by Cliff Ryder
“Are there any other questions?” The U.S. representative asked, but no one spoke. “I propose that we move to vote on the mission.”
Usually, the missions were prepared in a way that almost ensured acceptance, although there were times when the discussion ranged from polite to heated over whether Room 59
should get involved. Kate knew that the American representative had brought up business interest in Cuba as a tacit way of acknowledging that other factors were at play here. She was interested in seeing how the Chinese and Russian members would reply, since Cuba had been establishing relations with both countries after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the post–Cold War chill of the 1990s. Ultimately, the board was supposed to take a world-view of the missions that they put forward or accepted, but Kate also knew that personal or national politics could undermine even the best intentions.
For the vote, all the representatives would signal their position by activating one of two lights above their flag—
green indicated approval, red indicated disapproval.
Abstention wasn’t allowed—a representative could be for or against an action without explaining why, but there was no sitting on the sidelines.
This time, the outcome wasn’t in doubt. All of the board members flashed green.
Apparently no one wants another potential civil war breaking out—at least, not in such a high-profile area, Kate mused.
“The board votes unanimous approval of this mission.”
The lights disappeared and the U.S. flag glowed one last time. “Kate, Judy, good luck.”
The U.S. Marine, Springfield M-1 rifle at the ready and steel helmet pushed back on his head, advanced across the windswept, snowy ground, his ice-blue eyes scanning for any sign of the enemy. Upon seeing a Chinese Communist soldier, the Marine lifted his rifle and took aim. He froze in place, allowing the grunt to mow him down with ease.
“Scheisse.” Jonas tapped his keyboard in frustration. The bug in his program, a real-time computer simulation of the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir during the Korean Conflict, was preventing his units from engaging, or even reacting to a nearby enemy. Jonas had tried everything he could think of to eliminate it, but the fact was that his mind simply wasn’t on programming at the moment.
Jonas leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze wander around his sparsely furnished Munich apartment. He had told a white lie to Kate during their conversation, one he was pretty sure she had seen through. But certain things from the past simply couldn’t be revealed. He ran a hand over his close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair as he thought about the first time he had been to Cuba and what he had done there.
June 19, 1973
HIS MOUTH WAS AS DRY as the rubber raft as he approached the night-shrouded Cuban coastline. He glanced at the other members of his insertion team, each dressed from head to toe in black fatigues with HK assault rifles slung over their backs. A thousand yards out, their leader cut the engine, and the other four men broke out paddles and propelled the raft silently toward shore.
After the massacre of Israeli athletes by members of the terrorist group Black September during the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, the GSG-9 had been formed to combat terrorist actions within Germany. They had also been tasked with the top-secret mission of tracking down the remaining three members of the terrorists and either terminating them or capturing them for extradition to Israel.
Israeli intelligence had let them know that one of the survivors, Mohammed Safedy, had gone underground, and their resources had reliable information indicating he had appeared in Cuba, for reasons unknown. Jonas and his team had been airlifted to a German freighter off the Cuban coast with authorization to infiltrate the island, locate and extract Safedy. They had a twelve-hour window to accomplish their mission, so every second counted.
With powerful strokes the team made landfall, pulling the raft onto a narrow strip of rocky shore that was almost immediately swallowed by the thick jungle. Jonas got out with the rest to haul the raft ashore, but as he jumped over the gunwale into the water, his foot slipped between two rocks and he felt a sudden stab of pain shoot through his ankle.
Gritting his teeth, he didn’t make a sound, but hobbled ashore instead, still carrying his section of the raft. He tried to assist with camouflaging it, but his team leader, a small, tough man named Aurel Reinmann, noticed Jonas limping.
When he found out what had happened, he decided they would make their initial contact as scheduled, then head inland and find a spot to hole up while figuring out how to best proceed.
Their pointman, Hans, signaled that there was a dim light coming toward them. Everyone froze, and Hans and the man next to him carefully raised their rifles, aiming them at the bobbing light. Jonas extracted his brand-new HK P-9
9 mm from its holster, quietly chambering a round. His breath was fast and rapid in his ears, and he did his best to ignore the pain in his leg, straining to draw a bead on the light as it approached. The flickering light stopped, then vanished, reappeared, then vanished again. Reinmann straightened, waving at his team to stand down.
“Our contact is here.” He held up his own compact flash-light and flicked it on and off twice, waited, then flicked it on and off three times. The light answered in kind, and Reinmann motioned for Hans to go out to guide the person to them.
When the tall man returned escorting their contact, Jonas was hard-pressed to conceal his shock. The person who was to provide cover for them was a slender young woman, her hair concealed by a tightly bound kerchief, perhaps twenty years old. She didn’t smile, but looked at each man intently.
“One of my men is injured,” Reinmann said in German-accented Spanish, pointing at Jonas. “We are continuing the mission, but he will have to stay somewhere while we are gone. Can you hide him?”
The young woman glanced at Jonas, her lips tightening in a thin line at the change in plans, then nodded toward the jungle behind her. “Vámonos.”
A STEADY BEEPING SOUND made Jonas shake his head, banishing the memory back to the distant past. He thought he’d left all that behind him, buried as part of the things he’d had to do for his country. But judging by his reaction when Kate had told him where the trouble was, that wasn’t the case.
Deep down, he’d known that someday, what he had done so long ago would come back to him, and now it looked as if it was finally happening.
He had kept an eye on the country, following its slow de-cline, especially after the Soviet Union disintegrated. Information, even from government sources, slowly dried up as Castro tightened his already suffocating hold. Gradually, Jonas had turned his attention to more-pressing matters, but every so often, a part of him remembered that first mission.
He’d been a green recruit tossed halfway around the globe to a place that was completely foreign to anything he had known before. And when the chance had come to acquire a high-ranking mole in the Cuban army, he had led the operation to successfully bring the man into their fold. Now it seemed that was going to extract a price, as well.
He picked up his chirping cell phone, the tone indicating a text message was waiting. He flipped it open to read: “R59
ops room. Five minutes.”
No time like the present, he mused, slipping on his own pair of viewscreen glasses and navigating to the Room 59
virtual opps center. Two people were also logged in and Jonas nodded to Denny Talbot, the operations director for North America, and Samantha Rhys-Jones, his counterpart in the United Kingdom.
Kate and Judy appeared in the virtual space. Unlike the board meeting, people were linked face-to-face, and Jonas spotted immediately that something had gone down since he had spoken to Kate earlier that morning. Her expression was grim, her lips compressed together in a tight line. Judy, on the other hand, looked even more reserved and unflap-pable than ever, a sure sign that something was bothering her, as well, since the stoic side of her came out primarily during a conflict.
Kate started without any prelimina
ries. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice. Directors Planchard and Ramon are attending the Middle Eastern crisis conference and Director Kun is observing the China–North Korea summit meeting, so we’re it. I trust you’ve all had a chance to review the dossier on the mission that’s just been approved. It’s a two-pronged mission, with an insertion into Cuba, as well as an undercover operative going to Miami and finding out who’s behind a possible invasion.”
“Pardon my skepticism, but are we actually going on a hypothesis that someone is actually going to attempt a Bay of Pigs sequel?” Denny crossed his long legs and leaned back, cradling the back of his head in his hands. “The Cuban army can field anywhere from forty-five to sixty thousand soldiers, probably double that with conscripts, along with artillery and land armor to match, including tanks. They don’t have much of an air force nowadays, but can probably put some gunships up to pin down a force long enough for the army to engage at will. Bottom line, while they wouldn’t stand up to any first world nation, they certainly ought to be able to pound the hell out of even a sizable insurgency force.”
Jonas leaned forward. “All good points. However, based on what I’ve seen in this dossier, there is a good chance that this group of exiles will have contacted resistance cells in Cuba, and will coordinate with them around an event that would shake the government there to its very core—like an assassination.”
Denny snorted. “Of Castro? The man’s bulletproof, for god’s sake. His own head of security estimated there’s been more than six hundred attempts to kill him over the past forty years, so what makes anybody think this time will work?”
“Yes, but when something is tried six hundred times and fails, that makes those who try the next time all the more determined to succeed,” Jonas replied.
“Yeah, I’m more fond of the maxim that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” The agency director stared at the virtual ceiling. “Sounds like a lot of running around and risking necks for one missing double agent,” Denny said.
“Gentlemen, I think the main point is being missed here.”
Samantha Rhys-Jones, recruited straight from British intelligence, regarded them all with her limpid, dark brown eyes.
“As I’m sure Mr. Talbot and Mr. Schrader would agree, an invasion of Cuba will likely not resemble other fourth-generation-warfare scenarios, such as the Iraq debacle. The fact is, anyone with enough money can now field a well-equipped, suitably armed force to take over a small Third World country. If the right preparations are made—and I would certainly include assassination of the current leaders to be among those preparations—along with a sizable force already there turning against the current government, then the resulting confusion could allow the overthrow of the regime. Castro certainly accomplished that with his own ouster of the Batista regime in ’59. From what I’ve seen, so far, this threat is real and should be dealt with before it gets out of hand.”
“Thank you, Samantha.” Kate brought the meeting back on track. “Recent intel indicates that some of the army generals have grown irritated at the scaling back of the military, as well as their own reassignment to oversee the country’s economic holdings. We hadn’t any more details before we lost contact with our man. However, we believe there are groups in Cuba that are considering revolution regardless of where it might lead the country, figuring that any change is better than the status quo.”
“Which could lead to regional warlords carving the country up into spheres of influence, or an even more totali-tarian, corrupt, influence-peddling system arising, where bribes and threats are the only way to get things done—well, more so than they already are,” Denny pointed out. “While I’m as cynical as the next intelligence agent—it’s hard to believe that their current system is still the way to go.”
“As Raul Castro had begun training officers in the military in successful business techniques—before his brother shut it down—it’s not that far-fetched. Change can happen internally—look at Libya,” Samantha replied.
Kate’s gaze swept the virtual room. “We have an operative in mind to handle the insertion onto the island, but need a second to handle the Florida end of things. Denny, I expect you have someone to put forward?”
Jonas cleared his throat. “Actually, Kate, I’ve been giving this some thought, and would like to volunteer my services on the American end.”
Everyone turned to Jonas, who glanced around at each of them, returning to Kate to find her narrowed eyes locked on him. He saw Judy stiffen slightly, but didn’t let it phase him. There was something already going on that he didn’t know about, but that wasn’t his problem.
“I wasn’t aware that this was what you meant by being involved, Jonas. It’s highly irregular to let a department head undertake a field mission, especially on such short notice.” Kate’s gaze dropped to the table, and Jonas knew she was thinking furiously. “Denny, this is your theater of operations—therefore, it’s also your call.”
Now Denny leaned forward in his chair. “Sell me, Jonas.”
Jonas smiled, knowing the ex-Navy man would give him a fair shake. Kate, on the other hand, might be a different story.
“There are several advantages for me to be the point agent on this mission. First, the majority of our American agents are ex-military, and therefore listed as such on rosters everywhere, despite the agency’s best efforts to remove or suppress that information. Even with an excellent cover provided by us, the exiles will most likely be suspicious of an American wishing to provide goods or services, whereas a native German who does not appear on any foreign or domestic military service registers might have an easier time of it.”
Denny stroked his chin as he weighed the possibilities.
“What cover were you thinking of going in under? Not a mercenary?”
“If the exiles already have an existing contact with a PMC, that would simply cause unnecessary tension. But there is something that both of these groups will want for their operation.”
He glanced at Denny, who pointed his finger at Jonas and simply said, “Bang.”
“Exactly. An arms dealer will be the perfect cover, and if necessary, we can set up a ship in international waters holding the rest of my supposed wares—all with the right papers and registration, of course. Restricting this to a simple business transaction should lower their guard even further.”
“There are several vessels available to us that could serve that purpose,” Judy said. “If this moves forward, Dennis, you and I could review suitable ones after we’re done here.”
“Lastly, any agent that you send in will very likely not be familiar with Cuba, given the risks of insertion in the first place. I have been there several times—” Jonas glanced at Kate and saw the corner of her mouth quirk up in a wry smile “—and am familiar with the locations where our operative is likely to be during his investigation. I would be happy to advise in a mentoring capacity, as well on site if needed—no offense in that regard, Denny.”
“None taken. Well, Kate, I don’t know about you, but he’s got me hooked.” He looked expectantly at their director.
Jonas knew Kate was no fool, and figured she was wondering why a department head would volunteer for a mission like this when there were those who were equally or more qualified for the job. He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to her, although he wasn’t sure what he would do if she asked.
Judy broke the silence first. “What about the current operations you’re overseeing? My primary concern is if there is an emergency while you’re on assignment and you are un-available to handle your primary duties.”
Jonas had expected Kate to bring this up, but his answer was ready nonetheless. “The current assignments can be routed to headquarters, and I will have up-to-date dossiers prepared on all of them before I leave.”
Kate glanced at her liaison. “Judy brings up a good point, however. I’m still having a difficult time reconciling the idea of assigning a department head to a field mission, leaving hi
s ongoing missions in the lurch, possibly to be compromised. I have to think of what’s best for everyone, both here and in the field.”
“I have an idea.” Denny had been leafing through virtual operative dossiers while keeping one ear on the exchange.
“I think I know who you want to put into this assignment on the Cuban end—Marcus Ruiz, right?”
“He was one of several candidates on my list. However, he just finished his current assignment and was supposed to have some downtime,” Kate replied.
“Yes, there is that, and also the rather explosive way that his last mission ended, even if it was successful. Perhaps it would be a good idea for him to go into the field again, this time under the eye of a more experienced man, learn a few techniques on covert operations. Get back on the horse, so to speak. I can think of only a few better men to learn from than Jonas,” Denny said.
Samantha frowned. “From what I read, he stated that the destruction of the warehouse wasn’t his fault, given the highly volatile chemicals stored there, as well as the sabo- tage by one of the drug dealers. Do you have doubts about Mr. Ruiz’s capability to handle himself? Given the sensitive nature of this mission, perhaps it would be best to go with someone new, perhaps already in place.”
Kate shook her head. “One, it sounds like there’s no time, and two, given the high levels of secret police and infor-mants on the island, we wouldn’t know if we could trust anyone there. Regardless of his past performance, Marcus is an excellent choice. He’s an American-born Cuban, speaks the language with the proper accent and will blend in like a native, which is exactly what we want—someone who won’t arouse suspicion.”
