“So where are the missiles stored now?” Bolan asked.
Miguel made another quick turn and checked his mirrors again. “Just making sure our little friends are not behind us. What did you ask? Where the missiles are kept?”
“Right,” Bolan said.
Miguel laughed. “On a little island our former leader discovered after the failed invasion by the US many years ago.”
“How accessible is it?” Bolan asked.
“You can only get to it by boat or plane,” Miguel said. “Helicopter patrols guard it day and night. And a private security force is kept on the island, one that can repel an invasion from the US Marines.”
“That’ll be the day,” Grimaldi said. “Our men would eat those guys for breakfast.”
“Perhaps so, perhaps not.” Miguel shrugged, then flashed another wry grin. “But after fifty-four years, and now the new normalized relations, I no think we gonna find out who’s right.”
“Why are the missiles there?” Bolan asked. “And how are they stored?”
“Well, from what I have heard, it’s a nostalgia thing, reminding an old man of former glory days.”
“But he’s selling them now?” Bolan asked. “To the North Koreans?”
“So they say.” Miguel shrugged as he turned onto a broad avenue. “The ship is down this way. You can’t miss it.”
The view of the bay opened up before them, a long, vacant harbor with only one large transport ship docked in the center port.
Miguel slowed a bit as they passed the North Korean ship. It was a long transport vessel with a three-story bridge, and crew quarters on the aft section. Four derricks lined the starboard deck, and the triangular-shaped hull loomed over the water like the beak of a gigantic sea monster, waiting to pounce. The top half of the ship was painted jet-black, with big white Korean characters emblazoned just under the pointed beak. Halfway down, the black changed abruptly to a rusty, reddish brown, indicating that the vessel was floating high and had yet to be loaded with any cargo.
“Any idea how many are in the crew?” Bolan asked.
“At least thirty,” Miguel said. “They have been patronizing the bars, and the girls, for the past few nights. Word is they are set to leave soon, much to the chagrin of the local bar owners. From what I hear, they have been very good customers.”
That didn’t sit right with Bolan. Not that sailors from any nation wouldn’t show a tendency to overspend and overindulge, but North Koreans didn’t have that kind of money. Once again, it came down to the question of who was paying the tab.
“What money are they using?”
“They have CUCs,” Miguel said, citing the most valuable of the Cuban currency. “Again, I have heard that they have a lot of euros and US dollars to trade, too.”
“Do the Koreans have anybody with them?” Bolan asked. “Any non-Asians?”
“Funny you should ask that,” Miguel said. He pushed the gearshift into second and accelerated away from the ship. “I don’t like to dawdle, as they say. Too many prying eyes around.” He made a sharp left turn and started driving away from the waterfront.
“You were saying?” Bolan asked, minutes later.
“Sí, definitely not Asian. There is one man. He looks like he could be European, perhaps from la España. Dark hair, mustache. He stays on the ship most of the time, but has been seen getting into a car that picks up him along with a couple of the others.”
“What kind of car?”
“Limo,” Miguel said, patting his shoulder in a manner to indicate a braided epaulet. “A car of los peces gordos. The fat fish. The secret police.”
“How many times have they seen him leave?”
“Two times. The first was the day they arrived. The second was earlier today, and that time he had a big suitcase with him.”
“A suitcase?”
“Sí.” Miguel rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. “The kind that can hold mucho dinero.”
It was starting to make sense. The North Koreans had someone who was footing the bill. Bolan remembered the recovered suitcase from the Mexican raid. At least that part of the purchase had been intercepted. Perhaps that was why the ship was still moored here and not loading the missiles on board. Bolan felt the need to check in with Brognola and give him a sitrep, as well as figure their next move, whatever that might be. He also wondered if the North Koreans were doing the same.
6
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
Hudson’s fingers still felt sore from that asshole, Yi, bending and twisting them. Damn, that Korean was strong. He had hands like vise grips. Hudson watched as McGreagor continued to make the rounds at the pool, laughing and joking with his guests. He was wearing swimming trunks and a baggy green shirt, his sweat already making half-moon circles under each arm. He looked around for a server and pointed to his now empty glass. The man approached him and bowed. “What are you drinking, sir?”
“Scotch on the rocks,” McGreagor said. The server nodded and left.
The billionaire’s gaze searched out and met Hudson’s. The big man made a quick beckoning gesture, his impatience obvious.
Hudson strolled over, making sure to watch his step as he moved past the pool. One of the young ladies was on the diving board, teasing, about taking off her top.
When he approached, McGreagor leaned close. “Go to my room and fetch me a clean shirt,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my key.”
It was the moment Hudson had been hoping for—a chance to break away from McGreagor and get to his own room. Although Hudson had already downloaded the schematics and plans for the new reentry technology, his little thumb-wrestling match with Colonel Yi had added a new level of anxiety to their transaction. Hudson was concerned with how easily the colonel had incapacitated him. The asshole was a walking assassin, and from what Kim had said, the younger, muscular guy that Yi had brought along was some sort of North Korean superman. All that left little doubt that once the Koreans had the scientists and the schematics, their pledge to make Hudson a very rich man would be worth about as much as a three-dollar bill.
No, he needed that insurance policy, something to give him the upper hand when dealing with these Asian gangsters. He accepted the key from McGreagor and said with a smile, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
FROM THE ROOF of the building, Yi peered through his binoculars and watched the Americans and the Mexican women frolicking in the pool. The rich American, McGreagor, had reserved that area for himself and his associates for the afternoon. Official notice had been given, and the resort had graciously apologized to the other guests for any inconvenience, saying that the pools on the other side of the building were available for their pleasure. Portable barriers and privacy screens had been placed around the enclosure, which had immediately sent Yi to the roof to observe the proceedings. The decadent display did little to impress him, and he noticed Hudson standing by in silent vigilance.
Had twisting Hudson’s finger been a mistake? The man seemed more nervous now, and more anxious. He had been recruited and kept in line very nicely by Kim Soo-Han, so perhaps the show of force Yi had used was unwise. Still, the man’s insolence and audacity had rubbed Yi the wrong way. It had seemed necessary to instill in him a bit of fear and respect, as it had with the Mexican and Panamanian gangsters.
Yi thought about the captive Mexican. The boat should be arriving soon, and he needed to keep the Mexican cartels at bay until the abduction of the scientists was complete and the missile reentry plans were in his possession. Then the Mexican’s throat could be slashed, and he could be dumped overboard. If the cartel complained later, it would not matter. Yi’s dealings with these dishonorable thieves would be over. Hudson, too, would be meeting a similar fate. The fate of all traitors.
Yi wondered where he was going, and thought again that the finger twisting had indeed frightened the rabbit and perhaps made him more wary.
I must be certain that Hudson has no method with which to betray me, Yi thought.
Hotel del Blanco
Havana, Cuba
BOLAN DID A quick scan of the room with his cell phone to check for any listening devices, and found none. To be extra certain, Grimaldi looked toward Chong and held his finger to his lips. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, then to the television set, and turned that on, as well. The screen illuminated after a solid forty seconds, and the image of American former-football-player-turned-wannabe-movie-star Homer Glen filled the screen.
“I want to say,” Glen said in his deep voice, “that I have nothing but the utmost respect for the Cuban president and his brother. What they’ve accomplished here in Cuba has been nothing short of amazing.”
Grimaldi smirked and held up his middle finger. “That chump must’ve gotten tackled one time too many.”
Chong laughed. “You guys are something else.”
The door opened and they all whirled, only to see Stevenson storm in.
“The shower’s not working in my room,” she said, heading for the small bathroom. “Oh, good, you’ve got this one warming up for me.”
“Now isn’t such a good time,” Grimaldi said.
“Oh, I suppose you want to jump in ahead of me and use up what little hot, or should I say warm, water there is in this fleabag hotel?”
“Better leave the door open,” Grimaldi said with a grin. “Security.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped past him.
“And let me know if you need your back scrubbed,” he added as she slammed the door.
“Hey,” Grimaldi said, reopening the door. “I told you to leave it open.”
Bolan had his sat phone out and was about to contact Brognola. “Give her some space, Jack. She’s had a rough morning.”
The big Fed answered on the first ring. “I think this is the first time we’ve been in the same time zone in a long while.”
“I’ll try not to get used to it,” Bolan said. He gave Brognola an update on the situation and the North Korean ship in the harbor. “We still haven’t figured out who’s footing the bill, though.”
“That would be nice to know,” the big Fed said. “But I’m sure we can narrow it down to a few of the usual suspects. You say the Cubans have more missiles down there?”
“That’s what they say. Supposed to be at a secret island hideaway.”
“Hmm, do you think you could put a designated hitter on that vessel?”
“Maybe,” Bolan said, knowing that Brognola was referring to a transponder. “Know where I can find one?”
Brognola laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do. Go see Ted.”
“He’s been pretty stingy with equipment. Our two newbies are running around naked.”
Bolan was certain that the sat phone transmission was encrypted and totally secure, but he wasn’t so sure about their hotel room. Thus, he didn’t press Brognola for too much information, and sensed that the big Fed, well schooled in the art of espionage, was doing the same.
“Yeah, I know.” Brognola sighed. “He’s not a bad guy, just caught between the rock and the hard place. State’s insistent on treating Cuba with kid gloves. I’ll make a call and see if I can loosen things up for you.”
“Any word on the three missing ships?”
“We’re still looking. The USS Reagan is in the area, ready with a contingent of SEALs, who’ve been training for a boarding party if and when they get the chance.”
“That’s one party I wouldn’t mind being invited to,” Bolan said.
Brognola laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Like I said, it’s a big ocean, but the trip’s a long one. The estimate is about eight days, unless they’ve got some kind of supership.”
“If they left that night, we’re coming up on the forty-eight-hour mark.”
“Yeah, but we’re pulling out all the stops. We’ll find them. You just try to get me a designated hitter on that baby down your way. You got any ideas about how feasible that might be?”
Just then Stevenson threw back the shower curtain, swore loudly when she saw the open door and closed the curtain again. Moments later she walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel and nothing more, while running a comb through her hair.
Grimaldi emitted a loud wolf whistle.
She paused to give him the finger.
“What the hell’s going on down there?” Brognola asked.
“Jack’s just being Jack,” Bolan said, snapping his fingers for Grimaldi to turn the water back on.
The pilot stepped around Stevenson, entered the bathroom and twisted the faucets, dodging the wet clothes she’d left hanging over the shower rod.
Brognola chuckled again. “Well, it’s good to know that no matter where you guys are, some things never change.”
Like the War Everlasting, Bolan thought.
“So as I was saying,” Brognola continued, “do you have any ideas about the designated hitter?”
Bolan looked at Stevenson and then at Chong, who was smiling ear to ear.
“Yeah,” Bolan said. “I have an idea. I’ll get back to you.”
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
HUDSON GLANCED AT his watch and, despite the air-conditioning, felt a trickle of sweat work its way down the center of his back. He wiped his forehead and continued with this last task. McGreagor’s clean shirt lay on the table a few feet away, and Hudson hoped this quick detour into his own room would not attract too much suspicion. It was necessary. He’d downloaded the files for the reentry plans from the NIISA main computer three days ago, converted each page into a PDF, encrypted them and then transferred them to the flash drive. His original intention was to give the small, easily concealed object to Yi in exchange for the payment. But after the finger-twisting session he realized how easy it would be for the colonel to merely take the drive and not deliver on the payment.
Now it had become a matter of trust, and Hudson trusted the burly Korean about as far as he could throw him. So he was quickly assigning a password to each PDF page, long passwords that he had no hope of remembering, even if Yi decided to beat the hell out of him. Instead, he copied and pasted each one into a separate file, along with the encryption code, which he stored on his laptop. That would afford him a bit of wiggle room, as long as Yi didn’t get hold of the laptop. Hudson could email the passwords once he’d received his money and effected a safe getaway. Yi would need the passwords before he could open the reentry files.
It had taken Hudson a bit longer than he’d anticipated. He estimated he’d been gone close to fifteen minutes, and McGreagor didn’t like to be kept waiting. Not that Hudson gave a shit about the rich man’s whims, but he didn’t want to do anything overly suspicious that might upset the applecart at this late stage.
He felt the sweat seeping through the armpits and front of his shirt as he transferred the last of the passwords to the file, secured that with another password and shut down the machine.
Yi would never be able to open the files unless Hudson gave him the information, and that would be done only when the colonel and his men were far, far away. The insurance policy was now in effect.
Hudson carefully replaced his laptop in the room safe and stood.
Nineteen minutes and counting. McGreagor was going to be livid, and Hudson knew that the old prick would no doubt chew him out in front of everyone poolside. His boss loved to throw his weight around.
But soon that won’t matter, Hudson thought. Soo-Han and I will be long gone.
He stripped off his now sodden shirt and grabbed a fresh one from the dresser. He used one of the towels from the bathroom to wipe the sweat from under his arms, and slipped on the new shirt.
Soon, he thought, and opened the door, to find Kim, Colonel Yi and that scary-looking dude they called the Black Dragon standing there.
“We have much to talk about,” Yi said, his face devoid of emotion.
Outside the Hotel del Blanco
Havana, Cuba
BOLAN WATCHED AS Ted Hertel meandered around the public square in front of the hotel, ostensibly perusing the haphazard stacks of bootlegged merchandise the doorway vendors were offering. Hertel looked relaxed and casual in a straw hat and sunglasses, and he carried a brown paper shopping bag in his left hand. Bolan punched a number into his burner cell phone and watched as the slender Agency man nonchalantly reached into his pocket and took out his own.
“I trust your ride with Miguel went well?” Hertel said without preamble.
“It did,” Bolan replied. “And am I to assume from your outfit that you’re concerned about prying eyes?”
“That’s always a safe bet, which was why this next contact needs a bit of finesse.”
“She’s on her way,” Bolan said, watching as Stevenson slowly walked toward the Agency man.
“Good. I don’t mind getting ripped off by a real babe.” Hertel laughed. “Catch you later.”
Bolan placed the cell phone back into his pocket and picked up an old coffeepot from the blanket on the ground in front of the nearest vendor, who immediately began expounding on the virtues of the item. The Executioner pretended to listen as he kept surreptitiously watching Hertel and Stevenson. The Agency man set his bag on the street, picked up a bootlegged DVD from a stack and began conversing with the vendor in Spanish. Stevenson, who was close by, stopped, picked up the bag and began to walk away.
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