Bluewater Revolution: The Twelfth Novel in the Bluewater Thriller Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida, Cuba, and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 12)

by Charles Dougherty

  "It is more important now than ever, señor. Fidel is dead, and Raul, he is old. When he dies, the country will be in some real trouble. With no one to provide a path into the future, the crooked ones will take over. Poor Cuba. You understand me?"

  "I think so. Why have you come to me?"

  "We need weapons my friend. Even though you are retired, I think you may know people who can help us, yes?"

  "I don't know, José. I'll have to make some calls. Perhaps someone will remember me."

  "That is all I ask, Señor Davis. Thank you for listening. Now I leave you to your coffee."

  "Wait," Phillip said. "How will I reach you?"

  "You cannot, but I'll be back in touch."

  "It may take me a little time," Phillip said, frowning. "I'll have to signal you somehow."

  Martínez smiled. "We will know, señor. We will hear. Do not worry; I will be in touch when you have something for me. Now, I must go. The roses, they need my attention. Good day."

  Phillip went back to his coffee and thought about what Martínez had said. His first reaction was to tell Martínez that he couldn't help. He'd retired from the military years ago. Like many before him, he had used his military experience to pursue a second career with J.-P. Berger.

  In the last few years, clandestine military activity in the Caribbean basin had waned. Phillip could have worked in other, less settled parts of the world, but he was reluctant. He didn't need the money, so he had withdrawn from the business. Presented with this opportunity, he realized he missed the action. The chance to work with Martínez and J.-P. excited him.

  ****

  "We slept late," Liz said, filling a kettle at the galley sink and putting it on the stove to boil.

  Dani yawned, nodding as she watched Liz spooning finely ground coffee into a funnel-shaped filter. "It's a luxury not to have to worry about the anchor dragging every time the wind shifts during the night."

  "I can't remember the last time I slept until nine o'clock," Liz said, nodding. "I don't like being tied to a dock, though. The motion of the boat is awkward when she jerks against the dock lines."

  "It is," Dani agreed. "And I feel like we have to be extra quiet because Connie and Paul are right next to us."

  "It's good to see them," Liz said. "Especially with no -- "

  The ringing of Dani's phone interrupted her. Dani turned and scooped it up from the chart table, glancing at the caller i.d. "Unknown caller," she said, sliding her finger across the screen to accept the call. "Hello?"

  "Dani?" a man's voice asked. Dani had the phone set to default to speaker mode, a habit born of living life outside in the trade winds, which often made it difficult to hear a caller.

  "Yes. Who's calling, please?"

  "It's David Ortiz, from last night. I hope I didn't wake you."

  "No, I was up," Dani said, a chill coming into her voice.

  "Look, I wanted to apologize for running out on you last night. My sister called; it was a family emergency."

  "Oh?" Dani said, still in a cold tone. "I hope everything's all right, then."

  "I don't know yet; she's still on her way to Martinique, and I haven't heard from her. Our mother's down there, visiting a friend. Mom had a stroke, they think, and the friend called Lupita."

  "Lupita's your sister?"

  "Right, and she needed some money for the flights. Sorry I didn't take time to explain last night, but she was upset. The béké's daughter doesn't speak anything but French, so she and Lupita couldn't really communicate well."

  "The béké's daughter?" Dani asked. "Who's that?"

  "Sorry. That's what Mom always called her friend. Béké is Creole for, like, a white person, a French person, mostly."

  "Uh-huh," Dani said. "Well, I hope everything's okay with your mom, anyway."

  "Thanks," Ortiz said. "That's kind of you. I'd like a chance to make up for last night, if you're still interested."

  "I don't know, David. I'm not going to have a lot of free evenings while we're in Miami." Dani smiled as Liz nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

  "How about lunch then?" Ortiz asked.

  "Lunch?" Surprised, Dani looked at Liz, raising her eyebrows. "Today?"

  "If you can make it," Ortiz said.

  Liz shrugged, looked pensive for a moment, and then nodded, shrugging again.

  "Okay, but it'll have to be a quick one. I'm here to see a lot of friends I haven't seen in a long time."

  "Great!" Ortiz said. "Where are you staying?"

  "On my boat," Dani said. "We're at a private dock on Star Island."

  "Wow! You're living large. Do you know the yacht club?"

  "The Miami Yacht Club?" Dani asked.

  "Yes. It's pretty close to where you are, and the food's excellent."

  "Right," Dani said. "I know it well."

  "Okay, then. I'll book a table there for noon. How's that?"

  "Okay," Dani said.

  "I'll pick you up around 11:45, then."

  Liz shook her head and mouthed, "Meet him there."

  Dani nodded. "Actually, David, it would be better if I met you there. I have some errands to run this morning."

  "Okay, great," Ortiz said. "I'll look forward to it. Thanks, and 'bye for now."

  Dani disconnected the call and put the phone down, taking the coffee that Liz offered her. "How'd I do, coach?"

  "Great. I thought it would be better if you had your own transportation, though, just in case," Liz said.

  "I think so, too. I'll take the dinghy; it's a short trip, even at no-wake speed."

  "What did you think of his story?" Liz asked.

  Dani shrugged and took a sip of coffee. "I don't know."

  "Was it a plausible explanation of what you overheard last night?" Liz asked.

  "Maybe. It almost seems contrived, though."

  "Why?"

  "The way he dropped in the 'béké's daughter' reference, like he knew it would have made me suspicious."

  "Poor guy," Liz said, grinning. She raised her coffee mug to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes. She sighed and then took a sip. "You're the most suspicious person I know. He doesn't stand a chance."

  "Does that mean you agree with me?"

  Liz peered into her coffee mug for a moment, thinking. She looked up at Dani and nodded. "Maybe so. But he could have been telling the truth."

  "Why didn't he just call her 'mom's friend,' or something? Why explain what béké means?"

  "Your first question is a good one, but he's probably a little upset about his mother, and maybe that really is what they call her friend, and it just came out naturally."

  Dani shook her head. "But why explain it, then?"

  "Because you asked, Dani."

  "I still don't like it, Liz. It was too convenient, and then there's the coincidence of my being a béké's daughter."

  "That's why I thought you should have your own transportation. Don't get in a car with him, at least not until you know more about him."

  "That's how I feel, too," Dani said. "I think I'll go see if Paul's awake. Maybe he can check this guy out with the MPD."

  ****

  "Did he say which exile groups are working with him?" J.-P. Berger asked.

  Phillip shook his head. "No. But then he wouldn't, normally. Martínez was always good at being discreet."

  "But he did say that they wanted to overthrow the Castro government?" J.-P. asked.

  Phillip hesitated. "No, now that I think about it, he didn't. Not outright. I asked twice, and he never quite answered. He didn't say anything to indicate that I was wrong about him being anti-Castro, but he was careful. He also mentioned that we might be overheard, so he gave himself an out, I guess. Both with me and with anybody who might have been listening."

  J.-P. nodded. "He has the reputation of being a smooth operator. When do you think you'll hear back from your contact at the agency?"

  Phillip shrugged. "It's not an emergency, so I didn't put any pressure on them. I just told them I needed advic
e on how to proceed with Martínez."

  "What do you think they'll do?"

  "It's hard to say, J.-P. I'm sure they'll check him out, but beyond that, your guess is as good as mine."

  "Will they have you get back in touch with him?"

  "Probably, unless they decide to ignore him."

  "Would they not tell you that?"

  "I don't know, J.-P. This is new territory for me. I haven't called them since I retired."

  "How did Martínez want you to contact him once you had an answer?"

  "He didn't. He told me they'd know once I made my call and that he'd get in touch then."

  J.-P. frowned. "That is strange, to me. What do you make of it?"

  "Whoever Martínez is working with must have someone on the inside," Phillip said. "Either that, or they're monitoring my communications."

  "Is either of those things likely?" J.-P. asked.

  Phillip shook his head. "Neither is likely, to my way of thinking. But we both know that either is possible."

  "You are better versed in this part of the business than I, Phillip. Which do you think is more probable?"

  Phillip studied his friend for a moment as he considered his answer. "It's more probable that they have a mole somewhere in our government, I think. Not that my communications are so secure, but my movements and patterns of use are too erratic, these days. Monitoring my communications would be more difficult than planting a mole, I think."

  "I don't quite take your meaning," J.-P. said. "It seems to me that penetrating the agency would be more difficult."

  "In some ways, yes," Phillip said. "But the scope of an effort to monitor all my possible means of communication would be so broad that it's probably beyond any of the organizations Martínez might be allied with. I don't mean it's impossible, but it would take the kind of infrastructure that the NSA might have. It's not something a coalition of exile groups could do, in my opinion."

  J.-P. nodded. "Then why would they involve you?"

  "Now I'm the one who doesn't understand," Phillip said. "Can you ask that a different way?"

  "Perhaps I was ahead of myself. If they have an inside source, why would they need you? Why not go to their inside person?"

  "Ah! I see your point. First, their inside source could well be someone at a low level; someone who can monitor and report, but who has no authority within the organization."

  J.-P. nodded. "I understand that now, thank you. But you said, 'first.' That implies that there may be a second possibility."

  "There are many possibilities, J.-P." Phillip smiled. "The one I was thinking of is that for some reason, they want my involvement."

  J.-P. frowned and shook his head. "But why?"

  "They could have a mole in any of several places, but I have a certain track record. If I'm involved, it could imply endorsement by certain parts of the U.S. government. That could be important to them for a lot of different reasons."

  J.-P. nodded. "Thank you for explaining. I was overlooking the international political aspects."

  "Or it could be as simple as the fact that Martínez remembers me," Phillip said. "It could also be because he knows about my connection to you, and he wants something that only you could supply."

  "And what would that be?" J.-P. asked.

  Phillip smiled. "I wouldn't know. I'm retired, remember?"

  "You will always be a partner in our business; you know that. Any time you wish to take an active role again, you may."

  "Thank you. Yes, I do know that. But it's best for all of us if I don't know the latest about what's in the portfolio. Unless I do resume an active role, at least."

  J.-P. nodded. "Did Martínez say whether they had money to pay for these weapons?"

  "It didn't come up," Phillip said. "That could be another reason he approached me. He knows I used to arrange financing. Or maybe not. There's plenty of money in the exile community."

  "How many men does he want to equip?"

  "He didn't say. Why?"

  "Just curious," J.-P. said, with a smile. "Business is business. Training? Did he mention that?"

  "Not yet, J.-P. You almost sound hungry for business," Phillip said, a teasing smile on his face.

  J.-P. chuckled. "Always. So, while you are thinking like a super-spy, let's talk about how I'm going to get Mario and his wife out here without telling him what's going on."

  ****

  Chapter 4

  "How well do you know José Martínez?" The man in the dark glasses asked. He and Phillip sat at an outside table in front of a tiny Cuban restaurant on Lincoln Road Mall in South Beach.

  "Not all that well," Phillip said. "I encountered him on several of my assignments in Central America. We've met often enough in strange places over the years. Either of us would have guessed the other wasn't there as a tourist; you know what I mean."

  The man nodded and took a bite of pastry. "Don't be offended, but I have to ask you some questions." He pulled his dark glasses down his nose and peered over the top at Phillip, waiting for a reaction. When Phillip nodded, he settled the glasses back in place and continued. "Did you and Martínez ever pass information back and forth?"

  "No."

  The man nodded. "Good. Did you ever tell him who you were working for? I mean, besides being a military attaché?"

  "No," Phillip said, smiling.

  "Did he ever tell you who he was working for?"

  "He was a mercenary. It was always clear who he was working for from what he was doing each time I encountered him."

  The man nodded. "Do you have any reason to think he might have been working for a foreign intelligence organization besides being a mercenary?"

  "No, but I can't say that he wasn't, either."

  "You were in this game for a long time -- a lot longer than I have been, obviously. You're well respected by my superiors. They told me to ask you something that I find odd, but they said you'd understand the importance." He slid the glasses down his nose again and looked at Phillip.

  Phillip nodded, smiling, and said, "They want my opinion on this."

  His glasses back in place, the man said, "Yes. I'm to ask about your gut reaction."

  Phillip lifted his tiny cup of colado to his lips and took a sip, his eyes taking in the people passing on the pedestrian mall. Swallowing the sticky-sweet, bitter Cuban espresso, he turned to face his companion. "I think you should check him out thoroughly before making a decision. His story's plausible, but the timing makes this suspicious, to me."

  "Can you expand on that?"

  "Yes. Why wait until we're normalizing our relations with Cuba? What he says about the potential instability that would result from the death of Raul Castro rings true. I can see a big risk for the U.S. in that scenario. Living with Castro next door is one thing, but we could get a much worse neighbor. Fidel's focus was on what was good for him and his country. Raul is a little more open, but imagine Cuba in the hands of people who want to do serious damage to the U.S. Somebody aggressive and suicidal, like ISIL, for example. That's an argument for supporting Martínez and his people, maybe." Phillip paused and finished his coffee.

  He drank some ice water and started talking again. "But if we back his effort, the risks are significant as well. We can't do it in a way that will hide our involvement. The world will know the invasion was staged from our soil, so our complicity will be assumed by the rest of the world. No amount of insulation or denial will change that."

  "You're saying you don't trust Martínez, then?"

  "I'm saying the stakes are too high to make a bet based on my gut reaction. I don't have any reason to trust him or not to trust him. I've known him casually for a long time, but that's it. He's not family, or even a friend. You know?"

  "If your mother says she loves you, check it out? Is that it?"

  "Yes, exactly."

  "Okay, good. Now, another question. Given what you just told me about your relationship, or lack of relationship, why do you think Martínez came to you?"

&
nbsp; "Good question. I don't know the answer, but it could be critical," Phillip said.

  "Okay. I'll pass all that up the line, and we'll get back to you. In the meantime, we'd like for you to do two things when you see Martínez again."

  Phillip waited for a moment, and asked, "What two things?"

  "Ask him to be specific about which exile organization or organizations he's working for."

  "That's one," Phillip said. "What else?"

  "Ask him why he came to you."

  "Okay," Phillip said. "Anything else that you need?"

  "How are you to contact Martínez?"

  "Don't call us; we'll call you."

  "When is he supposed to call?"

  "I don't know. He said he'd know when I had something."

  "So he's following you, or he's got you wired, somehow."

  Phillip nodded. "Either that, or you."

  "What?"

  "He could be watching you, or have you -- or somebody else who knows your actions -- wired."

  "Impossible," the man in the dark glasses said.

  Phillip smiled.

  "Why are you smiling?"

  "Gut reaction," Phillip said.

  "What's your gut reaction? To what?"

  "Ask your superiors."

  "I don't get it. Ask them what?"

  "About what's impossible. I'm leaving now. You should stay here and watch the people for a few minutes."

  "Why?"

  "See if you spot anyone watching me or tailing me."

  "If I do?"

  "Call me and tell me. And if you don't spot anyone, watch your ass, because if they aren't tailing me, they're probably tailing you. Take care, and tell your superiors they owe me one." Phillip stood and blended into the crowd of pedestrians meandering along the mall.

  ****

  "You don't need to do this, you know," Dani said to Liz.

  "I know I don't need to, but I'd like to, if you don't mind. What else am I going to do? Sit around here? Everybody else is out and about." Liz suppressed a chuckle as she watched Dani trying to put on mascara.

  "I don't mind. I just don't want you to feel like you have to be my nursemaid. Paul said David Ortiz doesn't have a criminal record. I'll be okay having lunch at the club with him."

  "I thought it might be fun to sit out by the pool and sunbathe. And I can watch the children's sailing class. Maybe I'll pitch in on the committee boat if they organize a race for them. If not, I'll just get one of those grilled mahi sandwiches and read Sails Job."