“I’m Karl.” Jonas hated having to lie to her, even under the circumstances, but his team couldn’t be connected with this operation in any way, so he needed the alias. “We have to alert my team.” He eased out his radio, but turning it to the secure channel only got him static. He hit the squelch button three times, the prearranged signal for contact, but there was no reply. Jonas tried again, with the same result.
He switched it off. “I cannot raise them,” he said.
“That isn’t surprising—there are too many hills around here. Radio transmission is spotty at best. Why don’t we strike out and find the route they are going to return by?
Then we could warn them off and head right for the coast,”
Marisa said.
“That assumes they’ll be coming back via the primary route. Anything might cause them to deviate to a secondary.
Without communication, I cannot coordinate a rendezvous.
No, it is up to us to neutralize these soldiers before they return,” Jonas said.
He felt her stare, even in the darkness. “Has that injury affected your brain, as well? There were at least a dozen men back there. We have you—crippled—and me, and I’m not throwing my life away in a fruitless gesture for anyone.”
Jonas shifted position, scratching his back against the tree trunk. “Believe me, I don’t want to be buried here, either.
I’m not advocating a frontal assault. We just need a distraction, or to trick them into thinking they’re being attacked by a larger force—anything to make them give up their position. If only I hadn’t gotten injured.”
“If you hadn’t, then you and your team would be walking into an ambush, and I’d be dead right now.” Marisa put her hand on his arm. “What about the truck? If we could gain control of it, perhaps that could be put to use.”
“Perhaps—if we can find it.” Jonas took out his compass, taking bearings. “They’re to our left, about fifteen yards away. Here, hold this.” He took her hand, which still rested on his arm, and pressed his compass into her fingers. Shrugging off his pack, he opened it and carefully removed his night-vision scope. Turning it on, he waited for it to warm up, then looked through it at the clearing, watching the jungle night appear in grainy green and black. Through the trees he could just make out the larger image of the sugar mill, with the Cuban soldiers still moving around it. He also took a long look around their current location, fixing trees and other foliage in his mind. He switched the scope off and rewrapped it for protection before putting it away. “All right, we have to walk parallel with the road until we find the truck, then we’ll reconnoiter and figure out a plan.” He sliced off a few tree fronds to cover his pack, taking his can-teen, radio, the spotting scope, rifle, pistol, ammunition for both, a machete and his double-edged commando knife.
Marisa didn’t say a word, but slipped her head underneath his shoulder again. “It’s going to be a long walk.”
“Not this time.” He handed her his machete. “See what you can do to clear a path while making as little noise as possible.”
“Where will you be?”
Jonas eased himself to the ground. “Crawling right behind you. It’s the best way. Otherwise we’ll both be exhausted by the time we reach our objective.”
She nodded, then began slicing her way through the foliage. They carefully made their way through the thick jungle, with Marisa wielding the razor-sharp blade like a tree surgeon, clearing enough of a path so that Jonas could follow without getting caught in the low bushes.
The insects, however, were another matter. Each time Jonas put his hands down, something crawled over them, and he spent as much time trying not to get bitten or stung as moving forward. Every ten yards or so, he sat up and took another look through his scope, comparing their surroundings with what he remembered.
When they had covered what he thought was about one hundred yards, Jonas hissed at Marisa to stop. He tried his radio again, but got nothing. Then he removed his commando knife and tapped the young woman on the shoulder.
“Here. This is going to be dangerous, and I don’t want you unarmed.”
She strapped the sheathed blade on her belt. “Thank you.”
Jonas took another look around with the scope. “I don’t know how far they might have gone to be sure they wouldn’t be seen.”
“Why don’t I cut over to the road—surely we’re far enough away now—and see what I can find out.” Before he could stop her, Marisa darted off between the trees without a sound, her lithe form swallowed up by the darkness.
Jonas hissed in frustration and hunkered down, his pistol drawn, for all the good it would do him. One shot would bring the soldiers running. Every sense alert, he sat and waited for her to return—or for her to be discovered.
“HEY, YOU ALL RIGHT? The tenth is about to start.” Karen slid back into her seat.
Jonas tuned back into his surroundings with a blink. “Just waiting for the lead to go. Any problems?”
“Nope. The GPS is in place, and if I were that kind of girl, I’d have a date for the weekend.” She smiled. “But I’m not.”
“He’ll be very disappointed, I’m sure.” Jonas focused on the monitor as the tenth race started. Cuba Libre got off to a quick start, but was caught on the outside coming into the escape turn, and couldn’t make up the lost ground. It was in the middle of the pack on the far turn, and put on a final burst to finish second. Castilo’s table celebrated quietly, accepting the second-place finish with good humor.
“At least you didn’t lose,” Karen offered.
“True, true.” Jonas handed her several more hundreds.
“Go collect my winnings, would you? When you return, hand me the whole thing at their table.”
“Just make sure you’re there when I come back.” Karen stood again and pecked him on the cheek, then walked through the room, her poised stride drawing stares from every man she passed.
Jonas flagged a passing waiter. “I’d like to send a bottle of Perrier Jouet Fleur Blanc de Blanc ’99 over to Mr.
Castilo’s table, with my compliments on a well-run race.”
“Certainly sir, whom shall I say it is from?”
“If he asks, point out this table and mention that it is from a gentleman who shares his love of freedom.” The message was vague enough to rouse curiosity instead of suspicion.
At least Jonas hoped that would be Castilo’s reaction. Making contact with a target didn’t happen like a James Bond film—there was no script indicating how it would go down.
The businessman might simply drink the champagne with the rest of his party, then leave.
Jonas sat back and watched as the chilled bottle was delivered to Castilo’s table. He received it with a smile, and tilted his head to listen to the waiter deliver the message. The waiter discreetly pointed out Jonas’s table, and when Castilo looked across the floor to the upper tier, Jonas raised his wineglass in salute. The Cuban inclined his head and motioned for the waiter to pour for his delighted wife and guests.
Jonas watched Castilo summon a bodyguard to his table and whisper in his ear. The stocky man returned to his position, opened his cell phone and began texting, or at least that’s what he wanted to appear to be doing. Jonas knew he was being photographed, and he also figured that they would be getting his name from the reservation book, as well. So far, everything was going according to plan.
After several minutes, the waiter returned. “Mr. Heinemann, Mr. Castilo requests the pleasure of your company at his table.”
Here we go, Jonas thought, pushing his chair back and rising. “I would be delighted.”
“Jonas has initiated contact with the target.” NiteMaster spun around in his chair, the piercings in his eyebrow glittering in the light. “We’re getting hits on the cover story, as well.” He brought up various Web pages, one a relatively bland corporate site, one from the ATF and several from other foreign news sites, each of which had an article on Mr. Ferdinand Heinemann. The company site was for a European import-export business, similar to Castilo’s, but the other mentions of Heinemann’s name told a very different story.
Watching in the virtual ops center, Kate only nodded, scanning the wealth of created electronic data available on their operative. With the Web becoming an instant background resource available to anyone with a cell phone or
