I kill her?"
Liz fixed her with a steady gaze for several seconds. "Did you?"
"No."
"Could she have died from the injuries you inflicted?"
"Not likely. I'm sure she's had worse. I didn't even break any bones."
"What about a concussion?"
"I never touched her head. I wanted her conscious. All she suffered was heavy bruising."
"Heavy enough for them to keep her sedated and in the hospital?" Liz asked.
"She probably wasn't able to move much; I went for the big muscles first, and hammered them. Then I worked on the others."
"Where did you learn that? Dare I ask?"
"When they had me in that prison in St. Lucia. I found out all about it from first-hand experience."
"They beat you with blackjacks?"
Dani shrugged. "Batons. I thought about using one on her, but they're harder to conceal, and they're more likely to do serious damage. I have a feeling that Manny Cruz or his buddies did away with her because she knew too much."
They passed a few minutes in silence. Liz got up and tweaked the headsails. She sat down again, her back against the coachroof. "Dani?"
Bluewater Revolution: The Twelfth Novel in the Bluewater Thriller Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida, Cuba, and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 12) Page 17
