Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

“Marcus, you’re not gonna believe this, but we just got ourselves that ride you wanted,” Jonas said.

Slinging the rifle, Jonas lifted the younger man, trying to ignore the dark red mess his shoulder was turning into, and carried him to the truck. Depositing Marcus a few yards away, Jonas wrenched open the door, pistol out to finish off anyone wounded. The two men in the cab were both dead. One had taken a hit in the head and one in the neck. The gunner gurgled in the bed of the truck, his upper chest a bloody pulp. Jonas finished him then pulled him out. He smashed out the rest of the shattered windshield, dumped the other two bodies on the ground, started the truck and gunned it back on the road. He hopped out just long enough to hoist Marcus into the front seat, then jumped behind the wheel and floored the accelerator.

“Looks like you got your wish, buddy. The boat’s just a few minutes up the coast, and then we’ll be out of here and back to the States, where they’ll get you patched up and as good as new.”

Marcus coughed, the effort shaking his body. “Jonas, my glasses. On the boat—Valdes had a family. Found them in Havana.”

“Hey, don’t worry—you can give it to me soon enough.

But you’ve got to stay awake for a little bit longer now, all right? Hey, you got a family? Tell me about them,” Jonas said.

“Oh, yeah, do I ever…” As Marcus rambled on about his parents and younger brothers, Jonas kept a sharp eye out for any sign of the army or police on the road. The landscape was quiet, although Jonas knew the locals would be out soon, and a truck like this would attract a lot of attention.

Driving cross-country was also bound to raise a few eyebrows, but Jonas was more concerned about not breaking an axle or blowing a tire and leaving them stranded.

After several miles, Jonas reached the first road they had crossed on foot a few hours earlier. He turned right, knowing that it would connect with the main highway in the region.

A few minutes later, he came to the bigger highway and slewed onto it with a squeal of the aged tires. Jonas slowed to the speed limit as he headed toward the boat.

At last he came upon the coast, and followed it to where the road met the bridge. Marcus had fallen unconscious, but a quick check revealed he was still breathing. Peeking out of the cab for trouble, Jonas found he had company.

Three kids stood on top of the bridge, staring off the side at the long cigarette boat bobbing in the swells. Jonas made sure his mask was securely over his face, then hoisted Marcus over his shoulder, grabbed the rifle in his other hand and waded into the water, causing the children to chatter among themselves.

“Hey, your friend looks hurt! Is he gonna die?”

“Is that your boat? How fast does it go?”

“My father called the border guard! They’ll come and take you away!” one of the kids shouted.

“¡Viva la revolución!”

The chant was taken up among the other kids, making a chorus that could be heard all along the shoreline.

Jonas ignored them as he heaved Marcus aboard the boat, then climbed in after him. He took a moment to tear his sleeve off and make a rough compress for the other man’s shoulder. It was a nasty-looking mass of flesh and blood.

Jonas hauled up the anchor, made sure the prop was clear and started the engine, reversing it until he was able to turn the boat around.

Scanning the horizon, he had just started to plot a path to get out to the open ocean when a man’s voice yelling through a bullhorn reached him even over the roar of the twin engines. Jonas didn’t look up, but shoved the throttle down, making the boat leap forward, its sleek bow rearing out of the water as he aimed it north.

Shooting across the water, the powerful boat easily left the shore patrol boat behind. However, as he aimed for the gap that would lead to open water, he saw the large bow of a Soviet-built Zhuk-class coastal patrol boat coming toward him on an intercept course. Although it was no match for his vessel in speed, and Jonas knew that the border guards weren’t normally authorized to use force to catch people on the sea, if someone enterprising had called ahead, they might suspend those rules for a suspected killer. And any one of those four 12.7 mm machine guns could easily chop his boat—not to mention him—to little shreds floating on the tide.

He turned the wheel right, speeding parallel to the long bridge and into the cluster of small, coastal islands surrounding it. Bringing down a map of the area on his HUD, Jonas plotted a course that would take him away from any boats, and hopefully right into the arms of the patrolling U.S.

Coast Guard. Even with Marcus aboard, he’d be able to handle them much more easily.

But the Cuban Border Patrol wasn’t done with him yet.

From the east came yet another vessel, a smaller go-fast boat that was gaining on Jonas. There were two soldiers in the cockpit, and one shouted at him to power his watercraft down and allow them to come aboard.

Screw that, Jonas thought. The smaller speedboat pulled up alongside. Jonas swerved his boat in a controlled ram, smacking the side of their vehicle in a crash of fiberglass, sending them careening away. Knowing that they would be back like a persistent mosquito if he didn’t stop them per-manently, he throttled down and got out the rifle, steadying it across the top of the windshield as the other boat circled around to come at him again. Jonas rapidly estimated the range and the windage, then emptied the last five shots in the rifle’s magazine, putting all of them into the driver’s side of the boat. He saw the driver hunch over, and figured that he had tagged him with at least one bullet. Although the second soldier raised his rifle, Jonas was already speeding away, juking back and forth to avoid any incoming fire.

The Zhuk fell away in the distance as Jonas rocketed into the maze of islands, navigating his way through the watery labyrinth until he hit the Atlantic Ocean and freedom. Once he was sure he was clear, he turned back.

“Hey, Marcus…we made it!”

There was no reply from the still body lying on the seat in front of the engines, a smear of blood slowly growing larger underneath him. Jonas throttled down and stepped over to him.

“Marcus?”

He checked the younger man’s wrist, then his pulse in his neck, and found no beat in either place.

“Goddamn it, Marcus, I didn’t bring you all this way just to have you die on me, too.” Jonas slipped to the deck and held the lifeless body, tears streaming down his face as the sleek cigarette boat rocked gently in the ocean swells.

Kate barely kept a lid on her emotions as the limousine wound its way through the colorful streets of Little Havana. Jacob was in the driver’s seat, taking in everything as he delivered them to their destination. He pulled up in front of a modest two-story yellow home with a small yard, flanked by two palm trees.

Smoothing her suit jacket as she got out of the car, Kate was hit by the oppressive heat after the air-conditioned interior, but the mingled scents of hibiscus and ocean air were refreshing. On the other side, Jonas got out, as well, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

“Remember, let me do the talking,” Kate said. Like his responses to her other questions or comments, all he did was nod his head. The only thing he had been vocal about was that he was coming with her for this visit, and not even Judy’s steeliest glare could dissuade him.

Kate had relented, thinking that it might give him some closure. But the fact was that what should have been a rela- tively simple operation had turned into a fiasco with three operatives dead and two wounded, all to stop one man.

At least the Stingers have been recovered, she thought.