No one took much notice of things. Stevenson strolled toward the hotel. Hertel continued his bartering with the Cuban vendor, and then they both laughed. He set the DVD back on the stack, made a show of looking for the shopping bag and swore. After a quick shrug, he slowly sauntered down the street. Bolan waited until Stevenson disappeared inside the hotel. No one followed.
“Hey, American,” the Cuban vendor said to Bolan, pointing to the coffeepot. “You gonna buy it or no?”
“No,” Bolan said, and turned back toward the hotel. He stopped again just inside the entry and turned, partially concealed by the ornate door screens.
No one was watching; no one followed him.
The Executioner went inside and walked over to the elevators. All four doors were closed, and the arrow indicator showed all were in use. Bolan pressed the button and waited, casually turning to glance at the entrance.
One of the two swarthy Cuban secret policemen Bolan had seen earlier on the street, before they’d lost them and gotten into Miguel’s cab, came in, removed his sunglasses and surveyed the lobby. Bolan stepped behind a large potted plant, apparently just in time. The man strode over to the hotel desk, flashed some credentials and began to question the clerk. They were too far away for Bolan to hear anything, but from the looks of it, the policeman was grilling the hotel employee about something.
The elevator doors opened, but Bolan remained where he was. The conversation between the two Cubans continued for a minute or so longer. Finally, the policeman gave instructions to the clerk, emphatically pointing with his index finger, before replacing his sunglasses on his face, turning and walking out the front doors.
If the hotel staff was in collusion with the secret police, Bolan thought, he would have to make an adjustment to their plans for later that night.
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
HUDSON WAS CONSCIOUS of Soo-Han, Yi and the Dragon walking close behind him as he made his way to the pool. Yi’s sudden appearance had startled Hudson, making him start to sweat all over again. The colonel’s dark stare had totally unnerved him, and that Dragon character scared the hell out of him.
“What are you doing?” Yi had asked. “Why did you leave the pool area?”
Hudson was flustered, but quickly explained his mission to fetch a clean shirt, hoping that Yi would surmise that this did not affect their arrangement.
“It’s part of my job,” he said. “We can’t afford to make McGreagor suspicious, can we?”
Yi’s expression didn’t change, nor did the Dragon’s. Both of them merely stood there blocking Hudson’s way back to the pool.
Kim said something in rapid-fire Korean. Yi’s expression still didn’t change, his dark eyes seeming to cut into Hudson’s flesh.
“Perhaps,” Yi finally said, “it is time you introduce us to Mr. McGreagor.”
That shocked Hudson. The last thing he wanted to do was introduce the North Koreans to the man whose secret technology and top scientists they were going to steal.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said. “What if he gets suspicious?”
“He will not,” Yi replied. “Introduce us as rich Chinese, here on a business venture. I am certain Mr. McGreagor would always welcome another possible investor.”
Hudson realized he had no choice. McGreagor would already be steamed about his tardiness running the errand. But maybe this could work. The original plan had been for the scientists to be taken at gunpoint from their rooms, but if he could get McGreagor to welcome Yi and company into the investors’ fold, perhaps even invite them on the upcoming cruise, they would have more options for a smooth abduction of Turner and Nabokovski.
“All right,” Hudson said. “Follow me.”
As they walked past the guarded entrance to the pool, Hudson saw that McGreagor was indeed livid at the long delay in getting a fresh shirt. His head shot up, a look of barely subdued rage on his face as he jumped to his feet and strode over to Hudson and the Koreans. Their presence, however, apparently kept his boss from making a scene.
“Took you long enough,” McGreagor said. “Where the hell have you been? And who are they?”
Hudson smiled as benignly as he could. “Sorry, sir. I had to change my shirt, too.” He pinched some of the material between his thumb and forefinger.
McGreagor frowned and glanced at Yi and the Dragon, but let his eyes linger on Kim’s luscious body. She was wearing a transparent white silk kimono over a leopard-print bikini. “Who are they? This is a closed party.”
“I ran into Mr. Lee and his friends in the lobby,” Hudson said. “He’s from China. We met each other when I was down here earlier this week, and he expressed a desire to meet you.” Hudson held his hand in front of his chest and rubbed his fingers together, signifying money.
McGreagor canted his head. “Oh?”
I’ve got him intrigued, Hudson thought. He quickly added, “Mr. Lee is here on business, but was very interested in hearing more about NIISA.”
McGreagor smiled as he pulled off his sweaty shirt, wadded it up and handed it to Hudson. After slipping into the new one, he extended his hand toward Yi.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. What part of China are you from?”
Yi accepted the hand, shook it and made a slight bow. “My company is based in Shanghai,” he said. “This is my personal assistant, Miss Kim, and my head of security, Mr. Park.”
McGreagor shot a quick nod at Kim as he extended his hand toward the Dragon, who shook it and bowed.
Hudson’s boss recoiled in pain, pulling his hand away and shaking it. “Wow, he’s got quite a grip, doesn’t he?” McGreagor said with a smile.
Yi said something to the Dragon in a language that Hudson assumed was either Chinese or Korean. Kim laughed and the Dragon bowed again.
“Please accept our humble apologies,” Yi said. “Mr. Park sometimes forgets his strength when dealing with others. He is very formidable.”
“That I believe,” McGreagor said.
“Perhaps a little demonstration of Mr. Park’s skill might prove amusing for your guests,” Yi suggested, extending his palm toward the group of partygoers.
McGreagor’s face wrinkled into an expectant expression. “Sure. Why not? What’s he going to do?”
Yi turned to the Dragon and issued some orders.
The Dragon nodded and moved over to the bar area, with Kim trailing behind him, and pointed to a bottle of bourbon on the platform next to the bartender.
“Would you give us that unopened bottle, please?” she asked.
The bartender looked perplexed as he glanced at McGreagor.
“Give it to them,” the billionaire ordered.
The man shrugged and handed the bottle to Kim, who in turn gave it to the Dragon. He hefted the bottle in his hands, as if estimating the weight and density, then glanced around. The Dragon said something inaudible to Kim, handed the bottle back to her, and they walked to some tables adjacent to the pool area.
Yi stepped next to McGreagor. “What Mr. Park will do,” he said, “is demonstrate the efficiency of his martial arts capability.”
Kim held the bottle up for everyone to see, while the Dragon carried one of the metal tables as far from the pool as he could, stopping at the metal fence. The area was all concrete. Kim placed the bottle in the center of the table and stepped back, like a magician’s assistant in a sideshow. The Dragon stepped behind the table, positioning himself so that he faced everyone, and glanced at Yi.
“Mr. Park will now show you a new way to open one of your bottles,” the colonel said. He gave a quick nod.
Hudson watched as the Dragon assumed a squatting stance and cocked his right arm back. A blurring movement followed a second later and the edge of the Dragon’s hand struck the neck of the bottl
e, skimming it off as if it had been cut by a laser. The fragment jumped in the air, and he twisted and caught it with his left hand before it could fall to the tabletop. The remainder of the bottle stood undisturbed.
A collective gasp went through the crowd, followed by a smattering of applause.
Yi gave a curt nod to the Dragon, who immediately picked up the unbroken bottle and the severed top and brought them to McGreagor. Kim trailed behind.
The rich man’s face had an ear-to-ear grin. “Amazing,” he said, reaching for the two items. “Simply amazing.”
“Be careful, Mr. McGreagor,” Kim said. “The broken glass can be dangerous. We do not wish you to injure yourself.”
“Neither do I,” McGreagor said with a laugh. He glanced around, obviously enjoying the stunned reaction of his guests. Then he turned to Yi. “Mr. Lee, I think this is the beginning of a great partnership.”
Yi smiled and nodded. “So do I.” As he turned, his eyes shot toward Hudson in a calculated glance.
Hudson watched McGreagor hold the broken bottle top in his hand, a look of awe and admiration on his face. “Maybe I should fire you, Hudson, and hire this guy.”
You arrogant, rich son of a bitch, Hudson thought. If you only knew what’s coming.
7
Hotel del Blanco
Havana, Cuba
As dusk was descending, Bolan opened the window of their hotel room and tossed out the thin nylon line, watching it uncoil as it fell in the semidarkness. He was dressed in a combat blacksuit and had on lightweight tactical boots.
Grimaldi secured the end of the rope around the bed frame and tested the knot. “Looks good,” he said, standing.
Bolan slipped on his gloves and fitted the D ring through the Swiss seat he’d fashioned from a length of nylon. He checked the Tokarev pistol he had secured in a nylon holster on his belt. He had two extra magazines in a holder on the opposite side.
“Just in case,” the Executioner said, “why don’t you sit on the bed to give it more weight?”
Grimaldi grinned and plopped down on the mattress, patting the surface and looking at Stevenson. “Want to join me?”
Chong sat next to him with a wide smile and said, “Sure.”
Stevenson smiled, too, but then the space between her eyebrows wrinkled. “Are you sure about doing this?”
Bolan didn’t answer. He simply moved to the window and slid the rope through the D ring.
“Don’t worry,” Grimaldi said. “He does this kind of thing all the time. He’s actually got a big red S on his chest.”
Bolan looked at Stevenson. “I’ll call when I get back. Be ready.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded.
The Executioner climbed out the window, braced himself on the outside edge and leaned backward until his head was lower than his feet. He shoved off and felt himself sailing downward, controlling his descent, bouncing lightly off the wall every twenty feet or so, carefully avoiding the other windows. Ironically, he was reminded that this was the same way the North Korean assassin had escaped after killing the Cuban in Mexico.
Approximately thirty seconds later Bolan was on the ground. He tugged on the rope twice and felt it being pulled upward. Confident that Grimaldi would take care of that task, Bolan untied the Swiss seat, rolled it up and stuck it and the D ring into his pocket. He’d landed in an alleyway behind the hotel. It was not quite dark enough to conceal his movements, but he’d assumed that the Cuban police would be busy watching the lobby and maybe the rear exit, but would not be standing in the hot night air of the alley. A quick look up and down confirmed that.
Bolan strode to the opening of the alley and stopped. He glanced both ways and, seeing no sign of the police, turned right and walked at a leisurely but steady pace to the next block. The ’57 Chevy was parked at the curb, with Miguel behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette. He winked and nodded as Bolan got in.
“Ah, amigo, you right on time,” the Cuban said as he started the car and shifted into first. Before pulling away, he scanned the area. “I know you’re good, but I gotta check to make sure the police didn’t follow you.”
They rode in silence for a time, with Miguel checking the rearview mirror after each turn. Finally, they arrived at the harbor. The big North Korean ship sat in isolation at the pier.
“It’s still here, amigo,” Miguel said.
“Check with your men and see if the crew’s started disembarking for liberty yet,” Bolan said.
Miguel took out his cell phone and punched in some numbers. After a few moments of low conversation, he turned back toward Bolan. “They are just starting to leave now. There is a guard at the gangplank checking who is going. He looks like a Korean.”
“How diligent is he?” Bolan asked.
Miguel squinted. “Diligent? Oh, you mean how serio?” He spoke into the phone again, then smiled. “He no look too close when they leave. Maybe he gonna be more careful when they go back. And they already took about ten pretty señoritas onto the ship. Apparently, the captain and ship officers want to be amused.”
Bolan considered that. If there was a party atmosphere on the ship, Chong had a good chance to slip on board, plant the transponder and get off without being noticed. But perhaps the guard would be more vigilant monitoring people trying to get back on the ship. Their plan would still require the diversion.
“Which building is it?” Bolan asked, glancing at the unlit structures lining the side of the street opposite the harbor.
“That one,” Miguel said. “My amigos already spread the word to stay away from there tonight.”
“And you’ve got the explosives?”
Miguel laughed. “Sí, Cuba Libre’s got plenty of stuff. We sit and wait and clean our guns until the next Bay of Pigs invasion. It will be a pleasure to finally use them.”
He told Miguel to drive past the ship. As they rolled down the avenue, Bolan watched as groups of North Koreans began disembarking from the freighter. Most walked in groups, but some were by themselves. They wore motley civilian clothes, and most had their hair slicked back on top and short on the sides. As he and Miguel drove past, Bolan took out his burner cell phone and called Grimaldi, who answered, “What’s the good word?”
“It looks like a go,” Bolan said. “But get a pair of scissors and cut Chong’s hair on the sides. High and tight. Then have him slick back what’s left on top.”
Grimaldi laughed. “You know, I had an uncle who used to be a barber.”
“Let’s hope the talent runs in the family. Also, tell Stevenson to get ready. I’ll be back in approximately ten minutes.”
“Roger that,” Grimaldi said.
Bolan clicked off and told Miguel to take him back to the hotel. It was time to get things rolling before the North Korean’s Cinderella Liberty ended.
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
AS COLONEL YI relaxed in his comfortable room, he decided to allow himself the luxury of smoking an American cigarette. Such an act was forbidden in the homeland, but he considered it one of the small rewards for doing his country’s bidding in a foreign land. He picked up the pack of Marlboros that he’d taken from a poolside table and shook one out. After tapping it a few times, he placed it between his lips and lit it. The smoke tasted mild compared to harsh tobacco he was used to. He drew on the cigarette again, and had to admit that the Americans did know something about refining tobacco.
Perhaps, Yi thought, once the mission was finished, he would imbibe some of the liquor that the American, McGreagor, had tried to force upon him. He had politely refused, pretending to have a stomach problem. The man had fallen for the ruse.
The Dragon stood by at silent attention, looking like a statue. He neither smoked nor drank alcohol, dedicated as he was to his physical conditioning. Yi admired the man’s
discipline, as well as his consummate martial arts skills.
Yi inhaled more smoke and took out his sat phone, deciding to call the ship’s captain in Cuba. He wanted to verify that Lieutenant Yoon, whom he had dispatched over twenty hours ago to supervise the missile transaction in Cuba, had arrived. Yi punched in the numbers and listened. The phone rang several times before someone answered. The voice sounded slurred. Had the captain taken his duties so lightly that he would consume alcohol before the mission had been completed?
Yi heard what sounded like a woman’s laughter, followed by a hushing sound. What was going on aboard that vessel?
“This is Colonel Yi. What is your status?”
“Everything is good,” the captain said. “Very good. We await the arrival of your men. In the meantime—”
“What?” Yi said. “My men have not yet arrived?” He felt a burning fury rise within him at the drunken idiot’s incompetence, not to mention the inefficiency of his own men, led by Lieutenant Yoon. Or had something untoward happened, preventing Yoon from making it to the ship?
Regardless, Yi thought, he will pay for his tardiness. “You sound inebriated,” Yi said. “Have you been imbibing? And are there women aboard?” He heard the other man belch and that infuriated him even more. “You will answer me now.”
“I—I may have...” the captain sputtered. “But I am totally within my capabilities.”
Yi said nothing, letting his silence speak volumes. Finally, he snapped, “I am going to contact Lieutenant Yoon and find his estimated time of arrival. You will be ready to depart for the island as soon as he arrives.”
“But the men are on liberty,” the captain said.
“Liberty?”
“Yes, it is not often they get to experience the pleasures of a foreign port that is so friendly. And the Ira—”
“Watch what you say, you drunken fool!” If the Americans were listening, if they happened to pick up this conversation, the inadvertent comment that the Iranians were involved could jeopardize the entire operation.
Missile Intercept Page 10