by Evan Graver
“If we have time off from this gig, I’d like to get my boat to St. Thomas,” Mango said.
“Where is it?” Greg asked.
“Key West.”
When Greg saw Rick’s eyes light up, he said, “No, Rick. You’re not going.”
“Come on, man,” Rick moaned.
“We’ve still got work to do here,” Greg told him.
“I’m sick of this backwater country. I want to hop and pop with Ryan and the gang.”
“We could use him,” Ryan said. “Even though he’s a shit sailor.”
Rick flashed Ryan his middle finger. “That’s why I joined the Army, squid.”
“Fine, Rick,” Greg said with a sigh. “You can tag along.”
Rick grinned and rubbed his hands together.
“I don’t want to move a sailboat,” Oscar said, crossing his arms. “We must continue our search for the man who ordered my team to be killed.”
Ryan knew how he felt. If he could help Barry, then he’d be there with bells on, but the hacker hadn’t called or asked for help. This mission—and the one before it—had required extensive satellite surveillance and hacking. Ryan knew enough about computers to do the basics, but he had no idea how to hack things. Perhaps it was a skill set he needed to learn. If he were to continue with this line of work, then he wouldn’t need to rely on others.
Coming up with a compromise, Ryan said, “Let’s give Barry time to work, and we’ll move Mango’s boat while we wait.”
Oscar reluctantly agreed. The next morning, they flew to Key West, making a long bend out over the Gulf of Mexico to prevent them from flying through Cuban airspace. Once they landed, Ryan told Chuck to fly to St. Thomas. Chuck looked up with furrowed brows.
“Trust me,” Ryan said. “Once Barry finds something, we’re going to need you. I expect him to have a lead by the time we get there.” He turned to Oscar and Rick. “This is your chance to go first class, otherwise we’re in for a long, hard slog.”
“If you don’t mind,” Rick said, “I think I’ll go with Chuck. Us pilots gotta stick together.”
“Whatever, grunt,” Mango said, shouldering his bag. “Let’s roll before the weather sets in.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryan shook hands with Chuck and Rick on the Key West tarmac outside the Beechcraft King Air. “I’ll see you guys down there,” he said.
He, Oscar, and Mango headed for the taxi stand to ride across the island. He knew the two pilots would find a party before the sun set on Mallory Square.
The trio’s first stop was at a grocery store, where they stocked up on canned goods, fresh meat, vegetables, and beer. After stowing their purchases on Mango’s Lagoon 52, Margarita, they topped off the boat’s fuel and freshwater tanks. They had also decided to follow the fastest route. Known to sailors as I-65, the sixty-fifth meridian was a direct route south to St. Thomas.
Sailing past Fort Zachary Taylor, they made a left turn and headed northeast for the northern tip of Andros Island, then made their way to Spanish Wells on St. George’s Cay, the last stop before the wild Atlantic. They fueled the boat again and started east, beating hard against the current and the wind.
Ryan had been right. It was a tough slog against gigantic waves and gusting winds. When they were seven hundred miles off the coast of Florida, they turned due south.
Ten days after leaving Key West, they tied up at American Yacht Harbor, sunburnt and exhausted.
Emily and Jennifer met them at the dock. Ryan accompanied Emily and Oscar to Windseeker, ready for a long rest, while Jennifer stayed on Margarita with her husband.
In the Windseeker’s cabin, Emily told Ryan how she and Jenifer had been helping Barry and Carmen by making phone calls to various business entities and visiting the post office box in Road Town. It had been a fruitless trip because they couldn’t tell who went near the box. She had put her investigator skills to use while Barry and Carmen tackled the online world. Ryan could tell they had learned something during their search, but she wouldn’t tell him what it was. He fell asleep late, dreaming about the shoot-out in Panama City.
Morning dawned cool and windy as a storm front crossed the ocean from Africa. The weather service expected the storm to turn into a hurricane and track north into the Atlantic. Ryan hoped it didn’t turn to the east, otherwise he and Mango would need to find a place to weather the storm aboard their boats.
When Ryan and the others gathered on the dock, they loaded into the rented van and drove across the island to Barry’s place. Emily and Jennifer went through the garden without issues while Ryan, Oscar, and Mango tripped the metal detector. The hacker told them to come up to the office without leaving their sidearms on the table.
Barry and Carmen stood beside the flat-top computer table when the group walked into the office. Oscar placed several banded stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills on the hacker’s desk and stepped back to let the man count the currency. Instead, Barry swept it into a drawer and walked back to the table.
“Emily says you have something for us,” Ryan said.
“First, let me explain a bit about what we did, so you know what you’re paying for.”
Ryan didn’t really care about the legwork the hacker had done, but he listened anyway, realizing he could learn something for the next job.
“We started with public records, searching for websites and email addresses. Once we found a web presence, we ran an algorithm to look for similarities. When the computer flagged something, I had Emily, Carmen, and Jennifer make phone calls or send emails. At some points, they were all on the phone, trying to connect with the signatories of the shell corps. Then we started mapping the network.”
The hacker pressed a button on the screen and a diagram appeared. It looked like a pyramid, with lines extending off both sides to other entities. “The file you got from the lawyer assisted us greatly, but there was still a lot of research involved.”
“What did you find?” Oscar asked impatiently.
Barry gave Oscar a brief glance of annoyance for interrupting him. “There are layers and layers of shell corporations and trusts, making this a giant puzzle. I’m not sure how Valdez kept track of it all. His files don’t include any of the smurfing that Langston was doing, so the picture is even bigger than the network map I have here. What I can say is that it appears as if someone wired a considerable sum of money from a bank on the Crimean Peninsula to a bank in Switzerland before Valdez took over the accounts. Money comes from other sources as well, but this is the big one.” He pointed at the bottom of the pyramid, representing the money from the Crimean bank. “It’s the granddaddy of everything else.”
“So how do we use this map to help us?” Ryan asked.
Barry minimized the network map and brought up a map of the Caribbean. He pointed a finger at Grand Cayman. “Once a month, an automatic wire transfer from New Zealand puts the same amount into a bank on Grand Cayman. We backtracked the money through that entire jumble to Valdez in Panama, and it’s funded by the original Swiss bank account.”
“Where are you going with this?” Ryan asked as the hacker continued to ramble on about the technicalities of tracing the money.
Barry adjusted his leather bracelet, then tapped on a small box beside Grand Cayman. “So, the New Zealand payments go into a trust called Cayman Blue. The dumbasses named it after the house held in the company’s name.”
The box opened to show a single-story white stucco home with a white barrel-tile roof. In the back was a pool and steps cut into the rock down to the ocean. Next, Barry opened an Internet window which referenced an old real estate listing. Ryan and Oscar stood side by side as they scrolled through the pictures of the interior and exterior.
“Who lives here?” Oscar asked.
Barry grinned. “I’m glad you asked. I couldn’t get a clear picture of anyone using a satellite view, so I ended up hacking the bank records. There’s a debit card linked to the account, and four days ago, there was a withdraw from an ATM in
George Town.”
Still smiling, he opened yet another file and displayed the photos taken by the ATM camera. “That is Generalissimo Esteban—”
“Rincone,” Oscar finished.
“You know him?” Ryan asked.
“He was commanding general of the army until he disappeared about five years ago.”
Ryan turned to Barry. “Is he The Armorer?”
The hacker shrugged. “I don’t know. If you look at the network map, you’ll see that Rincone’s trust is an offshoot.”
Ryan tapped the screen to reopen the network map and studied it. The Cayman Blue Trust was three layers deep from the original account. He wondered why the general was getting a payoff. “What do we know about Rincone?”
Carmen tapped the screen and opened the file they had accumulated on the general. “According to the U.S. Department of Justice,” she said, “he’s wanted on drug trafficking and money laundering charges. He’s also wanted in connection to an oil price-fixing scheme.”
Oscar had nothing to add.
Mango had been silent throughout the whole discussion until he said, “It looks like we need to go to Grand Cayman.”
“Actually,” Jennifer said, “there’s a villa for rent less than a mile down the road from Rincone’s place. We made reservations.”
“For when?” Ryan asked incredulously.
“Next week.” Emily grinned at him. “We’re all going. Barry is staying here, but Carmen will provide us with on-site support.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “I’ll give Chuck a call.”
“I forgot to tell you last night, but he and Rick went back to Nicaragua,” Emily said. “Greg called them back on some urgent business. Rick didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask.”
“I know a guy who has a plane you could rent,” Barry volunteered.
“Good, get him on the horn,” Ryan said.
A few minutes later, he’d chartered a twin-engine Piper Chieftain Panther to fly them to Grand Cayman. While Ryan wanted to leave immediately, Jennifer and Emily told them they had other plans. They took Mango and Ryan to look at several houses either for rent or sale and talked about which marinas had the best amenities for the potential customers of their charter business.
While Ryan was more than happy to spend time with Emily and his friends, he kept thinking about the mission, hashing out a plan to grab General Esteban Rincone and extradite him to the United States.
The net was finally closing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grand Cayman
The Piper Chieftain touched down at Owen Roberts International Airport five hours after leaving St. Thomas. Once Ryan and the others were off the plane, the pilot refueled and took off on the return leg.
For probably the fiftieth time since leaving Windseeker, Ryan patted his pockets to ensure he hadn’t left his pocketknife or anything gun-related in them. It was illegal to possess both firearms and knives in the Cayman Islands. He hoped the authorities wouldn’t care about the CRKT tactical folder and Spyderco dive knife he’d packed with his scuba gear.
As they made their way through Customs, expedited by the private ground handling facility, a Customs and Border Patrol officer scanned their passports and checked their luggage. Once they were outside the air terminal, they boarded a shuttle to a car rental agency, where Ryan rented a Jeep Wrangler and Mango received a Kia Sorento. With the SUVs packed, they headed across town.
Their first stop was a café across the street from the ATM where Rincone had appeared on camera. They ate a late lunch and kept a sharp watch on the surrounding crowds. Ryan noticed Oscar was especially vigilant and wondered if the Venezuelan wasn’t telling him everything. If Rincone knew Oscar and spotted him, then the operation might be over before they got started and Rincone would go to ground again. If they let him slip away now, they had no other leads as to The Armorer’s actual identity.
They couldn’t afford for that to happen.
He leaned toward Oscar and asked in Spanish, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know this guy personally? Can Rincone recognize you, and if he does, will he bolt?”
“I have met him once. But it was during a Special Forces operation to stop smugglers along the Colombian border. I was in uniform, and I had my face blacked out.”
Mango leaned into the conversation and said in hushed English, “What are we whispering about?”
Switching to English, Ryan said, “Oscar has met the general before, but he doesn’t think Rincone will recognize him.”
“He can stay at the house with me,” Carmen volunteered. “We’re already paired off. It would look weird if we didn’t appear to be a couple.”
Oscar grinned. “I would like that very much.”
Carmen eyed Oscar with a look of disapproval. “Se mira pero no se toca.”
Mango asked what she had said, and Ryan, laughing, said, “‘You can look, but you can’t touch.’”
After they’d finished their meal, they drove to the villa and checked in with the real estate agent. She gave them a tour, and everyone dropped their bags in their respective bedrooms. Oscar grinned at Carmen as he tossed his bag on her bed. She shot him a look that said, I will kill you.
The girls took the Kia to the local market and purchased food to last the next few days. Ryan went for a swim. While he had formulated a plan back on St. Thomas, he needed to recon the general’s house to see if it would unfold as he’d envisioned. He waded out to chest-deep water, then pulled on his fins, mask, and snorkel. With his kit on, he struck out east toward the target’s home, which was less than a mile away. The scenery below him was a spectacular reef, alive with colorful coral and fish. He also saw plenty of plastic trash, a common sight along the shores of every Caribbean island.
It didn’t take long for him to make the swim to Rincone’s house. As he floated in on the waves, watching the world beneath him, Ryan occasionally lifted his head to check Rincone’s security and the access to the house from the sea. Ryan now saw there was only one way up from the water: the steps made of cemented rocks and coral he’d seen in the overhead photos. The stairs led up to a small seating area and then up to the pool deck. The cliffs on both sides of the steps looked to be a good six feet in height, and red mangroves grew thick along the clifftops and around the stone retaining walls that surrounded the pool patio.
Testing the security, Ryan swam slowly to the steps and sat on them to remove his fins.
“You need to leave, sir,” a voice said from behind him, moments after he’d sat down.
Ryan turned and looked at a tall man wearing khaki slacks and a polo shirt. His sleeves were snug around his thick arms, and he had short black hair. His facial features told Ryan that the guy was from a former Eastern Bloc country.
“I said you need to leave, sir,” the man repeated with more authority and a hint of a threat.
Putting on his best grin, Ryan said in a Southern accent, “Ah, shucks. This ain’t 657 Old Robin Road?”
“No, sir. You’re too far east.”
“You mind if I walk on up to the road? I’ve been swimming a far piece, and I sure am tired.”
“No, sir. I can’t let you walk through this property, but if you swim west, you’ll see another set of stairs. You can walk to the road from there.”
“You sure are mighty nice. I’m Rufus Smith. I came down here on vacation. The wife wanted to get this secluded house, but not me. I wanted to stay over on Seven Mile Beach, look at them girls in the bikinis, you know what I mean?”
“Sir, you need to leave. Now.” The security man reached behind his back.
Holding up his hands, Ryan said, “No need for getting out your shootin’ iron, son. I’m a-goin’.” He put on his fins and slid back into the water. The security guard watched him swim away.
Ryan found the steps the security guard had mentioned not far to the west along a narrow strip of beach. There was a walkway built
into the top of the retaining wall and he leaned against the warm rocks, enjoying the view and the breeze blowing off the water. Having never been to the Cayman Islands before, all this was new to him, and while working in a tropical paradise, he liked to savor every moment he could.
That didn’t mean he would let his guard down, though, because he was still visually searching for a way through the palms and shrubs between this property and Rincone’s, and Rincone’s man was watching him, too. He turned and appraised the tiny house set well back from the water and set to the side of the property closest to Rincone’s. It looked abandoned, with its windows and door shuttered. Finally, he slipped on his fins again and swam back to his own villa.
Mango stood by the pool with a beer in his hand as Ryan walked up, holding his snorkeling gear. “Well?”
Ryan smiled. “We extract him by sea.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The plan Ryan outlined for everyone was simple. They would have a team from Trident meet and equip Ryan, Mango, and Oscar with assault gear, including firearms. They would assault at night, from both the road and from the sea, surrounding the house and snaring its occupants. Once they had Rincone in custody, they would get him to the boat and extradite him to the United States.
“Sounds simple enough,” Mango agreed.
Ryan summarized what he wanted everyone to do. Carmen was to hack Rincone’s security system so she could turn it off just before the raid. Oscar was to go in with the road team and positively identify Rincone while Ryan accompanied the waterborne team. They needed a place for Mango to act as overwatch with a sniper rifle, and Jennifer and Emily would run a drone to search for any threats that might approach while the assault was underway.
With everything settled, he dispatched his people to find the best routes and positions to fulfill their roles. He then called Jinks at Trident and asked if the Samoan could send a team and put in place the logistics they would need to extract the former Venezuelan general. Jinks said he would begin as soon as they hung up, as he knew time was of the essence.