The Powers That Be r5-1

by Cliff Ryder

  Almost all of them. Marcus spared a look back to see two of the guards still chasing after him, shouting at him to stop.

  He ran as fast as he could down Dragones Street, hoping to lose his pursuers in the neighborhoods a few blocks away.

  The shouting alerted a pair of police officers halfway up a cross street. One joined the chase immediately while the other ran to his white Peugeot at the far end of the block.

  This just keeps getting worse, Marcus thought. Reaching an intersection, he turned right, looking for smaller side streets where he could lose his pursuers in the urban maze. If the police car caught up with him, however, he was done.

  He was still on what looked like a main street, with scattered pockets of people walking along the sides of the road, past brightly colored shops. The only good thing so far, he thought, was that no one seemed the least bit interested in assisting the police in stopping him. Marcus bolted into an intersection and heard the blast of a horn as a pristine 1959

  purple-and-white Chevy screeched to a halt, its chrome bumper mere inches from his leg.

  In for a pound, in for a ton, he thought. Although he knew that car theft was a serious offense in Cuba, it was better than the absolute jail time he’d get if caught right now.

  Going to the driver’s door, he yanked it open and grabbed the driver by the hair, pulling him out with a startled yell.

  “Sorry, señor, ” Marcus apologized as he slid behind the wheel and floored it, shooting across the intersection just as the security and police came pounding around the corner.

  He heard the rising siren of the police car, and concentrated on losing the cops as quickly as possible.

  He crossed the intersection and drove for another block, then turned left onto a smaller street, praying that he wouldn’t encounter another vehicle coming the opposite way, as there was barely enough room for his car. At the next corner he took a right, then went two more blocks and turned left again, heading deeper into the decaying heart of Old Havana. He slowed, trying to maintain the speed limit and look as if he was driving casually. The siren mocked him with its closeness, but he hadn’t seen the police car behind him yet, and figured he was about to make his escape.

  But as he turned right down a narrow street, he found the way blocked by another white Peugeot, its lone blue light whirling as it slowly advanced. Marcus heard the howl of an approaching siren from behind him, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The engine groaned in protest, making the entire car vibrate as it was pushed to a speed it probably hadn’t seen in decades. The two officers’ jaws dropped as he approached. They held up their hands as if they could stop his charge by force of will alone. Marcus said a silent apol-ogy to the car and its owner again as the distance rapidly shrank between the two vehicles.

  With a jarring crunch of glass, plastic and metal, the speeding Chevy rammed into the French hatchback, sending the lighter car careening back into the intersection. Other than the bone-shaking impact, the Chevy didn’t seem remotely affected by the crash, although Marcus was sure he had caused some cosmetic damage. He wrenched the wheel sideways, breaking his car free from the police vehicle, and took off down the street. At the nearest intersection he turned left, then right at the next, then left again, driving into an even seedier part of town. At the first street that didn’t have anyone on it, he pulled into an alley so narrow he couldn’t open the car doors. He turned off the car, rolled the window down and slid out. He waited a few minutes before walking down the alley to the other end and strolling casually away.

  He tensed as another police car sped past him, its siren wail-ing, but it didn’t slow down or give him a second glance.

  That was too close, Marcus thought. He scratched his head, thinking he’d have to change his appearance to avoid suspicion, as enough people had gotten a look at him to put out a general description to the police. But first he had to put as much distance between himself and the scene as possible.

  As he walked, he palmed his cell phone and scrolled through the information he had gleaned from the hotel’s computer. On the next-to-last file was Major Damason Valdes’s personal information, including his parents, father unknown, mother deceased, along with a home address in Havana.

  Marcus smiled as he read the information. I wonder if Ms. Uptight would have thought any of that fell under my mission parameters.

  I have to admit, a man could certainly get used to this, Jonas thought.

  He stood on the sundeck of the Deep Water, sipping a weak whisky and water—he had to stay in character, after all—and enjoyed the magnificent sunset. Above the placid water, the sky was aflame in hues of red, orange, gold and pink as the sun slowly sank. The faint cries of circling seagulls and the tang of salt in the air added to the relaxed atmosphere.

  “Nice view, isn’t it?” Karen appeared behind him, clad in a stunning one-piece white swimsuit that revealed enough of her slender body to start any man’s thoughts drifting. She held another highball glass, which she clinked against his.

  “An ill-gotten penny for your thoughts.”

  Jonas was dressed for his role, too, wearing a cream linen shirt, beige linen slacks and hand-woven Italian loafers. His sunglasses were the same Christian Diors and around his wrist was a sleek NOMOS Glashütte watch. “I was just thinking if this is what the criminals are enjoying, I may have chosen the wrong profession.”

  “Are you suggesting that saving a nation, or the world, doesn’t have its perks?” Karen asked with a sly grin.

  “So far, I think working with you has been the best thing about this mission.” Jonas’s grin faded as he saw a white dot appear on the horizon. It quickly grew into the same Tiara yacht he’d used to drop Marcus off near Cuba two days earlier.

  He saw three men and one woman on board. “Almost show time.”

  Karen pressed one side of her pair of designer sunglasses.

  “Target is approaching. Everyone assume their positions.”

  The entire nine-person crew of the Deep Water was composed of Room 59 trainees in their final weeks of course work. Jonas and Karen had pulled a few strings and got them on board as part of their training to handle undercover situa-tions. For the most part, they were to carry out whatever their assigned crew duties were, and nothing more unless either Jonas or Karen ordered otherwise.

  The pleasure boat approached the rear of the larger vessel, and was met by two crew members in white shirts and navy shorts. In the cockpit was Rafael Castilo, his bodyguard and two more members of the crew, a young man and woman.

  Jonas had requested that this particular pair pick up the businessman to set his mind more at ease. He was sure that either of them could have handled the bodyguard, if it had come to that.

  The massive man exited the boat first, inspecting, checking everywhere, one hand near his holstered side arm without being too obvious about it. Jonas raised his appraisal of the man another notch. “I’m surprised he allowed Castilo to come here at all. They’re outnumbered five to one, with limited escape or evasion avenues,” he said quietly.

  “Maybe he’s just that confident,” Karen said.

  “Maybe. Would you do me a favor and see about dinner?

  I should greet our guest.”

  “You just want me to make a suitably distracting entrance later, don’t you? On the upper deck?”

  Jonas smiled. “Right. That’s why men will never win the gender wars—women are too adept at reading our simple minds.”

  Jonas walked down the narrow set of stairs to the aft deck. “Rafael, so good to see you.” He nodded at Castilo’s protector, as well. “I trust the ride over was pleasant.”

  Castilo sighed, glowering at his bodyguard. “Once we got aboard, things were very comfortable, but nothing like this.”

  The businessman looked around with the nonchalance of the very rich. “This is a magnificent vessel.” His comment was more of a formality than anything else.

  “I’m sure she must pale in comparison to others in the area, a
nd in the Mediterranean she’s practically a rowboat,”

  Jonas said.

  “I’m sure she holds her own. What’s her speed, twenty knots?”

  “Twenty-one is the standard. Perhaps you’d like to enjoy a short cruise after our meal. It’s a bit late for the sunset, but I’ve had a light supper prepared.”

  “We’ll see. I noticed that your boat hasn’t docked in the harbor over the past few days.” His tone made the statement more of a question.

  “I find the harbor a bit claustrophobic when I’m here.

  Also, I don’t wish to draw too much attention to my comings and goings, which is why I prefer to stay out here and com-mute in when necessary.”

  “Of course—the better to discuss business, yes?” Castilo said.

  Jonas allowed himself a small, satisfied nod. “Quite.

  Shall we?”

  He followed Castilo and his bodyguard to the upper aft deck, where service for four had been laid out on a round, cloth-covered table. As they approached, the sliding-glass doors opened and Karen stepped out. She had wrapped a colorful flower-printed sarong around her waist, offering tantalizing glimpses of her tanned legs. “You remember Joanne?”

  “Impossible to forget.” Castilo lifted her hand to his lips, gazing at her all the while.

  Karen returned his direct look without blinking. “Thank you, Rafael. It is a pleasure to be appreciated once in a while.” She shot Jonas a half kidding, half serious look.

  “Dinner is almost ready, gentlemen.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Jonas turned back to Castilo and gestured to his guardian. “Are you— I’m sorry, I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced.” He held out his hand to the bodyguard, who looked down at it for a second before taking it and shaking, his grip firm but not crushing.

  “You can call me Theodore.”

  “And I am Ferdinand. Please, join us. There’s no need to be on the clock out here. I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if my potential clients kept meeting with accidents,” he said with a genuine smile. “Besides, I always enjoy the company of someone who may have used some of my wares at one time.”

  Theodore’s eyes flicked to his boss, who nodded almost imperceptibly. The quartet sat down, with Castilo seated to the right of Karen, who sat next to Jonas. Theodore took the fourth chair. Jonas glanced just for a second at the tropical floral arrangement in the middle of the table and the tiny camera that was recording everything Castilo said, along with every move he made.

  Two crew members came out, bearing bowls of spicy conch chowder that they set in front of each person. The soup was followed by a light salad, then medallions of beef in a port-wine reduction, accompanied by lobster tails and drawn butter.

  When he saw the main course, Castilo chuckled. “Let me get this straight. You consider surf and turf to be a light supper?”

  Jonas raised his glass of wine. “What can I say—I’m German. To us, this is a light supper.” His tone was light, but it was Karen’s enthusiastic nod that made everyone laugh, even eliciting a brief smile from Theodore.

  Throughout the meal, Castilo was charming and gregari-ous, whether he was flirting with Karen or holding his own on every topic, domestic or otherwise, brought up at the table. The strange thing was that Jonas could almost see himself liking this man. He was intelligent, quick-witted and showed a streak of ruthlessness that a successful businessman had to have to survive in today’s harsh economic world.

  Although his tone was light, Jonas sensed he was impatient to get to the real reason they were there. However, Jonas continued his role of expansive, relaxed host, knowing that the longer Rafael had to wait, the more eager he would be to move the deal forward.

  And besides, it’s not like this delay is all bad for him, either, he thought, glancing at his fellow operative. Karen was her usual radiant self, playing Jonas’s slightly bored mistress of the ship. She bloomed under Castilo’s compliments and did her best to wrap him around her finger.

  She also sulked just a bit when Jonas gently admonished her for being too forward with their guest, but all was quickly forgiven by dessert, a flourless chocolate cake that resembled a dense mousse, accompanied by Gua-temalan coffee.

  Theodore, on the other hand, accomplished the unusual task of dining while barely looking at his plate. His manners were impeccable, and his dishes were as clean as if he had once served time—which Jonas expected he had—and wasn’t about to waste a single bite of food ever again.

  Jonas attempted to draw him out in conversation, as well, but his replies were polite but closed. He apparently considered himself still on duty. He did not drink in Karen with his eyes, as most red-blooded men did, but observed her dispassionately, as another possible threat to his employer.

  He also kept a close eye on the servers every time a course was presented or cleared. Between the two men, Jonas was more concerned about projecting the right image to Theodore—that of a successful black market businessman.

  He figured Theodore had most likely traveled in circles closer to Heinemann’s, and therefore would also probably be more suspicious than Castilo. His overall impression, like at their first meeting, was that Theodore would be a good one to watch your back. That could make things prob-lematic down the line if he really was as good as he appeared to be.

  The sun had long disappeared by the time they had finished, and Castilo patted his stomach in contentment.

  “Thank you for an excellent meal.”

  Jonas patted the armrest of his chair. “When my crew brings her over from the Mediterranean, I always make sure that a top chef is aboard, as well. Now, how about an after-dinner drink?”

  Castilo’s eyes lit up. “That would be excellent.”

  “I’ll join you,” Karen said, rising.

  “Not this time, I’m afraid, my dear. Rafael and I have some business to discuss, and you would be so dreadfully bored,” Jonas said.

  She pouted, the expression doing delightful things to her full lips. “Someday, I swear, I’m going to make you go a whole day without discussing business.” She stepped over and gave Castilo an expansive hug. “It was a pleasure seeing you again. Please give my regards to Javier. I do hope I will have the chance to see her again.”

  “I’m sure she would enjoy that, my dear. You are, as always, enchanting to the last. Buenos noches. ”

  “Good night.” She pecked Jonas on the cheek and flounced into the saloon, the sarong swirling around her legs.

  The three men watched her go, Castilo with a sly smile curling his lips. “She appears to be quite a handful.”

  Jonas smiled. “Sometimes my dear Joanne requires both, but she is nothing I cannot handle.” He motioned to the stairs behind them. “Shall we?”

  He led the two men to the upper saloon, now softly lit by recessed lighting. On a low table in the center of the room sat a long olive-green aluminum box with rounded corners, with the metal security bands intact. It was stamped with Rocket Ammunition With Explosive Projectile on the top and the letters FRD on the end.

  Castilo’s eyes widened when he saw the case. Jonas smiled. “Would you care for something from the bar?”

  “In a minute. Our business has waited long enough.”

  Jonas walked to the table and stood in front of the case.

  “Rafael, before I show you what I have to offer, I want you to know one thing. I meant what I said yesterday. My business may seem motivated simply by greed, and on the whole in-different to the suffering of humanity, but I view my services as providing necessary equipment to people. I do so in the hope that, should they have to resort to using force, the munitions I supply may shorten, or even prevent a conflict if possible.”

  Castilo listened to his words with a slight frown. “I have met many businessmen, each with their own reasons for doing what they do. However, this is the first time I’ve ever met an arms dealer with a heart of gold.”

  Shrugging, Jonas walked over and picked up a small wire cutter, offering i
t to the other man. “As you can see, these haven’t even been taken out of their shipping crates. I thought you’d like to do the honors so you can see for yourself that everything is intact.”

  While Castilo eyed the long metal box with interest, he shook his head. “I will confess that I do not have your experience in these matters. If you please?”

  “My pleasure.” Jonas walked to one side of the box and pointed to a hexagonal metal disk at the end. There was a circle inside the disk divided into four blue sections by two crossed black lines. “As you will see, the humidity indica- tor shows that this box has not been tampered with. That shows that this system has not been opened or repackaged.”

  “Perhaps, but the true proof is in seeing what’s inside with my own eyes,” Castilo replied.

  Jonas unlocked the heavy metal padlocks on each closure and removed them, then broke the wire seal between the lid and the bottom of the case and opened it. Nestled within was the finned tube of a missile launcher. “Gentlemen, this is the FIM-92A Stinger-RMP Block I surface-to-air missile. Approximately fifteen and a half kilograms when loaded, with a speed of Mach 2.2 plus, a ceiling of three miles and a range of eight miles, it is suitable for engaging all types of low-flying air- or rotorcraft.”

  Castilo and Theodore walked over to the case and stared at the innocuous length of metal and plastic inside. Theodore broke the silence first. “Where are the gripstocks? Normally those are shipped separately.”

  Jonas nodded. “If you’ll check under the table, there is another case that contains the gripstock with its integral Identify Friend or Foe circuitry. Each weapon system is sold with five missile rounds apiece, along with the necessary instructions for use.”

  Theodore pulled on a pair of thin black leather gloves and slid out a smaller green metal case, opening it to verify Jonas’s words. “And the battery systems are fully operational?”

  “Absolutely. However, I hope you’ll excuse me if I do not propose a demonstration at this time.”

  “What about end-user certificates?”