“My suitcase was left in the helicopter.”
For the first time that morning, Costa spoke. “It’s in one of the storage closets.”
“Good, that means we do not need to waste time. I know you have spent a great deal of time in airplanes lately, but I’m afraid you must take another long trip.”
“Where?”
“I suppose it doesn’t hurt for you to know. You and your family are relocating to Iran.”
“And if I refuse to go?”
Santi laughed. “You speak as if you have a choice.”
“I’m not afraid to die.”
Santi set down his fork and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “You’re testing me, Dr. Cenobio, and that is not a wise thing to do. Why do you suppose we’ve enlisted the help of your wife and children?” He leaned back in the chair. “A man will die for his principles, but very few men will sacrifice their children. You will go and you will cooperate every step of the way. I have no doubt of that.”
“You didn’t enlist my family; you abducted them.” Hector’s courage eroded with each comment Santi made. “People will look for me.”
“As if that matters. Once you are in Iran, no one will find you unless our friends wish it to be so.”
“They’re your friends, not mine.”
Santi returned to his meal. “That distinction doesn’t matter, now does it?”
“It matters to me.”
“If you say so. Now I suggest you eat. It might be sometime before you sit again before a meal of such quality.”
“I prefer to be hungry.”
“As you wish.”
Wishing wouldn’t help. Hector preferred prayer, but at the moment not even that seemed to help.
* * *
MOYER’S MIND MOVED LIKE a brakeless freight train on a steep downhill grade. Ops Command had taken several hours to reply to his report about what was written on the comic book in Estevez’s restaurant.
Command’s research brought some answers. Hector Cenobio was an expert in the recycling of spent nuclear fuel, a noble goal at its heart but one with serious consequences in the wrong hands.
Rich grimaced. “I didn’t get very high marks in science. What makes Cenobio such hot stuff.”
They sat in the outdoor area of a nearby coffee shop, sipping thick espresso and lattes. Pete and Caraway were missing, as they manned the surveillance truck. The whole team needed rest, but circumstances kept getting in the way. Only Pete, whom Moyer had ordered to spend the day resting from his injuries, had more than a couple hours of sleep. This morning he had convinced Moyer he was fit for duty, at least for sitting and watching computer monitors.
“As I understand it,” Moyer said. “Spent nuclear fuel from power plants can be reprocessed and used again in a different kind of power plant. The problem is the recycled fuel is rich in plutonium, which can be used to make bombs.”
“And Cenobio has created a new way of doing this,” Jose added.
“So the woman and kids are Cenobio’s family?” J.J. asked.
“That’s our best guess. Command thinks—and I agree with them—that we’re not looking at an al-Qaeda training facility; we’re seeing the abduction of someone who can help … others … obtain high-grade plutonium.” Moyer didn’t want to use the word Iran in public.
“Man,” Rich said, “I didn’t see that coming.”
Moyer sipped his espresso. “I’ve told Command that I’m moving us to Certain-Jeopardy status.” He gave his men time to process this. They all knew too well that the Certain-Jeopardy designation was used only in the case of a serious threat to national security. And it changed the formal rules of engagement. They were now on more than a covert intelligence-gathering mission; they were cleared to take direct and forceful action to minimize—or eliminate—the threat to the U.S.
Moyer continued. “Command is sending a shooter team, but I don’t think they’ll arrive in time. From the look of things, the bad guys will move Cenobio as soon as possible. From what you tell me, J.J., it doesn’t look like they plan to stay in the building very long.”
“We didn’t see much in the way of supplies. They don’t even have cots to sleep on. If they were in for the long haul, I’d expect to see more evidence of it.”
Moyer noticed J.J.’s speech came unevenly. He and everyone on the team knew why Command would send a shooter team: Their job would be to make sure Cenobio never made it to Iran. By lethal force, if necessary. “Okay. We need to be ready to go on a moment’s notice. This changes our exit strategy. I need everyone at his best. I don’t need to tell you this can go bad in a heartbeat. Got it?”
The team members nodded.
“Okay, let’s get to work. Jose, you sit for a minute. I want to talk to you.” After J.J. and Rich left, Moyer leaned over the table and stared hard into Jose’s eyes. “Your flight leaves in two hours.
Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Are you going to make me order you to get on that plane?”
Jose nodded. “I’m afraid so, but I’m hoping you won’t.”
“Your wife needs you.”
“Don’t you think I know that, Boss? Every second that passes makes my insides melt some more. I want to be there for her, but I need to be here. Now that we know what’s at stake, it’s even more important that you have a full team.”
“Jose—”
“I know I may lose my wife or the baby or both, and if that happens, I’ll never forgive myself. But if something goes south on this mission, if that woman and two children are killed because I’m not here to do my job, that will be something else I can’t forgive myself for. Let me stay until my replacement arrives. Not that it matters. I don’t think we have that much time.”
Moyer agreed, but he wouldn’t give Jose the satisfaction of saying so. The problem was this: Jose was right. Moyer did need every man, especially now that the mission objective had been changed to a kill-or-capture effort.
Jose took another stab at convincing Moyer. “I know it’s your call, but let me ask this: Haven’t you ever bent the rules to work a mission? I don’t mean you’ve defied orders or anything, just that you would go as far as you can to make the mission a success no matter what it cost?”
Moyer didn’t want to answer this. Knowing that he might have a serious medical condition should have prompted him to step down as team leader until a full diagnosis could be made. He didn’t. He had gone on this mission as if nothing were wrong. “This goes against my better judgment, but I’ll allow it.”
“Great.”
“No, it’s not great. It’s wrong on so many levels, but you’re right about us not having much time. So here’s the deal: If your wife blames me for your not being there, I will hit you in the throat. If my wife divorces me over this, I will find you and hit you in the throat. If I get in trouble with the brass, then—”
“Let me guess. You’ll hit me in the throat?”
“Twice.” Moyer lowered his eyes. “It’s your call, Doc.”
CHAPTER 36
MOYER FELT LIKE A man juggling chain saws—one mistake and you were toast. He and Rich sat on a patio on the south side of the hotel. The sun continued its climb up the sky as if it couldn’t be bothered with the little things of human beings including abductions, nuclear terrorism, colon cancer, and the dying wife of one of his team members. The fact that he sat in comfort while two children and a woman were locked in the bathroom of an industrial building added several tons of guilt to his shoulders.
The hours between breakfast and lunch had left the patio empty, granting them freedom of speech. Nonetheless they kept their voices low. Moyer took a sip of coffee. He had had more coffee since sunrise than ever before and was sick of it. Rich glanced at a newspaper, although he couldn’t understand most of the words. The paper was for affect. To an outsider they looked like two travelers enjoying a morning of leisure.
“How do you see it?” Moyer asked.
Rich didn’t look up from the p
aper. “The situation is fragmented. We have players in different locations without a clear idea of their next move. We could rescue the woman without much trouble, but doing so could jeopardize the new mission. We take the bad guys out, which keeps them from reporting in, and we never see Cenobio.”
“And if we wait, the hostages could die. I assume they’re being kept alive for a reason. Maybe Cenobio refuses to cooperate without first seeing his family.”
Rich nodded. “We’re also split up. We’ve got Pete and Caraway in the van and due to be relieved soon. J.J. and Doc are resting because you ordered them to hit the rack and, truth be told, Boss, you should be sacked out too. When did you sleep last?”
Moyer shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been a while.” He thought for a moment. “We don’t have a handle on this. Not by a long shot. We have to get more proactive. If they made their move right now, all we’d have is Pete and Caraway trying to keep track of things.”
“Agreed.”
“You know the hardest mission in the world, Rich?”
“Knowing you have to do something and having to wait to do it?”
“Bingo,” Moyer said. His intestines hurt. He was experiencing more discomfort every day. He had no idea what was going on inside him, but he could tell it wasn’t good.
“We know who the family is. Ops Command got back to us pretty quick on that.”
“I imagine they’ve been reading everything they can find on Cenobio. No doubt one of the spook agencies came up with a family photo.” Moyer pushed the coffee cup aside.
“So what are the possibilities?” Rich asked. “They bring Cenobio to the building, then move the family to some other location where they hook up with Cenobio and his captors. Or they—”
“Kill the family. I’m not sure I can live with that.”
“Not much you can do, Boss. Ops Command said to sit tight and wait for the shooter team.”
“Doc doesn’t think we have that kind of time, and I agree.”
“No disrespect, Boss, but you should have forced him to leave. He needs to be with his wife. If it were me, I’d be gone.”
Moyer studied his friend and assistant team leader. “Is that right, Rich?”
“Absolutely. If my Robyn were in Lucy’s situation, I’d leave a vacuum in my wake. Wouldn’t you do the same if it were Stacy or one of the kids?”
Moyer didn’t answer at first. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. I don’t think a man knows what he’ll do until he has to do it. Let’s face it, we injure our families every time we make a phone call and say, ‘Sorry, Hon, I won’t be home for dinner tonight, or any night for the next few weeks.’”
“Can’t argue with that. So what’s our next step?”
“Like I said earlier, it’s time we got proactive.”
* * *
SANTI STOOD ON THE second-floor balcony of his home and watched the small black dot in the distant sky grow larger as it approached. A sound below him drew his attention away from the approaching helicopter. Hector Cenobio, wearing handcuffs, walked from the door and onto the large carpet of grass that covered the front acre and half of the property. Next to him walked Miguel Costa, his hand clamped on Cenobio’s right elbow. So far, his captive had been physically cooperative although stubborn. He didn’t expect a struggle. The man had probably never been in a fight, not even as a child. Not that it mattered. Costa was a killer, a man who enjoyed taking the life of another. Fortunately for Santi and his Iranian friends, Cenobio loved his family too much to risk their lives even to save his own. That was the problem with relationships—they punched holes in a man’s armor, leaving him weak. Santi had no need for love or family.
The cell phone on his belt chimed. He checked the caller ID: Teodoro Grijalva. The call puzzled him. The Secretary of the Interior and he didn’t often talk, and when they did it was at the office. He answered.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Santi said.
“El Presidente asked me to call you. I have information he said you’d find important.”
“I’m listening.” He heard the man take a deep breath.
“This news has come about in an odd fashion, but I will give you the gist of it. Two days ago an American businessman was hit by a car and taken to Clinica Caracas. Doctors treated him. I am told his injuries were minor.”
Teodoro’s Department of Interior oversaw the four intelligence agencies that replaced the DISIP secret police and the DIM military intelligence agency in 2008. “And how does this concern me? If an American businessman is stupid enough to step in front of a car, he deserves a trip to the hospital.”
“There’s more. The attending physician noticed a tattoo on the man’s upper arm. It was a picture of military tags.”
“Tell me more about these tags.”
“The physician remembered enough to draw them for police. The man left the hospital without checking out, and I don’t need an intelligence agency to tell me that is suspicious. I have a photocopy of the doctor’s drawing. There are two tags—one bears the name ‘Mark Rasor’ and has the dates ‘1972–1974’; the other reads, ‘Pete Rasor’ and the date ‘2006’ but no second date.”
“This happened two days ago? Why have you taken so long to speak to me?”
“Layers of incompetence. The doctor didn’t realize the patient was gone until the police came to fill out a report. The police launched a search, which came up empty. Since the tattoo was military in nature, they reported it to our military. From there it worked its way up to me. I mentioned it to our president during this morning’s briefing. He seemed concerned and insisted that I call you.” He paused. “Is there something going on I should know about?”
“No. What is being done now?”
“The search continues. We have some photos taken from security cameras. There are three people: a large black man, a Hispanic, and the injured American. They don’t look military, but we both know what that means.”
“You still have eyes on the embassy?”
“Always.”
“Hotels.”
“The police are searching the hotels.”
Santi thought for a moment. “They won’t stay in the same hotel. Too obvious. Send me everything you have so far. I want these men found.” He hung up and called out from the balcony rail, “Miguel! Take him back to the house. We’re not leaving just yet.”
CHAPTER 37
STACY HUNG UP THE phone and sighed with relief. The school attendance administrator confirmed that Rob’s homeroom instructor had checked his name off the attendance list. At least she knew Rob was safe. When he got home that might change. A fury grew in her like a funnel cloud itching to touch Earth. The relief she felt a moment before melted like wax. Stacy didn’t need this right now. It was bad enough that her husband was off doing something that could get him killed, but he was doing it with what may be a deadly illness—an illness she was not supposed to know about.
She toyed with the idea of going to the school and pulling Rob from class by his constantly mussed hair. It would embarrass him in front of his friends and that made the thought all the sweeter. The thought faded. She would never do that. What would it achieve? Most likely it would make things worse and that was the last thing she needed now.
The more she thought about the situation, the more confused she became. One thing she did know: for the first time in her life, she was glad Eric wasn’t around. Eric and Rob’s relationship was strained on the best days. This little fiasco would set Eric off, and Rob, ever his father’s son, would react in kind.
But something had to be done. Stacy picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Chaplain Bartley, please.”
* * *
THE DOOR TO THE bathroom opened and the tall, dark-skinned man stepped to the threshold. He held several plastic-wrapped items in his hand. He eyed her for long moments, and Julia didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. She remained seated on the floor, partly to deny him any measure of respect, but mostly to keep h
idden the sharpened metal lever she had taken from the toilet tank last night.
The man tossed the objects to the floor. She eyed them. Frozen breakfast burritos. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. The man frowned and stepped from the room, closing and locking the door again.
“Can we, Mamá?” Lina asked. “I’m hungry.”
Julia picked up the food items. They were warm. Apparently there was a microwave nearby. She examined the wrappers, scrutinizing every inch. They didn’t appear to have been tampered with. She opened one and sniffed. It smelled exactly as she thought it should. Breaking the burrito in half, she stuck a finger in the scrambled eggs, cheese, and salsa then licked it. Nothing offensive.
“I think it’s safe.” She gave the burrito to Lina.
“I don’t want one,” Nestor said. “I don’t want their food.”
Julia opened another burrito and offered it to him anyway. “It is important that we keep up our strength. We don’t know what lies ahead.”
“They want to kill us, Mamá. That’s what lies ahead.”
“There will be no more talk like that, Nestor.” There was no anger in Julia’s words.
“Papa says a man always faces the truth. I’m facing the truth like he would want me to do.”
“I am proud of you, son. You have shown great courage. You too, Lina. But facing the truth doesn’t mean giving up. We must be prepared. Eat something, son.”
Nestor took the burrito and ate, but he made a point of scowling with every bite.
Julia stared at the door. She had a feeling the next time it opened bad things would happen. She reached behind her and felt the metal rod she had fashioned into a knife and wondered if she would have the courage to use it when the time came.
* * *
THERE WERE TWO OTHER people in the hospital room with Lucy—her mother and her sister—yet still she was alone. The words of the doctor played on her mind in an endless loop. “I’m afraid the tests have confirmed our earlier suspicion … baby is a danger to your life … must act quickly … I know this is difficult to hear …”
Certain Jeopardy Page 17
