Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

“Nein, danke.” He settled back in his seat and looked out the window, watching the endless, blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean give way to the bustling metropolis of Miami. Ninety miles south, not visible, but its presence felt all the same, was Cuba. An impossible distance for some, Jonas thought, and a lifetime away for others.

THE SLENDER WOMAN LED them through the thick jungle to an abandoned sugar mill that must have been a hundred years old. Its ramshackle buildings were overgrown with jungle foliage, vines and colorful flowers slowly reclaim-ing the entire area.

Jonas limped in, leaned his G3A3 sniper rifle against the wall and sat down on a pile of canvas sacks before the young woman could say anything. A squeal erupted from the cloth as a half-dozen angry rats boiled out of it and scurried around him, chittering all the while. The rest of the team took up positions around the perimeter while his team leader probed Jonas’s injury with gentle fingers.

“It’s nothing, sir. I can continue with the mission.” Jonas tried not to gasp as his leader pressed on his ankle, sending a bolt of pain through the rest of his foot.

“We cannot risk you slowing us down going there or back. You will have to remain here while we head out.”

Reinmann stood and turned to the woman, explained the situation and told her to remain, as well, that the team would be in touch once they had ascertained whether Safedy was actually where their contact had said he would be. Then he signaled to his team, and the group melted into the forest, gone in seconds.

With a hangdog expression Jonas watched them go. He tested his foot, but even sitting, the moment he put any weight on it, pain lanced up his leg, and he bit back a groan.

The young woman returned to stand over him, her arms crossed. “Shouldn’t you remove your boot?” she asked.

“If I take it off, the swelling will make it impossible to get back on again. Also, it is holding my foot in place, more or less, so there is less chance of causing further damage.” He eyed her, sensing her displeasure. “Believe me, I’d rather not be sitting around uselessly. I should be with my team right now, not—” he waved at the ruins around them

“—stuck here.”

She nodded, then knelt by him. “Your government must want this man very much, to come all this way for him.”

Jonas’s eyebrows rose at what she knew, although he figured that their contacts here wouldn’t have let them in unless there was a damn good reason. Apparently Cuba had enough of its own problems that its people didn’t want an international terrorist holing up in their country. “What he and the rest of those animals did was unforgivable.” His eyes narrowed as a thought struck him. “Do you know the story?”

She shrugged. “The government tells us only what it thinks we should know, particularly about the outside world.”

“Then let me.” He related the story of the Summer Olympics and the invasion into what was supposed to be the world coming together in peace and celebration as the best athletes competed against each other. Jonas spoke of the Black September members, and how they took eleven of the Israeli athletes hostage, killing two of them in the Olympic Village.

Even though the hurt was still relatively fresh, he told of the botched interception attempt at the airport, which left the nine remaining hostages, five terrorists and a German policeman dead.

“That is why I am here now. My unit was created to prevent something like that from ever happening again.” He’d heard rumors that the Israelis were sending their own agents to track down and kill the organizers in the Middle East, but kept that information to himself.

“But to send you and the others on such a dangerous mission. You are just a boy.”

“I am older than you,” he said.

Her smile was shy. “Perhaps.”

“Besides, from what I’ve heard about your country, your government trains children from the time they are little, indoctrinating them into an obedient, programmed state of mind to follow the orders of the people in charge.”

“Much like the Nazis and their Hitler Youth guard of World War II, yes?” the woman said.

Jonas didn’t have a comeback for that one.

“But what you say is true, unfortunately. That is why I’m here, risking my life to stop this madman so we can get help against—” She trailed off and cocked an ear, listening to the jungle.

Jonas took the cue and strained his senses, too, trying to catch what had put her on guard. Then he realized it—the animals in the surrounding foliage had gone quiet. Even when the team had been there, the area was filled with the noises of insects, birds and other nocturnal animals. Now they could be heard in the distance, but the nearby cacophony had suddenly gone still, as if the creatures were hiding—or fleeing.

Then he heard a completely different sound—the distant growl of a rough-running engine. Jonas and the woman exchanged glances. “Come on!”

She grabbed his hand and tugged, trying to pull him to his feet. Snatching up his rifle and pack, Jonas managed to get up on his good foot and was surprised when she slipped her head underneath his shoulder. “I can manage,” he said.

“Uh-huh, I watched you on the way in. No talk, just walk.”

Together they hobbled out of the ruined sugar refinery and into the nearby jungle. Just as they edged into cover, pushing broad leaves aside, weak yellow light flooded the clearing.

“Down!” Jonas dived to the ground, taking her with him.

She struggled free of him, but remained close, her smooth forehead now smudged with dirt. Eyes blazing, she didn’t say anything, but simply watched what unfolded before them.

A large, olive-drab truck came to a stop in the middle of the area. It had barely halted before a dozen men poured from the back, all dressed in military fatigues and carrying AK-47s. They fanned out and searched the area, covering every inch of ground. Jonas held his breath as a man swept past only a few yards away. Two of the men entered the tumbledown building, rifles ready in front of them.

The woman put her lips next to Jonas’s ear. “I hope you didn’t leave anything in there.”

Jonas shook his head, concentrating on the men, assess-ing their numbers and ability. The pair left the building and spoke to the driver, who turned the truck around and drove back down the road. Men immediately began erasing any evidence of the vehicle having been there.

It was obvious to Jonas what had happened. The mission had been compromised, and these men were here to capture—or more likely kill—the team when they returned.

He got the woman’s attention and motioned for her to move farther into the jungle. She crawled away, lifting one limb at a time, checking with every movement to be sure she hadn’t been noticed. When she was a few yards away, Jonas began his withdrawal, keeping his eyes on the clearing and the men waiting there.

THE THUD OF THE JET’S WHEELS hitting the tarmac jarred Jonas out of his reverie. He glanced out the window to see the bright, flat runway baking under the Florida sun. Even though the airplane cabin was pressurized and air-conditioned, he already sensed the heat outside, as if it were waiting for him to emerge.

The ten-hour flight had been uneventful, save for some minor turbulence. Jonas had tried to sleep on the way over, but his restless mind kept returning to the same old thoughts.

In the decades since that mission, he had returned to Cuba more than once, but had never found any way to lay what had happened that night to rest. And now it looked as if he was going to come face-to-face with the results of that evening, one way or another.