The Powers That Be r5-1

by Cliff Ryder

  “That was a surprise.” Kate sighed. “I’ve issued a termination directive—he cannot be allowed to carry out whatever his handlers intend to have him do.”

  “Everything I’ve seen indicates he’s involved in a plot to overthrow Paradise’s government. That’s what I’m going to verify from Castilo, as well as what Valdes’s role in it is.

  When we met, I tagged him with a microbug, as I’m sure we’ll need to find out where he’s going.”

  “We’ll have real-time surveillance on him by the time you’re on the beach,” Kate replied. “Be careful out there, okay?”

  “Right. We’re arriving at the launch point. Will contact after insertion is over. Beta out.”

  Kate cut the signal and rubbed a hand over her eyes.

  “Get me the files on Hartung and McMichaels, please, Judy.”

  “Right away, Kate.”

  Kate sent a query signal to Mindy and asked her to brew a pot of tea. Her comm screen beeped, and Kate saw that Judy had downloaded the files on the two dead trainees. Sitting, Kate scrolled through the files of the latest two people who had given their lives so that a Third World dictatorship could remain in power.

  That’s irony for you, Kate thought as she began the un-enviable task of briefing herself on the dead.

  Jonas piloted the twelve-foot inflatable raft through the calm ocean waters, aiming the small craft’s bow toward the palatial beachside estate owned by Rafael Castilo. Behind him the black shape of the Deep Water was anchored a half mile offshore, enabling him to make the short trip with ease.

  Two hundred yards out, Jonas cut the motor and rowed the boat toward the beach with powerful strokes, trusting the raft’s dark gray color would be enough to hide it in the darkness. He didn’t want to waste precious time hauling it to the tree line or camouflaging it. Despite what had happened, all of the surviving trainees had volunteered to accompany him, but Jonas had ordered them to stay aboard the yacht. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust their abilities, but two of their col-leagues had already died that evening, and he wasn’t about to risk anyone else, especially when there was a strong possibility he might be walking into an ambush.

  Once ashore, he took a moment to scan the building he was about to infiltrate. Castilo’s home was a two-story Mediterranean-style home with a large pool, terrace and red Spanish tile roof. There was enough foliage surrounding it that Jonas was sure he’d be able to infiltrate the grounds, but the electronic security perimeter was another matter.

  Adjusting the multispectrum detection system integrated into his close-fitting Kevlar-weave helmet, he crept across the beach, figuring any systems wouldn’t begin until the actual grounds. He hit the tree line, weaving through palm trees, chinkapin thickets and clusters of buttonbush. Using the infrared detection lens, he scanned back and forth until he saw the beam surrounding the groomed lawn. It was about four feet off the ground, and Jonas easily stepped beneath it. He knew why it was that high in the next few seconds.

  From around the corner of the house came two black-and-brown Doberman pinschers, their lean bodies streaking toward him as they ate up yards of ground in long, loping strides. The moment they appeared, bright halogen lights flicked on, bathing the pool and lawn in white brilliance.

  Stepping back into the bushes, Jonas dropped to one knee and activated the gas filter on his mask as he extended a powerful aerosol canister and filled the five yards in front of him with a cloud of fine white mist. The Dobermans ran straight through it, and immediately collapsed on the wet grass as their legs gave out. They skidded to a stop at Jonas’s feet. Both dogs whined feebly, then passed out from the inhaled tranquilizer. Jonas waited for someone to investigate the disturbance, but the grounds remained quiet. While waiting, he pinpointed several security cameras scanning the grounds around the house. He also noticed a small blind spot near the northeastern corner, near what looked like some kind of sunroom.

  While waiting for the lights to turn off, he took in the house, changing lenses to a thermal detector suite. The first floor was empty, but on the second, closer than he’d expected, he saw two sleeping forms, their red-and-orange shapes appearing to float in midair against the cold blues and blacks of the walls and floors. The master bedroom appeared to be behind that sunroom, next to the blind spot in the security perimeter. Jonas’s instincts again screamed that this could be a trap—indeed, it most likely was. The team that had been sent to commandeer the yacht hadn’t reported in, and he was sure Theodore knew that. But this was the best possible chance to learn the details of Castilo’s plan.

  Jonas began working his way toward that corner, watching the grounds for any sign he’d been discovered. He crawled through the brush and tropical trees until he reached his objective, and still, there was no sign of having tripped any security alarms. Jonas took another minute to scan the wall and rooms where he was going to access the house.

  Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped a small pistol-like device from a pouch on his arm, aimed it at the light on the wall and pressed a button. The narrow-beam electromagnetic pulse fried the light’s circuit, disabling it.

  Jonas put away the gun, waited for the camera to turn toward the pool, then slipped out of the trees and ran to the corner of the house, gauging the height at the top of the short railing as he closed the distance.

  Just as he reached the wall, Jonas crouched and leaped as high as he could, fingers reaching for the lip of the railing, and just grabbing it. Arms trembling, he pulled himself up, aware that the corner camera was coming back on its sweep, and if he didn’t get inside in the next few seconds he could be spotted. When his head drew level with the railing, he threw an arm over, clawing for a more secure grip. Bracing his arm on the inside of the rail, he slithered across the railing and collapsed on the tile floor, panting for breath.

  This was a lot easier thirty years ago, he admitted to himself.

  He listened for any sign that he had alerted anyone. Only the gentle roll of the surf and the night breeze rustling the nearby forest reached his ears. Rising, he moved along the right wall, avoiding the wicker-and-glass patio furniture set in the middle of the room, until he reached the French doors leading to the bedroom.

  While some people might have left their doors open to enjoy the cool ocean breeze, the double doors were closed, and Jonas was sure they were locked, as well. He took a small device roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and ran it along the door frame, ceiling and floor, looking for current flow to indicate the door was attached to a security circuit. The meter came up empty, so Jonas concentrated on the formidable-looking doorknob lock. Kneeling, he took out a small leather case, selected the appropriate pick and a torsion wrench and went to work. Since finesse was needed and his movements were so minute, he hardly made a sound. Although it took longer than he’d have liked, after several minutes, the lock clicked open. His thermal imaging told him that both occupants were still in bed.

  Switching to infrared, Jonas pushed the doors open slowly and slipped inside, pushing aside the billowing white curtains hanging on the inside. He closed the door behind him and glanced around. Feeling a breeze, he looked up to see a large ceiling fan stirring the air. The master bedroom was spacious, with an ornate antique dresser and armoire against one wall matching the four-poster, king-size bed in the middle of the room. On it, nestled together, lay Rafael Castilo and his wife.

  Taking a small capsule from a pocket on his web harness, Jonas walked over to the sleeping couple, broke it and held it under the woman’s nose. She frowned and moved her head to try to avoid the scent, then her body relaxed as she passed into deeper slumber. The potent narcotic Jonas had given her would ensure that he and Castilo could speak un-disturbed.

  Going to the heavy door leading to the rest of the house, he made sure it was locked, then padded back to the side of the bed. Drawing his pistol, with the short sound suppressor already attached to the threaded barrel, Jonas pressed the cold circle of metal to the sleeping man�
�s forehead.

  The businessman’s eyes fluttered open, then widened in shock. Jonas didn’t blame him. The helmet and full face mask were quite intimidating, concealing his features behind a black, vented guard that covered his nose and mouth.

  His eyes were concealed by the multipurpose goggles with their vision suite. He had no doubt he resembled some kind of futuristic home invader.

  “Do not move, or you and your wife will die. Keep your arms at your sides.” The mask also contained a small microphone and voice-modulation chip that altered Jonas’s normal speaking tone into an unrecognizable one. With a black silk balaclava covering the rest of Jonas’s head, Castilo would never know who was behind the mask.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “My employer is not pleased. Not more than two hours ago, the gentlemen you introduced him to attempted to hijack his yacht—and the cargo he was holding.”

  Castilo’s eyes widened, and Jonas activated his visual voice-stress-recognition program, which would analyze Castilo’s responses and determine whether he was lying or not to a ninety-five percent degree of accuracy. Based on technology developed in Israel, it had been integrated into masks as soon as the Room 59 techs had gotten their hands on it.

  “What are you talking about? I had dinner with Mr. Heinemann tonight and it was agreed that he would provide the Stingers my people needed for the price we had negotiated.”

  Jonas admired the man’s calm—even when threatened with his own impending death, his voice was steady. Even more surprising was that, according to the voice program, he was telling the truth.

  “So you knew nothing about the attempt to hijack the yacht and steal the missiles and the money?” Jonas asked.

  “Are you serious? I could buy ten of those yachts, and the money was a pittance to me compared to what it would get us. We need those missiles to defeat attacking gunships—” Castilo stopped in midsentence.

  “Yes, your plan to invade Cuba. If you didn’t authorize the assault, why would we have been attacked after you left?

  What’s the connection?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe pirates saw your boat, and thought it was an easy target.”

  “No, these men were organized, professional, well trained and equipped. They couldn’t have been anything but mercenaries, which leads straight back to you.”

  Castilo’s brow furrowed as he tried to think of an answer.

  “I’m sure your boss has enemies—if they know he’s trying to take over in the power vacuum in Miami, perhaps one of them decided to eliminate the competition.”

  “And they happened to arrive within the time frame that we had agreed upon with your man—and use the two lights he had told us to expect?” Jonas stuck the gun under Castilo’s jaw. “You are not convincing me.”

  Castilo shrugged. “The only thing that makes sense is if the PMC I hired decided to eliminate you, to stop the trail of the Stinger missiles from being traced any further.”

  The voice analysis said that Castilo believed he was telling the truth. Jonas nodded—at least that was possible. “My employer wants to know the details of your plan. Who is involved? How does it begin? What is the event that starts it in motion?”

  The frown reappeared, and Jonas sensed the Cuban closing up. “I’ve told you what I know. The plan doesn’t involve your employer any longer. You got what you came for—now get out of here, before my security finds and kills you.” He actually started to lift his head from the silk-cased pillow in annoyance, but Jonas pressed the pistol down on his forehead again, pressing him back into the plush bed.

  “Your PMC’s insistence on having it all has changed our agreement. If your units do not receive the rest of the Stingers, they’ll be mincemeat when those Cuban helicopters get airborne. It will be the Bay of Pigs all over again—that is, assuming you don’t abort the plan before it even has a chance to start. Now, tell me—when does it begin and what is the catalyst?”

  Castilo considered his options for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you are not going to stop the plans I have worked toward for the past twenty years—not when they are so close to fruition. I would rather die first.”

  Another truthful statement. Once again Jonas rued the fact that he hadn’t come to know this impassioned man under different circumstances. And he regretted even more what he was about to do.

  “You are a brave man, I’ll give you that.” Removing the pistol from Castilo’s forehead, he placed it behind his wife’s ear. “But if you do not tell me what I wish to know within the next three seconds, I will pull this trigger.”

  It was a stone-cold con—Jonas didn’t think he would ever kill a truly innocent person, no matter what the circumstances, even if it meant jeopardizing a mission. The question was whether Castilo would call his bluff. If his patriotism was stronger than his love for his wife, then Jonas was in trouble.

  “She knew the risks when we got married. She would sacrifice anything for our cause,” Castilo said.

  Jonas pushed the gun roughly into the back of her neck.

  “This trigger has a five-pound pull. My finger is already putting three pounds on it. One more flex, and the first thing you’ll see when the sun rises is her brains decorating that wall. Three seconds left…”

  Castilo tensed, and for a moment Jonas thought he was going to call it, but suddenly his body relaxed. “No—wait!”

  Jonas let up the pressure on the woman’s head slightly.

  “There’s no way you can stop it anyway, even if you had people on the island. There are three thousand men on the island right now, ready to move against key positions at a predetermined time.”

  “What about the army? Surely they won’t just sit by and let their country be snatched out from under them?”

  “You have already met our man on the inside, who has given us invaluable information regarding the status of their military, their placements, their equipment, everything. We know where we will land the rest of the men, what to take first and, most importantly, how to block communication between various army units. There are also dissatisfied elements of the nation’s military who will assist with the overthrow of the government at the proper time. Between the outside forces seizing key facilities and the army tying up other interference, any kind of organized resistance will be disrupted long enough for the internal forces to seize control of key facilities and order the rest of the military to stand down. I’m sure there will be some die-hards who will do exactly as that term suggests. However, the young people, the students, they want change, and that is what we can give them. Once they see that this is really happening, they will flock to our cause.”

  Castilo’s eyes gleamed with the fire of the true political radical. “As for the event that will launch the real revolution—my man inside the army is going to assassinate Raul Castro later this very morning. That is when the true liberation of Cuba will begin.”

  Jonas remained still as he digested the news, but kept his pistol pointed at the motionless woman’s skull. “Go on.”

  “Recently we received word that Raul will be touring agricultural companies outside of Havana, and that our man will be coordinating security. It is the perfect chance.”

  “So you have a way to get in touch with him—you can call it off,” Jonas said.

  Castilo shook his head. “No, once he has left the city, he will not be in communication with us until the invasion begins. The timetable is already counting down, and neither you, I nor anyone else can stop it.”

  His words made Jonas lean back, only for a second, but it was enough. Castilo brought his arms, still under the sheet, up and pushed the pistol away from his wife’s head, shouting, “Security! Intruder!”

  Jonas pulled away, wrenching his arm out of the other man’s grasp just as the door burst open, and another man rushed into the room. Hearing the sound of the door, Jonas had already turned, and tracked the bodyguard as he came in, hoping to catch
the intruder by surprise. Jonas’s gun discharged, and the man halted in midstride, then collapsed to the floor, his pistol falling from his hand.

  “¡Bastardo!” Castilo screamed.

  Jonas tried to head for the French doors, but was stopped by a strong hand on his arm. Hearing running footsteps in the hallway, he twisted around and brought the butt of the pistol down on Castilo’s forehead, laying open his scalp. The businessman released him and fell back against the head-board, clutching his bleeding forehead.

  Jonas cut around the corner of the bed and ran for the door. Sensing movement behind him, he dived as a fusillade of shots erupted from the hallway, one of the bullets scoring a burning line across his back. Jonas had planned to roll to the far wall and return fire, but a dead weight smashed into him, pinning him to the floor.

  “Damn! I think Castilo got in the way.” Jonas heard Theodore’s voice in the hallway. “Looks like we got them both.”

  Jonas played dead, hoping they would relax their guard.

  “Clear the room, I’ve got to get on the horn and see what we’re going to do. This may scrub the whole damn op.”

  Footsteps approached, then Jonas felt his pistol get kicked out of his hand. Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him onto his back. “What the hell?” A goateed, wiry Hispanic frowned when he saw the mask covering Jonas’s face. “Hey, you should take a look—”

  Jonas didn’t let him say anything else as he set off the flash unit mounted in the mask’s forehead. The 250,000-candlepower light burst in the merc’s eyes, blinding him. He screamed as Jonas stripped the pistol from his hand, jammed it into his chest and pulled the trigger twice. The bullets shattered ribs and carved through his heart and left him bleeding out on the hardwood floor.

  Jonas kept going, shoving the body away and aiming at the hallway, catching a glimpse of Theodore dodging out of the way while shouting for backup. Jonas grabbed his pistol from the floor and ran to the doorway, a gun in each hand.