Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

“How are you doing with containers?”

“Acceptable, but they are difficult to load and not as precise and responsive to demand as go-fasts and planes.”

“I had a submarine, ” Daniel told them, “that went missing off Nicaragua two weeks ago. Twelve tons of blow. Three mules.” The hundreds of millions in lost product was a huge hit, but a show of emotion at the loss was blood in the water to the others, especially Ramos.

“It is dangerous under the sea,” Ramirez shrugged. “How do you know it was not a mechanical failure or human error?”

“I don’t know, and you don’t know either. None of us do, but we have to find out.”

“What’s in it for me?” Ramos asked. “I’m still making a profit. Why should the fact that you are having trouble with your supply chain concern me?”

“We are not talking about a little disturbance to be addressed. We are talking a near shutdown of our operations, including yours. And when they finish in the Caribbean, they’ll be coming to you in the Pacific.”

Ramirez made a pyramid with his fingers and took Daniel’s measure. “You are convinced it is the Americans?” he asked.

“Yes. And probably the British, Dutch, and Canadians. All have warships and helicopters, patrol planes, surveillance aircraft.”

“The Americans are clumsy, and they telegraph their every move. They talk— they can’t help themselves!”

Daniel took a drag on his cigarette. “The fact remains, gentlemen — and it affects you, too, my dear Ramos — that the majority of all our Caribbean open-water shipments are missing. They are shutting us down . You want a telegraph, Eduardo? They have a damn aircraft carrier out there working with our former Colombian countrymen, and they base airplanes in Puerto Rico, Guantanamo, the Keys. They can take advantage of the natural chokepoints throughout the islands, and they can see us before we can see them.”

“Yes, an aircraft carrier that can destroy the world!” Ramirez answered. “What good is such a ship without the will to use it? They have fought the sticks-and-stones Arabs with these ships for decades and still can’t defeat them. For all its muscle, Washington doesn’t have the stomach to fight us, and addicts are found in all parts of their society, even at the top. They want what we are selling , so whatever this is will pass. We should be more concerned with their legalization efforts. Do you know of the state they call Colorado?”

Exasperated, Daniel threw up his hands. “Eduardo, send your boats and planes if you wish, but I propose we stop our shipments and wait them out. The three of us can continue our activities in the Pacific….”

“Both of you are wrong.”

Daniel and Ramirez turned to look at Ramos, who sat there expressionless. Showing fear to each other could be fatal, and Ramos was the master at keeping his emotions in check. Daniel berated himself for showing a flash of frustration.

Ramos repeated himself. “Both of you are wrong. If, as you say, the Americans are destroying our boats and planes one by one, they are doing it because we allow them. We send the mules out alone, at night, so not to attract attention, but the very fact that they are alone in the open attracts the attention of their satellites and radars. We should husband our resources and send them in a wave, a convoy as they call it.”

“Yes, hiding in plain sight,” Ramirez added. “They cannot attack all our vessels at once, and there will be witnesses if they try.”

“Yes. Obtain lookouts with radios and cameras to report and record any activity, a minor overhead expense,” Ramos answered.

“A diversion….” Daniel said, thinking out loud.

Ramirez looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

Daniel walked to the window, the blue Caribbean radiant before him.

“A diversion , a military term. Ramos is right; if it is the Americans who are behind this, what do they fear the most? Instability. Their stock market gyrates at the slightest bit of bad news. We know they and NATO are here, and we need them to show their hand. Let’s give them instability.”

“What is your proposal?” Ramos asked.

“Let’s start a war with them.”

Ramirez studied Daniel, trying to read him. “How?”

“I do not propose full-scale war with the United States, which the Bolivarian Republic would lose, but we can tie them down with diversions, feints . Raul receives millions from us; he can mass forces near Guantanamo. The Russians will do anything we ask for cash; they can fly warplanes here tomorrow to collect it, and the Americans are powerless to stop them. And since we’ve lined the pockets of the generals here for years, they can rattle their sabers for us. The politicians can concoct some foolish slight to cause a diplomatic crisis. The Americans would then move their forces to send their signal .” Pointing to the sea, Daniel continued. “I want to see an American aircraft carrier right there .”

“And this saves our boats and planes?”

“Yes. The Americans will overreact as they always do. Their media will become breathless reporting on war clouds in South America, ¡ay, caramba! Their focus will be defending Guantanamo, Roosevelt Roads, and the canal. Go-fast boats with product will be small potatoes. They can’t be everywhere.”

Ramos was unconvinced.

“If the Americans want, they can shut us down, and we still don’t know what is happening out there. Yet you seek more attention, more forces from the Americans?”

“Yes, Ramos. Call their bluff.”

“And how do you propose we do this?” Ramirez asked him.

Daniel now motioned to the “seconds” at the table who were taking it all in. “That’s in the details. Details to be left to others.” The men shifted in their chairs, knowing they would have to deliver a plan of action to their kingpins, and soon.

The duty officer in the ready room called Trench to the phone. “XO’s on the line.”

When Trench answered, Annie ordered him to report to her stateroom — with Macho. An uneasy Trench replied, “Yes, ma’am,” and motioned to Macho in the back of the ready room. This could not be good.

“What?” Macho asked in a condescending manner as she walked up to him between the rows of high-backed chairs.

“XO wants to see us in her stateroom. Together. Now,” Trench said under his breath.

Macho felt a surge of adrenalin. This could not be good.

Trench and Macho walked from the ready room through the O-3 level passageways together. With Trench in the lead, the two pilots walked single file to squeeze past sailors transiting in the opposite direction. Both of them were troubled by the unexpected summons to their XO’s stateroom.

“What do you think this is about?” Trench asked.

“I don’t know,” Macho answered. They continued in silence. Although their “hate-hate” relationship was common knowledge among the air wing JOs, the two of them kept it professional and cordial in front of the heavies. When they arrived at Annie’s stateroom door, painted with a large Firebird emblem and the words EXECUTIVE OFFICER, Trench rapped twice.

“Come in,” Annie said. The pilots found her wearing her flight suit. Olive, one of their department heads, stood in the corner.

Oh, shit! Trench thought.

“Please, have a seat,” Annie said, motioning them to her couch. Trench and Macho sat down and faced their XO, waiting for her to speak first.