by Owen Parr
“You got a name for the new company?”
“Not as of yet. But, I’m calling this team the Alpha Team.”
“Great. How soon can you get them together?”
“Let me make a few calls. All these guys keep a go-bag around all the time. It’s habit you know. How about Gordo? Can I use him?”
“I’ve got Gordo flying in from Venezuela. He should be at Tamiami Airport in about four hours. I will meet you and the rest of the crew there. However, Gordo can be in a support role only. Understood?”
“Gordo is too gordo to do anything else at this point.”
“Okay. The FBI will drive you. We got a brand new Gulfstream G200 flying us to Nova Scotia, and then across the Atlantic to Paris. I’ll go over the operation en route. We want to capture this bastard and find out if these murders are tied to the Cuban regime. At least, we know that this MonteCarlo Industries is a big farce grown to the max with illicit funds,” Condor said.
“We have ground support?” Alex asked, all wrapped up in the details of the mission.
“Listen, when have you seen me not prepared?’’ Condor One said. “We have special ground support, you’ll see. They are also non-govies. But, the best. I have two prototypes UH-60 Black Hawks outfitted with stealth features ready for us. Anything else you need, my boy?”
“Just hope the onboard movie is not a repeat. See you at Tamiami,” he said.
****
In Cuba, Captain Abimbola had received the green light to go ahead with what was being called ‘Operation El Niño’, referring to Bush the younger. Plan A became the assassination of Bush. Plan B would be used in case the attempt failed. It would be the leaking the 1976 drunken driving report. Along with an embellished story about an accident and casualties as a result of the event. This could easily be achieved through Cuba’s Directorate General of Intelligence and the assets they had among the media and political figures in the U.S.
Six ex-Stasi operatives, members of the defunct East German intelligence, had been chosen for the assassination attempt. Abimbola planned for the attempt to take place during ‘Operation Clean Sweep’. This would add to the confusion, as all members of the councils both in Havana and in Miami were being eliminated.
The Stasi operatives chosen by Captain Abimbola had been well trained. Two were snipers, and between them, they accounted for thirty-six kills over the years in East Germany. The other four had done the research and planning for the assassination and would be part of the attempt.
Presidential Candidate George W. Bush arrived in Miami for a planned dinner and campaign fundraiser with some bundlers and backers. He would be traveling from Miami Airport to the Bal Harbor Islands via the 836 Expressway, east to Miami Beach. Then, the caravan would turn north via Collins Avenue to the Bal Harbor Hotel. The route would take the entourage through an area of Collins Avenue in Miami Beach referred to as ‘Millionaire’s Row.’ This area of about ten blocks was ideal for the attempt thought the Stasi operatives. It was a straight avenue with no side streets. Just six lanes. Three going north and three going south. On both sides of the avenue were tall condominium buildings for a canyon effect that would trap Bush’s small motorcade of three Cadillac Escalade SUVs.
The two snipers, armed with Sig Sauer SSG 3000 sniper rifles, had positioned themselves on the high roofs of buildings on Collins Avenue near its intersection with 57th Street, one on the east side of Collins Avenue, and the other on the west. This would position them each at a forty-five degree angle to the oncoming three car motorcade. A car accident had been planned just a few blocks north on 60th Street to bring northbound traffic to a complete halt. This would be giving the snipers a sitting target.
The other four Stasi operatives had positioned themselves two on each side of Collins Avenue on 57th Street armed with automatic weapons. The moment the snipers opened fire on the caravan, they would rush it from both sides and finish the job. They had devised a perfect kill zone.
“Miami Beach police just informed me that there is an accident ahead around 60th Street and that traffic is backing up on Collins Avenue,” said the Secret Service driver of the lead SUV in the Bush caravan, as it was approaching 55th Street. He reported the situation over his communication system to the other two cars.
“What do you want to do?” The agent sitting next to him on the passenger side asked.
“They said they would send two motorcycle officers to open up a lane for us, or we could make a U-turn and go back a bit and then go over on Alton Road,” he replied, as he was now on 56th Street. Traffic was completely at a standstill because of the backup.
“There is no lane to open up, even if we had a police escort. I say we U-turn it and go back as they suggested,” said the agent on the passenger side. “Go up to the next median strip on 57th Street and make a U-turn.”
“Copy that. We are going to make a U-turn just ahead at the median and go back,” said the lead driver to the other two SUVs.
“Copy that,” said the agent, driving Mr. Bush.
“Copy that,” added the agent, driving the third SUV.
As the lead SUV approached 57th Street, it took two shots in the windshield followed by two more shots in the second SUV carrying George W. Bush.
“What the hell is that?” The driver of Bush’s SUV yelled.
“Get Mr. Bush out now. Turn, turn,” said the Secret Service Agent in charge that was sitting beside Mr. Bush.
“We are taking incoming shots,” said the lead driver.
The SUV with Bush inside made a quick U-turn, running over the median in the street, as shots continued to rain down on them. The windshield was shattered by more incoming fire from the snipers. Just as it did, the Stasi operatives stationed on both sides of the street opened fire on the motorcade that was now turning and moving out of the way. The staged traffic accident had brought the traffic heading north to a complete halt. However, it had had the opposite effect on Collins Avenue going south. Not a car was present, and it was clear sailing southbound.
“You guys get out of here. We’ll take on these gunmen,” said the driver of the last SUV as he made a U-turn. He stopped the vehicle straddling Collins Avenue in a desperate attempt to hold off the attackers.
Four Secret Service Agents got out of the SUV and stood behind it. The four Stasi operatives began walking towards them, keeping up a continuous barrage of fire. Sirens could be heard approaching from both the north and the south of Collins Avenue. One of the Secret Service agents stood up momentarily and was instantly shot in the head by one of the snipers. He fell on the street next to the other three.
The Stasi operatives, upon hearing the sirens, realized that they would soon be outnumbered and threw two grenades towards the SUV before running for cover and disappearing in the confusion. The grenades, while loud, landed short of their target, and the other agents were unharmed, although they had lost only one of their own.
Now just a two-car motorcade, the Bush SUV sped southward and was joined by motorcycle and vehicle police protection. They headed immediately to Miami Airport.
The event made the newswires but was confused with the other shootings that were taking place during the day. No report was ever heard of the attempt on George Bush’s life. More importantly, for Cuban General Garces, no one could tie him to the incident.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HAVANA, CUBA
The sun rose in Havana, illuminating the deep blue sky. During the night, the 24th and 27th Infantry Divisions of the Western Army, under the command of General Garces, had moved swiftly and quietly surrounding both Castro brothers in their Havana homes. Generals Garces and Naviles had decided to move up ‘Operation Final Sweep’ and depose the Castro brothers of their power and command of the Cuban government. General Naviles, in charge of the Eastern Army, had moved the 3rd and 6th Armored Divisions, together with the 31st and 32nd infantry divisions, into the outskirts of the Central Army’s area of operations in the provinces of Matanzas and Cienfuegos. Their objectiv
e was to paralyze any attempts by General Martinez, in charge of the Central Army, to squash the attempt at the takeover of the government. Garces and Naviles were leery of newly promoted Colonel Abimbola and had misled him in their plans for the execution of their final sweep.
Their troop movements were designed to create a vise from both the west and east of Cuba from which there would be no escape. The Central Army would be neutralized, and the Castros would be surrounded. Cuba was about to be revitalized under their strict communist control. They would begin to forge the path to South America that they both longed for. A deep red communist continent second only to China in size and prestige. Ecuador, Bolivia, Nicaragua, and Venezuela were to be the first dominoes to fall in their quest for power.
Captain Arturo Garcia knocked at the private quarters of General Garces. It was six in the morning.
“General Garces, Colonel Abimbola is on the phone for you, sir,” he said.
Getting out of bed, Garces picked up the phone. “Good morning Colonel,” he said, with great anticipation. He sat on his bed still in his pajamas.
“General, I am afraid I have some bad news, sir,” said Abimbola.
“And, what could that be, Abimbola?” He said, rising from his bed.
“General, I am in command of the Avispas Negras, under orders from Raul Castro,” Abimbola said.
The Black Wasps were a Special Forces Unit created in the 1960s. Its first deployment had been in Angola. They were highly trained by Russian Special Forces, and their expertise was similar to that of the U.S. SEALs, Delta Force Units, and the Army Rangers. Their loyalty had never been questioned, and they reported directly to the Castro brothers.
“You are moving up rather rapidly, Abimbola,” he said. “What kind of bad news would you have?” He asked.
“General, I am under orders to arrest you immediately and charge you with treason. I am calling to avoid any confrontation and prevent any bloodshed between our own men, sir,” replied Abimbola.
“Son,” he said, as he was getting dressed quickly, while holding the phone between his ear and right shoulder. “General Naviles’s army and mine have surrounded the Castros and General Martinez, as we speak. I have infantry divisions within blocks of the Castros. We have armored and infantry divisions ready to strike on my command. I suggest you stand down immediately, if you really want to avoid bloodshed. We had high hopes for you, Abimbola.”
“General, the Avispas Negras have arrested General Naviles in Cienfuegos. General Martinez has assumed control of Naviles’s Eastern Army, as well as his own Central Army, and your home, sir, is surrounded by my Avispas,” Abimbola said. “Your call, General. You have two choices. Either surrender or you can end your own life, sir. Your act of treason ends today, no matter what.”
Garces hung up the phone and immediately dialed General Naviles.
“Hello,” the voice on the other end said.
“Naviles, are you all right? What the mierda is going on?” He asked.
“General, how good to hear your voice. This is General Martinez. I am afraid General Naviles is unable to answer the phone. How can I help you, General?” Martinez asked.
“Fuck you, hijo de puta. Lo mataste?” He asked.
“Kill him? No, and avoid a beautiful trial and firing squad? No, no. He is a little damaged from our interrogation, but he is alive,” Martinez replied. “By the way, have you spoken to Abimbola yet? And, General, good call on the promotion from captain to colonel. Very timely, indeed.”
Garces hung up the phone.
MIAMI, FLORIDA
Miami FBI Director George Shriver needed to update Alex with developments in the search and rescue efforts for Julia and her husband. He picked up a satellite phone and dialed Alex.
“This is Alex,” he said, as his phone rang.
“Alex, this is George. What’s your location?” Shriver asked.
“We are approaching Charles De Gaulle Airport. Any news?” He inquired.
“The Coast Guard found Jonathan Muller’s body. Evidently, he drowned after the car flipped and the current took him out to sea. It is likely he was unconscious from the explosion and had no chance after he was in the water. We have no news on Julia at the moment. They have not recovered her body, as of yet,” Shriver said. “I am sorry, Alex. I don’t foresee any good news going forward on this.”
He had no response as he took the phone in both his hands and lowered his head as if to say a prayer.
“George, let me think out loud for a minute. If Julia had been strapped in by her seatbelt, wouldn’t her body have stayed with the car?” He asked, softly.
“I suppose, but the explosion could have killed them both anyway. And, if she was strapped to the seat of the car, the likelihood is she would have drowned with the car upside down,” Shriver replied.
“You are right. I just don’t want to give up hope,” he said.
“Buddy, don’t, but manage your expectations, please,” Shriver said. “On another topic, we are hearing rumblings of military activity in Cuba this morning. We don’t have any details yet. It could be an internal dispute.”
“The agency will update us when we land. Anything going on there is not likely to change our mission,” Alex said.
“Can you share? I am living vicariously through you these days,” Shriver said.
“We are going in tonight. We need the cover of darkness. Ramirez and Julia’s partner are doing the meeting for the offering this morning in Paris. We need her partner out of there. I’m thinking, if the DEA agent is correct, how can they have an offering for the stock?” He asked.
“Well, the Department of Justice and the Securities and Exchange Commission are meeting, as we speak. We need your input from there as soon as you have something,” he said.
“I know. Hopefully, we can get something. But, if this guy had something to do with Julia’s murder,” he stopped short.
“If you guys get Ramirez to talk, that would be a huge international case. By the way, we have no news on Casal and the other council member. Either they are dead and we have not found them, or they are hiding to protect themselves either from us or their potential execution,” Shriver said.
“I hear you. We are getting ready to land. We’ll stay in touch as much as we can. Thanks, brother,” he said, turning the phone off and looking up without focusing on anything.
PARIS, FRANCE
Rick Ramirez and Andy Anderson, Julia’s partner, had completed their last meeting at the Paris Bourse whose name had been changed to the Euronext Paris. The Palais Brongniart, also known as the Palais de la Bourse, had been built in the 1800s and was a magnificent piece of architecture. Coincidentally, he Palais backed up to the Opéra Garnier, Paris’s opera house, where in 1990 Alex and Julia had visited the Martini Bar.
Andy Anderson had flown directly back to New York to officiate with the opening of the New York Stock Exchange the next day for the initial public offering of MonteCarlo Industries, ticker MII. Ramirez had opted out of being in New York for the opening. He preferred to stay in Paris one more day as events took their course.
“Boys, that was quite a dinner,” he said to his three bodyguards. They walked back to their hotel on Boulevard Malesherbes.
“That was, sir. Thank you, we enjoyed it,” said one of the bodyguards.
As they approached the hotel where they were staying, Hotel Waldorf Madeleine, situated on the corner of Boulevard Malesherbes and Rue d’Anjou, he noticed six beautiful women laughing and drinking on the sidewalk. They were dressed in tight short dresses which accentuated their incredible curvatures.
“What do we have here?” He asked in a rhetorical tone, as he approached the six ladies who were speaking English.
“Putas?” Asked one of his bodyguards.
“We’ll see,” he said. “Ladies, something seems to be missing from your party.”
“And what could that be?” One of the ladies replied, as they all laughed.
“Male companions,” he said, ad
dressing the redheaded lady who had replied.
“Well,” she retorted. “We’ve been known to party quite hard by ourselves.”
“And we would not want to hamper that thought. But, hey, mixing it up could be a lot more fun. What do you say?” He asked, looking at all of them and extending his hands with open palms.
The leader of the group looked at the other girls and smiled. “What do you say, ladies? Should we show these boys a good time in Paris?”
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the hand of the leader and another beautiful blonde and began walking into the hotel lobby. He looked at the other ladies and pointed to two of them to partner up with one of his bodyguards who stood six four. The other two automatically partnered up singly with the remaining two bodyguards. “What can I call you?” He asked of the redhead.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about Party One?” said the redhead, smiling.
“And, I suppose this is Party Two?” He asked, looking at the blonde on his right arm.
“Works for me,” the blonde said, as they all laughed.
They entered the hotel’s small and quaint lobby. It was quiet and empty with only two attendants at the front desk. Neither of them looked approvingly at the entourage. Rick headed towards the elevator, grabbing the ladies from behind and playfully pushing them in. “Sorry, next elevator, please,” he said, entering the petite elevator and pushing PH to go up to the penthouse. “You guys need to wait or take the stairs if you can’t wait.
Looking at his elevator companions, he said, “This is a private ride. Ladies, stimulate me. Let me see a passionate kiss between the two of you.”
Stationed on the floor of the penthouse were two more of his men. “Guys, we’ll include you later. For now, no one is allowed on our floor,” he said to the men
“Oh, come on, the more the merrier,” said Party One.
“No, no. That would be called dilution in my business,” he said, not expecting the ladies to understand what he was saying.