Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

“Not right now. The rest of the team isn’t going to be operational after what happened, and I don’t need inexperienced members watching my back. A single operative will stand a better chance of infiltrating the target and getting the information we need.”

“How can we help?”

“Two things. First, contact Alpha and have him ready to depart Paradise in the longest-range ship he can get—we may need to insert into Paradise, and this yacht isn’t going to be fast enough. Any information you can give him on patrols or any other obstacles would be appreciated.”

“He’s already been briefed and will be on the way to you immediately. What’s the second thing?” Kate asked.

“They brought proof that a Cuban military officer is involved in the mission.” Jonas paused, as if weighing how to say what he knew, then blurted it out. “As I’m sure you know, it was Damason Valdes.”

“That was a surprise.” Kate sighed. “I’ve issued a termination directive—he cannot be allowed to carry out whatever his handlers intend to have him do.”

“Everything I’ve seen indicates he’s involved in a plot to overthrow Paradise’s government. That’s what I’m going to verify from Castilo, as well as what Valdes’s role in it is.

When we met, I tagged him with a microbug, as I’m sure we’ll need to find out where he’s going.”

“We’ll have real-time surveillance on him by the time you’re on the beach,” Kate replied. “Be careful out there, okay?”

“Right. We’re arriving at the launch point. Will contact after insertion is over. Beta out.”

Kate cut the signal and rubbed a hand over her eyes.

“Get me the files on Hartung and McMichaels, please, Judy.”

“Right away, Kate.”

Kate sent a query signal to Mindy and asked her to brew a pot of tea. Her comm screen beeped, and Kate saw that Judy had downloaded the files on the two dead trainees. Sitting, Kate scrolled through the files of the latest two people who had given their lives so that a Third World dictatorship could remain in power.

That’s irony for you, Kate thought as she began the un-enviable task of briefing herself on the dead.

Jonas piloted the twelve-foot inflatable raft through the calm ocean waters, aiming the small craft’s bow toward the palatial beachside estate owned by Rafael Castilo. Behind him the black shape of the Deep Water was anchored a half mile offshore, enabling him to make the short trip with ease.

Two hundred yards out, Jonas cut the motor and rowed the boat toward the beach with powerful strokes, trusting the raft’s dark gray color would be enough to hide it in the darkness. He didn’t want to waste precious time hauling it to the tree line or camouflaging it. Despite what had happened, all of the surviving trainees had volunteered to accompany him, but Jonas had ordered them to stay aboard the yacht. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust their abilities, but two of their col-leagues had already died that evening, and he wasn’t about to risk anyone else, especially when there was a strong possibility he might be walking into an ambush.

Once ashore, he took a moment to scan the building he was about to infiltrate. Castilo’s home was a two-story Mediterranean-style home with a large pool, terrace and red Spanish tile roof. There was enough foliage surrounding it that Jonas was sure he’d be able to infiltrate the grounds, but the electronic security perimeter was another matter.

Adjusting the multispectrum detection system integrated into his close-fitting Kevlar-weave helmet, he crept across the beach, figuring any systems wouldn’t begin until the actual grounds. He hit the tree line, weaving through palm trees, chinkapin thickets and clusters of buttonbush. Using the infrared detection lens, he scanned back and forth until he saw the beam surrounding the groomed lawn. It was about four feet off the ground, and Jonas easily stepped beneath it. He knew why it was that high in the next few seconds.

From around the corner of the house came two black-and-brown Doberman pinschers, their lean bodies streaking toward him as they ate up yards of ground in long, loping strides. The moment they appeared, bright halogen lights flicked on, bathing the pool and lawn in white brilliance.

Stepping back into the bushes, Jonas dropped to one knee and activated the gas filter on his mask as he extended a powerful aerosol canister and filled the five yards in front of him with a cloud of fine white mist. The Dobermans ran straight through it, and immediately collapsed on the wet grass as their legs gave out. They skidded to a stop at Jonas’s feet. Both dogs whined feebly, then passed out from the inhaled tranquilizer. Jonas waited for someone to investigate the disturbance, but the grounds remained quiet. While waiting, he pinpointed several security cameras scanning the grounds around the house. He also noticed a small blind spot near the northeastern corner, near what looked like some kind of sunroom.

While waiting for the lights to turn off, he took in the house, changing lenses to a thermal detector suite. The first floor was empty, but on the second, closer than he’d expected, he saw two sleeping forms, their red-and-orange shapes appearing to float in midair against the cold blues and blacks of the walls and floors. The master bedroom appeared to be behind that sunroom, next to the blind spot in the security perimeter. Jonas’s instincts again screamed that this could be a trap—indeed, it most likely was. The team that had been sent to commandeer the yacht hadn’t reported in, and he was sure Theodore knew that. But this was the best possible chance to learn the details of Castilo’s plan.

Jonas began working his way toward that corner, watching the grounds for any sign he’d been discovered. He crawled through the brush and tropical trees until he reached his objective, and still, there was no sign of having tripped any security alarms. Jonas took another minute to scan the wall and rooms where he was going to access the house.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped a small pistol-like device from a pouch on his arm, aimed it at the light on the wall and pressed a button. The narrow-beam electromagnetic pulse fried the light’s circuit, disabling it.

Jonas put away the gun, waited for the camera to turn toward the pool, then slipped out of the trees and ran to the corner of the house, gauging the height at the top of the short railing as he closed the distance.

Just as he reached the wall, Jonas crouched and leaped as high as he could, fingers reaching for the lip of the railing, and just grabbing it. Arms trembling, he pulled himself up, aware that the corner camera was coming back on its sweep, and if he didn’t get inside in the next few seconds he could be spotted. When his head drew level with the railing, he threw an arm over, clawing for a more secure grip. Bracing his arm on the inside of the rail, he slithered across the railing and collapsed on the tile floor, panting for breath.

This was a lot easier thirty years ago, he admitted to himself.

He listened for any sign that he had alerted anyone. Only the gentle roll of the surf and the night breeze rustling the nearby forest reached his ears. Rising, he moved along the right wall, avoiding the wicker-and-glass patio furniture set in the middle of the room, until he reached the French doors leading to the bedroom.

While some people might have left their doors open to enjoy the cool ocean breeze, the double doors were closed, and Jonas was sure they were locked, as well. He took a small device roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and ran it along the door frame, ceiling and floor, looking for current flow to indicate the door was attached to a security circuit. The meter came up empty, so Jonas concentrated on the formidable-looking doorknob lock. Kneeling, he took out a small leather case, selected the appropriate pick and a torsion wrench and went to work. Since finesse was needed and his movements were so minute, he hardly made a sound. Although it took longer than he’d have liked, after several minutes, the lock clicked open. His thermal imaging told him that both occupants were still in bed.