Havana Five. Don Pendleton
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considered their decision to send Grimaldi and Encizo; he wouldn’t second-guess Bolan’s request. The Stony Man chief had learned long ago not to question the men in the field. They were hardened and experienced warriors who knew what was what. They were there under the direst of circumstances, not Brognola or Price, hence his reason for a hands-off policy when it came to making operational decisions at the field level. Brognola never armchair quarter-backed an operation before and he didn’t plan to start now.
Unfortunately they had minimal intelligence up to this point. Operations inside Cuba were always difficult, at best, since they couldn’t operate as freely as in other countries. Moreover, the political waves created by the waning health of Cuba’s leader caused increasing unrest in the country’s citizens. There were social underpinnings to consider, as well, and the talk in certain circles of its bleak socioeconomic and political future wouldn’t make things easier for Bolan and his crew. Fortunately, money could still do quite a bit of talking down there, and in context they had an almost limitless supply of cash in the coffers if the need arose for it.
Movement on Brognola’s right penetrated his train of thought as effectively as a lithe form penetrated the tree line.
“You startled me,” Brognola declared.
Barbara Price half smiled. “Maybe you’re losing your edge.”
“Maybe I was only kidding and I just wanted you to think you took me off guard.”
“Whatever gets you through the day,” she said.
They didn’t often trade in this type of playful banter, but Brognola guessed Price had indulged in the same recent edginess he experienced at hearing of the President’s imminent arrival.
“Out trying to clear the old noggin some?” he asked.
She nodded. “I suppose. You headed back to the farmhouse?”
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I walk with you, cool down?”
“Not at all.”
Price did a little deep breathing before saying, “This deal with Striker’s recent discoveries in Cuba had me racking my brain most of the morning. I thought maybe a jog through the woods might shake loose a prophetic moment.”
“Yeah,” Brognola said. “I decided to take a walk in hope of finding an epiphany of my own. I assume you finished your dissemination on Havana Five?”
“Yes. And before you ask, I didn’t find much, not of consequence anyway.”
“Maybe what we gave Striker will be enough,” Brognola said. “Between him and Rafael, they’ll figure out the rest.”
“Sounds like he’s still convinced the two Americans Melendez overheard are our missing DIA agents.”
“Right. What I can’t figure is why they would have killed Colonel Waterston.”
“Doesn’t seem to fit the profile of either of them,” Price said. “I took a thorough look into their dossiers. Stein and Crosse were both decorated veterans of Desert Storm, ranked high in their respective classes at the federal law enforcement training center and Quantico, and outside of obviously trumped-up charges a couple of times in Crosse’s career, neither of them has been in any type of trouble. I even talked to a former supervisor at the DIA. He says they were top of the line.”
“Sounds like a couple of regular poster boys for the DIA,” Brognola replied with a grunt.
“Indeed.”
“Okay, so we can assume one of two things. Either what Striker got from Melendez was flawed in some way or Stein and Crosse really did kill Waterston. If we say the latter scenario’s the most likely right now given the fact Waterston’s MIA, then that would indicate an act of desperation.”
“Or an accident,” Price pointed out.
“I hadn’t considered that possibility,” Brognola admitted. “That’s good. Now maybe we’re getting somewhere. But even if we’re correct, and right now it’s all just conjecture, that still doesn’t explain how Havana Five figures into all of this.”
“Well, Melendez definitely tied those things together when Striker interrogated them,” Price said. “Melendez was betting his life on it, which means there has to be a connection.”
“Right,” Brognola said. “And it’s our job to find out what that is. Striker’s operating on thin intelligence. We need to come up with something solid, and quickly.”
“Well, there’s no guarantee they’ll be able to figure out what’s going on even if they find Stein and Crosse,” Price said. “All we can do is our best to find the answers Striker needs. I won’t rest until we do that.”
“I know.” Brognola looked in the direction of the farmhouse with absence. “We’d better get inside and cleaned up. The Man will be here within the hour.”
PER BROGNOLA’S INSTRUCTIONS, Able Team escorted the President to the War Room as soon as they arrived.
Brognola and Price awaited him there, and Able Team made a quick exit to nearby posts that were out of the room but still provided them access to the Man in less than ten seconds. Not that they were overly concerned. Nobody knew of the President’s visit and he planned to be here for less than a half hour.
“Hal, I know you’re all pretty busy,” the President began. “I appreciate your meeting me on such short notice.”
“Not at all, sir,” Brognola said. “It’s never a trouble. Although…” Brognola let his sentence trail off, thinking better of it.
“Although you’re surprised I’d call a meeting here,” the President replied. “Right?”
“It had crossed our minds, sir,” Price said coolly and professionally.
“I know it’s unorthodox, and normally I wouldn’t have risked the security nightmare I’m sure this creates,” the President said. “But I felt this was the best way.”
“The best way to do what exactly, Mr. President?” Brognola asked.
“To clarify the importance of this mission. You see, ever since the Cuban missile crisis, our relations have been less than stellar with Castro. I know that’s hardly a surprise, maybe not even worth mentioning. What you might not know is that one of the main purposes of Plan Colombia was to completely eradicate relations whereby Cuba permitted terrorist training of Colombian guerrillas inside their boundaries. And while it’s always been a big risk on Castro’s part given our military presence there, it’s been an even larger one in recent years.
“I believe Cuba might be on the verge of its very own civil war. It’s my hope if this occurs that the United States will be poised to suggest peace talks rather than permit the outbreak of armed conflict between Cuban citizens and their government so close to U.S. interests. If we’re successful in that, it could mean friendly political ties between two countries who have been bitter enemies for more than sixty years.”
“I see what you’re saying, Mr. President,” Brognola said. “This is much bigger than any of us.”
“It is,” the Man confirmed. “So you see, there’s more at stake here than I believe either of you might realize. I thought, especially under these most recent circumstances, I at least owed it to you to lay my cards on the table. The disappearance of Colonel Waterston is particularly critical. It’s a little known fact Waterston and I served together during Vietnam. He was poised to be our olive branch when and if the time came. There were, or rather are, some men in Castro’s regime who respect Waterston because he’s a military man. He speaks their lingo, you see, and frankly so do I. They like that. And being military men they’re beginning to see Castro as old and weak. They figure it’s time for a change in the country, and they figure if whoever succeeds Castro isn’t up to the challenge, it’ll be up to them to make a better way of life for everyone in their country.”