through palm trees, chinkapin thickets and clusters of buttonbush. Using the infrared detection lens, he scanned back and forth until he saw the beam surrounding the groomed lawn. It was about four feet off the ground, and Jonas easily stepped beneath it. He knew why it was that high in the next few seconds.
From around the corner of the house came two black-and-brown Doberman pinschers, their lean bodies streaking toward him as they ate up yards of ground in long, loping strides. The moment they appeared, bright halogen lights flicked on, bathing the pool and lawn in white brilliance.
Stepping back into the bushes, Jonas dropped to one knee and activated the gas filter on his mask as he extended a powerful aerosol canister and filled the five yards in front of him with a cloud of fine white mist. The Dobermans ran straight through it, and immediately collapsed on the wet grass as their legs gave out. They skidded to a stop at Jonas’s feet. Both dogs whined feebly, then passed out from the inhaled tranquilizer. Jonas waited for someone to investigate the disturbance, but the grounds remained quiet. While waiting, he pinpointed several security cameras scanning the grounds around the house. He also noticed a small blind spot near the northeastern corner, near what looked like some kind of sunroom.
While waiting for the lights to turn off, he took in the house, changing lenses to a thermal detector suite. The first floor was empty, but on the second, closer than he’d expected, he saw two sleeping forms, their red-and- orange shapes appearing to float in midair against the cold blues and blacks of the walls and floors. The master bedroom appeared to be behind that sunroom, next to the blind spot in the security perimeter. Jonas’s instincts again screamed that this could be a trap—indeed, it most likely was. The team that had been sent to commandeer the yacht hadn’t reported in, and he was sure Theodore knew that. But this was the best possible chance to learn the details of Castilo’s plan.
Jonas began working his way toward that corner, watching the grounds for any sign he’d been discovered. He crawled through the brush and tropical trees until he reached his objective, and still, there was no sign of having tripped any security alarms. Jonas took another minute to scan the wall and rooms where he was going to access the house.
Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped a small pistol-like device from a pouch on his arm, aimed it at the light on the wall and pressed a button. The narrow-beam electromagnetic pulse fried the light’s circuit, disabling it.
Jonas put away the gun, waited for the camera to turn toward the pool, then slipped out of the trees and ran to the corner of the house, gauging the height at the top of the short railing as he closed the distance.
Just as he reached the wall, Jonas crouched and leaped as high as he could, fingers reaching for the lip of the railing, and just grabbing it. Arms trembling, he pulled himself up, aware that the corner camera was coming back on its sweep, and if he didn’t get inside in the next few seconds he could be spotted. When his head drew level with the railing, he threw an arm over, clawing for a more secure grip. Bracing his arm on the inside of the rail, he slithered across the railing and collapsed on the tile floor, panting for breath.
This was a lot easier thirty years ago, he admitted to himself.
He listened for any sign that he had alerted anyone. Only the gentle roll of the surf and the night breeze rustling the nearby forest reached his ears. Rising, he moved along the right wall, avoiding the wicker-and-glass patio furniture set in the middle of the room, until he reached the French doors leading to the bedroom.
While some people might have left their doors open to enjoy the cool ocean breeze, the double doors were closed, and Jonas was sure they were locked, as well. He took a small device roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and ran it along the door frame, ceiling and floor, looking for current flow to indicate the door was attached to a security circuit. The meter came up empty, so Jonas concentrated on the formidable-looking doorknob lock. Kneeling, he took out a small leather case, selected the appropriate pick and a torsion wrench and went to work. Since finesse was needed and his movements were so minute, he hardly made a sound. Although it took longer than he’d have liked, after several minutes, the lock clicked open. His thermal imaging told him that both occupants were still in bed.
Switching to infrared, Jonas pushed the doors open slowly and slipped inside, pushing aside the billowing white curtains hanging on the inside. He closed the door behind him and glanced around. Feeling a breeze, he looked up to see a large ceiling fan stirring the air. The master bedroom was spacious, with an ornate antique dresser and armoire against one wall matching the four-poster, king-size bed in the middle of the room. On it, nestled together, lay Rafael Castilo and his wife.
Taking a small capsule from a pocket on his web harness, Jonas walked over to the sleeping couple, broke it and held it under the woman’s nose. She frowned and moved her head to try to avoid the scent, then her body relaxed as she passed into deeper slumber. The potent narcotic Jonas had given her would ensure that he and Castilo could speak un-disturbed.
Going to the heavy door leading to the rest of the house, he made sure it was locked, then padded back to the side of the bed. Drawing his pistol, with the short sound suppressor already attached to the threaded barrel, Jonas pressed the cold circle of metal to the sleeping man’s forehead.
The businessman’s eyes fluttered open, then widened in shock. Jonas didn’t blame him. The helmet and full face mask were quite intimidating, concealing his features behind a black, vented guard that covered his nose and mouth.
His eyes were concealed by the multipurpose goggles with their vision suite. He had no doubt he resembled some kind of futuristic home invader.
“Do not move, or you and your wife will die. Keep your arms at your sides.” The mask also contained a small microphone and voice-modulation chip that altered Jonas’s normal speaking tone into an unrecognizable one. With a black silk balaclava covering the rest of Jonas’s head, Castilo would never know who was behind the mask.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“My employer is not pleased. Not more than two hours ago, the gentlemen you introduced him to attempted to hijack his yacht—and the cargo he was holding.”
Castilo’s eyes widened, and Jonas activated his visual voice-stress-recognition program, which would analyze Castilo’s responses and determine whether he was lying or not to a ninety-five percent degree of accuracy. Based on technology developed in Israel, it had been integrated into masks as soon as the Room 59 techs had gotten their hands on it.
“What are you talking about? I had dinner with Mr. Heinemann tonight and it was agreed that he would provide the Stingers my people needed for the price we had negotiated.”
Jonas admired the man’s calm—even when threatened with his own impending death, his voice was steady. Even more surprising was that, according to the voice program, he was telling the truth.
“So you knew nothing about the attempt to hijack the yacht and steal the missiles and the money?” Jonas asked.
“Are you serious? I could buy ten of those yachts, and the money was a pittance to me compared to what it would get us. We need those missiles to defeat attacking gunships—” Castilo stopped in midsentence.
“Yes, your plan to invade Cuba. If you didn’t authorize the assault, why would we have been attacked after you left?
What’s the connection?”
“I don’t know. Maybe pirates saw your boat, and thought it was an easy target.”
“No, these men were organized, professional, well trained and equipped. They couldn’t have been anything but mercenaries, which leads straight back to you.”
Castilo’s brow furrowed as he tried to think of an answer.
“I’m sure your boss has enemies—if they know he’s trying to take over in the power vacuum in Miami, perhaps one of them decided to eliminate the competition.”
“And they happened to arrive within the time frame that we had agreed upon with your man—and use the two lights he had told us to expect?” Jonas stuck the gun under Castilo’s jaw. “You are not convincing me.”
Castilo shrugged. “The only thing that makes sense is if the PMC I hired decided to eliminate you, to stop the trail of the Stinger missiles from being traced any further.”
The voice analysis said that Castilo believed he was telling the truth. Jonas nodded—at least that was possible. “My employer wants to know the details of your plan. Who is involved? How does it begin? What is the event that starts it in motion?”
The frown reappeared, and Jonas sensed the Cuban closing up. “I’ve told you what I know. The plan doesn’t involve your employer any longer. You got what you came for—now get out of here, before my security finds and
