Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

The two men sat across from each other for several minutes in relaxed silence. Finally Castilo set his glass on the table and regarded Jonas. “You are one of the most interesting people I have met in a long time, Mr. Heinemann.”

“Oh?”

“As I’m sure you have done research on me, I have also looked further into your background. You have a habit of preferring to support certain, shall we say, underdogs in areas around the world, particularly those struggling against Marxist regimes. The United Nicaraguan Opposition and UNITA in Angola are just two examples of your more interesting dealings.”

Jonas dropped his gaze to the table, as if considering his reply. “Having suffered under a dictatorship for much of my life in my homeland, I do not wish to see such regimes strangle men and women who deserve better. However, you should keep in mind that I was also well compensated for each of those transactions. Profit is still a powerful motiva-tor, and if I can help in a region, even better.”

“Of course. Nowadays, there are few such windmills to tilt at anymore. China is far too large for such a tactic, and hopefully it is crumbling under its own population’s desire for capitalist reforms, even as the government clings to its outmoded Communist tenets. An impossible dilemma, in my opinion, which will eventually bring about its downfall.”

Castilo rose and paced around the room. “That leaves only one other true Communist bastion in the Western Hemisphere.”

“Cuba,” Jonas said quietly.

“One that has subjugated millions of people over the last half century, killing hundreds of thousands, imprisoning tens of thousands more and reducing what was once the jewel of the Caribbean to a gaudy, crumbling shell of its former glory.”

“You’ll have to excuse my imperfect grasp of history, but I assume you’re not talking about Batista.” Jonas knew where Castilo was going, but figured it couldn’t hurt to get him a bit more righteously riled.

“God knows that man was as bad as Castro—only the U.S. ever saw it differently. But no, the revolution simply replaced one dictator with another. The Castros and Guevara promised freedom, then gradually took it and much more away from the people.”

Jonas sipped his cognac before replying. “And he has been remarkably adept at preventing change, even holding off the U.S. government for all this time.”

Castilo snorted. “The Washington bureaucrats have no idea how to handle a true zealot. They are more comfortable getting other groups to do their dirty work—like the Contras—with terrible results for both sides. No, the time for diplomacy—

from the U.S., Europe or elsewhere—has passed. There is only one course of action that can free the embattled people of Cuba.” He turned to stare at Jonas. “It is time for the people of Cuba to rise up and reclaim their country. And if that requires the ultimate action to be taken, then so be it.”

“Who is this guy?”

Judy had joined the small group in the virtual ops room, holding a mug of steaming tea, in VR as in real life. Kate hid her smile at the sight—like a lot of the baby-boomer generation who’d had to accept instead of grow up with the computer revolution, Judy preferred to have the simulated world mimic her real one as much as possible. Kate would never find her flying without normal, mechanical assistance or deep diving without a pressurized suit, when those VR programs eventually became available. As for Kate, well, she’d be more inclined to try one or more of those things—just for fun.

“I assume you mean besides the obvious answer.” The two women watched Jonas talking with Rafael Castilo on the main screen. The businessman leaned over to examine the Stinger missile launcher in its case, while his bodyguard opened a smaller metal case on the floor.

Judy’s elegant eyebrow rose. “Naturally. What I meant was that the boys have been diving into his background for the past few hours. We found the usual things, memberships in business organizations, the chamber of commerce and a long record of aboveboard, large donations to nonviolent organizations like the Cuban American National Foundation and the International Committee for Democracy in Cuba.

But there has been no hint of him doing anything this rash.”

“Perhaps he got tired of the diplomatic way of doing things.” Oddly, Kate felt she could almost empathize with him. After all, that was part of the reason she had left the CIA, when she had discovered that the once proud counterintelligence and espionage agency had turned into a tech-heavy bureaucracy, with layers of political and territorial minefields to navigate if anything concrete was to be accomplished. And if an officer needed to work with another federal agency, well, good luck. However, that resignation was what had put her on the track for Room 59, where she could accomplish the necessary things that needed doing. Like remove a dictator?

So far, their operatives had never been called upon to do anything like that. They had destroyed more than one nascent revolution before it could challenge its country’s government, but they had not been assigned to remove a sitting dictator—yet. But if that scenario ever arose, Kate knew she wouldn’t hesitate to organize just such a mission. God knew there were plenty of people around the world who could be helped by the thirty-cent solution.

That’s probably what Castilo thinks, as well, she thought.

Perhaps he wants to be hailed as the liberator of Cuba—to have succeeded where so many others have failed for so long. It’s got to be tempting—but tempting enough to risk everything he’s built? Kate mulled that over while she listened to Judy’s assessment.

“We’d be able to indict him on conspiracy to transport and sell stolen U.S. government property, treason and perhaps even conspiracy to commit murder. Once the Justice Department started digging, I’m sure they could link him to whichever PMC he’s using.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but it appears that this Theodore guy is already connected to a private military company.”

Now Kate’s eyebrows raised. “The bodyguard? What’ve you got?”

El Supremo, his eyes red-rimmed yet bright from almost twenty-four straight hours of creating, sifting and collating data to parcel out to various personnel for analysis, brought up a screen with a picture of the man’s face while information scrolled past. “He’s a member of a company called Threat Evaluation And Response, or TEAR, Inc. They’re headquartered in England, with branch offices on every continent. Been around for about a decade—one of the old guard, apparently.”

“Do they have the capability to field a force large enough to invade Cuba?” Kate asked.

“See for yourself.” The hacker brought up another screen that appeared to be the home page for the company. Prominently displayed among cited assets was the ability to field a brigade-size force anywhere in the world in seventy-two hours.

Kate’s eyebrows stayed up. “Really? And the way they do that is by…?”

“According to news reports from several Third World countries they’ve visited, they either subcontract to local talent or bring in mercs from nearby areas and set them loose.

Naturally, they’ve also been accused of profiteering, involvement in black markets and crimes against civilians,” El Supremo reported.

“Naturally.” Judy set her cup down. “It is amazing what can be accomplished—or destroyed—if enough money is waved around.”

Kate noticed Judy didn’t comment on the location of the company’s headquarters. “So, what would happen if a few thousand ill-trained mercenaries—excuse me, private military contractors—took over an entire island?”