Authors: Steven Becker
A cab pulled into the lot, interrupting his thoughts. He went to the curb and waited.
An olive-skinned man exited the back seat and looked at Davies. “Pay the man, would you,” he said and walked past him to the entrance.
Davies followed behind, moving quickly to open the door. “Thanks for coming down so quickly. I really appreciate it.”
The man stopped at the threshold. “You know how you can show your appreciation. I have not gotten a confirmation from my bank yet.”
“Just wanted to make sure everything was cool. I’ll make the transfer while you examine her,” Davies said and followed the man to the reception counter where he presented his credentials and received a visitor’s pass from the smiling nurse. Her smile turned to a scowl when Davies glanced at her.
They rode the elevator to the fourth floor and were met at the nurses’ station by a doctor who shook the man’s hand, while not so discreetly ignoring the lawyer. They chatted briefly and he led the way to Mel’s room. Davies waited in the small foyer as the two men went inside. He sat in one of the vinyl upholstered chairs and started working through the unfamiliar screen of the smart phone. Technology had changed since his incarceration, but finally he fumbled through the screens and initiated the transfer. He expected no trouble from the local doctor, who was probably grateful for the specialist to take responsibility for the case. A few minutes later the men exited the room, shook hands, and the doctor left.
“Everything good?” Davies asked the man.
“Have to review the tests and do a little dog and pony show for the locals, but if you handle your end, I’ll take care of mine,” he said and walked out of the room. “I’ll contact you later.”
Davies watched him talking to the nurse behind the desk. They shared a laugh and he was jealous of the look she gave him. Should have been a doctor, he thought as he waited for the elevator, but then decided it would have been too much work.
***
Norm opened one eye and then the other, realizing the buzzing he felt in his chest was the satellite phone. He rolled over, fighting the throbbing in his head, and reached for it. Through bloodshot, half-closed eyes, he tried to make out the number, but it didn’t register.
“Hello,” he said, holding the phone with one hand while he rubbed the large knot on his head with the other. Dried blood was visible on his hand when he looked at it.
“
Mi amigo
.”
The voice on the other end startled him awake. He struggled to his knees and then his feet, checked the house, confirming he was alone. His decision to find a little diversion last night after the plan was set in motion had turned out badly. One of the many problems he had faced after being forced into an administrative job was that he had no control once the mission started. Used to running his own operations, this had set him on edge, causing him to sit in his office late into the night, guessing and wondering if things were unfolding as planned. Of course they never did due to a principle called friction he remembered from studying military history, made famous by a Prussian General named Clausewitz. The most thorough and detailed plans always changed when the opposition reacted – always. Without the ability to direct the operations, he had taken to drinking and whoring on those nights, the only way he could ease his mind.
“Why are you calling me?” he asked in Spanish.
“I have not heard from you: such a simple operation for so experienced a man.” The voice paused, losing patience. “Where is my grandson? You have less than forty-eight hours.”
Norm tried to clear his head and looked over at the windows, realizing it was morning. He calculated the time. “That’s Saturday morning.”
“Yes. The initial run of the ferry,” the man said. “And you need to have my grandson on it.”
“Don’t hit me with veiled threats,” he countered.
“It is not a veiled threat. It is a direct threat. You know that ferry service harms China.”
Norm needed to stall and think this through. “Everything is in motion,” he said and disconnected the call.
The house would not be empty for long. He expected the couple home any time after whatever party they had found exhausted his money. He reached in his pockets and found them empty, both his keys and wallet gone. The only reason the satellite phone was not taken was the special holster he used under his shirt. He left the house, saw the rental car missing and started walking, his anger building. This ferry was going to be a security nightmare, the perfect showcase for both sides to express anger pent up over five decades.
The timeline started clicking in his head as he reached Atlantic Boulevard, where he stood and watched the waves break against the beach. Travis should be on his way back from Krome in a few hours. He needed to get him to Key West quickly. A seaplane buzzed over his head and he thought that might be the answer.
His plan had encountered friction already, only hours after starting. He had planned to insert the men into Cuba by boat and then have them swim in with the aid of a dive scooter, his typical method for inserting operatives, but Choy’s demand of having Armando on the ferry changed everything. What if he wasn’t aboard? The general could be blowing smoke, but the risks in ignoring his threats were large. He needed to reach Alicia.
On a nearby bench he sat, pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts and pressed send. The phone rang and went to voicemail, Alicia’s nervous voice saying she wasn’t available. He wasn’t really worried; the girl was so reliable and eager. There probably wasn’t service out by Krome.
***
The trio headed north on US1 in silence. Alicia had turned over the wheel to Trufante and was pecking at her phone while Mac tried to relax after his morning adrenaline rush.
“How ‘bout some food?” Trufante asked again.
“Find a place with WIFI,” Alicia said, not lifting her head. “It’s still early. Visitors’ hours aren’t until nine and I’d rather wait till eleven when it is more crowded and the guards start to take their lunch breaks.”
They were almost to Key Largo when Trufante made a sharp turn into the parking lot of an upscale resort. “Only thing I’ve seen,” he said and pulled into a parking space.
“Long as you’re buying,” Mac said, hoping there was still some money left from the sale of the boat.
They walked into the lobby, turned into the restaurant and waited to be seated. A hostess came over and eyed them suspiciously, but Alicia said something to soothe her and they were seated in a booth by the kitchen.
Mac glanced at the menu, watching Alicia out of the corner of his eye as she pulled a tablet from her messenger bag and started typing. The waitress came over with coffee, took their order and they were left alone.
“You been doing this CIA thing for a while?” Mac asked.
“I graduated Stanford in ’08. Kicked around Silicon Valley for a while, but got tired of working on code; finding more often than not you do all the crazy hours and deadlines, and it’s obsolete or somebody beat you to it before you’re even finished. My brother had some friends that worked for the NSA and they hooked me up.” She sipped her tea.
Mac had no doubt about her technical ability, but she didn’t look like a field agent. “How much time in the field?” he asked. If she was guiding this mission, he hoped she had some experience.
She looked down. “This is my first time,” she said shyly. “But it’s a slam dunk security breach deal. I’ve done a bunch of these from the office.”
The food arrived and he was able to end the conversation without hurting her. Maybe she was right and this was a computer game, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make it appear he doubted her abilities. He needed her focused. They finished the meal in silence and she went back to pecking at the screen after the table was cleared.
“So you have this all planned out?” he asked.
“To the minute; I drop you off and drive Tru to the airboat rental. You signal me with a text from this cell phone right before they let you in.” She handed him another burner. “They’re going to take the phone, but it’s untraceable. As soon as I get the text, I initiate a sequence of alarms that should provide the diversion you need to get out. She reached in her pocket and handed him a small black key. “This is carbon fiber. The metal detectors won’t pick it up. As soon as the guard leaves to answer the alarm, you open the restraints.”
He took the key and slid it into his pocket, surprised by how light it was.
“It’s delicate though. You might only get one shot at the locks. If you force it, it may break.”
Great, Mac thought, give a breakable key to the guy that could break something by looking at it. “You better hold this one then,” he said. “Your boss wouldn’t want them to get a hold of it.”
She frowned, took Norm’s burner phone and held it delicately in her hands.
“And you’ll be with numb-nuts here, so he knows what to do?” Mac quipped.
“I’m sitting right here,” Trufante whined.
Mac ignored him and looked at her.
“No, he can rent the boat and meet you. There is no need for me,” she said and ran her hands down the front of her expensive shirt.
The self conscious gesture was not lost on Mac. She was plainly out of her element and maybe it was best if she wasn’t along if things got rough. Trufante was bound to do something boneheaded along the way, but he was used to him and knew what to expect. She would be a total wildcard.
Her phone beeped and she looked down at the screen. “I have to take this. I’ll meet you outside.”
She got up and left. Mac looked over at Trufante, “Well, you might as well pay the bill. Looks like it’s just me and you.”
“Old times,” Trufante said.
***
“It is under control,” she said into the phone after walking outside and making sure no one was near. “We’re in Key Largo. I just briefed them and we are headed to Krome now.”
“You understand your mission?” he asked.
“Yes. Drop them off, stay on site until they are clear, and head back to the office.” She repeated her orders.
“Good. And this is between us,” he said.
She wondered why he was being secretive and turned the burner phone in her hands. They’d had several interactions before, when he needed her expertise or analysis, but it was always behind the walls of the office in Miami. She had asked to be assigned to the field several times, but was told she was too valuable where she was. The urge never left her, but even if she was destined to remain behind a desk, Miami was an upgrade from Silicon Valley, and the work was challenging.
“OK,” she said, not wanting to give him an excuse to change his mind. “Whatever you say; I will initiate the alarms and monitor from my house.”
Norm had taken her out of her comfort zone pretty quickly when he told her it would be better to work from home. She knew field operatives often did mundane tasks outside of the office, but with all the resources available there, surely it would be better. She started to feel self-conscious when she noticed her antiperspirant was failing again. Not sure if it was the stress or humidity, she thought maybe going home was a good idea.
“And one more thing.” He paused. “Wipe it clean. This never happened.”
The alarms were starting to go off in her head. The congressional inquiries concerning CIA covert activity over the last few years had initiated new protocols for archiving data and transparency. Working from home and his request to erase all the data were not in the manual. But in the end, her desire to succeed in the field overrode her wariness.
“What about the promises you made to Travis?” she asked.
“Travis is dead: one way or another.”
Everything she expected had gone haywire and she fought to keep her composure. She knew one of the first rules of tradecraft was to not get emotionally involved with your operatives, but she felt a strange kinship with the two men. There was no way not to feel for Mac, fighting to keep his girlfriend alive, but she knew enough to hold back. There was silence on the line and she looked at the screen. The call had been disconnected.
Mac and Trufante walked out the door and she wondered how they could be so easygoing right before they faced the unknown. She met them at the car, keeping her arms tight to her sides so they couldn’t see the growing wet spots under them.
They sat in the car staring at her and it took her a minute to finally realize they were waiting for her to tell them what to do. A pit formed in her stomach and she tried to quell her uncertainty, about both the mission and her boss, in order to guide the escape. Her only consolation was that if the plan went totally off the rails, she had enough access to remove her involvement of the matter and make the whole thing go away. Norm had virtually given permission to erase everything.
“Let’s go,” she said weakly and swallowed hard, hoping they hadn’t noticed.
Trufante pulled out of the lot and turned north on US 1. She pulled the tablet from her bag and immersed herself in the data flowing across the screen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mac reach into his pocket and she flinched when she saw the glint of metal.
“You know how to get the files off this?” He handed her a hard drive.
She relaxed and took it from him, turning it in her hands and straining to read the embossed numbers. “Yes.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could hold onto this and see what you can do.”
She looked at the drive and was about to hand it back and tell him there were businesses that could do that, but saw the pleading look in his eyes and nodded.
“Thanks. It’s personal stuff, not national security like you’re used to.” He leaned forward as if he had something else to say.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Can you use that thing to keep an eye on Mel?”
She knew it wasn’t unusual for agents about to go into harm’s way to ask their handlers for favors. “Sure,” she said, but knew if she agreed that she was taking another step on the emotional ladder she had been warned against.