kills you.” He actually started to lift his head from the silk-cased pillow in annoyance, but Jonas pressed the pistol down on his forehead again, pressing him back into the plush bed.
“Your PMC’s insistence on having it all has changed our agreement. If your units do not receive the rest of the Stingers, they’ll be mincemeat when those Cuban helicopters get airborne. It will be the Bay of Pigs all over again— that is, assuming you don’t abort the plan before it even has a chance to start. Now, tell me—when does it begin and what is the catalyst?”
Castilo considered his options for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you are not going to stop the plans I have worked toward for the past twenty years—not when they are so close to fruition. I would rather die first.”
Another truthful statement. Once again Jonas rued the fact that he hadn’t come to know this impassioned man under different circumstances. And he regretted even more what he was about to do.
“You are a brave man, I’ll give you that.” Removing the pistol from Castilo’s forehead, he placed it behind his wife’s ear. “But if you do not tell me what I wish to know within the next three seconds, I will pull this trigger.”
It was a stone-cold con—Jonas didn’t think he would ever kill a truly innocent person, no matter what the circumstances, even if it meant jeopardizing a mission. The question was whether Castilo would call his bluff. If his patriotism was stronger than his love for his wife, then Jonas was in trouble.
“She knew the risks when we got married. She would sacrifice anything for our cause,” Castilo said.
Jonas pushed the gun roughly into the back of her neck.
“This trigger has a five-pound pull. My finger is already putting three pounds on it. One more flex, and the first thing you’ll see when the sun rises is her brains decorating that wall. Three seconds left…”
Castilo tensed, and for a moment Jonas thought he was going to call it, but suddenly his body relaxed. “No— wait!”
Jonas let up the pressure on the woman’s head slightly.
“There’s no way you can stop it anyway, even if you had people on the island. There are three thousand men on the island right now, ready to move against key positions at a predetermined time.”
“What about the army? Surely they won’t just sit by and let their country be snatched out from under them?”
“You have already met our man on the inside, who has given us invaluable information regarding the status of their military, their placements, their equipment, everything. We know where we will land the rest of the men, what to take first and, most importantly, how to block communication between various army units. There are also dissatisfied elements of the nation’s military who will assist with the overthrow of the government at the proper time. Between the outside forces seizing key facilities and the army tying up other interference, any kind of organized resistance will be disrupted long enough for the internal forces to seize control of key facilities and order the rest of the military to stand down. I’m sure there will be some die-hards who will do exactly as that term suggests. However, the young people, the students, they want change, and that is what we can give them. Once they see that this is really happening, they will flock to our cause.”
Castilo’s eyes gleamed with the fire of the true political radical. “As for the event that will launch the real revolution—my man inside the army is going to assassinate Raul Castro later this very morning. That is when the true liberation of Cuba will begin.”
Jonas remained still as he digested the news, but kept his pistol pointed at the motionless woman’s skull. “Go on.”
“Recently we received word that Raul will be touring agricultural companies outside of Havana, and that our man will be coordinating security. It is the perfect chance.”
“So you have a way to get in touch with him—you can call it off,” Jonas said.
Castilo shook his head. “No, once he has left the city, he will not be in communication with us until the invasion begins. The timetable is already counting down, and neither you, I nor anyone else can stop it.”
His words made Jonas lean back, only for a second, but it was enough. Castilo brought his arms, still under the sheet, up and pushed the pistol away from his wife’s head, shouting, “Security! Intruder!”
Jonas pulled away, wrenching his arm out of the other man’s grasp just as the door burst open, and another man rushed into the room. Hearing the sound of the door, Jonas had already turned, and tracked the bodyguard as he came in, hoping to catch the intruder by surprise. Jonas’s gun discharged, and the man halted in midstride, then collapsed to the floor, his pistol falling from his hand.
Jonas tried to head for the French doors, but was stopped by a strong hand on his arm. Hearing running footsteps in the hallway, he twisted around and brought the butt of the pistol down on Castilo’s forehead, laying open his scalp. The businessman released him and fell back against the head-board, clutching his bleeding forehead.
Jonas cut around the corner of the bed and ran for the door. Sensing movement behind him, he dived as a fusillade of shots erupted from the hallway, one of the bullets scoring a burning line across his back. Jonas had planned to roll to the far wall and return fire, but a dead weight smashed into him, pinning him to the floor.
“Damn! I think Castilo got in the way.” Jonas heard Theodore’s voice in the hallway. “Looks like we got them both.”
Jonas played dead, hoping they would relax their guard.
“Clear the room, I’ve got to get on the horn and see what we’re going to do. This may scrub the whole damn op.”
Footsteps approached, then Jonas felt his pistol get kicked out of his hand. Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him onto his back. “What the hell?” A goateed, wiry Hispanic frowned when he saw the mask covering Jonas’s face. “Hey, you should take a look—”
Jonas didn’t let him say anything else as he set off the flash unit mounted in the mask’s forehead. The 250,000 -candlepower light burst in the merc’s eyes, blinding him. He screamed as Jonas stripped the pistol from his hand, jammed it into his chest and pulled the trigger twice. The bullets shattered ribs and carved through his heart and left him bleeding out on the hardwood floor.
Jonas kept going, shoving the body away and aiming at the hallway, catching a glimpse of Theodore dodging out of the way while shouting for backup. Jonas grabbed his pistol from the floor and ran to the doorway, a gun in each hand.
He tucked the guard’s pistol under his arm, grabbed the EMP gun and set it to overload, then launched it down the hallway. There was a loud pop and suddenly all of the lights in the house winked out.
Jonas readied his guns and walked to the archway that led to a landing overlooking the large, two-story, cathedral-ceilinged living room. He heard Theodore bark commands while he tried to raise someone on his suddenly useless cell phone. Peeking around the corner, Jonas recognized one of the men as the African who had helped load the Stinger crate on the yacht.
“Goddamn it, I can’t get a hold of anyone. Get some night vision over here—the bastard’s probably already split. And find out what the hell happened to our dogs! You two, with me,” Theodore shouted.
That’s a ballsy move, Jonas thought. Although if it was three on one, they’d still stand a good chance of capturing or killing him, most likely the latter. As for himself, Jonas had no wish to get involved in the barely controlled chaos of a firefight, particularly in a confined space. Now that he had paused for a moment, the graze on his back throbbed and his vest and shirt were sticky with blood. He needed a way to even the odds quickly. Taking a quick inventory of his equipment, he came across the large canister of tranquilizer he had used on the dogs, and the plan immediately came to him.
The two men were already at the foot of the stairs, backing each other up in a crisp leapfrog pattern. First one would advance, then crouch and cover while the other one moved forward. Jonas didn’t have time to admire their synergy, as they were already halfway up the stairs. He set the nozzle to wide-pattern spray, laid the canister down at the top of the stairs and let it rip.
The cone-shaped cloud of heavier-than-air tranquilizer drifted right into the faces of the men. Before they could react, they leaned groggily against the wall or the balustrade, then both slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“It’s just you and me now, Theodore,” Jonas called out, his modulated voice sounding eerie in the cavernous living room. Three pistol shots answered his taunt, followed by the thump of running feet. Jonas popped up to try a shot, but the larger man eluded his sight again as he rushed out the main doors. Jonas considered pursuing, but he
