The Powers That Be r5-1

by Cliff Ryder

  Lopez shook his head as they circled the refinery.

  “You’ve got your job cut out for you, sir.”

  “Yeah.” Damason swiveled his head back and forth, not liking what he saw. The main entrance to the processing buildings was right in the middle of the acreage, flanked on almost all sides by other buildings or storage tanks. Three-quarters of the way around, after they had taken another left and were headed back the way they had come in, Damason pointed at the other side of the road. “Slow down.”

  A rough path, little more than two tire tracks in the grass, led west between two clumps of forest. It wasn’t perfect, but as he looked through the foliage to the northwest, he saw that it was as good a line of sight to the main doors as he was going to get. “All right, finish the tour of the perimeter, and let’s go meet the head of the facility.”

  Lopez sped up, following the road as it curved to the left, then straightened out again, and then made one last left turn to drive along the back of the large, corrugated-tin buildings where the sugarcane juice was refined into alcohol. They ended up at the intersection where they had first seen the entire place.

  He drove up the main road again, turned left into the driveway, and parked the truck near the large group of buildings.

  A man dressed in a dirty guayabera shirt with an unraveling sleeve and torn, spotted pants came over to them.

  When he saw the military uniforms, he stiffened. “Sirs, we did not expect the army to arrive so soon—”

  “Exactly, and neither would our leader’s enemies, which is why we are here now.” Damason swung out of the truck and introduced himself and Sergeant Lopez. “Where is the facility overseer?”

  “That would be me, Julio Montoya, sir. We have been working around the clock ever since we received word that our leader would be visiting our plant, and I am pleased to say that I believe everything is ready for his arrival.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind.” Damason fell into the role of supercilious military officer with ease.

  “My sergeant and I will be inspecting the buildings and nearby grounds for placement of the security detail. I trust we will receive the necessary cooperation?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, whatever you need, we will provide.” The supervisor nodded his head in fawning agreement.

  “Very well. We will take a look around, and will summon you if necessary. You may return to your duties.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The man hustled off to the main building, no doubt to inform the others that the advance guard had shown up. Damason reached back into the truck and pulled out a battered pair of binoculars. “Let’s take a look at that area across the yard.”

  The two men slowly walked toward the far end of the complex, occasionally pointing out an area to each other or conferring on a particular structure. All the while they kept moving toward the large cluster of trees next to the rough grass path leading west.

  When they reached it, Damason stepped into the brush and stamped down a space, hidden by a thin curtain of grass, large enough to kneel in while still being concealed. Looking out of the improvised blind, he saw a clear line of sight to the front of the processing buildings.

  “Facing east, I’ll be aiming into the sun. The only possible advantage would be that the shadows cast by the buildings might give some relief.” Damason checked his watch.

  “The rest of the men will be arriving in the next hour. Let’s get positions worked out for the rest of the perimeter, and place Gonzago right here.” Damason stared out at the spot about seventy-five yards away where, in the next two hours, a man would step in his crosshairs and fire a shot that he hoped would change everything he knew.

  Walking through the tranquil Cuban landscape, Jonas was worried.

  Upon a final review of the map of this section of coastline on his cell phone, he’d realized they would be better off tying up close to shore rather than near one of the outlying islands. They had traveled along the coast for another ten minutes, then swung the boat around the southern end of Cayo Fragoso Island, anchoring it below a long bridge that connected Cayo Santa Maria with the main island, about ten miles from their destination.

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t grab a car and take the road over,” Marcus said as he adjusted the straps of his facemask for a more secure fit.

  “That’s the problem with you young pups. You always want to do things the easy way.” Jonas checked the load on his pistol and replaced it in his thigh holster, then chambered a round in his HK MP-5 SD3 submachine gun with integral suppressor. “I don’t want to attract any more attention than we already have, and I don’t want to announce our arrival five miles before we get there. On the way back, if you want to commandeer a vehicle, I’ll see what can be arranged.”

  “Cute. And don’t worry, I’ll try not to leave you too far behind during our walk,” Marcus replied.

  “Don’t forget the suppressor for the rifle.”

  “Already packed, Dad.”

  “All right, then.” Jonas slid the last of his magazines into a pocket on his vest. “Show me what that Army of yours taught you about cross-country navigation.”

  Marcus snorted. “With this setup, they really didn’t have to teach me anything. It’s practically cheating.”

  The state-of-the-art headgear they were both wearing, besides having a tight-beam communication link that worked up to three miles away, featured a heads-up display that allowed the wearer to follow the best satellite-mapped route to a destination using GPS coordinates.

  They had been on the move for an hour, and Jonas had been impressed by the younger man’s ability. Marcus had taken point and led them unerringly toward the sugar refinery, crossing two crumbling highways and setting a steady, ground-eating pace. He ghosted across the dark plains, and with the sensor suite he was alert to any possible trouble, such as the lone rattling car on the highway. They had flattened into the grass to avoid it, long before the occupants could have spotted them. Although Jonas admired the performance, he was sure that Marcus would have done just as well without the technology.

  In fact, everything was going more smoothly than Jonas could have hoped. And that’s what worried him. It all seemed much too easy so far. Of course, considering what I went through the last time I was here on duty, perhaps I’m being overly concerned, he thought.

  Unlike the thick jungle Jonas had encountered on that trip, this area was made up of lightly forested plains that had been divided into farm fields of various sizes, interspersed with groups of trees and sometimes heavier brush. They were making excellent time, but Jonas wanted to get as close as they could to the refinery before the sun began to rise. And he was even more concerned about getting their job done and getting out of there before daybreak.

  And that posed an entirely different problem. It was one thing to infiltrate an area to kill a person; it was quite another to infiltrate with the intent of trying to convince your target—whom you’d already lied to once—not to complete his own mission, which he was certain would free his homeland. And if that failed, Jonas would be left with only one option. But, even though he knew the odds against succeeding, knew he was jeopardizing the entire mission, as well as putting himself and Marcus in even more danger, Jonas intended to try.

  Ahead, Marcus held his fist up, and Jonas came to a halt.

  “Yes?”

  “My HUD says we’re getting close. Going to have to sneak and peek from here on in.” Jonas heard a small click as the other man readied his sound-suppressed MP-5.

  “All right, but remember, every minute that passes brings daylight that much closer.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Now follow me, and try to keep up.” The facemask covered Marcus’s mouth, but Jonas knew he was smiling underneath.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right behind you. Just get us there ASAP.”

  “Shoot, I’ll have us in early and back home in time for breakfast,” Marcus said.

  I wouldn’t
count on that, Jonas thought. He trailed his partner as they stalked across more fields, through small and large patches of woods and around the scattered small houses they came across. His enhanced hearing brought Jonas the usual sounds of the early morning, the occasional call of a mourning dove, the chirps of crickets in the fields and the warm, gentle breeze as it rustled through the trees.

  A soft beep suddenly alerted him to their proximity to the target. As they had gotten closer, every time Primary sent him an updated map of Damason’s location, Jonas had plugged it into the sensor suite’s map overlay, so that he and Marcus would know exactly how far away they were. Now, about 150 yards out, Jonas called a halt, sucking a long drink of water from his CamelBak hydration system.

  Marcus stopped and crouched down, his cammo turning him into a small hillock on the open field. “What’s up?”

  “Change in plans.” Jonas expanded the map overlay, projecting it until the refinery and its surroundings took up his entire field of vision. “Patch into my map view. I’ve been informed by Primary that I am to make contact with the target and attempt to turn him before calling the termination.”

  “They want you to go in and talk to the guy?” Marcus’s voice was composed of equal parts disbelief and anger.

  “That could blow the whole mission. What if he’d rather shoot first than chat?”

  “Hey, we’re here to do a job, not question our orders.”

  As he spoke, Jonas felt another stab of pain at lying to his partner, risking exposing both of them to even more danger.

  “It’s not my choice, either.”

  And truthfully, it wasn’t, Jonas thought. He would much rather set up a clean kill shot from five hundred yards away and take the guy out at range, then melt back into the night.

  But he couldn’t do that—not without at least trying to make contact first.

  “Man, this deal is getting worse and worse by the minute.

  All right, I’ve got visual. What’s the plan?” Marcus asked.

  Jonas marked Damason’s position with a red dot. “I want you to circle west and come in through the long stretch of forest to here.” Jonas marked a spot on the other side of what looked like a grassy trail, to the west of where his target was setting up his ambush. “That should give you a clear field of fire, and with the thermal scope, you should be able to pick out your target easily. However, you are not to fire unless I give the word, even if I appear to be in imminent danger. Do you understand?”

  “I got it,” Marcus said.

  “I’ll give you ten minutes to work your way into position, and then I’ll start my approach. If you get there early, let me know, and I’ll move out,” Jonas said.

  “Right.” Marcus split off and crept into the gloom, disappearing in a half-dozen steps.

  Jonas turned and looked to the east, where the first rays of dawn were just beginning to lighten the horizon, then he hunkered down to wait for Marcus’s signal, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say to his son when he saw him.

  As Damason had expected, the first security squad had arrived about twenty minutes after he and Lopez had finished their perimeter sweep. He carefully arranged the five-man team around the facility so that none of the men would be able to see each other.

  “Men, securing this refinery is a larger challenge than usual, but one that I know all of you are prepared for, because you were handpicked by our leader. I have your assignments, and I expect them to be carried out with the professionalism that marks the very best of our armed forces. Remember to keep the radio channel clear unless you are absolutely sure that you have identified a threat to our leader, or unless I contact you. Are there any questions?”

  Silence and five curt head shakes answered him. “Then assume your posts.”

  He gave them a few minutes to get settled, then went to the truck and pulled out the blanket-wrapped Dragunov sniper rifle and handed it to Lopez. “Let’s go.”

  He walked toward Gonzago’s position, the sergeant following a step behind. Ten yards away, he got out his radio.

  “Gonzago, this is Major Valdes approaching your position.”

  “Acknowledged, Major, you are cleared to approach.”

  He crossed the road and stepped into the thicket where the small, wiry soldier blended into the surroundings. Gonzago saluted, a puzzled frown crossing his face. “Major, I was just about to contact you anyway. When I came in here, I found the grass flattened, as if someone had already used this area as an observation point.”

  “Our leader has obviously chosen his protectors well,”

  Damason said as he took a step closer and lowered his voice.

  “What I am about to tell you is classified and cannot go beyond the two of us.”

  The soldier’s eyes widened, and he stood even straighter upon hearing the news.

  “We have received word that there is a plot to assassinate our beloved leader, and the perpetrators of this heinous crime are part of his own security detail.”

  Gonzago’s eyes widened in shock. “But surely our counterintelligence—”

  Damason held up his left hand. “It was through the efforts of our dedicated counterintelligence personnel that this plot was uncovered in the first place. Our leader wants to capture the men responsible for this terrible plan in the act, which is why we’re here.Your service and dedication to the revolution are above reproach in every way. That is why I have placed you in this vital position. I am asking you, on behalf of all Cuba, to watch with the utmost attention as he approaches.”

  Gonzago saluted with a quivering hand. “I will not let our leader down.” He turned to resume his position. Damason reached around to clap his hand over the soldier’s mouth and drag him away from the front of the clearing. Wrenching Gonzago’s head to the left, he raised his right hand and plunged a six-inch blade into the man’s neck, severing his carotid artery and spraying a jet of blood into the air. The soldier convulsed once, then went limp, and Damason gently lowered him to the ground.

  “Although you did not know it, you have an important role to play in this operation, soldier.” Damason rolled him to one side, cleaned his hands, then turned to Lopez and took the rifle from him. “Take your position—make sure no one comes up on me. You know the signal.”

  Lopez nodded and melted into the underbrush. Damason immediately felt more secure knowing that his sergeant would be about ten yards away. He unwrapped the rifle and inspected the scope, removing the protective caps on each end and making sure the lenses were clean. His one regret was that he hadn’t had a chance to test fire the rifle. He had loaded an empty magazine and dry-fired it, to get an idea of the feel of the weapon and its trigger pull, but he couldn’t have taken the risk of being discovered actually shooting it.

  No matter what remote place he would have gone to, the risk of being found out was simply too great. However, at this distance, roughly seventy yards, he knew it was unlikely he would miss. He loaded a full magazine, chambered a round, settled into position and began the hardest duty of all, waiting.

  Poor bastard, Marcus thought as he stepped into the tree line.

  He had circled west-southwest, and had picked out the supposedly camouflaged soldier’s position with his thermal vision right away, recognizing him for what he was. “Beta, this is Alpha.”

  “Go.”

  “I’ve got a potential hostile in the jungle approximately ten yards west of target’s position. Looks like the rear guard.”

  “Move in and eliminate him silently. Do not jeopardize our position under any circumstances.”

  “Affirmative. Moving in.” Don’t jeopardize our position.

  You mean like Primary is doing? Marcus thought. He resolved to have a talk with Kate about mission priority once this was over. Contact and acquire, indeed. What brilliant bureaucrat came up with that one? I bet Judy had a hand in this. But first, he had a rear door to close and a partner to babysit while he chatted up a rogue military officer.

  Marcus plo
tted his intercept course to come in on the north side of the man, making sure to stay far enough away so as not to alert their target. Sure is getting crowded in this part of the bush, he thought. He crept forward, placing each foot with maximum care, avoiding twigs and leaves, slowly making his way toward the observer one careful step at a time, checking after each stop to ensure he hadn’t been spotted. When he was within range, he raised the sound-suppressed MP-5, checked the fire-selector switch and snugged the extended stock into his shoulder. He took one more step forward, breath shallow, aimed at the glowing red-and-yellow blob in front of him and squeezed the trigger.

  “Alpha has taken out one hostile. Beta appears to be—

  moving in on the other one.” KeyWiz frowned as he sat watching the patch of Cuban jungle.

  “Moving in? How close does he need to be?” Kate studied the topographical map, with the various dots signifying Jonas’s and Marcus’s positions. She watched as the division head kept edging closer to the red dot of Damason. “What is he doing?”

  “Unknown, ma’am.”

  Kate weighed her options. No new information on Damason had come up that would necessitate what looked like a contact attempt. Operatives in the field had almost unlimited ability to do whatever was necessary to complete a mission, however, this looked like something else entirely. Even in the jungle, Jonas shouldn’t have needed to get that close to carry out a termination—the man was a sniper, after all. He should be able to tag anyone from several hundred yards out.

  Kate’s instincts jangled again. Something wasn’t right, she was sure of it. “Get me Beta.” She knew it was a risk, but at the very least she had to confirm that something hadn’t gone wrong.

  Kate heard the chime of the outgoing call ring again and again. “Beta is not answering,” KeyWiz said.

  What the hell is he doing? “Keep trying to raise him, and get me Alpha right away.”

  Kate unclenched her hands, hating what she was feeling—the rising sense that she was not in control of the situation. “Goddamn it, Jonas, what are you up to?” She opened another screen and brought up the Valdes file. What is it about him? she wondered.