COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN - Joe Bergeron (different ereaders TXT) 📗

/> Beginning an Ending
Miguel Belize’s wife was in Bogota attending
The Latin Nation Food Conference. She was often gone
on such trips, but not alone. A stately woman, she was
always accompanied by her personal male secretary, a
man her age who filled multiple roles. Miguel knew
about the extra roles, she knew he knew, and she knew
about Catalina in his life.
The political process had been good to both of
them, and neither wanted to rock the boat with public
scandal. He had his mistress, she had her lover, and
everyone had enough power and money to keep them
happy.
After the coup, it wouldn’t matter. She would
disappear into South America with ten million dollars,
where she would live out her life in a quiet, yet very
comfortable lifestyle. Miguel and Catalina would rule
Cuba together, a strong team with intelligence and
charisma.
Miguel Belize slept, as did his mistress next to
him. He was not a father figure, but a singular man to
this woman. Although he certainly took liberal
advantage of her shapely body, he also trusted her
financial judgment. The young beauty had a capability
of detailing international economic plans that could
eventually make Cuba the financial star in Central and
South America. They admired, needed, and wanted one
another.
Checking his artificial horizon, compass and
fuel status, Allen Bates slightly adjusted his course.
Coverty and St. Croix had agreed on a circuitous entry
onto the island nation.
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They would fly at five hundred feet altitude
South, Southwest, circling the Western-most part of the
island to enter its airspace from a Southern position
below Havana.
Still at low altitude, Bates would fly direct
toward the villa, dropping off team members One, Two
and Four, three miles to the villa’s southern exposure.
From an aerial reconnaissance photo, they’d
been able to identify an area just to the south of the
villa where they would commandeer a vehicle, and
proceed toward the VP’s residence.
Completing the drop, Bates would pull up and
away to fly low-level circles over a deserted beach to the
North. Radio contact would be held on an open, but
private cellular channel, the pilot hearing every
conversation between team members on the ground,
while they would be able to freely communicate with
him. The Huey would be used as the optimum power
resource, but only if required.
Approaching the Tropic of Cancer, Bates
relayed position and time sequences to the team.
“We’ll cross twenty-three degrees latitude in
about thirty minutes, One. Are we still a go for the
Southwest entry?”
Coverty’s eyes met with St. Croix’s and
Courtneys.
“That’s a positive, Three.”
“I picked up some Coast Guard chatter a few
minutes ago, are we settled out of their systems?”
“Three, Two, that’s a positive.”
It was St. Croix’s response. A Southern U.S.
Commander with three children in college had accepted
thirty thousand dollars to instruct his small fleet to
ignore the chopper, which would not have been picked
up by radar because they were flying too low, but
certainly might be visualized.
St. Croix turned to Courtney.
“Mick, y’all got any add-ons to the op?”
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“I have one I’m thinking of, give me the ground
procedure again.”
St. Croix looked at Coverty. He was listening
too, as he thought he’d be. He also wanted to make
sure Bates was in attendance.
“Three, Y’all got ears on this?”
“I’m with you.”
The pilot set his mind to an imaginary chess
game. Pulling a small-scale map from his breast
pocket, St. Croix placed it on the chopper floor and
moved slightly backward so both his flanking team
members could review its surface.
“We’re flying just off the water under radar on
almost a straight line from Miami to Cancun. At about
twenty-three degrees latitude, Three is gonna pull a
left-hand turn and change course from South,
Southwest to South, southeast. This is where we
jettison our extra fuel tanks. Three will need the speed
and maneuverability at that point. We come up the
coast about eight miles out until we turn Northeast for
land entry.”
He looked at both Coverty and Courtney. Both
seemed to be adequately informed so far.
“Most of the route’s over water so we ain’t
gonna wake up a lot of people. We’ll only have a few
minutes over the island before we land. One, Two, and
Four exit the chopper on this bluff. We reviewed some
aerial photos and saw there were a few shacks around
here with vehicles parked next to them. We’ll pick one
out, get it jump-started and drive toward the villa.
There’s a back road into Belize’s estate. We’ll have
about a three mile drive to the villa. When Three let’s
us off, he pulls back to circle this beach. If we need
Three’s firepower, we call him back in. Once we’re
inside the house, we move in two directions. One
immobilizes anything on the first floor while Two and
Four do the same thing on the second until we either
find Pat, or Belize. One joins us when he’s finished
with his end.” 315
Two turned quickly to One.
One nodded affirmation.
Two alternately faced Four, he, deep into Game
Theory, had more to say.
“Two things - Three, when we call you in, I
don’t know if we’ll need firepower, or just a method of
egress. I think we all should assume it would be for
both. I want to leave Belize with a message. I also need
to know when we can un-strap from these radios on the
fly-out.”
He looked toward Coverty, the Zero, in turn,
took the map in his hands indicating an answer with
his right index finger.
“Right about here. We’ll be over the Gulf about
twenty-five miles Northeast of Havana.”
Courtney nodded.
He had one final thought.
“They’re on defense, they’re prepared, but they
don’t know what for. If they change that to offense,
we’ll need to adapt. We’re coming in on the wind, and
we’ll leave like lightening.”
Bates thought to himself.
‘Checkmate, Mister Courtney.’
Sunday, May 28, 12:42 a.m.
There was more traffic on the freeway than
she’d expected. That was alright, she needed to blend,
and kept the Buick at a steady fifty-five, hoping to
avoid any legal confrontations. Retrieving the car
phone from its mount, she hit the redial button. The
phone’s tiny computer, recognizing the command, rang
George Tollman’s private line.
He’d been anticipating the call.
“Yes.”
The answer sounded like an attempt to
establish an offense, and it changed immediately.
316
“Don’t be curt, George, it doesn’t become
someone with so much power.”
It threw him off balance.
“I’m at a disadvantage, is it ‘Miss’ McKenzie?”
“You know my father, I’m sure. He’s part of the
U.S. industrial scenery you review every day.”
“Of course - McKenzie Industries - Connecticut,
right? Are you calling from there?”
“No, in fact I’m just a few miles from your
house.”
He glanced toward the window.
“So, what can I do for you Miss McKenzie?”
“You can tell me why you killed my brother,
John.”
He remembered the file folder - he remembered
the day.
“Your brother was killed in a firefight - in
crossfire, Miss McKenzie.”
“Don’t tell me that. You wouldn’t stay on the
phone with me if I hadn’t struck a nerve.”
“Alright, Miss McKenzie, let’s…”
“Please, call me Kay - we’re going to get
familiar.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to let me in your house when I get
there, it should be in about ten minutes.”
She disconnected.
He thought about calling the police.
No - he could handle any McKenzie.
Sunday, May 28, 12:51 a.m.
The wagon’s headlights splashed his library
wall as she swung the Buick into his driveway. He
stood inside, behind the front door, ready to receive her,
almost as if he’d invited her. Approaching the door, she
was momentarily startled when it was opened by its
owner.
317
Tollman stood much taller than she, an imposing figure
confronting her with non-confrontation. His left hand
on the door handle, he made a sweeping motion with
his right as if he was pulling a spirit into the house
from outside.
His voice was cool, yet cordial.
“Please, come in.”
She accepted his gesture to enter, cautiously
surveying the immediate area. Her right hand, buried
in a pocketbook slung over shoulder grasped the Smith
and Wesson.
Closing the door, he motioned once again, this
time to the library where he’d been reading. Her buried
hand hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Please, come in so we can talk.”
“You go first - I’ll follow.”
He obliged.
She was surprised at how comfortable the room
felt. Four, large, red leather, brass appointed
wingbacks sat on the inside edges of a huge, green and
white patterned Persian Mashad rug. In the middle of
the carpet a four foot square mahogany coffee table
supported current issues of FORBES, THE WALL
STREET JOURNAL, THE HARVARD BUSINESS
REVIEW, and a folder containing an outline of
President Randal Benson’s Cuban Economic Reform
Plan.
The walls of the room were completely lined
with dark Zenda solid oak bookcases, all neatly filled
with an assortment of both hard covers and paperbacks.
To her left she noticed a fieldstone fireplace,
the fire brick blackened from many previous
engagements. To her right, a small wet bar revealed an
expensive taste in liquor.
They stood four feet from one another.
It was he who spoke again, noticing she’d
abandoned her right hand from its hiding place.
“Miss McKenzie, I told…” 318
“You can call me Kay.”
“Alright, Kay, I’m going to tell you once again,
your brother was killed in a crossfire exchange in
Vietnam. That was confirmed by a military review
board.”
“Well, I think they’re full of shit. I have my
own resources, George, and my resources say a
company commander who used to wear brass on his
helmet in the jungle shot John McKenzie.”
A simple truth sometimes carries tremendous
weight.
He recalled the reprimands for wearing
unauthorized insignias.
“So what do you want, Kay?”
Her response was swift.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just wanted
to look in your eyes. Do you remember the CBS film
footage of the La Dang massacre, George? Did you
know the film crew actually had their camera turned on
before they got to the site? Do you know they captured
muzzle flashes from two guns, one fired horizontally,
and one fired vertically from only a few feet away? Do
you know they caught the reflection of the sun coming
off someone’s rank insignia on a helmet?”
She adjusted herself slightly - he noticing.
“Who told you all this?”
“Like I said, I have resources.”
“If you don’t want anything from me then why
are you here.”
“I just wanted to look in your eyes. I have my
answer.”
“And what would that be?”
“That you killed my brother.”
Her unzipped purse received her right hand
again, a sightless probe finding the 38.
Producing the same, its business end was now
pointing at The Secretary.
319
“Don’t worry, George, I’m not about to kill you.
I’m just covering myself a little better than my brother
did.”
“I’d like to discuss this more with you, Kay.”
“I’m leaving. I want you to think about what
I’m going to do next.”
“What if I’ve alerted the police?”
“I’d be very surprised if you did that, and the
fact that they’re not here yet tells me that you wanted
to meet with me, and didn’t call them.”
He couldn’t let her go.
“You’re very bright, Kay. I think you should
stay and talk.”
“No way.”
She backed to the door. He, moving to the wet
bar, pulling the top off a crystal decanter, began pouring
a clear liquid into one of a set of eight gold-rimmed
cocktail glasses. He spoke while continuing to pour.
“Your brother, John, disobeyed my order.”
Eyes widening, she grasped the Smith and
Wesson with