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?”
Jonas frowned. “That would be interesting. I don’t think the mujahideen really cared where these went. They were just happy to receive payment for them once these items were no longer needed.”
Both of the men looked up at Jonas. “Is that where these came from?” Castilo asked.
Jonas spread his hands. “I’m afraid I cannot say anything more. If a nation is interested in purchasing these, then I’m sure something could be worked out. However, I didn’t know you were representing a country at this time.”
Castilo straightened from where he had leaned over to get a better look at the missile system. “I do represent a country, even if it does not know that yet. If we were to assume that I could put you in touch with a buyer, what would the total cost be?”
“Due to their proven effectiveness and relative scarcity, I would have to charge a serious buyer a quarter of a million dollars for each set, consisting of the weapon system and five missile rounds.”
Castilo looked at Theodore and nodded at the double doors. The bodyguard slipped out the entryway, standing outside as if guarding access to the room. “I think I’ll have that drink now, if you please.”
“Of course.” Jonas crossed to the bar. “Remy Martin?”
Rafael waved a hand in assent, his gaze not straying from the boxed Stinger launcher. Jonas poured two snifters of the cognac. He approached the other man slowly, holding out the crystal snifter. “Join me?”
Castilo nodded, accepting the glass and walking over to a set of armchairs arranged around a small low table in the corner. He sat down and swirled his drink, sniffed apprecia-tively, then took a slow swallow.
Jonas sat back and did the same, letting the silence draw out. There was nothing to be gained by trying to force the conversation—if there was one thing Jonas knew about the other man, it was that he would talk when he was ready. It really is a shame what has to happen here, he thought. It is rare enough to find another person to enjoy a companionable silence with in the first place. However, now that he might be on the cusp of finally getting what he was here for, he wasn’t about to jeopardize that for anything.
The two men sat across from each other for several minutes in relaxed silence. Finally Castilo set his glass on the table and regarded Jonas. “You are one of the most interesting people I have met in a long time, Mr. Heinemann.”
“Oh?”
“As I’m sure you have done research on me, I have also looked further into your background. You have a habit of preferring to support certain, shall we say, underdogs in areas around the world, particularly those struggling against Marxist regimes. The United Nicaraguan Opposition and UNITA in Angola are just two examples of your more interesting dealings.”
Jonas dropped his gaze to the table, as if considering his reply. “Having suffered under a dictatorship for much of my life in my homeland, I do not wish to see such regimes strangle men and women who deserve better. However, you should keep in mind that I was also well compensated for each of those transactions. Profit is still a powerful motiva-tor, and if I can help in a region, even better.”
“Of course. Nowadays, there are few such windmills to tilt at anymore. China is far too large for such a tactic, and hopefully it is crumbling under its own population’s desire for capitalist reforms, even as the government clings to its outmoded Communist tenets. An impossible dilemma, in my opinion, which will eventually bring about its downfall.”
Castilo rose and paced around the room. “That leaves only one other true Communist bastion in the Western Hemisphere.”
“Cuba,” Jonas said quietly.
“One that has subjugated millions of people over the last half century, killing hundreds of thousands, imprisoning tens of thousands more and reducing what was once the jewel of the Caribbean to a gaudy, crumbling shell of its former glory.”
“You’ll have to excuse my imperfect grasp of history, but I assume you’re not talking about Batista.” Jonas knew where Castilo was going, but figured it couldn’t hurt to get him a bit more righteously riled.
“God knows that man was as bad as Castro—only the U.S. ever saw it differently. But no, the revolution simply replaced one dictator with another. The Castros and Guevara promised freedom, then gradually took it and much more away from the people.”
Jonas sipped his cognac before replying. “And he has been remarkably adept at preventing change, even holding off the U.S. government for all this time.”
Castilo snorted. “The Washington bureaucrats have no idea how to handle a true zealot. They are more comfortable getting other groups to do their dirty work—like the Contras—with terrible results for both sides. No, the time for diplomacy—
from the U.S., Europe or elsewhere—has passed. There is only one course of action that can free the embattled people of Cuba.” He turned to stare at Jonas. “It is time for the people of Cuba to rise up and reclaim their country. And if that requires the ultimate action to be taken, then so be it.”
“Who
Judy had joined the small group in the virtual ops room, holding a mug of steaming tea, in VR as in real life. Kate hid her smile at the sight—like a lot of the baby-boomer generation who’d had to accept instead of grow up with the computer revolution, Judy preferred to have the simulated world mimic her real one as much as possible. Kate would never find her flying without normal, mechanical assistance or deep diving without a pressurized suit, when those VR programs eventually became available. As for Kate, well, she’d be more inclined to try one or more of those things—just for fun.
“I assume you mean besides the obvious answer.” The two women watched Jonas talking with Rafael Castilo on the main screen. The businessman leaned over to examine the Stinger missile launcher in its case, while his bodyguard opened a smaller metal case on the floor.
Judy’s elegant eyebrow rose. “Naturally. What I meant was that the boys have been diving into his background for the past few hours. We found the usual things, memberships in business organizations, the chamber of commerce and a long record of aboveboard, large donations to nonviolent organizations like the Cuban American National Foundation and the International Committee for Democracy in Cuba.
But there has been no hint of him doing anything this rash.”
“Perhaps he got tired of the diplomatic way of doing things.” Oddly, Kate felt she could almost empathize with him. After all, that was part of the reason she had left the CIA, when she had discovered that the once proud counterintelligence and espionage agency had turned into a tech-heavy bureaucracy, with layers of political and territorial minefields to navigate if anything concrete was to be accomplished. And if an officer needed to work with another federal agency, well, good luck. However, that resignation was what had put her on the track for Room 59, where she could accomplish the necessary things that needed doing.
So far, their operatives had never been called upon to do anything like that. They had destroyed more than one nascent revolution before it could challenge its country’s government, but they had not been assigned to remove a sitting dictator—yet. But if that scenario ever arose, Kate knew she wouldn’t hesitate to organize just such a mission. God knew there were plenty of people around the world who could be helped by the thirty-cent solution.
That’s probably what Castilo thinks, as well, she thought.
