Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

Damason’s jaw dropped, and he stood up and turned fully around. “But the U.S. has been trying to kill the Castros for decades. Now, when there is a real chance for that to happen, you are sent to stop me? I will have Raul in my sights in less than one hour. There will not be anyone here who can stop me. Yet you are doing just that.”

“Major Valdes, please, listen to me. This is not the way.

Although the death of the Castros would certainly be justified for what they have done to your people, there is a very good chance that it would also tear the country apart in a civil war that could last for months, perhaps years. We’ve heard of the rumblings of discontent among your generals—how long would it be before one of them decided he could take the whole island over, and place you all right back where you were?”

Damason shook his head. “No, the plan will work—it has to. The people cannot take any more of this—struggling to survive every day while rich tourists come in and support the current government with their money, and nothing comes down to help the people. Castro trains doctors, then sends them to other countries, while our own people are sick every day, forced to languish in filthy, ill-equipped hospitals. People with advanced degrees working as cabdrivers, or, God forbid, prostitutes, because there are no jobs for some, and for others, they cannot make enough to survive.”

“But change has been coming—slowly, yes, I admit it—

but surely you must have seen it. There are those in the government who feel as you do, I’m sure of it. Once the current leadership is gone—”

“When? When will that be? People have been saying that for forty years, and yet it continues. He continues. They will always continue, unless something is done to change it, now.”

Damason looked at the man again, a nagging awareness in his mind that there was something very familiar about him, but not able to figure out what. “You came to warn me. I say that if you truly want to stop me, you will have to kill me.

Otherwise I am going to pick up that rifle and complete my mission.”

“Damason, I’m asking you to listen to reason, not gamble your country’s future on a wild plan that has no hope of succeeding.”

“Even if the plan fails, I will not. My name will be spoken in the same breath as other true heroes who fought for Cuba’s freedom.” Damason’s eyes gleamed with righteous fervor.

“At the very least, I will have done something that no other person, no other government, could accomplish. I will have helped put an end to the dictatorship that has strangled our country.”

He turned back to the Dragunov rifle on the ground. “If you truly wish to stop me, then you will have to shoot me.” Picking up the rifle, he aimed at the yard again, waiting either for a bullet to punch through the back of his head and kill him, or for an armored limousine to drive up and for his target to appear.

“Goddamn it, get out of the way so I can pop this guy,” Marcus muttered as he stared through the Leupold Ultra M3A scope of his M24A2 sniper rifle. He had tried contacting Beta before he had taken his mask off, but the older man had turned off his communication system, leaving Marcus hanging in the wind.

After he had told Kate what Beta had said, and what he was doing, she had given Marcus his marching orders in clipped sentences. “Continue your observation.” There was a pause.

“If Jonas does not carry out his primary mission, you are to terminate the subject. If Beta tries to stop you—” Marcus couldn’t help noticing the pause “—he is to be terminated, as well, then you are to depart the area immediately afterward.”

Although the orders sounded strange to his ears, Marcus wasn’t totally surprised by them. The mission came above everything else, even a fellow operative. If Beta had suddenly gone rogue, for whatever reason, then he was a threat and had to be taken down, just like Valdes. Marcus hoped that wasn’t the case. He liked the guy, and didn’t want to kill him if he didn’t have to.

But why is he wasting time jawing with this dude? Marcus peered through the scope, watching Valdes’s face as he apparently argued with the other man. He’s got cojones, that’s for sure. While Marcus could have taken the shot at that moment, he was concerned that Beta might be wounded, as well, or that Valdes might be holding an unseen gun on the other man.

Marcus considered shifting position, but something was nagging at him. Why did Beta remove his mask? Marcus was pretty sure the Cuban army major wouldn’t welcome with a big hug the man he had earlier thought was an illegal arms dealer. But for the life of him, Marcus couldn’t figure out why Beta hadn’t simply taken him out. He had him dead to rights.

Marcus stared through the scope, taking in every detail of the man he had been assigned to eliminate. His finger tightened on the trigger and he breathed in and out one last time as he prepared to take the shot.

Lowering his gun, Jonas was at a loss. He could not order Damason to stop, and he was sure he couldn’t kill him.

There was only one card left to play.

“Major Valdes—Damason. Look at me.”

The Cuban officer slowly turned and regarded him with a flat stare.

“Earlier I d told you I worked with the Americans. Before that, I worked for my homeland of Germany, and traveled around the world, hunting terrorists. One of the places I was sent was Cuba, back in the early 1970s.”

“And?”

“While here, I met a young woman by the name of Marisa,” Jonas said.

Jonas saw Damason flinch at the mention of his mother. The soldier took a closer look at Jonas, as if really taking in his face for the first time, his eyes widening. “You cannot mean…”

Jonas nodded, not trusting his voice to say the words. He was drowning in unfamiliar waters, unsure of what to say that could possibly make this man understand everything that had come between them over the decades.

Damason stared at him, his eyes round with shock. “She told me…before she died…how my father had been killed.

An accident at the sugar mill…”

Jonas swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I—I couldn’t stay with her, nor could I get her out of the country. It wasn’t possible at the time.”

“So you just fucked her and then ran off? You left my mother and me to fend for ourselves in this hellhole of a country, alone?”

“I came back as soon as I could—I tried to find her—”

Jonas said.

“You had six years to do that. She died when I was six, leaving me to be raised by the state.You turned me into exactly what I am today, padre. ” The last word held no warmth at all.

“I had no idea that you were even alive. I couldn’t find any records of her here—”

Damason flew at Jonas, slamming into his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground, the gun flying from his hand.

Snatching up the weapon, the soldier knelt and aimed it at his father’s head. “I would think you would be enjoying this more, padre, seeing what I have become. You must have killed in your line of work, yes?”

Jonas nodded, trying to suck in enough air to speak.

“As have I, many times. Tell me something—did they all deserve it?”

Jonas thought about that for a moment. He had killed in defense of his country, and in defense of liberty, but could he truly say that everyone who had fallen in his sights had been guilty? “I—I don’t know,” he stammered.

“In my line of work, I was often ordered to arrest people who were innocent, who just wanted a better life for themselves or their families. Somewhere inside me, I knew that, but I ignored it, choosing to believe they were enemies of the revolution. But there came a time when I couldn’t stomach the lies I told myself, and that was when I knew I had to do what was right. So tell me, father, is that why you came here? To do what is right? Or are you just here to complete your mission, doing exactly what your superiors tell you to do? Is the fact that we are related just a mere twist of chance?”