by Cliff Ryder
He spied Fernandez standing with three other police officers near a prone form that immediately drew his attention.
The sergeant prattled on about the good work, but Damason hardly heard him as he knelt next to the body.
The man who had volunteered to act as the buyer for the sting operation had been a quick-witted, genial young man.
Santiago Cantara had seen his mandatory army service as a way to learn business skills that would help his family start their own venture someday. In the meantime, he had been the joker of the unit, and morale had soared when he had joined the men. Damason had to talk to him about becoming an officer, as he had possessed all of the skills the army was looking for. Now he was lying on the floor, dead.
Damason put his hand on the man’s chest, feeling the stillness of the body, knowing the heart inside would never beat again. He closed his eyes, trying to tamp down the rage coursing through him at this senseless tragedy. He swept the staring eyes shut and muttered a brief prayer over the body, not caring if anyone heard him. Then he stood and turned on his heel, fighting the urge to plant his fist in the oily sergeant’s face.
“An excellent job. Everyone will be commended in my report.” Sergeant Fernandez nodded with satisfaction.
“What happened to your man?” Damason’s voice was low and calm. Cantara had been paired with a veteran undercover police officer, who was nowhere to be found.
“Ah, Officer Garcia was wounded in the leg during the heroic struggle. He was taken to the nearest hospital and is being cared for now. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done for your man,” the police officer said.
Unfortunately? It should be you lying there in a pool of your own blood, you arrogant bastard! Damason fought to keep his thoughts to himself. He took a step toward the police sergeant, staring at him with his cold blue eyes, knowing his intense stare often unnerved those who weren’t used to it. “Why did you order your men to come in before my soldiers were in place?”
The slender, immaculately dressed sergeant didn’t quiver, but flicked an imaginary bit of dirt off his uniform lapel and shrugged. “We thought we heard a struggle, so we came hoping to stop these criminals before anyone was hurt.” He glanced down at the body and shook his head in feigned sympathy. “Alas, we were too late. When they saw us, they started shooting, and we had to defend ourselves. By the time it was over, I’m afraid your man was already dead.”
Damason knew the man was lying—whether it was for glory, or just, as he suspected, simple stupidity, the officer had bungled the raid, and one of his best men had paid the price.
“You did stop the truck, correct?” Fernandez asked, as if the reason for their mission had just occurred to him.
“Correct, and we captured the driver alive.” No thanks to you. “With a bit of persuasion, he should lead us to the group that supplies him with the women,” Damason said coldly.
“Excellent work, Major! I shall note your men’s bravery in my report, as well.” He strode to the door. “All that remains is to collect the women and make sure they are secure until preparations can be made to return them to their homes.” He turned to walk out of the room.
“My soldiers will help escort the women to a safehouse,”
Damason said.
Sergeant Fernandez halted in the doorway. “Pardon?”
Damason slowly walked toward the sergeant. “I said my men will assist with escorting the women to a safehouse.
There is a large number of them, and they have been through a terrible experience. We want them to feel safe now.”
Fernandez half turned, so that his profile was visible in the moonlight. “Major, although I appreciate your offer, it is not necessary. The presence of soldiers has no doubt already confused and frightened these poor women. It will be best for all concerned if we handle them from here.” He turned to exit the building.
“Sergeant!” Damason enjoyed putting the steel tone of command in the title.
Fernandez stopped again.
“I must insist, I’m afraid. As this is a joint operation between the police and the military, we all must do our duty and see it through.” Besides, if I leave those girls in your hands, they’ll likely end up raped or resold, and that isn’t going to happen, Damason thought. “I would hate to have to report to my superior that you were not cooperative in this simple matter. We must all do our part in the struggle against crime, you know.”
The police sergeant’s handsome features twisted in an ugly scowl. “Very well. Your men will accompany us during transport.”
“Good.” Damason pushed past the police sergeant to his men. “You four will accompany the police and escort these women to their safehouse.” He lowered his voice. “Sergeant?”
Elian patted a small notebook in his breast pocket.
“Names and nationalities have been recorded. A couple had even memorized their passport numbers.”
“Excellent.” In the morning, he would make sure that the various consulates had been contacted, so representatives could help the girls get proper identification and travel home safely. He glanced back at Fernandez, who was glowering with his two stooges a few yards away. “Soldiers, make sure that nothing happens to these women during transport or after their arrival, and I will give each of you an extra day’s leave.”
Brightening at the carrot included in their boring guard duty, the men saluted with pride and returned to the truck.
Damason pointed at the building. “Elian, get a detail in there.
Cantara didn’t make it. I will visit his family later this morning.”
His sergeant’s shoulders slumped. “Sí, Mayor.” He headed inside to collect the private’s body.
Another truck arrived to take the women. As Damason watched them go, he couldn’t stop thinking of the lives that had been lost to free them. Cantara would have said it was right, that it was just, he thought. But if I had known what would have happened beforehand, would I have sacrificed him to save them?
Although he knew what his answer should have been, it brought him no comfort as his men brought the sheet-wrapped body outside.
Kate paused in her review of after-mission reports and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Even with all of the red tape we can cut through, the paperwork never ends. I don’t know how any of the normal agencies ever get anything done, she thought.
“You look like you could use a break.” Like magic, Mindy appeared in the doorway, holding a frosted glass. “I brought you some honeysuckle-lemon iced tea.”
“How do you do that?” Kate flipped the viewglasses up on her forehead as she accepted the cold glass. The tart-sweet liquid was heaven sliding down her throat, which she hadn’t even realized was dry until that moment.
“Do what?” Mindy asked.
“Read my mind when I need something.”
Mindy shrugged. “Suvi-Tuuli says it’s my gift, that I sense when people I care about are hurt or in distress, and try to help—that’s all.”
Suvi-Tuuli was Arminda’s Estonian grandmother. Kate had met the wizened woman once, and was still trying to decide if she was a contemplative philosophical genius, or simply buck-nuts batty. Whichever it was, at least the good side of her genes ran true in her granddaughter. “That’s why I hired you,” she said.
“What can I say, serendipity is a wonderful thing.”
Mindy beamed, and Kate smiled with her, enjoying the pleasant moment.
The room’s silence was shattered by the clamor of multiple electronic devices going off. Kate grabbed for her cell phone and slid the glasses down over her eyes. “Yours or mine?” she asked.
Mindy checked her tiny phone. “Not mine. Laundry’s done and the Dr. G: Medical Examiner marathon is starting.
If it’s okay with you, you’re on your own.”
Kate stared at her glasses, reading the message she didn’t want to see: “Incoming from Judy Burges.”
“Ah, crap. Go, get out of here while you still can. This might not be pretty,”
Kate said.
Mindy slipped out of the room as Kate steeled herself for the call.
Judy’s handsome—no one would ever call her pretty—
face appeared on the screen. She was pristine, as always, and stared at Kate like a disapproving nanny would regard a mis-behaving child. How does she do that—she’s only five years older than me? Kate thought, trying not to squirm under the other woman’s stare.
“Judy, how are you?”
“Fine, Kate, thank you. I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss this afternoon.”
“Well—” Kate looked at the virtual pile of reports to review, and then there was a conference with Denny to follow up on that meth assignment, as well as a half-dozen other operations in progress that needed attending to.
I don’t have time to hand-hold my liaison right now, she thought, and then was instantly annoyed at her reaction.
No, it’s better to deal with this now, rather than letting it fester.
“What’s on your mind?” she said pleasantly. She had the satisfaction of seeing an inkling of surprise cross the other woman’s patrician features, as if she had expected to be brushed off.
“There seems to be some confusion over the duties that people are carrying out in certain departments. I thought we should discuss it and see if we could clear things up a bit.”
“Please, go ahead,” Kate said.
“Simply put, a liaison is a person who facilitates communication between one group or office and another,” Judy stated.
“True, although I don’t have my dictionary handy to confirm the definition.” Kate’s attempt at humor fell faster than the first and last time she had tried to cook a soufflé.
“Quite. Regardless, in this case I think that the person designated as the liaison isn’t being allowed to perform her duties to the best of her ability.”
Kate had a master’s degree in psychology, but also knew when the time came to cut through the double-talk. “If I can summarize, you don’t think you’re being utilized effectively?”
To her credit, Judy’s expression didn’t change an iota, although her voice could have frosted glass. “Correct.”
“I see.” Kate raised her eyebrows. “Well, how would you like to see the situation changed?”
A lesser woman would have been caught off guard by the verbal lob, but Judy didn’t hesitate. “Kate, quite simply, you have a lot on your plate. Directors around the world answering to you, the board calling you at a moment’s notice—like this morning—”
“And I appreciated the heads-up there, too,” Kate said.
“You’re welcome, and that’s the perfect example of what I’m getting at. Over the past several months, I’ve seen a tendency, and I hope you forgive me for implying anything, for you to micromanage things.”
Instead of flying into a rage or cutting the other woman off with a cold retort, Kate grinned. “You’ve noticed, eh?”
This time she was rewarded with an answering smile. Finally cracked that frosty reserve, she thought.
“It has come to my attention. A liaison isn’t any good if there is no one to liase between. Although I do admire your aggressive attitude toward this job, which is often exactly what’s needed. But there isn’t a need to take on everything.
The board has chosen the best men and women from the top down, or else neither one of us would be here. I can help, if you’ll let me.”
“My God, you must have crushed your opposition at the Oxford debates,” Kate said.
“I was part of the Cambridge team, actually, but we did all right.”
Kate had the advantage in the conversation, since she had had varying versions of it with almost everyone she had ever known for more than a month or two. Some ended well, like the dialogue with her mentor at the CIA, Herbert Foley, who had been instrumental in her getting her current position. Others, like the colossal throw down with her then husband, Conrad, hadn’t ended nearly as well. But through it all, she had let others come to their own conclusions and then moved forward accordingly. Just as she had with Judy.
“While I understand where you’re coming from, my main concern is that I certainly don’t wish to be cut off from the directors or our operatives in the field,” she said.
“Naturally, however, like every other organizational structure, there is a chain of command. Operatives report to their directors, who would then report to HQ, such as it is.
There the decision would be made to either handle a situation or bring in more oversight. I can certainly prepare action briefs, or whatever you would like to call them for your review, and of course, if you request a status briefing on a particular mission or region, then we’ll crunch the data and present you with whatever is needed, within reason,” Judy said.
“Don’t worry, Judy, the one thing I’m not is a power-mad office dictator, although sometimes it can be tempting.” Kate laughed.
“Then, of course, your decisions would flow down the chain, as well, to be disseminated as necessary,” Judy said.
Kate tried to minimize her triumphant smile. It wasn’t that she was gloating; everything Judy had said made sense.
In a way, she wished they had had this conversation about eight months ago, since all of this could have been dealt with and over a long time ago. “I think we have an excellent way to move forward, and I’m looking forward to it. And I think I’ll also take you up on those summary briefs you mentioned. That sounds like a perfect way to start each morning.”
“Excellent.” Judy’s smile was genuine.
“There is one catch, however.”
“And that is?”
“I can’t promise I’ll adapt to this change right away. I’m more of a take-charge-and-charge-ahead kind of person,” Kate said.
“Of course, and indeed, there are times when the circumstances may warrant that. I would just hope that you would request assistance at the earliest opportunity.”
“I’ll do my best. So, speaking of intel flowing up the chain, how are things proceeding with Jonas’s cover?”
“What is the term the kids are using today? Ah, yes, he’ll be the dopest arms dealer in Florida.” Kate almost choked on her tea when she heard the slang come out of Judy’s flawless mouth. “The allocation-request program has been extremely useful in this regard.”
When Room 59 had been established, one of the tenets that had been struck was that its operatives could use anything from another agency, no questions asked, as long as the resource wasn’t slated for the agency’s own use at the same time.
“The DEA has a lovely luxury yacht that will serve our purposes very nicely,” Judy said.
“I’m sure Jonas will enjoy that, and our other operatives can get a bit of sun as the deck crew. You’ll make sure they’re all familiarized—” Kate trailed off when she saw Judy’s eyebrow rise. “Okay, okay, hey, it’s what I do.”
“I’ve already organized a list of operatives with the necessary experience and background to handle the ship. From the captain to the cabin boy, they will all be our people.”
“And the ordnance?”
“Oh, we’ve got something that is sure to pique the interest of any PMC that’s worth their guns. On loan from Defense, but they didn’t seem particularly thrilled about it, so we do have to get everything back to them intact,” Judy reported.
“Jonas will make sure it all goes out and comes back in one piece,” Kate said. Both women checked their watches.
“He should be touching down about now, with Marcus greeting him at the airport. Say, Judy, did you ever get nervous when you were in the field?”
The British woman smiled. “Every time. But you learn to deal with it. I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with Denny on Jonas’s cover, and we’re putting together the regional comm cell to handle traffic. I’ll let you know when that’s set up, as well as let you know if anything else comes up in the meantime.”
“Great. And thanks for coming to see me. I appreciate it,” Kate said.
&
nbsp; “You’re welcome.” Judy’s visage winked out, and Kate leaned back in her chair, sighing with relief. Much better than I had expected.
A shadow at the door made her look up. Mindy stood there, her hand over the cordless phone. “Remember that message I gave you? About you-know-who?” Kate’s blank look spurred the college student on. “Conrad—the paperwork—you were supposed to call him back.”
Kate let her head thump back against the top of the chair.
She pointed at the phone. “Of course. Let me have that so he can let me have it in general.” If it isn’t one thing, it’s another, she thought as she raised the phone to her ear.
“Conrad?… I wish I could say the same….”
Jonas leaned back in his business-class seat and drained the last swallow of complimentary champagne, which he had specifically requested be brought to him before they came in on their final approach. A trim, neatly dressed flight attendant approached, and he handed the empty glass to her.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Heinemann?” she inquired, using his cover name for this part of the mission.
“Nein, danke.” He settled back in his seat and looked out the window, watching the endless, blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean give way to the bustling metropolis of Miami. Ninety miles south, not visible, but its presence felt all the same, was Cuba. An impossible distance for some, Jonas thought, and a lifetime away for others.
June 19, 1973
THE SLENDER WOMAN LED them through the thick jungle to an abandoned sugar mill that must have been a hundred years old. Its ramshackle buildings were overgrown with jungle foliage, vines and colorful flowers slowly reclaim-ing the entire area.
Jonas limped in, leaned his G3A3 sniper rifle against the wall and sat down on a pile of canvas sacks before the young woman could say anything. A squeal erupted from the cloth as a half-dozen angry rats boiled out of it and scurried around him, chittering all the while. The rest of the team took up positions around the perimeter while his team leader probed Jonas’s injury with gentle fingers.