Perhaps he wants to be hailed as the liberator of Cuba—to have succeeded where so many others have failed for so long. It’s got to be tempting—but tempting enough to risk everything he’s built? Kate mulled that over while she listened to Judy’s assessment.
“We’d be able to indict him on conspiracy to transport and sell stolen U.S. government property, treason and perhaps even conspiracy to commit murder. Once the Justice Department started digging, I’m sure they could link him to whichever PMC he’s using.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but it appears that this Theodore guy is already connected to a private military company.”
Now Kate’s eyebrows raised. “The bodyguard? What’ve you got?”
El Supremo, his eyes red-rimmed yet bright from almost twenty-four straight hours of creating, sifting and collating data to parcel out to various personnel for analysis, brought up a screen with a picture of the man’s face while information scrolled past. “He’s a member of a company called Threat Evaluation And Response, or TEAR, Inc. They’re headquartered in England, with branch offices on every continent. Been around for about a decade— one of the old guard, apparently.”
“Do they have the capability to field a force large enough to invade Cuba?” Kate asked.
“See for yourself.” The hacker brought up another screen that appeared to be the home page for the company. Prominently displayed among cited assets was the ability to field a brigade-size force anywhere in the world in seventy-two hours.
Kate’s eyebrows stayed up. “Really? And the way they do that is by…?”
“According to news reports from several Third World countries they’ve visited, they either subcontract to local talent or bring in mercs from nearby areas and set them loose.
Naturally, they’ve also been accused of profiteering, involvement in black markets and crimes against civilians,” El Supremo reported.
“Naturally.” Judy set her cup down. “It is amazing what can be accomplished—or destroyed—if enough money is waved around.”
Kate noticed Judy didn’t comment on the location of the company’s headquarters. “So, what would happen if a few thousand ill-trained mercenaries—excuse me, private military contractors—took over an entire island?”
Judy mulled it over. “They wouldn’t be able to fend off its armed forces alone—they’d need help from someone on the inside. Maybe from the military itself. Even so, there would be plenty of assets to seize, equipment both civilian and military. Wherever the target is, it would be a free-for-all, with civilians in the middle as a civil war broke out between loyalists and other factions.”
“And it appears this operation is almost ready to begin, if the intel is correct. I’d like to put out some feelers on Web chatter, see if anyone’s been tapped to fill this contract of theirs. Given their target, a force that large won’t be easy to hide.”
“That sounds good, Judy. Let me know what you come up with,” Kate said.
“Ma’am, you might want to listen to this.” NiteMaster drew their attention back to the big screen, where Castilo stood over Jonas. “He’s talking about another revolution in Cuba.”
“Thanks.” Kate stared at the screen, watching the two men converse, and hearing intimations of a plot unfold that was every bit as bad as she feared.
Jonas raised his snifter to his lips and drank, holding the liquor in his mouth for a moment while he absorbed the import of Castilo’s words. At length he swallowed and set the glass down. “That is an ambitious undertaking. The other thing Castro is known for is his incredible longevity.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all, the foolish plans by the CIA, the other nations taking their shots. All too complicated, too circumspect. Poisoning his milkshake, for god’s sake! No, it must be simple, uncomplicated and direct.” Castilo returned to his seat and plopped down into it, an expression of savage glee lighting up his face. “Everything is falling into place, and soon the people of Cuba will have the chance to take their destiny back into their own hands. And you, my friend, have given us an important weapon in the fight against that disgust-ing Communist regime.” He lifted his glass. “To a free Cuba!”
Jonas toasted with him, his mind racing, particularly about how to elicit the key information about the plan without raising suspicion. “It would truly be a glorious day to see the sun rise over a free Cuba, yet I must confess that I have my doubts that such a massive undertaking can be accomplished, even with help from the inside. It just all sounds too good to be true.”
Castilo polished off his cognac and leaned back, suddenly expansive. “I’ll tell you what—while I cannot go into details, of course, I can deliver proof of what I have said tonight, so you may see that this is real. I can also arrange for all of these to be taken off your hands. However, the delivery would have to be this evening. I know that is short notice, but I hope that is acceptable?”
Jonas laughed. “You seem to presume that I would be sailing around with the rest of this package on my ship, where it might be found by any inspecting Coast Guard vessel.”
“It might, were you within the coastal waters of the U.S.
I assume nothing, but am only letting you know what your potential customer will want. If that is a problem, then perhaps we should reconsider the entire deal.”
“No, no.” Jonas cut him off, trying to appear eager without seeming to, the very model of a businessman who wanted to unload his illegal inventory as quickly as possible.
“It just might be a little complicated to do this so fast, that’s all. Depending on when they wish to pick up the items, I think we can work something out. However, I must insist that the client bring the complete payment with them. I will accept U.S. dollars, British pounds, Euros or diamonds, the quality of which I will verify myself.”
Castilo rose and extended his hand. “Then we have a deal.
I will notify the buyers, who will be in touch with you to arrange transfer and payment.”
“Excellent. I look forward to consummating our arrangement. And once your homeland is free, I hope we can do more business in the future.”
“Perhaps. My people will be in touch. This has been a very pleasurable evening, Ferdinand.”
Jonas rose with him. “For me, as well. Come, I’ll walk out with you to the aft deck.” He led Castilo through the rear of the ship to where the powerboat was waiting, Theodore falling in behind him like a silent 250-pound wraith. The two deckhands made the launch ready, and Jonas watched them board, knowing he had only gotten part of the story. As the Tiara pushed away from the yacht, he raised a hand in fare-well, and was answered by a similar wave from Castilo.
Theodore stood with his arms crossed, staring at Jonas. The pleasure boat accelerated into the night, fading to a small speck in the darkness.
“So, how was your meeting with the boys?” Jonas turned to see Karen, dressed in slacks and a black brushed- silk blouse, leaning against the railing.
“His clients want all of the Stingers. They’ll be calling a bit later to set up delivery. Tonight.”
“Kind of in a hurry, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but from what little Rafael told me, the operation is about to start. Who knows, perhaps these are the last things they needed to ensure they’d be able to gain a foot-hold on the island. There’s something we’re missing, though. Rafael thinks there won’t be much of a problem bringing freedom to the huddled masses simply hanging around waiting to be liberated. Sounds like he’s got a bad case of Iraqitis.”
“You’re phoning in, right?” Karen asked.
Jonas glanced down at his phone. “Funny, I’d have thought Kate would have called by—” An orchestral version of the German national anthem rang out. “I spoke too soon.
Have you swept the boat?”
Karen nodded. “The moment they left. Nothing showed up—they’re very confident—or just sloppy.”
He flipped the phone open and put it on the table as Kate’s face appeared on-screen. “Good evening, Kate.”
“Well, we got halfway there. He wanted to tell you about the grand scheme, didn’t he?”
“I think he found me a kindred spirit, and the dose of Oxystim in his wineglass didn’t hurt any, either.” Although a real truth serum still hadn’t been developed, DARPA sci-entists had created the next-best thing—a drug that stimulated the brain’s production of oxytocin, a hormone neurotransmit-ter that increased feeling of trust between the subject and anyone they interacted with. It wasn’t foolproof, but studies had shown a significant increase in the quality of information gathered from people under its influence. The mess crew had been assigned to coat the
