by Jim Johnson
“Where?”
“The headquarters,” he said. Then his voice hardened. “You do not know, but your compadre, the mad man, killed my trusted servant. He also torched my wonderful house and there is nothing left except some block wall and smoldering embers.”
She straightened. “Gee, thanks for cheering me up.” She thought it through. Tommy did not act out of anger—not much anyway. He wouldn’t have taken the time. She knew he’d fired the AR-15 at the retreating boat which in turn would draw the police. So he had a reason for burning the mansion. It would certainly generate attention. So he was sending a message. Certainly not a message that said “Look at me, I’m coming.” No, it was more subtle since he preferred to operate under the radar and anonymously. Nor would he warn his enemy. She was well versed in his mindset. No, he was telling somebody something. That somebody would only be Don Diego. It was the first shot of the battle between the two. A tricky first chess move. Suddenly, María Elena had no fear. Come hell or high water, Tommy was coming for her. Period. Only the details remained to be sorted out.
In blood.
The boat was slowing in shallow water and soon she felt the soft thud of protective bumpers during the docking. They took her out on deck and she found they were an enclosed boathouse. Diego had resources.
A crewman pasted a strip of duct tape across her mouth and they marched her to a
Chevy van waiting inside the covered dock. She recognized it as one of the small fleet of vehicles at 13 headquarters. They had vans, SUV’s, pickups, and Hummers. Not to mention a small fleet of ATV’s which she thoroughly enjoyed driving through the swamps and the dry plains; there were a couple of airboats, too, and troop carriers.
Eduardo and one of his crew got in along with two uniformed 13 soldiers. Two more crew members were refueling the boat and obviously preparing it for an immediate departure.
Soon they were driving off. It was some out of the way location, obviously, because she didn’t recognize it. Homestead? She didn’t think it was as far as Flamingo, but if so they could hit 27 and be at the base in a matter of hours and avoid all the Miami-Dade traffic and policed roads. Did that mean they feared law enforcement was after them? Anything was possible.
She was sitting on a bench seat in the back.
Eduardo told his crewman, “I want her down. A cop may notice us driving with a bound woman.”
The man dragged her down and she lay on the carpeted floor. After that she saw nothing else. Finally, the motion of the van turning and driving put her to sleep.
A loud challenge woke her and she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. Without help, she leveraged herself up onto the bench seat. The soldier and boat crewman watched her contortions with interest. She glared at them, telling them they’d never touch a woman such as her.
She recognized the sentry point on the incoming shell road to headquarters and the training base. Spotlights glared and flashlights probed inside. This was unusual, for seldom did they have more than one guard in place, and that only to keep lost tourists and unwanted visitors out. Now there were several armed guards.
The security gate arm went up and the soldier driving accelerated. They wound along the crunching road for almost a mile. The entire base was a training area. There were thousands of acres involved in the 13 base: approximately four thousand acres of dedicated land, and another five thousand that the government let them use. Of course, lately there had been too many environmental constraints placed on 13. You could no longer run your tanks and Jeeps over just any ground and destroy flora and fauna and od Indian hammocks at will. She shook her head to clear it and get back to the present.
Through her limited vision from the back of the van, she watched as they threaded their way through a couple of out buildings, the larger aluminum warehouse supply buildings, and then the Quonset huts of troop barracks. They passed the access to the airdrome, which consisted of a small unoccupied control tower more like a forest ranger station than a control tower, and a long, slender paved runway. The runway lights were off, of course.
The driver swung into a parking slot in front of headquarters. A couple of pickups and a Humvee sat there crowding each other. She was surprised by the nighttime activity. Upon reflection, she guessed that Diego had gathered his loyalists, those he had recruited, around him for protection. As soon as Eduardo had informed him of her arrival and Diego had learned of the mess on the islet, then he’d decided to consolidate his strength and protect himself until it could all be sorted out.
The soldier hustled her out the rear of the van and up the stairs into the headquarters. The first floor consisted of offices, a kitchen, a small conference room, a large open area lounge they used for general meetings, training classes, commander’s addresses. Upstairs were a few bedrooms and bathrooms for Diego, her father, and VIP’s. She used to have her own bedroom assigned, but then…
They escorted her up the stairs into the building and past two alert sentries. Her father never posted sentries at headquarters. Tonight all were dressed in official 13 jungle fatigues.
Don Diego was in the lounge, standing at a long table, packing two large canvas bags. He looked up as they brought her in and zipped the top of one of the bags closed. He was always handsome, a rugged male handsomeness she’d thought, which had ameliorated her reluctance at the marriage. Her eighteen year old self found it a boost to her ego that he was attractive—and not pretty boy young attractive, either. Diego García stood maybe six feet tall and had a well maintained goatee which fit his character very well.
Laid out on a long table in front of him was a scattered array of weapons. Diego was finishing loading a shotgun. She could see many weapons, an Uzi, a MAC-11, a real nice MGP-15 submachine gun, maybe a MAC-10, a Desert Eagle .50 caliber handgun, a couple of M-16’s. Was he preparing for a war?
María Elena extrapolated that he was preparing armament for a getaway—if he thought it necessary. He was gathering magazines for the various weapons and taping them together for like weapons. The other duffel probably had his escape kit, or maybe more weapons. She continued to extrapolate. You aren’t going to take all those weapons on an aircraft; and the only other way to escape would be on the sea. So, perhaps it followed he was going to take CUBAN BEAUTY to make a run for it if things went from bad to worse.
Momentarily, she paused as they entered and he looked over at her. María Elena remembered the first years, those years of promise and dedication, years before, where they really thought they were making a difference against the Castros. It was an exciting time for 13 de enero, a renewal as Diego moved into leadership presaging change and renewed energy, plans with real scope, a vision which he readily shared of freedom for their people on the island. After years of failure to make major inroads, 13 had reclaimed hope. Alas, change was not for the better, not for 13 de enero. Oh, the window dressing was there, and that was about it. This aspect was not readily apparent; it was something which took years to develop and come forth openly. Their marriage paralleled the fortunes of 13. At eighteen, she was an easily influenced young lady. The arranged marriage was against what she wanted, yet she was steeped in the culture where she must obey, and that wasn’t necessarily an earth-shaking event; her upbringing did not make her arranged marriage as easy as one in other lands where such was the norm, not the exception. So, married they were. And at first, Diego had treated her pretty well. And he was attentive and charming.
And it was all so new to her, a different life from growing up as her father’s daughter. Gradually, she found the marriage was becoming one of convenience to him. He was losing interest in her; she knew he was with other women—she might have been young, but she wasn’t stupid. At the time, she attributed that to her reluctance against an arranged marriage. Grudgingly, she admitted it had been one hell of a learning situation; and she knew well that she had grown up quickly in a few short years. Maturity was forced upon her long before it was due. Wistfully, she wondered what had happened to that young girl.
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Now here she was, back where it had all started, already blooded herself, and holding her emotions in check while evaluating everything, calculating what would help her, what situation she could turn to her advantage. It seemed that she had learned a great deal from Tommy.
His two troopers each held an arm and urged her into the room through an open double door. Her feet began to drag and they lifted her.
“No, no,” Diego motioned. “Remove the tape, please. She can walk on her own, too.”
Soon she was free and rubbing her mouth and wrists. She shook her hair out angrily and stared at him.
“You are always more beautiful when you are angry,” Diego said.
Quinones came in behind her. The guards went back into the hall and waited along with the previous two sentries posted at the door.
Eduardo sank thankfully into a metal folding chair. “I see you are packing, Diego. Perhaps you are embarking upon a long trip?”
Diego nodded. “I am. It’s time for a lengthy trip to my ranch in Mexico. I will run 13 de enero long distance by cell phone and Internet.”
“And this is a result of?” asked Eduardo.
“Events seem to be going from bad to worse here, in large part, I might add, due to your mismanagement of these events and your inability to control things better.”
Eduardo shrugged. “The way things are going, doubtless you are correct. However, I was not the one killing people and hiding it.”
Diego shrugged. “A good leader does what needs to be done and does it swiftly and decisively.” He frowned at Eduardo and looked at María Elena. “At this moment, who did what to whom matters not; there are federals all over Miami I am given to understand. In addition, I believe JTF 13 is now taking an active role, and doing so on the ground in South Florida.”
“I read it the same,” said Eduardo.
“I do not have an aircraft available right now,” Diego shook his head regretfully, “so of a necessity, I must take CUBAN BEAUTY.”
“It is called commandeering,” Eduardo pointed out. “That was obvious when my crew took the boat all the way through the keys and docked southwest; it is a straight shot to Mexico from there.”
“When I am done with it, I will send it back to you.”
“Will you, Diego? Am I to be left here the sacrificial goat?”
“It is your choice, patrón.”
“I doubt that.” Eduardo sat up straight and the chair scooted backwards a bit.
“Your keen mind,” said Diego, “continues.”
María Elena wondered what this was all about. They were dancing, verbally, with one another. Both seemed resigned to something, and were working together to reach that point.
Eduardo sat there and said nothing.
“It occurs to me,” Diego went on, “that if things are falling apart as they appear to be, then one person knows the most about the operation, about history, about monies, about who, what, when, and where.”
“I am that man,” said Eduardo.
Diego nodded. “You are. At your age they will peel you like a banana.”
“Have I a choice?” Eduardo asked. “Shall I die by your hand this night? Or shall I accompany you to Mexico?”
Diego raised his hands. “I have not yet decided. On one hand you know all there is and cannot be allowed to talk; on the other hand, you know all there is, a valuable commodity, and you know where the bodies are buried, which is a major asset to me, and leverage if necessary. Not coincidentally, have I forgotten our original goal of participation in a post-Castro government. I can still do that, yet my position would be strengthened with your assistance and your contacts. Networking is important.”
“I am grateful you have realized that,” Eduardo said. “I feared I would have had to lay all that out for you.”
“A good case you make, my friend. I also do not ignore the fact that I am rich and powerful and here because of you, patrón.”
María Elena interrupted. “None of that means anything, Eduardo, for he will kill you in a heartbeat if it will help him.”
Eduardo sighed. “This I know, Alejandrina. Unfortunately, I know this.”
Diego moved to his other canvas bag. “You see why our marriage had problems, Eduardo? She was intrusive with her opinions, loudly and vocally so. She intruded where no woman belonged in our business. Her father should have brought her up with more respect.”
“Nonetheless, Diego, we’re now back where we started.”
“There is that.”
“What is your intention to do with Alejandrina?”
Diego looked at him speculatively. “She knows too much, now, and she is the one who uncovered all the irregularities. She must die.”
“Right now?”
“Not at all. We have problems, patrón, with the man who burned down your fine home. And maybe some others, I do not yet know. We might need a hostage to get through this. Also? If she is dead, this man who is with her now is known to be one of those who will follow you forever and kill you mercilessly. Frankly, it is why I am not yet running for the boat. I need to deal with this man. If he is dead, it will be much to our advantage later on in our lives. In order to bring him to us, I find I need María Elena alive and well. I do not know about the well part, but it would likely be better if she were not yet harmed. We might have to, ah, harm her in order to bend this killer man to or will.”
Don Diego was one cold hearted son of a bitch, thought María Elena. But it did occur to her that Tommy had sent his message and that message had its desired effect: her temporary safety.
She leaned against a table. “Don’t trust him, Eduardo. See those two bags? I’d bet the rent that one of them contains all the cash he could scare up in the last couple of days plus whatever he had on hand here.” Maybe payroll cash, maybe illegal activity cash, cash he had not yet laundered, and more than likely cash he had been withholding for circumstances such as this. Escape cash. She continued, “The other bag? A variety of those weapons and perhaps identity documents and passports with current stamped visas for many countries south of here.”
Eduardo looked accusingly at Diego.
Diego said, “You expected otherwise?”
Eduardo said, “I guess not. I take it you are prepared for the advent of this man—Atkins?”
“Guards are posted everywhere, especially at the gate, and roving patrols, and all are my men, not candy-ass weekend warriors.” He grinned and walked over to the doorway. “If either of these two within attempt to leave, hurt them badly, and disable them, but keep them alive.”
As Diego walked out of the room, María Elena’s heart soared. Could it be? Was it possible in any universe?
And then Diego García turned around. He took two sets of handcuffs from one of the guards. He brought them over and snapped one half on Eduardo’s right hand and the other cuff on María Elena’s left. Then he dragged both of their chairs to the side wall and snapped the second pair in a loop between their handcuff chain and a thick PVC pipe lifting from the floor to the ceiling and the floor above. He flashed a smile. “You understand, don’t you?” He left once again.
Now here she was prisoner.
Where was Tommy?
If she knew anything, she knew he was on the way. But he would be walking into a trap. Once again she had failed and gotten herself into a situation in which she needed his help to stay alive.
But this time they were prepared for him.
On the other hand, they had little idea with whom they were dealing.
CHAPTER THIRTY: HIM
Tommy went to a 7-11 and a Wal-Mart to get maps and a Florida Atlas & Gazetteer. He sped back to Weston and went to their hotel room where they’d left their gear.
He spread the maps and used his laptop to locate the 13 de enero home ground. It matched what that woman from Washington said. It did not escape his notice that it was possible that she was aiming him right at this Don Diego. It did not matter, for he was going in one way or the other.
&nbs
p; The major acreage was suitable for 13’s training purposes and a place to store and maintain equipment and vehicles and so on. It was also located with a more or less direct route to the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico. And that cabin cruiser, THE CUBAN LADY, was just right for running across the Gulf or to go anywhere in the Caribbean. He could easily find the training ground and the headquarters, but it would be impossible to locate the boat without help. Doubtless, María Elena was long gone from the boat anyway.
He recalled the description of the grounds that CIA had given, and he went to Google Earth to confirm the info and refresh his mind. He also went to other maps to insure he wasn’t missing anything. Apparently, there was only one real way in if he didn’t want to wade across country or take an airboat or walk through acres of sharp sawgrass.
He put his laptop in a backpack and stuffed the rest of their cash and documents into the remaining pockets. He dressed in jeans to protect his legs and wore long sleeves and a vest to help hold all the ammunition and magazines he was carrying. He carried two pistols and a knife with the sawed-off shotgun tied to a tether around his neck and dropped down the back of his shirt. He pulled his new leather jacket over the shirt and vest and stuck a pistol in one of the many pockets and the rest of his ammunition and magazines went into other pockets.
He hoped that if a cop stopped him, it wouldn’t be a rookie, because he wouldn’t know what to do and Tommy wouldn’t be able to count on him to make the right decisions.
He filled a duffle with a few of his clothes and many of María Elena’s. That woman had accumulated some clothes. Not to mention several pairs of shoes he couldn’t fit in. Reluctantly, he left his books out, and then decided otherwise. He took the Kipling and put it in one of the side saddle pockets on the motorcycle. He felt stiff and ungainly, burdened with all the weaponry and ammunition he’d stuffed in his clothing.
He felt an inordinate sense of urgency. He had to get there. Knowing the swamps and scrublands of south Florida, Tommy knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to navigate off the road, on foot or on the Harley, in the dark. But he could arrive and be infiltrating by dawn.
