there is an emergency while you’re on assignment and you are un-available to handle your primary duties.”
Jonas had expected Kate to bring this up, but his answer was ready nonetheless. “The current assignments can be routed to headquarters, and I will have up-to-date dossiers prepared on all of them before I leave.”
Kate glanced at her liaison. “Judy brings up a good point, however. I’m still having a difficult time reconciling the idea of assigning a department head to a field mission, leaving his ongoing missions in the lurch, possibly to be compromised. I have to think of what’s best for everyone, both here and in the field.”
“I have an idea.” Denny had been leafing through virtual operative dossiers while keeping one ear on the exchange.
“I think I know who you want to put into this assignment on the Cuban end—Marcus Ruiz, right?”
“He was one of several candidates on my list. However, he just finished his current assignment and was supposed to have some downtime,” Kate replied.
“Yes, there is that, and also the rather explosive way that his last mission ended, even if it was successful. Perhaps it would be a good idea for him to go into the field again, this time under the eye of a more experienced man, learn a few techniques on covert operations. Get back on the horse, so to speak. I can think of only a few better men to learn from than Jonas,” Denny said.
Samantha frowned. “From what I read, he stated that the destruction of the warehouse wasn’t his fault, given the highly volatile chemicals stored there, as well as the sabo- tage by one of the drug dealers. Do you have doubts about Mr. Ruiz’s capability to handle himself? Given the sensitive nature of this mission, perhaps it would be best to go with someone new, perhaps already in place.”
Kate shook her head. “One, it sounds like there’s no time, and two, given the high levels of secret police and infor-mants on the island, we wouldn’t know if we could trust anyone there. Regardless of his past performance, Marcus is an excellent choice. He’s an American-born Cuban, speaks the language with the proper accent and will blend in like a native, which is exactly what we want—someone who won’t arouse suspicion.”
Judy smiled tightly. “Very well. If Jonas can reroute or clear his schedule, and Denny, with your approval, as this still falls under your oversight, by the way—”
“Then let’s get to it,” the rangy Tennessean replied.
“Jonas, let’s conference about setting up your identity after this.”
“Then it’s agreed,” Kate said. “Denny, please contact Marcus and offer my apologies, but I’m afraid we’ll need him to be ready to go in the next twelve hours. After this, however, he’ll receive the mandatory month off—he has my word. Jonas, looks like we’ll be seeing you stateside soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Any other questions?” Kate asked.
“Just one more, if I may?” Jonas leaned forward. “The double agent on site—I assume it is the same one that we turned in Spain?”
“Correct. Is there anything else?” Kate rose from the table. “That’s all, people. Let’s get to work.”
Jonas cut the connection and slipped off the glasses, wincing at the slight headache they always gave him. He stared at the frozen Marine on the computer screen in front of him and, with a sigh, saved his progress on the program and turned it off.
He envied that young agent who would be heading to Cuba, for a moment even wishing he could take his place.
And what do you think you would do then, old man? Charge over there and invade Cuba yourself? Maybe you should just let the past remain as the past and not go chasing old ghosts.
Jonas walked to the steel-and-glass bar on the other side of his living room and poured himself a drink— Maker’s Mark bourbon, his first and last of the day. As he swallowed the fiery liquid, he considered the real reasons for going over there.
I do have the knowledge and it’s extremely unlikely that any of the players would make me for anything other than who I’ll pretend to be. And even Denny said it was a good idea to keep an eye on this young agent, he told himself.
But as he drained the glass, he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that was quietly telling him it was all bullshit—that the reason he was putting himself in harm’s way again was entirely personal.
His cell phone chimed again, and Jonas looked at it for a moment, then shook off his doubts and got down to business. “Hello, Denny… Yes, it will be good to get back into the field again.”
With a huge yawn, Marcus Ruiz opened his eyes and reveled in the sensations all around him—a real bed and clean sheets, the aroma of frying ham and toasting bread from the kitchen below, the feel of his hair without weeks of sweat, oil and grease in it. Marcus rolled over and basked in the bright sun-shine streaming in through the windows, one thought on his mind.
It’s good to be home.
After delivering Terry to his superiors for interrogation, Marcus hadn’t wasted a moment getting out of Montana on the first available flight to Florida. Along the way, he had been debriefed by Denny Talbot, and had taken some heat over the destruction of the warehouse and the meth lab evidence. Marcus had defended his work, saying, “Hey, it was six on one, and I still managed to get the guy out in one piece. Now, if you had told me you wanted the place intact, well, I would have done what I could, but you guys said get the link to Asia, which I did—alive—which I also did. Sorry if the locals are stuck sifting ashes. If they wanted to build a case against the Death Angels, someone should have told me. And by the way, the best news I can deliver is that gang won’t be pushing crystal meth on anyone for a long, long time.”
Denny had said that he would have to take up the mission’s parameters with his superiors, and Marcus had replied that he had to do what he had to do, but, “If there’s nothing else you need from me right now, I’m heading home.” Denny had assured him that he’d certainly earned some downtime and told him to enjoy it.
And now, twenty-two hours and three flight changes later, he was relaxing in his parents’ house in Little Havana, his rumbling stomach telling him it was time for some real food for a change. Not like the junk or fast food eaten on the run—when the gang had eaten at all. Marcus suspected he had lost about twelve pounds running with the meth-snorting Angels over the past eight weeks. Time to put some of that back on, he thought with a grin, rolling out of bed and heading for the shower. He had taken one when he had gotten in late last night, but wanted another, just to enjoy it.
Seven minutes later—his Army training still in full effect—dressed in loose cotton pants and a two-pocket guayabera shirt, Marcus ambled downstairs just in time to see his two younger brothers, wrestling in the living room, about to crash into the coffee table.
“
The trio trooped into the kitchen. The cheerful room was painted bright yellow with a pattern of blue-and-green curls decorating the walls. Marcus gazed around at the kitchen he had grown up in and where his parents were now raising another generation. They had planned on only having Marcus, but had been surprised with the twins a dozen years ago.
Marcus suspected his father, Reynaldo, had secretly been pleased at his virility, as he doted on the boys, often mentioning his plans for them to join the family business.
Their mother, Maria, scolded them, her tone teasing as she delivered the piping-hot, traditional breakfast she always served when Marcus was home—
Marcus had two helpings of everything, then tipped his chair back and stifled a belch. “
“Marcus, will you take us to the movies this afternoon?”
Esteban pleaded. He was fascinated with the cinema, and was already making films in the backyard, intending to be the next Steven Spielberg or James Cameron.
His twin brother, Ismael, glared at him. “No, he doesn’t want to stay cooped up all day. We should go to the marina, see the speedboat exhibition.” A budding speedboat racer, he was as addicted to ESPN and other boating channels as his brother was to film. He could recite statistics on famous powerboat pilots, either current or past
