“Sounds decent enough,” he shouted over the racket.
Pointing Lopez to the bow of the boat, he took the tiller and twisted the throttle. The decrepit-looking vessel responded, if not on a dime, reasonably well enough that Damason thought they might actually make it back in one piece.
He piloted the boat out of the harbor and headed due north, relying on Lopez’s guidance to avoid the coastal patrols. The intelligence was right on the money. The channel waters were deserted, with only widely scattered lights on the horizon. The engine settled into a steady thrum, and the boat cut through the water with ease. Damason kept a sharp eye on the engine, looking for smoke, leaks or anything else that might suggest a long swim back. But so far, the boat handled well enough. The only downside was that he suspected the engine’s deafening clamor might eventually split his skull open.
Damason looked up to see Lopez waving at him, then point to a pair of flashing lights, one white, one blue, off the starboard bow. According to his contact, that was the signal for the party he was supposed to meet. He turned the boat toward the lights.
Five minutes later, he pulled up alongside a forty-foot cigarette boat, its stylish hull painted midnight-blue and black, making it look like a huge arrowhead in the water.
There were three people aboard—a large white man with close-cropped blond hair, along with two other very dark-skinned men. None were visibly armed, although Damason had the feeling they were all carrying some kind of hidden weapon. All of them had the wary nonchalance of men who had killed before and would do so again with relative ease.
Lopez tossed the rope to the other boat, but none of the men moved to pick it up.
“Who are you?” the solidly built man called out.
“A man who wants to change his country’s direction,”
Damason said as he stood with his hands on his hips.
The blond man nodded and grabbed the rope, pulling the two boats together. He held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.
I’m Theodore.”
“Very well, you can call me Daniel. This is Julio,”
Damason said, pointing to Lopez.
The other two men eyed Damason’s boat with incredulous expressions. One of them asked Theodore a question in a singsong language, which he used to answer the man, as well.
“He says you must be brave, to come all the way out here in that.”
Damason smiled, not showing his teeth. “All Cubans are as at home on the water as ducks.”
The other man said something, and held out his hand.
Damason shook it, and the man laughed, the humor not even coming close to his eyes. Theodore also smiled a bit as he translated again. “He says it is good to meet you, because now he knows there is at least one person he knows not to kill once we are ashore.”
Damason pointed at his sergeant. “What about him?”
Theodore asked the man a question. He replied by holding his hand out palm down and waggling it back and forth.
“Apparently they like you, but he may be on his own.” He smiled, showing large, white teeth. “That is good, because your friend will have to stay here.”
Damason’s hackles rose. “What do you mean by that?”
“We’d like you to accompany us on a little trip north. We have to pick up some cargo, and our leader has instructed us that you are to come along. However, since we cannot take that—” he waved at the boat with a dismissive hand
“—your friend will have to remain behind. Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to you. You’re far too important to the operation. We should be back in about three, maybe four hours.”
Damason glanced at Lopez, who stood casually, his feet planted on the bobbing deck, one hand at his side, one hand behind his back. He knew that if he gave the order, Lopez would draw his pistol and do his best to kill all three of these men, even if he died in the process. He walked over to him.
“I want you to stay here—” Lopez looked as if he was about to cut him off, but Damason held up his hand. “If I am not back in four hours, you are in charge of the operation. All of the information you need is in my desk. The equipment you would need is in the air duct in my office.
Carry out our plan as far as you can, and trust in God that the rest will happen. The mission is larger than any one of us, and must succeed, no matter what stands in our way.”
“Yes, Major.” Lopez started to cross back to the small skiff, but Damason stopped him, speaking again in low, rapid Spanish.
“And if for some reason I do not come back, be sure to find and kill these three bastards.”
Lopez nodded and stepped into the small boat. Damason knew he was taking two huge chances. If his sergeant had been playing along with him all this time, he could return to find soldiers waiting to arrest him on charges of treason, conspiracy and much, much more. But Damason was sure that wouldn’t happen. He and Lopez had been through too much together—hell, he had already given the man enough information to have gotten him arrested ten times over now. The only reason he wouldn’t have done so already was if he was trying to get as many conspirators as he could in the sting.
Damason shook his head. He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case.
The other chance was accompanying these men on what seemed to be a risky mission for very little gain. However, whatever he had to do to prove his devotion to their cause, he would do if it was within his power.
“Let’s go.” He took a seat in the corner of the boat and didn’t look back as the powerful engines rumbled to life, and the speedboat roared north into the night.
Jonas stood on the aft deck again, surveying the water around them with a pair ofYukon Ranger digital night- vision binoculars. He knew the bridge crew was on the radar to watch for approaching craft, but he also believed in using every available asset, and often there was no substitute for eyes on the deck.
His cell phone vibrated at his side. Jonas kept scanning the waters around them as he activated his wireless earpiece.
“Yes?”
It was Carla, one of the two-person boat team he had sent to return Castilo to shore. “Subject and escort are away, but, um, I’m afraid we won’t be returning to the boat for a while.” She sounded embarrassed and frustrated.
“What’s the matter?” Jonas asked.
“The engine’s been compromised.”
He heard muffled conversation, and then a “Damn it!”
followed by a thump.
“Tell Brett to stop kicking the engine—that boat’s not ours. You have any idea what’s wrong?” Jonas asked.
“Brett thinks the big guy sabotaged it somehow, even though he was in
“Not bad, not bad, indeed,” Jonas muttered.
“Sir?”
“All right, both of you calm down. What’s your take on this?”
He heard a deep intake of breath. “That there’s no such thing as coincidence. If they are planning an assault, then removing two of the crew would make their job easier—less potential hostiles,” Carla said.
“Right you are. I want you both to secure the boat—get the harbor patrol’s help if you have to. Once ashore, I want you to go to the address I’m going to text to you, and begin surveillance. Keep your distance, and above all, don’t get made. Someone will relieve you by dawn. Otherwise, if that doesn’t happen, go to the second safehouse. Watch for tails.
They shouldn’t be following you—there’s really no reason to—but stay alert regardless.”
“What if the primary leaves the building?”
