Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

No matter what remote place he would have gone to, the risk of being found out was simply too great. However, at this distance, roughly seventy yards, he knew it was unlikely he would miss. He loaded a full magazine, chambered a round, settled into position and began the hardest duty of all, waiting.

Poor bastard, Marcus thought as he stepped into the tree line.

He had circled west-southwest, and had picked out the supposedly camouflaged soldier’s position with his thermal vision right away, recognizing him for what he was. “Beta, this is Alpha.”

“Go.”

“I’ve got a potential hostile in the jungle approximately ten yards west of target’s position. Looks like the rear guard.”

“Move in and eliminate him silently. Do not jeopardize our position under any circumstances.”

“Affirmative. Moving in.” Don’t jeopardize our position.

You mean like Primary is doing? Marcus thought. He resolved to have a talk with Kate about mission priority once this was over. Contact and acquire, indeed. What brilliant bureaucrat came up with that one? I bet Judy had a hand in this. But first, he had a rear door to close and a partner to babysit while he chatted up a rogue military officer.

Marcus plotted his intercept course to come in on the north side of the man, making sure to stay far enough away so as not to alert their target. Sure is getting crowded in this part of the bush, he thought. He crept forward, placing each foot with maximum care, avoiding twigs and leaves, slowly making his way toward the observer one careful step at a time, checking after each stop to ensure he hadn’t been spotted. When he was within range, he raised the sound-suppressed MP-5, checked the fire-selector switch and snugged the extended stock into his shoulder. He took one more step forward, breath shallow, aimed at the glowing red-and-yellow blob in front of him and squeezed the trigger.

“Alpha has taken out one hostile. Beta appears to be—

moving in on the other one.” KeyWiz frowned as he sat watching the patch of Cuban jungle.

“Moving in? How close does he need to be?” Kate studied the topographical map, with the various dots signifying Jonas’s and Marcus’s positions. She watched as the division head kept edging closer to the red dot of Damason. “What is he doing?”

“Unknown, ma’am.”

Kate weighed her options. No new information on Damason had come up that would necessitate what looked like a contact attempt. Operatives in the field had almost unlimited ability to do whatever was necessary to complete a mission, however, this looked like something else entirely. Even in the jungle, Jonas shouldn’t have needed to get that close to carry out a termination—the man was a sniper, after all. He should be able to tag anyone from several hundred yards out.

Kate’s instincts jangled again. Something wasn’t right, she was sure of it. “Get me Beta.” She knew it was a risk, but at the very least she had to confirm that something hadn’t gone wrong.

Kate heard the chime of the outgoing call ring again and again. “Beta is not answering,” KeyWiz said.

What the hell is he doing? “Keep trying to raise him, and get me Alpha right away.”

Kate unclenched her hands, hating what she was feeling—the rising sense that she was not in control of the situation. “Goddamn it, Jonas, what are you up to?” She opened another screen and brought up the Valdes file. What is it about him? she wondered.

NiteMaster signaled her. “Link to Alpha open.”

“Alpha, this is Primary. Give me a status report,” Kate said.

What she heard next made her jaw drop. “He told you what? ”

Once Marcus had given the clear signal, Jonas had begun his own patient stalking of Damason, slipping through the jungle with ease. The old skills had fully awakened, and his senses thrummed with the rush of information he was taking in—the dank, leafy smell of the jungle around him, the silent placement of each foot, the cautious scan of the trees and brush around him as he progressed. His instructor during GSG-9 training had often described silent infiltration as the most dangerous hunt, trying to capture or kill the ultimate prey, and at that moment, Jonas agreed completely.

He stole through the forest, each step bringing him closer to his goal.

A soft chime sounded in his ear, indicating an incoming transmission. Jonas checked the corner of the screen, grimacing at seeing Primary was calling. He ignored the call and kept moving forward. He was too close to start an argument with Kate, who was no doubt calling to find out exactly what he was doing.

He’d handle that later, regardless of the final conse-quences.

Taking a deep breath, Jonas kept sliding through the brush. The coming dawn was visible through the canopy, painting the trees in shades of pink and gold under a partly cloudy sky. For the final few steps, he switched off the thermal vision, preferring to use his own eyes. He was close enough to make out Damason hunched over in a crouch as he waited for his own prey. Another signal flashed in the corner of his vision. Marcus was getting a call, from Kate, no doubt. It was now or never.

Pistol at the ready, Jonas stepped out from the brush, about three yards away from the Cuban army major. He was careful to approach from directly behind the other man, not only making sure he wasn’t detected, but also preventing Marcus from taking out Damason before he could talk to him.

As he inched forward, Jonas saw a Soviet-era Dragunov sniper rifle held in the other man’s hands, as steady as a rock, and no doubt ready to fire. Taking another slow step, he also saw that Damason didn’t have his finger on the trigger yet.

One last step brought him right behind the waiting would-be assassin, close enough to touch him. Jonas resisted the urge to place his hand on the man’s shoulder, and slowly lowered his submachine gun instead.

Placing the muzzle of the suppressor to the man’s ear, Jonas whispered. “Do not move, or I will be forced to kill you.”

Damason froze, not daring to twitch a muscle. His first thought was not for his own safety, but for Lopez. If this man was behind him, then his sergeant must already be dead.

“What do you want?” he said calmly.

“First, set down the rifle. I know this will be hard to believe, but I’m here to help you.” The voice sounded strange, as if it was filtered through some kind of electronic device.

“I’m here on behalf of the United States government.”

Damason was sure the man was lying, but he set the Dragunov aside for the moment. “They would never send an American agent down here—too risky,” he said.

“I never said I was an American, just that I work with them. Right now, another man is aiming a rifle at your back.

I’m the only thing standing between you and him.”

“Is he with you?”

“Yes.”

“But you have come to warn me? Protect me?”

“From that, and a lot more. Over the past forty-eight hours, the plan to assassinate Castro has been detected and stopped. There will be no reinforcement from the mercenaries and your contact in Miami, Rafael Castilo, is dead.”

“How do you know all of this?” He felt the pressure of the gun barrel behind his ear ease, and looked behind him to see the man stepping back.

The gunman wore a strange mask that covered his entire face, making him resemble something out of a science-fiction movie. But the weapon in his hand never wavered.

The man reached up and pulled the mask off.

“I was posing as the arms dealer who sold your people the Stingers. It was all a setup. Our people are tracking the inserted men even as I speak, and I was sent to stop you by any means necessary.”