The Union Jack shone. “Kate, your thoughts?”
Kate leaned forward and made sure to look at each country’s silhouette as she replied. “The proposed mission would consist of two parts—locating the elements behind the possible buildup of a paramilitary force and preventing them from launching such a mission, and also the insertion of an operative into Cuba to ascertain whether the asset has been compromised, determine whether an extraction or termination is necessary and learn whether a faction on the island is involved in his unknown status, as well. If there is an internal aspect, and it isn’t stopped, it could foment more resistance at a later date, further hampering the progress toward democracy.”
The board members all seemed to concur with her reasoning. The Israeli flag glowed. “What external assets do we have that can be utilized?”
Whenever possible, Room 59 tried to use third parties to accomplish a mission goal—whether the person or group being used knew what their true goal was or not. Some of their best missions had been accomplished with no one knowing that Room 59 had been involved in the first place.
Sometimes, however, the most effective way of handling a task was with their own people.
Kate placed her hands on the desk and rolled the dice.
“Given the sensitive nature of the insertion, we suggest using one of our own operatives, since it would be not only time-consuming to bring in an outside element, but the chance of them being an informer or double agent would be high. As for the mainland operation, I think we should assign a lead operative to this, as well, someone who hasn’t been on that scene and can go undercover and extract the necessary information. I already have some of our department heads working on likely candidates who could provide support for such an operation, as well as possible access venues to make initial contact.” She saw Judy’s eyebrows rise at this, but the British woman said nothing. I’m sure I’ll hear about that later, Kate thought.
“Are there any other questions?” The U.S. representative asked, but no one spoke. “I propose that we move to vote on the mission.”
Usually, the missions were prepared in a way that almost ensured acceptance, although there were times when the discussion ranged from polite to heated over whether Room 59
should get involved. Kate knew that the American representative had brought up business interest in Cuba as a tacit way of acknowledging that other factors were at play here. She was interested in seeing how the Chinese and Russian members would reply, since Cuba had been establishing relations with both countries after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the post–Cold War chill of the 1990s. Ultimately, the board was supposed to take a world-view of the missions that they put forward or accepted, but Kate also knew that personal or national politics could undermine even the best intentions.
For the vote, all the representatives would signal their position by activating one of two lights above their flag —
green indicated approval, red indicated disapproval.
Abstention wasn’t allowed—a representative could be for or against an action without explaining why, but there was no sitting on the sidelines.
This time, the outcome wasn’t in doubt. All of the board members flashed green.
Apparently no one wants another potential civil war breaking out—at least, not in such a high-profile area, Kate mused.
“The board votes unanimous approval of this mission.”
The lights disappeared and the U.S. flag glowed one last time. “Kate, Judy, good luck.”
The U.S. Marine, Springfield M-1 rifle at the ready and steel helmet pushed back on his head, advanced across the windswept, snowy ground, his ice-blue eyes scanning for any sign of the enemy. Upon seeing a Chinese Communist soldier, the Marine lifted his rifle and took aim. He froze in place, allowing the grunt to mow him down with ease.
Jonas leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze wander around his sparsely furnished Munich apartment. He had told a white lie to Kate during their conversation, one he was pretty sure she had seen through. But certain things from the past simply couldn’t be revealed. He ran a hand over his close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair as he thought about the first time he had been to Cuba and what he had done there.
HIS MOUTH WAS AS DRY as the rubber raft as he approached the night-shrouded Cuban coastline. He glanced at the other members of his insertion team, each dressed from head to toe in black fatigues with HK assault rifles slung over their backs. A thousand yards out, their leader cut the engine, and the other four men broke out paddles and propelled the raft silently toward shore.
After the massacre of Israeli athletes by members of the terrorist group Black September during the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, the GSG-9 had been formed to combat terrorist actions within Germany. They had also been tasked with the top-secret mission of tracking down the remaining three members of the terrorists and either terminating them or capturing them for extradition to Israel.
Israeli intelligence had let them know that one of the survivors, Mohammed Safedy, had gone underground, and their resources had reliable information indicating he had appeared in Cuba, for reasons unknown. Jonas and his team had been airlifted to a German freighter off the Cuban coast with authorization to infiltrate the island, locate and extract Safedy. They had a twelve-hour window to accomplish their mission, so every second counted.
With powerful strokes the team made landfall, pulling the raft onto a narrow strip of rocky shore that was almost immediately swallowed by the thick jungle. Jonas got out with the rest to haul the raft ashore, but as he jumped over the gunwale into the water, his foot slipped between two rocks and he felt a sudden stab of pain shoot through his ankle.
Gritting his teeth, he didn’t make a sound, but hobbled ashore instead, still carrying his section of the raft. He tried to assist with camouflaging it, but his team leader, a small, tough man named Aurel Reinmann, noticed Jonas limping.
When he found out what had happened, he decided they would make their initial contact as scheduled, then head inland and find a spot to hole up while figuring out how to best proceed.
Their pointman, Hans, signaled that there was a dim light coming toward them. Everyone froze, and Hans and the man next to him carefully raised their rifles, aiming them at the bobbing light. Jonas extracted his brand-new HK P-9
9 mm from its holster, quietly chambering a round. His breath was fast and rapid in his ears, and he did his best to ignore the pain in his leg, straining to draw a bead on the light as it approached. The flickering light stopped, then vanished, reappeared, then vanished again. Reinmann straightened, waving at his team to stand down.
“Our contact is here.” He held up his own compact flash-light and flicked it on and off twice, waited, then flicked it on and off three times. The light answered in kind, and Reinmann motioned for Hans to go out to guide the person to them.
When the tall man returned escorting their contact, Jonas was hard-pressed to conceal his shock. The person who was to provide cover for them was a slender young woman, her hair concealed by a tightly bound kerchief, perhaps twenty years old. She didn’t smile, but looked at each man intently.
“One of my men is injured,” Reinmann said in German-accented Spanish, pointing at Jonas. “We are continuing the mission, but he will have to stay somewhere while we are gone. Can you hide him?”
The young woman glanced at Jonas, her lips tightening in a thin line at the change in plans, then nodded toward the jungle behind her.
A STEADY BEEPING SOUND made Jonas shake his head, banishing the memory back to the distant past. He thought he’d left all that behind him, buried as part of the things he’d had to do for his country. But judging by his reaction when Kate had told him where the trouble was, that wasn’t the case.
Deep down, he’d known that someday, what he had done so long ago would come back to him, and now it looked as if it was finally happening.
He had kept an eye on the country, following its slow de-cline, especially after the Soviet Union disintegrated. Information, even from government sources, slowly dried up as Castro tightened his already suffocating hold. Gradually, Jonas had turned his attention to more-pressing matters, but every so often, a part of him remembered
