“We thought it best to maintain strict communication silence,” Yi said. “But if you are worried, I will have him contact you. Tomorrow. The hour grows late here, and I need my rest.”
Jose’s smile twisted into a snarl. “I don’t think so. I think you will call him now. Pronto. I want to talk to him.”
Hudson didn’t like the way this was shaping up. It was like being between two bulls getting ready to butt heads.
“You would be wise to keep your manners about you,” Yi said.
“And you would be wise to remember you are in my backyard.” Jose motioned to the man in black, who stood and began to reach inside his shirt.
In a flash, the Dragon was on his feet and delivering a quick backhanded blow to his temple. The man in black crumpled to the table, and the Dragon moved behind him, his forearm snaking around his neck. He gripped the man’s collar with his left hand and made a quick twisting motion with his right. The cartel man’s head flopped to one side, his body going in the opposite direction. The man’s eyes took on a glazed look as the Dragon repositioned him in the chair, removing his pistol as he did so. Jose’s jaw dropped and Yi lurched forward, grabbing the Mexican by the throat, his fingers digging into his flesh, causing him to make a gurgling sound as his eyes bulged in their sockets.
“You would do well to remember that one should not consume alcohol during an important meeting,” Yi said calmly. “Not only is it not polite, but it dulls one’s senses.”
Jose continued to gurgle, he face turning an uneven shade of scarlet.
“See if he is armed,” Yi said to Hudson, who complied immediately.
When Hudson had finished the pat down he said, “He’s clean, but there are two more men in my room with Soo-Han. They forced their way in. I’m sure they’re armed. He’s probably got more around here, too.”
Yi frowned. “I seem to have underestimated these Mexican gangsters. It is a mistake I must seek to rectify now.” He released the gasping Jose, who fell forward, his forehead bouncing off the tabletop. Yi nodded to the Dragon.
“Let the reckoning begin,” Yi said.
On the beach
Havana, Cuba
THE FOUR OF THEM, Bolan, Grimaldi, Miguel and the second Cuba Libre man, Delmar, needed the illumination from the truck’s headlights to negotiate the treacherous walk through the thick underbrush down to the water. Once they got on the sandy beach, Bolan had them halt and set the boat down. He turned and was about to signal Stevenson to shut off the truck’s headlights when he heard the sound of an approaching chopper.
Miguel’s head shot up. “Police helicopter,” he said.
Bolan nodded.
“Leave the boat,” Miguel said. “They must not catch us.”
The speedboat had been their one chance to catch the North Korean ship, but now that opportunity seemed negated. Still, failure was not an option.
“How many men do they usually have on those helicopter patrols?” Bolan asked.
Miguel shrugged. “Two. Sometimes four.” He glanced around quickly. “Tell la señorita to close off the lights of the truck before they see us.”
Bolan glanced up at the black velvet sky. The lights of the helicopter were coming closer. He made no signal to Stevenson. Instead, a new idea came to him.
“Jack, find some cover in the shrubbery. When they land, take out the pilot.”
Grimaldi grinned. “Am I thinking what you’re thinking?”
Bolan nodded. “Probably.”
“Hot damn! Things are looking up.”
“What are you planning?” Miguel asked.
Bolan knew that the mindset of Cuba Libre was always to evade rather than confront, which worked well with their covert operations and survival. But being evasive wasn’t in the cards if they wanted to rescue Chong.
“We’re going to commandeer that helicopter.”
Miguel’s face showed flabbergasted surprise, and then he grinned. “Okay, amigo. We will follow your lead.”
The helicopter was hovering above them now, perhaps at three hundred feet. Bolan pulled out his Tokarev and pointed it at Miguel and Delmar, both of whom now had their hands on their heads. The helicopter circled, its occupants shining a large spotlight on the three of them. The beam swept across the beach toward the still-lit truck.
“Atención, este es la policía nacionale de la revolución. Quede alla.”
Bolan held skyward the credentials he’d taken from the policeman earlier, keeping the pistol trained on the two men.
The pilot repeated his warning not to move as the chopper descended, sending a swirl of sand over the trio as it landed on the beach about thirty yards away. Bolan blinked several times to clear his stinging eyes. He hoped Grimaldi had chosen a good position. The helicopter looked like a Russian Mi-24 Hind, with gun mounts and rocket pods. These guys were enforcers, pure and simple. Any Cubans fleeing the island in boats were defenseless target practice.
The side door opened and a man got out, jumping down onto the sand. He strode toward them with a swagger, holding a pistol in his right hand.
“What’s going on?” the policeman asked in a gruff voice.
To the rear of the helicopter, a shadow moved across the sand.
Grimaldi.
Bolan waited until the man was about twenty-five feet away and whirled, leveling the pistol at the policeman’s chest.
“Detener,” Bolan said. “No se mueva.”
The man brought his own gun upward and the Executioner squeezed the trigger, not going for a kill shot. He watched the Cuban twist and fall to the ground. Bolan felt a momentary pang at shooting a member of a police force, secret or not, but this man was an exterminator whose duty was to stop those innocents fleeing the island. He definitely was not a soldier on the side of right.
Miguel and his partner had flattened themselves on the sand by the time Bolan saw Grimaldi open the door of the chopper and pull out the pilot. The two struggled, silhouetted against the aircraft’s lights, for several seconds as Bolan moved forward and stripped the gun out of the fallen policeman’s hand, then turned and ran toward them. He had covered perhaps half the distance when a dull crack pierced the night. One of the two shadows stiffened and then slumped to the ground. Bolan slowed and brought his weapon to chest level, acquiring a sight picture on the man who remained standing.
The shadow shrugged and turned to face him, offering a better target.
“If you’re going to shoot me, you’d better plan on someone else flying this bird,” Grimaldi said.
Bolan lowered the Tokorev and smiled. That was Jack, always ready with a wisecrack even when somebody was pointing a gun at him.
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
YI KEPT A come-along hold on Jose’s left arm as they marched him up to Hudson’s room. The Dragon gripped the man’s right arm in similar fashion. Hudson trailed behind the procession. The Dragon held the dead Mexican’s pistol with the sound suppressor down by his right leg as they walked. Thankfully, at this late hour the hallways of the hotel were pretty much deserted. Yi stopped at the corner leading to Hudson’s room and said something to the Dragon, who nodded. The colonel took out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons, again speaking in Korean, issuing a few harsh-sounding orders and then clicking off.
“What’s going on?” Hudson asked.
Yi regarded him coldly, saying nothing.
“Listen,” Hudson said, “you’d better tell me the plan if you want me to help you resolve this mess.”
Yi was still silent.
Hudson tried to suppress his anger.
The prick’s acting like it’s all my fault, he thought. Like I’m responsible for him shortchanging his partners. Hudson licked his lips in frustration and started to speak again, but Yi held up his palm in a silenci
ng gesture. For a moment Hudson thought the man was going to hit him, but he didn’t.
“You have shown yourself to be little more than a coward,” Yi said. “You allowed me to be led into a trap when you summoned me to the bar. This I will not forget.”
“They had a gun to my head,” Hudson said. “Plus they were threatening Soo-Han. What else could I do?’
Yi let out a short, quick burst of air, a snort of pure derision. “You could have shown some courage,” he said. “The warrior’s code. Even this gangster has shown me more resolve than you have.” Yi glanced at Jose and tightened the arm lock, causing the other man to grunt in pain. “Do not think I have forgotten about you. Now, tell me again how many more men you have spread out throughout this hotel.”
“Just the two inside the room,” the Mexican grunted. “That’s all.”
Yi gritted his teeth, obviously increasing the pressure on the gangster’s left arm. “Do you take me for a fool? How many?”
Jose’s lips twisted open in a grimace of pain, showing his teeth. “I’m not lying to you.”
Yi shifted his weight, ratcheting up the pressure again. “Must I break your wrist before you tell me the truth?”
“Okay, okay,” Jose said, the words bursting from his mouth. “There are five more.”
“What are their locations?” Yi gritted.
“Two in the lobby,” the Mexican said. “Three more out back with our car.”
Yi smiled and nodded, but the smile faded in a millisecond, replaced by a stern look that sent a shiver up Hudson’s spine.
“If you have lied to me,” Yi said, “I guarantee you will pray for death long before it is granted to you.”
“I’m telling the truth!”
Yi turned back to Hudson. “It is still not too late to redeem yourself, Jimmy.” Hudson knew that Yi was mocking him. “Help us in gaining access to the room, and we will handle the rest.”
Hudson was well aware that he was in no position to argue. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Yi nodded and leaned close to Jose, their faces only inches apart. “We are going to the door. You will tell your men inside that you have returned, and to open it.” He reached up and gripped the Mexican’s face with his free hand, squeezing the man’s cheeks together so that his lips puckered. “And remember, we do understand your language. ¿Comprender?”
Jose nodded, barely able to move his head.
Yi said something to the Dragon, who released Jose’s right arm and motioned for Hudson to take his spot at the gangster’s side. He did so, and they turned the corner and briskly walked down the hallway toward Hudson’s room. The Dragon walked behind them, holding the pistol. When they arrived at the door, Yi positioned Jose in front of the peephole and pulled Hudson close to the gangster’s right shoulder. Yi nodded and Hudson knocked three times.
“¿Quién?” a voice said from inside the room.
“Soy yo,” Jose said. “Abra la puerta.”
Some movement was audible there, then some fumbling with the lock. The door opened a crack and a face appeared. Yi shifted his weight, twisting forward and to the left, slamming Jose’s head into the partially open door. The Mexican behind the panel tumbled from sight. Hudson was frozen in place as the Dragon drove Jose’s body forward, thrusting him into the room, the door swinging back despite the opposition of the pneumatic closing device.
The Dragon shot the first gangster in the head as he struggled to rise from his position by the door. The Mexican dropped instantly and the Dragon brought the pistol up. Two gangsters sat behind the small kitchenette table with Soo-Han. They started to get up, both reaching for their guns. The Dragon fired two shots that caught the first man in the chest. Rotating slightly, he nailed the other in the left eye. That man slumped forward, blood pouring out of his mouth as he flopped onto the tabletop.
Kim stood in the center, between the two dead bodies, the translucent white material of her robe, as well as her bare shoulders, dappled with specks of red blood. The Dragon inspected each man and then turned and said something to Yi in Korean.
The colonel nodded. He still had Jose in an arm lock and now forced the Mexican to his knees. Yi raised his right arm and delivered three sharp chops to the other man’s exposed side. Jose grunted in pain with each one and curled into a ball.
The colonel stood, took out his cell phone and punched in a number. Seconds later he issued several commands in Korean.
Hudson ran over to Soo-Han and tried to embrace her. She pushed him away with a look of disgust on her face. Yi uttered something, and Kim’s expression softened into a smile.
“Please, Jimmy,” she said. “I must clean myself.”
Hudson stepped back and nodded. “Sorry,” he said.
She walked toward the bathroom.
Things had gone from bad to worse, Hudson thought. But at least she was safe. For the moment. He felt Yi’s hand on his shoulder. The man’s grip was anything but cordial.
“I have instructed the other Black Tigers to sweep the building and the grounds,” he said. “The other gangsters will be dealt with.”
“That’s good to know,” Hudson said. He wanted them all to get the hell out of his room. He wanted to hold Soo-Han. He wanted to make sure she was all right.
“We must not let this unexpected intrusion affect our overall plan.” Yi stroked his jaw with his fingers. “An intelligent general must be able to turn a complication into an advantage.”
Hudson nodded, wondering what in the hell Yi was talking about.
“We must accelerate our timeline,” the colonel said. “We take them tonight. Now.”
“Take who?” Hudson said. He didn’t like the way this was unraveling.
“Turner and Nabokovski,” Yi said. “We cannot afford to wait for the possibility of another attack.”
“Okay.” Hudson rubbed his temples. “What about my money?”
Yi frowned. “You will give me the computer attachment with the information now.”
Hudson was stunned. How the hell had Yi found out about the flash drive? Was the room bugged? Another thought chilled him: Soo-Han. Had she betrayed him? Told Yi everything? Hudson tried to subdue the sickening feeling in his stomach and said, “Listen, I want my money now.”
Yi shook his head, his face showing a trace of irritation. “When I have that computer attachment and the two scientists and I are safely away from here, you will get your reward.”
Hudson licked his lips, then nodded. He didn’t like the sound of that, but what choice did he have at this point?
Besides, he thought, I still have my little insurance policy. The passwords to unlock the encryptions were on his laptop, which was still locked in the room safe. Even Soo-Han didn’t know the combination for that one.
Over the Florida Straits
Near Cuba
AS GRIMALDI PILOTED the helicopter on an intercept course with the North Korean ship, Bolan, who was in the copilot’s seat, thought about his recent conversation with Brognola.
“The good news is that the transponder the kid managed to plant is working fine,” the big Fed had said. “We’ve got a fix on the location of the freighter.”
“Let me guess,” Bolan had said. “It’s headed out of the harbor and toward an island hideaway near Camarioca.”
“You got it.” Brognola sighed. “The President’s in conference with his team of advisers trying to figure out our next move, but...”
Bolan knew full well what that meant: they were on their own, as far as a rescue attempt was concerned. He didn’t waste any more time discussing it. “See if you can get our navy to keep the light on for us at the Naval Air Station, Key West.”
Brognola was silent for several seconds, then said, “Roger that. Good luck, Striker.”
Stevenson, who was seated behind Bo
lan, handed him another magazine for the Tokarev and he made sure it was at full capacity. He nodded and placed the extra mag into the lower left-side pocket of his cargo pants.
Grimaldi pointed to the radar screen. “There she is. Keep in mind we’ve got about fifteen minutes max to wrap this up, if we want to save enough fuel to get home.”
Bolan nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, but regardless, every minute Chong’s held prisoner down there is one too many.”
Grimaldi nodded. “I hear ya.”
Stevenson, who didn’t have earphones on, shouted her question at Bolan. “What did he say?”
The soldier leaned close to her ear. “That fortune favors the bold. Now get ready to switch places. I’m going to tie off.”
She nodded and stood in a crouch. The confines of the helicopter were so tight that even she had to stoop a bit. Bolan removed his earphones, placed them on Stevenson’s head and slid out of the front seat. He checked the knot and snugness of the Swiss seat he’d tied around his waist and legs and then clipped the D ring in place. Next he adjusted the straps of the backpack with the explosives he’d gotten from Miguel, and checked the security of his Tokarev and ammo.
Through the Plexiglas window, the water below looked almost black. Bolan opened the side door slightly and lashed the nylon cable securely around the cleat, tying it off with a tight square knot. He saw what he knew was the darkened silhouette of the superstructure of the North Korean ship. They were running without lights. He flipped down the night-vision goggles.
Bolan tapped Grimaldi’s shoulder twice and moved to the door. Stevenson glanced over her shoulder and the Executioner nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. She smiled weakly and did the same. He pulled the side door all the way open and held the coiled line in his hand.
“Atención, atención,” Stevenson said, using the helicopter’s public-address system. “Somos la policía naciónal de la revolución de Cuba. Tienen que presentar sus identificaciónes enseguida.”
She repeated the message as Grimaldi positioned the helicopter directly over the ship, slowly lowering so that it hovered about a hundred feet above the center of the vessel. The freighter was still dark, but Bolan could see movement on the deck with the night-vision goggles. He tossed the nylon cable outward, watching it unravel in the darkness like a nervous serpent, then he positioned himself on the outside skid.
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