The Powers That Be r5-1

by Cliff Ryder

  He let the man come at him, the blade slicing within inches of his stomach before he grabbed his wrist and turned into the attack so that they were side by side for a moment.

  Marcus pulled the man’s arm forward as he planted his left foot and yanked him off balance. His opponent twisted around Marcus’s hip, slamming to the ground, his flying feet cracking into his partner’s face, sending him back down, as well.

  Marcus twisted the knife out of his attacker’s hand and kicked it away, then glanced back to make sure the woman had gotten up and away. He didn’t see her, but couldn’t tell if she had escaped or been taken by the government agitators. What mattered now was that he got out of there fast.

  Hearing sirens in the distance, he released the still-prone man and trotted away, losing himself in the rest of the scattered crowd before either of the two could get up to pursue him. Even though the plaza was large and open, Marcus made it to the edge of the area and walked calmly to an alley, which he immediately ran down, in case anyone was follow- ing him. Twisting and turning down the narrow roads and paths between the buildings, he didn’t attract any more attention. He looked like just any of the hundreds of people who had run from the plaza moments ago.

  Several blocks away, Marcus slowed to a walk and strolled down a thoroughfare, calming his rapid breathing and bringing his heartbeat back under control. Checking his watch, he saw that there were a few hours before he could check in with his findings. I should try to find Valdes’s home—he’s got to get off duty sometime. Or maybe it would be best let things die down around here first.

  Spotting a cantina ahead, Marcus ducked into it and ordered a mojito, tipping generously. He sipped the sweet, tart drink and leaned against the wall as he watched white police Peugeots scream down the road toward the Plaza de la Revolución.

  Jonas drew on his cigar again before answering. “You are a very suspicious man. Surely you’re not going to risk ruining this fine cigar by making me drop it on the floor after your man shoots me for no good reason,” he said calmly.

  Castilo exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “I hope that won’t be necessary. Just call him my insurance. After all, it’s not every day that someone who moves in your particular business circles and someone who moves in mine come together. When it happens, I consider it more than just chance.”

  Jonas savored his Cohiba—no matter what, Castilo did have excellent taste in cigars—and leaned back in the leather seat, resting one arm on the back of the seat. “That’s a fine-looking pistol. I hope you take care of it,” he said to the bodyguard.

  “Well enough to handle you if necessary,” the bodyguard agreed affably in a deep voice. There was no menace in his tone. Like any professional, he simply stated his intent.

  “A S&W 1911 .45ACP, the scandium alloy model, to cut down on the weight. Eight rounds plus one in the pipe, and I see you’ve modified it with the Crimson Trace grips—how do you like it?” Jonas asked.

  The bodyguard lifted the pistol again, keeping his finger away from the trigger, but putting enough pressure on the checkered rubber handgrips to activate the laser sight, which speared Jonas’s chest with a small red dot. “I do a two-inch group at twenty-five yards, but at this distance, it would be considerably messier.”

  “Not to mention what those slugs would do to my jacket, the seat and possibly your employer’s driver, as well,” Jonas replied.

  “I have no doubt that when the smoke cleared, William would be just fine in the front seat, while you, no doubt, would be much less so. But I didn’t invite you here to make idle threats, so I’ll ask you again. Why have you sought me out, Mr. Heinemann?” Castilo said.

  “First, I want you to know that I did not mislead you during our conversation inside. I am in the import-export business, and I am very interested in bringing organized greyhound racing back with me to Germany. I also meant what I said about you and I—the type of people we are. And I think you were just playing me in front of everyone else,” Jonas said.

  “Speculating, that’s all you’re doing right now. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m a businessman, nothing more. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” Castilo motioned to the bodyguard, who holstered his pistol and opened the door, letting the bright Florida sun-shine lance into the dark interior of the car.

  Jonas reached out and pulled the car door closed. “I wasn’t finished. In the course of my other business, I kept hearing rumors, hearsay, call it what you will, about a major operation that will be happening somewhere in the Caribbean, and soon. As a businessman, much like yourself, I heard enough different people saying the same things that I decided to come to Florida and see what I could find out for myself.”

  “And who told you such a thing might occur?” Castilo asked.

  Jonas held up a finger. “I’m afraid that I cannot reveal my sources. However, they were acquaintances of Mr. Pierre Lalond, late of Florida, before his unfortunate departure for less pleasant climes.”

  “Oh? And if I were to mention the name Sahak Sohan, it wouldn’t be unfamiliar to you?” Castilo asked, mentioning another prominent arms dealer.

  “It is difficult to do anything in certain circles without hearing about him. He is one of the best at his profession, of course.”

  Castilo exchanged glances with his bodyguard. “You claim to be a businessman, yet I see something else. You know what happened to Pierre, and I think you’ve come to Miami to take advantage of the vacuum he has left behind.”

  “I’ve always said that good business is where you find it.

  In this case, it seems that Miami—and perhaps places farther south—would be very good for business, indeed.”

  Castilo fixed Jonas with a sharp stare, as if trying to see through him. For his part, Jonas tried to look as relaxed as possible. He had played out his line, baited the hook with just enough suggestion; now all that remained was to see if Castilo was hooked.

  “Let’s say that I knew someone who had need of your other services. Why wouldn’t you simply contact them directly?” Castilo asked.

  “To paraphrase Sahak, everything in this business is done either through a middleman or a government. I don’t think this kind of operation would be sanctioned by any government. Therefore, a private organization is handling it. And, while I know many, there are just as many that I don’t know, and therefore require an introduction from someone that both sides trust.”

  Castilo chuckled. “Oh, so you trust me already, do you?”

  He nodded toward his bodyguard. “Let’s not forget who was recently holding the pistol.”

  “Would you really have ordered me killed, in your car, after dozens of witnesses saw us talking in the restaurant together? Excuse my directness, but I don’t believe I was ever in any danger.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I have resources here, and your disappearance could be attributed to any number of possibilities.”

  Before Jonas could answer, his cell phone rang. He opened his suit jacket to reveal no weapon. “With your permission?”

  Castilo waved a hand. Jonas opened his tiny phone. “Yes?

  Yes, my dear, we’re just finishing our conversation.… I’ve been enjoying a very good cigar with Mr. Castilo.… Of course, I’ll be out in just a moment.… Yes, please bring the Porsche around.” He snapped the phone closed and held it up. “She does love the toys. So, would you be eliminating my companion, as well?”

  “It would be a shame for that to happen to one as lovely as she.” Castilo smiled and tilted his head to one side, as if considering. “Very well, for her sake.”

  “Maybe I’ll let her know that she saved me from a fate worse than death,” Jonas said as he reached for the door handle.

  Castilo frowned. “I thought we weren’t finished with our conversation.”

  “Mr. Castilo, I have presented as much to you as I am willing to at this time. Now it is up to you to decide what you wish to do with this information, whether it can help you, or whether you
decide to ignore it, in which case may I say this afternoon has been a pleasure.” He started to get out of the car, but paused as if considering something. “Do whatever checking you need to do into my transactions. I’m sure you will find plenty of people willing to recommend my services.” He extended a business card. “My cell number, should you change your mind. Perhaps we can have drinks on my yacht and discuss this further. My man makes a killer Stinger.”

  Jonas stared into Castilo’s eyes as he spoke, and was rewarded by a raised eyebrow. “And if I had some very thirsty friends?” the Cuban asked.

  “Oh, he could make at least fifty if necessary, ten pitchers’ worth.”

  Castilo nodded as he digested this new information, and Jonas knew he had him. “As I said, give it some thought. I’m in town for the next week. Enjoy your afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Jonas left the car and strolled to the purring, sleek, silver Porsche 911 Turbo. He felt Costilo’s stare on his back as he walked to the passenger side and got in, relaxing in the air-conditioned interior.

  “Enjoy your cigar?” Karen asked as they pulled away.

  Jonas carefully tapped it out in the ashtray. “It would be a shame to waste such a fine Cohiba. But yes, I think we’re in. All I have to do now is wait for his call.” He turned to look at her through his Dior sunglasses. “How would you feel about a little ocean cruise tomorrow?”

  Damason maneuvered his Lada into the cramped parking lot of the temporary headquarters his army unit was sharing with the police while they were working together. His head buzzed with what he had just seen—the protest in the plaza and the government’s typically heavy-handed response. But what excited him even more was what was safely stowed in a place that only he knew about. The Dragunov.

  That, more than anything, was proof that what he was involved in was real, that the plan was actually happening.

  Until now, it had seemed to be the airy dreams of people living far away, in the United States, who, try as they might, could not truly affect what was happening in Cuba. But when he had held that solid weapon in his hands, the reality had sunk in. The architects of the operation to free Cuba had the ability to smuggle this weapon into the country and guide him to it. That was power. And with that power behind him, Damason could take that next crucial step toward freeing his homeland. A step closer to making sure that no matter what his people had to say about their government, they could say it freely, without fear of reprisal.

  Not like that afternoon, where he had been forced to escort his commander away from the plaza, leaving the protesters to suffer under the clenched fists and heavy boots of the progovernment men. Damason had brought up the idea of having the army oversee demonstrations as a way to keep the peace once, but it had been shot down immediately. His superiors said those who weren’t happy with the way things were got what they deserved. Damason hadn’t been surprised at this callous attitude. He had always known that his commanding officers used the system to get whatever they wanted.

  He walked into the stifling building to find Garcia inside the door, greeting him with a crisp salute. “Sir, the women have been transported to a safehouse and the efforts to re-unite them with their families are ongoing. Several have already been put in contact with their various embassies.”

  “Excellent. How is the peacock taking this?”

  “If anger was gunpowder, there would only be a smoking crater where Sergeant Lopez-Famosa y Fernandez stands right now.”

  “I cannot say I am disappointed that he will not get to take his usual gratuity for rescuing those women.”

  “Also, Colonel Hermosa is in your office, and has requested that you be brought to him immediately regarding a matter of utmost importance.”

  Damason didn’t check his stride, but frowned at Garcia.

  “Unusual.” Normally Hermosa couldn’t be pried out of his office chair, preferring to give orders by telephone from the comfort of his plush office near the plaza. “He gave no indication as to what it was regarding?”

  “No, sir.”

  Damason halted at his office door. “Well, I’ll find out soon enough. Dismissed, Sergeant.” He paused, gathering his thoughts and reassuming the guise of a loyal Communist revolutionary before knocking on the door.

  “Enter.”

  Damason opened the door and beheld Colonel Alejandro Armenteros y Hermosa coming dangerously close to pul-verizing his wooden chair. His sweating, corpulent body was stuffed into his tailored uniform, making him look like a beach ball swathed in olive green that had sprouted flabby arms and legs and was topped by a florid, pudgy face.

  “Ah, Major, come in, come in. Please, close the door.”

  Damason did, although already he could hardly stand the odor in the room. He knew even if he aired it for the rest of the day, it would still smell. Swallowing, he came to attention and saluted, his hand faltering a little as he realized that the leg of his desk was askew, leaning to one side, as if it was about to come off. The fat pig must have sat on it! he thought, alarmed. If the desk did came apart, and Hermosa found the phone, it would all be over. Even Hermosa wasn’t that stupid that he couldn’t put two and two together. All Damason could do was try to keep his superior’s eyes from wandering over the desk. “¡Sí, mi coronel!”

  “Yes, yes, at ease. What I’m about to tell you is to not go beyond this room, do you understand?”

  Damason nodded. Hermosa loved the sound of his own voice and Damason had learned early on to just shut up and let the man speak. He tried not to betray his discomfort as Hermosa leaned forward, planting his pudgy elbows on the creaking desk.

  “Given the unpleasantness after today’s speech in the plaza, our comandante has decided to take a short trip to inspect some of the agricultural holdings of the people. He wishes to ensure that the people all over our great country are still committed to the revolution.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Here is the itinerary of the trip. Because of your ex-emplary service in Havana recently, I am assigning you the task of coordinating security with the other provinces that our leader will be traveling in. You may select one other man from your brigade to assist you.”

  A broad smile crossed Damason’s face as he gave his crispest salute. “It will be my pleasure, Colonel!”

  “Good, good. I knew I could rely on you, Major.” With a wheeze, the colonel pried himself out of Damason’s seat, pulling himself up using the desk, which groaned under the pressure. “Let me know if you need anything for the detail, and I will see what I can provide. Also, you should really get this desk fixed. It looks like it is about to fall apart.”

  With that, he waddled out of the room, leaving an exhil-arated Damason in his odiferous wake. The major closed his door, suddenly uncaring about the cloying odor left in his office, or how close he had come to being caught. He locked the door and leaned against it in dizzy exultation.

  Truly, God is on our side, for who else would deliver my people’s enemy to me in this manner? he thought. He walked to his desk and sat there for a moment. Then he wrenched the desk to one side, grabbed the cell phone and battery pack, fit them together and tried to control his shaking hands long enough to dial a familiar number to deliver the wonderful news.

  Kate paced back and forth in front of her Perceptive Pixel touch screen, which, along with her viewglasses, was one of the most vital pieces of technology she used. Taking up most of one wall in her office, the huge screen enabled her to keep track of various ongoing operations around the world without having to spend twelve hours a day in virtual reality. She could manipulate between operations, bring up data files at a glance, move things around in 3-D and connect almost anyone in the organization to anyone else, all just by touching the screen.

  But as impressive as it was, she knew no technology was a substitute for eyes on the ground. While she could use the touch screen to zoom in on a city block in downtown Mos-cow if she wanted, or order a Predator III UAV launched anywhere in the world in about an hour, without the context from someone who
knew exactly what was going on, all of that data was just that—pictures or bits of information that were useless without the right interpretation.

  She returned to the screen and was about to review status reports from the Southeast Asia sector when the entire screen flashed green, indicating that field operatives were reporting in. Kate drew four windows on the screen and connected to all of them. The faces of Judy, Jonas and Marcus filled three of the screens, with the fourth available to display other information as necessary.

  “This is Primary. Everyone have clear access?” she asked.

  There were nods and murmurs of assent. “All right,Alpha, due to your narrow window, let’s proceed with your report first.”

  Marcus had already uploaded his digital film file for analysis. “I knew there was a weekly address by the government at their usual place. When I went to observe, I found our subject there as part of the assembly. I did not have the opportunity to make contact with him, as the event was disrupted by protesters demonstrating against the government. They were met by progovernment forces, and some violence ensued—”

  “Yes, we saw that.” Judy sounded like a cat about to catch a mouse. “Also, your footage showed that you took part in the riot. Care to explain how that happened?”

  “Per SOP, I attempted to leave the area, but was attacked by two agitators and was forced to defend myself before I could exit the area,” Marcus said.

  “Yet the first person that you struck had his back to you and looked to be engaged in attacking a civilian—not a threat to you at all,” Judy said.

  This time there was a pause before Marcus answered. “I took the appropriate actions necessary to leave the area.”

  “And put your cover and your mission at risk by getting involved in local matters that were not part of your objective.”

  “I wasn’t about to stand by and let an innocent person get stomped into the ground for doing what she felt was right!”

  “Alpha, that is exactly the kind of behavior that we cannot tolerate on assignment—” Judy began.