Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) (32 page)

“It’s okay,” she said, coming back into the bedroom.

“I definitely heard someone in the house!” he said. He threw open the closet door and grabbed a 3 iron golf club.

“Judd,” she said calmly, placing her hand on his shoulder, “it’s okay. I will deal with this.”

“Jessica Ryker!” bellowed the voice again from downstairs.

“And when I’m done dealing with this,” she said, “we’ll take the boys to the beach and we can finally talk. We can sit in the sun. We can figure it all out. Okay?”

“Jessica Ryker!” boomed the voice.

“I’m going to do this now,” she said. She stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door.

“It’s about fucking time,” the intruder said just as Jessica appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“I was sleeping. You just walked in.”

“It’s my fucking house,” said the Deputy Director.

She nodded.

“What did you do?” he said, shaking his head.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You were supposed to hand over the cash to Charlie at Bacanao, but you never arrived. You fucked the whole thing up. You killed Operation Triggerfish.”

“Sir, did you come all the way down here for a live after-action?”

“Tampa says you cut them off, you stole the Raider, and they think you delivered the money to someone else in Cuba. I told them,
No fucking way
. I told them there was no way that my best operative, the one I created from nothing, the one who owes me everything, would abandon my mission. There was no fucking way that my best operative kicked the living shit out of contact
Bravo. There was no fucking way that my best operative flew our most advanced secret helicopter onto a Cuban naval ship. There was no fucking way that you would kill the most important mission of my career, the one that was going to finally bring down ECP and the communists in Havana once and for all. There was no fucking way, after so many years of failure, that you would destroy our best chance to finally win Cuba back. I came all the way down here because there was no fucking way that you would betray me by taking my money and giving it to the fucking
Devil of Santiago
!”

“I didn’t give them the Raider, sir.”

“How did you know they wouldn’t just take it? How did you know they wouldn’t fly it to Caracas? That it wouldn’t already be in Moscow?”

“Ricky’s lucky I didn’t kill him. You know he tried to kill me?”

“That’s not what Bravo reported.”

“You know that Bravo’s real name is Ricardo Cabrera? That he’s the brother of the Alejandro Cabrera. That he’s working for Ruben Sandoval? And he—”

“I don’t know who those people are, Jessica,” he cut her off. “Don’t try to lose me in irrelevant details. Remember who you’re talking to. I’m not falling for it. Stop deflecting blame.”

“You know Bravo blew up your boat?”

“What? My Cobalt?”

She made an explosion gesture with her hands. “Gone.”

“We’re talking about Triggerfish, Jessica!”

“I didn’t kill Triggerfish either, sir.”

“Tell me one fucking piece of the operation that you did not
kill? The whole thing has gone to shit. And wherever I see something that went wrong, all I see is . . . you.”

“I didn’t betray you, sir.”

“You can lie to your goddamn husband, Jessica, but you can’t lie to me!”

“You’re right. I gave the money to Oswaldo Guerrero. That’s true.”

“I knew it!”

“Judd needed to get the hostages back.”

“I don’t fucking believe my ears!” he huffed. “You’re conspiring with your husband!” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you working for that little prick, Landon Parker?”

“No, sir. I gave the money to Guerrero in order to accomplish the mission.”

“Your mission was to deliver the cash to people who would bring him down, not hand the money over to the enemy.”

“Sir, ECP is gone. People are on the streets. Cuba’s going to hold an election. Isn’t that what you wanted? Wasn’t that the objective of Triggerfish?”

“You don’t have the big picture, Jessica. You never did. That’s the whole point of running an operation like this. That’s the whole point of needing everyone to just do their job. That’s why I can’t have my people second-guessing me. You can’t run your own rogue operation! Not again, Jessica!”

“Cuba’s having an election. How is that not mission success, sir?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve unleashed?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s the point! No one knows. And the fucking icing on
the fucking cake is that you gave my money to Oswaldo Guerrero? Of all people, Jessica. How am I supposed to explain this to Congress?”

“Do you mean Brenda Adelman-Zamora?” Jessica couldn’t contain her smirk.

“What do you know about her?” he shot back.

“I know all about her, sir,” she said.

“Why are you smiling? How do you know about Brenda? Do you have someone planted at the Willard?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you
following
me?”

“Sir . . .” Jessica paused and pursed her lips. “I don’t know . . . anything about that hotel. I . . . don’t think I want to know. I’m talking about illegal campaign finance. I’m talking about her congressional campaign . . . accepting donations from secret sources. Her campaign has been secretly receiving money seized from drug traffickers during Operation Everglades.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I witnessed it with my own eyes.”

The Deputy Director looked Jessica up and down. “What are you going to do with that information?”

“Me?” Jessica feigned horror. “I’m not going to do anything. But if Adelman-Zamora tries to make trouble for you—I mean, trouble for
us
—about how Triggerfish went down, you could remind her that we know about it”—Jessica shrugged—“and that the Justice Department doesn’t.”

“You’re just telling me this? As leverage? To blackmail a member of the United States Congress?”

“Sir, I’m simply sharing this information with you. I don’t
need to know what you do with it. Consider it a present . . . In gratitude for everything you’ve done for me . . . And for what happened to your boat.”

The Deputy Director rubbed his head and paced the foyer. Then he stopped short. “You are calculating, Jessica Ryker.”

“You just said it yourself, sir. I’m your best operative.”

“So, now what? You expect me to just forget everything that’s happened? You want a Presidential Medal or something?”

Jessica shrugged again.

“You want me to reinstate Purple Cell? Is that it?”

“Right now, sir, the only thing I want is to take my family to the beach.”

“That’s all?”

“And fifteen million dollars. In untraceable cash.”

“What?”

“To complete our deal with Guerrero. And I know exactly where to get it.”

84.

U.S. CAPITOL BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.

SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.

T
his is a glorious day!” Brenda Adelman-Zamora tapped the microphone on the lectern twice to quiet the crowd. “We have much to celebrate today!” she crowed, bursting with excitement. The stage was tightly packed with exhausted-looking wives and children standing behind four men in golf shirts and khakis. Alejandro Cabrera, Brinkley Barrymore, Crawford Jackson, and Dennis Dobson stood awkwardly under the lights.

“Let’s take a moment to applaud these brave men who have come home to their families,” Adelman-Zamora said, leading the crowd in a standing ovation, punctuated with hoots and howls from the floor. Alejandro winked at the cameras while Crawford gave the crowd an embarrassed nod. Brinkley stared straight ahead, stone-faced, like a zombie.

“Their release early this morning is a victory for justice and a reminder to the world that America will not waver in the face of aggression. We held firm to our policy of never giving in to blackmail, never paying ransom for innocent civilians. We stared the Devil in the eye and we did not blink!”

Adelman-Zamora stepped in between the men, grabbed Dennis Dobson’s good hand, and raised it in triumph, igniting more applause and flashbulbs. Dennis squinted and recoiled.

The congresswoman returned to the podium. “Now these courageous American heroes want to get home with their beautiful families as soon as possible. And we are so honored to have all of them with us today. I especially want to thank Pippa, Mariposa, Vanessa, and Beth for your sacrifice and your bravery. You have shown the world that strong families can help to defeat oppression. That strong women can keep us all on the path toward freedom. That love is stronger than tyranny.”

The four wives nodded to the press. Pippa Barrymore took a step forward, pressed her hands together in a praying gesture of thanks to the congresswoman and then stepped back in line. Adelman-Zamora accepted the gratitude with a solemn nod and a tapping fist over her heart.

“These men have chosen not to speak to the press today. After all they have been through, we must respect that. But they have asked me, on their behalf, to thank the American people for their prayers and for their support through Twitter and Facebook. They are ecstatic to be home safe. They look forward to putting this episode behind them and to returning to their normal lives.”

The congresswoman rubbed her hands together for her big finish. “Before we close, we have something else to celebrate this morning. A few minutes ago, Cuban state television confirmed that the leader of that nation has passed away. The era of the aging tyrants who have run Cuba since 1959 has finally come to an end. We are also seeing on social media that the Cuban people are now coming out onto the streets of Havana, Santiago,
and every city and town across that country, to pay their respects and to call for democratic elections within ninety days. The people’s yearning to be free is unwavering. The force of democracy is unstoppable.

“This is a pivotal moment for Cuba and for the United States. I have spoken this morning with the State Department and they stand ready to deliver a package of support for the elections to ensure the people’s will is expressed and the transition is smooth. We expect an announcement later today from Assistant Secretary Melanie Eisenberg with more details.

“I want to stress that the United States supports the democratic process in Cuba rather than any one candidate. We should expect patriotic Cubans from within the country and those living abroad to step forward and help lead their country into a new era. We welcome their bravery and we wish them Godspeed. The days of Cuba’s leaders being chosen by fraternal blood or in the back rooms of the Communist Party are over.

“If Cuba’s elections are indeed free and fair and the results reflect the desire of the Cuban people, our two great nations will finally be on a path to true friendship. If the rule of law is respected and the rights of private property owners are restored, then Cuba will truly be on a path to rejoining the international community.

“Upon completion of open and democratic elections, I will introduce the Zamora Amendment in the U.S. Congress. This legislation will provide for the immediate lifting of all remaining sanctions and a generous recovery program. This is a window of opportunity that Cuba and America must seize.”

Adelman-Zamora raised her fist.
“Viva Cuba Libre!”

85.

SANTIAGO, CUBA

SATURDAY, 10.55 A.M.

W
hat do you mean they aren’t coming?” Ernesto Sandoval was almost in tears, nearly crying into the phone. “I’ve been so patient. All these years waiting, waiting. Building a life, a simple life in Africa, but it was mine. And I left it all behind to come back. I gave it all up for a promise. Your promise. And now that I’m here, you’re telling me . . . no crowds?”

“
Mi hermano
, please. I didn’t say no crowds. Just not yet.”

“When, Ruben? How am I launching a campaign to become the next president of Cuba without the people? I don’t understand. What happened to the crowds? What happened to the money?”

“The people are in the streets now.”

“They aren’t on the streets for me. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You promised me,
hermano
, that you’d take care of everything.”

“I will find a way, Che. We will have a campaign. I will get the money. I will get the crowds for you. For us.”

“I don’t know, Ruben.”

“The Americans have already announced an election package. The rest I will get myself. I promise, Che. We will do it. We will fight. And we will win.
Viva Cuba Libre!
”

86.

FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA

SATURDAY, 11.03 A.M.

D
addy! Daddy! Daddy! Are you just talking to
Mommy
all morning? I wanna swim!”

“In a minute, Toby,” Judd said. “Give me a minute and then I’ll take you in the ocean. I promise.” Judd’s older son hung his head and walked back over to Noah, who was digging a hole in the sand.

“Maybe we should do this
later
?” Jessica offered. “Take your son swimming. Play in the waves. We can deal with everything later. It’s not going anywhere. I’ll finish
Treasure Island
. I’m almost at the end, where we learn Long John Silver is the secret ringleader.”

Judd considered his wife’s suggestion. These conversations were always better when Judd could focus, no interruptions from his kids, no being pulled away, no distractions. And he knew he was in a position of extreme weakness. How could he possibly be mad at Jessica while she was lying next to him on a towel, a halo of understated beauty in a red bikini and a Washington Nationals baseball cap?

But after so many days of scheming, of overthinking every detail, and then nothing had gone according to plan, he felt anxious.

“Let’s do it now,” he said.

Jessica set the book facedown on her lap and removed her sunglasses. “Where do you want to start, sweets?”

Judd looked up the beach. Clusters of people had claimed their little patches of sand. He noticed a density pattern among the sunbathers, weighted higher near the public entrances. There must be an implicit mathematical formula for choosing your spot on the beach, he thought. Distance from the parking lot multiplied by the weight you’re carrying divided by the average distance from other people . . .”