Havana Five. Don Pendleton
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beneath her bottom and poured herself a fresh margarita.
Two men emerged from the stairway ascending to the roof from an entertainment room that occupied nearly half of the third floor of the house. They were dressed in subdued silk shirts and casual slacks. Natalio had never let his house guard come off as loud and brash. He expected them to remain quiet and unobtrusive, convinced that the less conspicuous they were, the more effectively they could do their job. After his death, Fuego had decided to maintain his policy and would not let them adopt the dress like those who worked for the other four heads of Havana Five.
One of the men, Lazaro San Lujan, served as Fuego’s chief enforcer. He moved with the ease and confidence of a professional, the gait of his tall and muscular body practiced. Fuego watched him approach with admiration tempered with amusement. She had always found him handsome and dashing in a sense, and she could tell that although he’d never made an amorous move toward her—before or after the death of Natalio to whom he’d always remained loyal—he wanted her. She could see it in the way he looked at her. He didn’t leer like most men; San Lujan always had too much class for that. No, secretly she felt he harbored a deeper longing for her but he always kept it to himself.
Fuego noticed the disturbed look on his face. “What is it?”
“We have a problem,” he replied.
“How many times have I told you that we never have a problem,” she said, waving casually at a chair.
San Lujan took a seat but Jeronimo Bustos—his second in command and constant companion—remained on his feet and shadowed his boss.
“I forgot,” San Lujan replied. He lit a cigarette before continuing. “Word has it our North American friends were spotted at a jail in Guijarro, just outside of Matanzas. I’ve sent men to check it out but so far they’ve come up empty-handed. The Americans apparently bribed some of the local police to move them to another location.”
“So, they’re willing to go as far as getting arrested to avoid us,” Fuego said, mild amusement in her tone. “That’s not a problem, Lazaro. That’s good, in fact.”
“How is that good, ma’am?” San Lujan asked.
“You still don’t understand.” Fuego shook her head and smiled, then pushed the sunglasses to her head so she could look him square in the eyes. She leaned forward a bit in a conspiratorial fashion. “It means they’re afraid. And that is exactly what I wish them to be. As long as they think I’m after them, they’ll keep their heads down and stay out of my way.”
“I beg to disagree,” San Lujan replied.
“Why?” Fuego looked for any sign of nervousness but she didn’t detect it. Good. San Lujan had always felt open to speak his mind to her husband, and Fuego wanted him to feel the same way now. Without that honesty, Fuego knew she couldn’t trust him and that would spell certain doom to her; San Lujan’s advice had saved her husband’s life and business many times.
San Lujan took a drag from his smoke and said, “These men…they know too much. We cannot risk them falling into the hands of people willing to listen to what they have to say.”
“What they have to say is of no interest to anyone. At least no one inside the country.”
“The Americans have spies here.”
“True, but they’re not aware we’re sponsoring the ELN, and they certainly know nothing of the camp on Juventud. Not even those bastards of Havana Five know of this plan. Besides, we only need keep this quiet a little longer. And once Havana Five is eliminated and I have my revenge, then I shall give you charge of the largest business enterprise ever established in Cuba. And you will like that, eh, Lazaro?”
San Lujan didn’t try to hide his pleasure at the thought. There weren’t too many things that seemed to appeal to him, but the idea of nearly limitless power seemed to be one of them. He, too, had felt the story the men told of Natalio’s death seemed like something less than the truth, and he’d always harbored some guilt for not being there to protect his master.
“Your plans will suffice for now,” San Lujan replied. “But I still worry that your need to avenge Natalio’s death will blind you to other threats. I worry that you’ll fail to see what may very well be right in front of your nose.”
“And you feel it’s your job to protect me from those things. Yes?”
San Lujan nodded.
Fuego reached forward and patted his knee. “You’re a good and loyal man, Lazaro. I hope you never lose those qualities. They are what made you more than just an employee to my husband. They are why you were so valuable to him and why you are valuable to me now.”
“Thank you.”
“If you feel the Americans pose a threat, then I trust you’ll find them and dispose of them properly. I don’t want to know about it. It distracts me from more important matters.”
“Understood.”
“Is that all?”
“For now.” San Lujan rose and signaled Bustos to follow.
When the two men were gone, Fuego gestured for a servant to bring her the satellite phone. She had paid a pretty penny to make sure any conversations were totally secured. While she didn’t feel much of a threat from officials within the Cuban government, there were other ears belonging to the less discreet. Some of them were foreign ears working for espionage agencies in places like Mexico, Colombia and particularly the U.S. Fuego dialed a twenty-five digit number into the phone and there were several clicks and bursts of static as the communications system kicked in to encrypt the carrier wave. Fuego knew exactly where that signal led: to a similar phone of the National Liberation Army commander who oversaw the training force on Juventud Island.
He answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“Hello, Ignacio. How are things proceeding with the new clothing line?” Despite her confidence in the secure satellite communications, Fuego had advised the leader of her private army that they would maintain ambiguous communications. They had even developed their own private language style so that each phrase had particular meaning. To anyone listening, and particularly if the communications had to go through a translator, it would sound as if they were conducting simple daily business.
“Well, thank you, ma’am. I believe we shall be ready to deliver your goods within a few weeks.”
“And you will meet the quota specified in our supplier’s contract?”
“I think so,” he replied. “In fact, I believe we shall probably exceed it.”
“That’s excellent news, thank you. I will inform the board of directors at our next meeting. Please don’t hesitate to call me should you need additional resources.”
“I understand.”
“Good day, Ignacio.”
“Good day, ma’am.”
Fuego hung up the phone and could barely suppress a shudder of excitement. They would be ready to commence operations against Havana Five within three days, the “few weeks” Colonel Hurtado had actually referenced during their conversation. He also wouldn’t need any additional men. His confirmation of delivering the “goods” had actually meant that the weapons and other explosives she arranged to deliver to him were in place and had passed inspection to Hurtado’s satisfaction. With the last of the pieces in place, Fuego realized she would have her revenge soon.
Yes, she would make them pay for the death of her beloved Natalio at long last.
“WE’VE BEEN COMPROMISED,” Mack Bolan told Brognola.
“Lay it out for me,” the big Fed replied, and Bolan did.
When he’d finished listening, Brognola said, “How’s the pressure from the brass at Guantánamo Bay?”
“They’re concerned,”