Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

Switching to infrared, Jonas pushed the doors open slowly and slipped inside, pushing aside the billowing white curtains hanging on the inside. He closed the door behind him and glanced around. Feeling a breeze, he looked up to see a large ceiling fan stirring the air. The master bedroom was spacious, with an ornate antique dresser and armoire against one wall matching the four-poster, king-size bed in the middle of the room. On it, nestled together, lay Rafael Castilo and his wife.

Taking a small capsule from a pocket on his web harness, Jonas walked over to the sleeping couple, broke it and held it under the woman’s nose. She frowned and moved her head to try to avoid the scent, then her body relaxed as she passed into deeper slumber. The potent narcotic Jonas had given her would ensure that he and Castilo could speak un-disturbed.

Going to the heavy door leading to the rest of the house, he made sure it was locked, then padded back to the side of the bed. Drawing his pistol, with the short sound suppressor already attached to the threaded barrel, Jonas pressed the cold circle of metal to the sleeping man’s forehead.

The businessman’s eyes fluttered open, then widened in shock. Jonas didn’t blame him. The helmet and full face mask were quite intimidating, concealing his features behind a black, vented guard that covered his nose and mouth.

His eyes were concealed by the multipurpose goggles with their vision suite. He had no doubt he resembled some kind of futuristic home invader.

“Do not move, or you and your wife will die. Keep your arms at your sides.” The mask also contained a small microphone and voice-modulation chip that altered Jonas’s normal speaking tone into an unrecognizable one. With a black silk balaclava covering the rest of Jonas’s head, Castilo would never know who was behind the mask.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“My employer is not pleased. Not more than two hours ago, the gentlemen you introduced him to attempted to hijack his yacht—and the cargo he was holding.”

Castilo’s eyes widened, and Jonas activated his visual voice-stress-recognition program, which would analyze Castilo’s responses and determine whether he was lying or not to a ninety-five percent degree of accuracy. Based on technology developed in Israel, it had been integrated into masks as soon as the Room 59 techs had gotten their hands on it.

“What are you talking about? I had dinner with Mr. Heinemann tonight and it was agreed that he would provide the Stingers my people needed for the price we had negotiated.”

Jonas admired the man’s calm—even when threatened with his own impending death, his voice was steady. Even more surprising was that, according to the voice program, he was telling the truth.

“So you knew nothing about the attempt to hijack the yacht and steal the missiles and the money?” Jonas asked.

“Are you serious? I could buy ten of those yachts, and the money was a pittance to me compared to what it would get us. We need those missiles to defeat attacking gunships—” Castilo stopped in midsentence.

“Yes, your plan to invade Cuba. If you didn’t authorize the assault, why would we have been attacked after you left?

What’s the connection?”

“I don’t know. Maybe pirates saw your boat, and thought it was an easy target.”

“No, these men were organized, professional, well trained and equipped. They couldn’t have been anything but mercenaries, which leads straight back to you.”

Castilo’s brow furrowed as he tried to think of an answer.

“I’m sure your boss has enemies—if they know he’s trying to take over in the power vacuum in Miami, perhaps one of them decided to eliminate the competition.”

“And they happened to arrive within the time frame that we had agreed upon with your man—and use the two lights he had told us to expect?” Jonas stuck the gun under Castilo’s jaw. “You are not convincing me.”

Castilo shrugged. “The only thing that makes sense is if the PMC I hired decided to eliminate you, to stop the trail of the Stinger missiles from being traced any further.”

The voice analysis said that Castilo believed he was telling the truth. Jonas nodded—at least that was possible. “My employer wants to know the details of your plan. Who is involved? How does it begin? What is the event that starts it in motion?”

The frown reappeared, and Jonas sensed the Cuban closing up. “I’ve told you what I know. The plan doesn’t involve your employer any longer. You got what you came for—now get out of here, before my security finds and kills you.” He actually started to lift his head from the silk-cased pillow in annoyance, but Jonas pressed the pistol down on his forehead again, pressing him back into the plush bed.

“Your PMC’s insistence on having it all has changed our agreement. If your units do not receive the rest of the Stingers, they’ll be mincemeat when those Cuban helicopters get airborne. It will be the Bay of Pigs all over again—that is, assuming you don’t abort the plan before it even has a chance to start. Now, tell me—when does it begin and what is the catalyst?”

Castilo considered his options for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you are not going to stop the plans I have worked toward for the past twenty years—not when they are so close to fruition. I would rather die first.”

Another truthful statement. Once again Jonas rued the fact that he hadn’t come to know this impassioned man under different circumstances. And he regretted even more what he was about to do.

“You are a brave man, I’ll give you that.” Removing the pistol from Castilo’s forehead, he placed it behind his wife’s ear. “But if you do not tell me what I wish to know within the next three seconds, I will pull this trigger.”

It was a stone-cold con—Jonas didn’t think he would ever kill a truly innocent person, no matter what the circumstances, even if it meant jeopardizing a mission. The question was whether Castilo would call his bluff. If his patriotism was stronger than his love for his wife, then Jonas was in trouble.

“She knew the risks when we got married. She would sacrifice anything for our cause,” Castilo said.

Jonas pushed the gun roughly into the back of her neck.

“This trigger has a five-pound pull. My finger is already putting three pounds on it. One more flex, and the first thing you’ll see when the sun rises is her brains decorating that wall. Three seconds left…”

Castilo tensed, and for a moment Jonas thought he was going to call it, but suddenly his body relaxed. “No—wait!”

Jonas let up the pressure on the woman’s head slightly.

“There’s no way you can stop it anyway, even if you had people on the island. There are three thousand men on the island right now, ready to move against key positions at a predetermined time.”

“What about the army? Surely they won’t just sit by and let their country be snatched out from under them?”

“You have already met our man on the inside, who has given us invaluable information regarding the status of their military, their placements, their equipment, everything. We know where we will land the rest of the men, what to take first and, most importantly, how to block communication between various army units. There are also dissatisfied elements of the nation’s military who will assist with the overthrow of the government at the proper time. Between the outside forces seizing key facilities and the army tying up other interference, any kind of organized resistance will be disrupted long enough for the internal forces to seize control of key facilities and order the rest of the military to stand down. I’m sure there will be some die-hards who will do exactly as that term suggests. However, the young people, the students, they want change, and that is what we can give them. Once they see that this is really happening, they will flock to our cause.”