Havana Five

The President went on, “And I appreciate your candor. But under the circumstances, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to provide me with as many details as possible as soon as you get them, confirmed or unconfirmed.”

“Of course, sir,” Brognola replied. “Would it be terribly out of line if I asked why?”

The President appeared to consider Brognola’s request a moment and then replied, “I suppose that’s a fair question. You must understand that under no circumstances will I permit the outbreak of a full civil war in Cuba without taking significant action. And when I say action, I mean the full-scale military kind. If such hostilities were to ensue and we had exhausted every political remedy to abate them, I would be forced to order the U.S. Marines at Guantanamo to do whatever it took to protect the U.S. and its boundaries.”

“War?” Brognola asked. “With Cuba?”

“If necessary, yes.”

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Guenther for his contribution to this work.

In revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man.

—Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844–1900

When revenge steers a person toward murder and deceit, I’ll be there to strike a blow for justice.

—Mack Bolan

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

Gulf of Mexico

Two men wrestled the body from beneath the top deck of the small yacht anchored forty nautical miles north of the Cuban coast.

“This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan,” Dominic Stein said.

Stein groaned under the deadweight of his load as if to emphasize the point, but his partner took no interest in the conversation. Not surprising, since Leslie Crosse did everything he could to avoid talk of grisly topics. The guy wouldn’t even go to a slasher film, although it hadn’t seemed to bother him when he’d shot their burden through the head with a silenced .380-caliber pistol.

“At least I bought us some time,” Crosse replied.

Stein had to concede that particular point. They certainly hadn’t planned on Mackenzie Waterston returning to his Pentagon office minutes after Stein and Crosse picked the lock, broke into Waterston’s files, and pilfered every document and data CD they could find on Operation Gridlock. Nobody outside of the Oval Office should have even known about the President’s initiative. The U.S. State Department’s Plan Colombia had included covert military actions by specialized units based out of Guantánamo Bay designed to neutralize training camps for the National Liberation Army, aka the ELN. Such operations were particularly lucrative for certain individuals in the array of criminal trades across Cuba and the better part of South America. Drugs were only the tip the iceberg. Precious stones, counterfeit bills and import contraband of every kind were also profitable for a group of fabled crime lords known as Havana Five.

“Okay, so we had to do it,” Stein said. “But that sure as hell doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Quit bitching and keep moving,” Crosse muttered. The flash in his eyes served as a warning he’d about had his fill.

Stein wouldn’t have taken that kind of mouth off just anyone; Crosse wasn’t just anyone, however, he was Stein’s best friend. They had served side by side in the DIA for more than a decade. As luck would have it, their long-term partnership had somehow slipped through the cracks of the DIA bureaucrats—there were rules about the length of time personnel could serve together—and the pair had simply decided to keep their mouths shut about that fact. It turned out fortuitously when an irresistible offer practically dropped into their laps.

“Fine, fine,” Stein said. “I just hope to high hell this’ll be worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

They finally managed to get Waterston’s body to the top deck and dragged it over to the polished wood banister before Stein dropped his end. The sudden change in weight distribution nearly caused his partner to fall onto the corpse, but Crosse managed to regain his balance. He cursed under his breath but said nothing directly to Stein.

Crosse nodded in the direction of the long metal crate in the aft of the boat as his chest heaved with exertion. Stein took the cue and moved to retrieve the crate. He dragged it over to where his friend waited with the corpse and opened the lid. Several rows of silver-dollar-size holes ran along the sides and end of the crate, and after closer inspection Stein realized it was a crab cage. On a three-count, the men hauled the corpse into the cage, closed the lid and then swung the cargo winch into place.