The Powers That Be

the two children back inside.

“Mrs. Ruiz, I know this must be hard for you, and we don’t wish to intrude any more today. A representative will be in touch with you soon regarding some paperwork that will have to be completed.” The words, spoken like a dispassionate government official, tasted like ash in Kate’s mouth. “On behalf of a grateful United States of America and the world, we are very sorry for your loss.” Kate handed her a card. “If there is anything we can do to assist you, please let me know.”

Kate turned on her heel and walked back to the car. She got in and leaned back against the leather seat, exhausted.

Jonas went to the other side and slid into the darkened interior. Neither said a word as the car pulled away.

“Kate?” Jacob’s voice came over the intercom. “We’ll have to hustle if you’re going to make that flight to Idaho from Fort Lauderdale.”

Kate leaned forward and pressed a button. “Right. Do what you have to.” One down, two to go, she thought wearily, staring out the window at the bright, sun-soaked city all around her and feeling so very cold inside.

It wasn’t easy to find a deserted stretch of beach on the Florida coast, but after a bit of searching, Jonas had located a secluded site that was being developed for yet another high-rise. At the moment it now was empty, with no other buildings around for several hundred yards. He parked the Jaguar behind a rise and trudged up the hillock, the sand shifting beneath his feet.

Like so much else underneath me recently, he thought.

Cresting the dune, he saw the Atlantic Ocean stretched out before him, vast and dark and empty. This far up the panhan-dle, the small waves crashing against the sand were a muddy brown, not the deep blue of farther south. Rising and falling every few seconds, the endless waters could hide a multitude of sins, but tonight, Jonas hoped it would also help wash one away.

After the visit to Marcus’s mother, he had headed back for an intense after-action grilling by Denny Talbot, who was as serious then as he had been easygoing when Jonas had first put himself forward to head the mission. Although they had interrogated him extensively about his decision to approach Valdes, the question of his relationship to Valdes had never come up. He stated that he alone had made the decision to approach the Cuban major, and that Marcus had no part in it.

He wouldn’t think of staining the young man’s record post-humously.

The reports had been reviewed by the board, which had dressed him down for letting the mission almost get out of control, but had not recommended any disciplinary action except to disallow any more field operations for him during the rest of his tenure. Jonas didn’t care. He already carried the guilt of having overseen the deaths of three operatives as it was, and as for what had happened to his son—for that he would never forgive himself.

After it was all said and done, Jonas had taken his mandatory month off, and followed it with a leave of absence, which had been approved without comment. He had suspended his game programming, saying he would be out of the country for a while, and then had flown back to Florida, settled in and begun the slow, careful process of bringing his plan to fruition.

Now, after months of planning, and tens of thousands of dollars changing hands, the last part of it was about to happen. As he waited, he remembered the end of the long chain of events that had led him to this beach in the middle of the night, so many years later.

June 19, 1973

JONAS LEANED BACK in the raft, still not sure what to say.

What had begun as a simple kiss had quickly turned into something much more, almost before he even knew what was happening. Although they both should have been exhausted by their ordeal, instead they had responded to each other’s hunger with rising passion, culminating in an urgent, wordless coupling that had left them both spent and gasping.

Marisa rested her head on his chest, her light breathing indicating that she had fallen asleep. It was probably for the best; Jonas wasn’t sure what he would have said to her anyway. Weariness was trying to overtake him, as well, but he fought against it, struggling to keep his exhausted eyes on the far shore.

At last he saw a red light flashing from the jungle. Reaching for the emergency light in the raft Jonas flashed the recognition code back, and was answered in kind.

“Marisa, wake up.” She stirred against him, then reared up as if shot, a small cry bursting from her mouth.

“Shh, it’s all right. The rest of the team is here. We have to go get them.” He looked down at his disheveled clothes with an embarrassed grin. She smiled, as well, looking away as they both quickly dressed.

“I don’t just— That isn’t usually—” she stammered.

“It’s all right, I know what you’re trying to say, and I understand. Um—this usually doesn’t happen to me, either.”

His tone made her snicker, and he chuckled, too. “We’d better go.” He started the engine and piloted the raft across the water to the pickup zone, where the rest of the team waited for them. As he grounded the raft, Jonas noticed that there was the same number of men as had left. “What happened?”

The commander’s face was grim. “Safedy was gone when we got there. We must have just missed him. Come on, we have to go if we’re to stay on schedule. What happened at the mill? We saw what was left of the place from a mile away.”

Jonas filled him in on the ambush, and what he had done to break it up. Reinmann was impressed. “Good work, and good thinking, especially considering that we used the tertiary route, which is why we took so long. But you had things all wrapped up here anyway, eh?” He clapped Jonas on the shoulder. “Time to go. Everyone aboard.”

“Right, I’ll be with you in a moment.” Jonas got to his feet and hobbled over to Marisa, who was standing off to one side as the rest of the team piled aboard the raft. For a second he was seized by the insane idea to bring her along, but he knew that could never happen. “We have to go.”

She nodded. “And I will never see you again.”

“I don’t know. I will try to come back, but I need to know where you live, so I can find you again.”

She whispered the name of a village in his ear. “It’s on the north coast, not far from here.”

“I will come back and find you, I promise.” His back to the other men, Jonas grabbed her hand and held it between both of his. “Thank you—for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Adios, senor.” She stepped back, as did he, their hands being the last things to separate. He limped back to the raft and took his position, ignoring the sly looks and teasing whispers exchanged between the rest of the team. The commander signaled them to move out, and they paddled away, with Jonas taking one last look at Marisa before she vanished into the jungle.

WITH A START, Jonas came back to the present, glancing around guiltily.

He had tried to go back, but his duty had kept him with GSG-9 for three more years, and he wasn’t able to return until 1976. He had found the village, but the people there said Marisa had gone to Havana, even then a bulging city of more than two million people. Jonas hadn’t given up easily. He traveled to the city as often as he could, and searched for her day and night. But he had never seen Marisa’s face again, until the first time he had seen Damason’s eyes in the surveillance photo taken while he had been in Spain. Then, for a brief moment, he had seen the eyes of the woman he’d fallen for in one night staring back at him again.

Jonas had been involved with his share of women over the years, but none had ever taken the place of Marisa in his heart. He supposed that it was partly a fantasy that he clung to, an idealized image of the woman who had fought beside him that night.

The faint sound of a boat’s motor carried to him on the quickening breeze, and Jonas took out a small LED key-chain and held it above his head, activating the bright light that could easily be seen on the ocean. Three short flashes, three long, then three short again. He was answered in kind, and the boat revved its engines and headed to shore.

It was another cigarette boat. The cockpit was crowded with two men, a woman and two little girls, about ten or eleven years old. The man behind the wheel jumped out and met Jonas in the surf, holding out his hand. Keeping his left hand behind his back, Jonas took a small money belt off his shoulder and tossed it to him. The man opened it and examined the bundles of hundred-dollar bills inside. Nodding, he signaled to the other man, who motioned for the woman and her children to get out onto the beach. Jonas waded out to the side of the boat and addressed the woman in Spanish.

“I believe you have something to show me.”