Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) (10 page)

“Fuck!” Parker hissed to himself.

“Do we know why the Cuban government would do this now, just as relations with the United States seem to be going so well? Why would they capture Americans and parade them on TV? What would they have to gain?”

“We don’t know what the Cuban government is thinking, Wolf . . .”

Parker snatched the remote control off his desk and flipped the channel to Fox News.

SOCCER DADS DETAINED IN COMMUNIST CUBA
scrolled across the bottom of the screen, with a shot of the same four men.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, and threw the remote control across the room. “Where is the goddamn mission chief?”

His secretary opened the office door. “Ops is still tracking him down. Is there anyone else you want me to call? Assistant Secretary Eisenberg, perhaps?”

Parker glanced back at the screen. The announcer was urging viewers to follow events via #soccerdad4 on Twitter.

“What the fuck is bonefishing?”

“I have no idea, sir. Do you want me to call someone to find out?”

Parker sat down heavily into his chair and swiveled in a circle. After two spins, he stopped abruptly. “Get me Judd Ryker.”

17.

FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA

THURSDAY, 8:25 A.M.

T
he beach along the Fort Lauderdale strip was still quiet. The boardwalk was slowly filling up with runners in tight exercise clothes and neon-colored running shoes, darting between steady streams of elderly walkers in all whites and nursing-home shoes.

The sand was mostly abandoned. Jessica established camp as far from other beachgoers as she could, laid out two large white towels, a small red plastic cooler of drinks and bagel sandwiches, and set up a low-slung chair for herself. A few feet away, Toby and Noah, generously slathered in sunscreen, played noisily with buckets and shovels in the wet sand on the water’s edge. They dug a moat and built a high wall to try to protect their sand castle from the incoming waves.

Jessica watched her sons for a moment, then adjusted her peach-colored bikini top and settled into her chair. She dug her toes deep into the sugarlike warm white sand and stared up into the cloudless blue sky. She felt the light breeze through her hair.

This was just what she needed. A relaxing day on the beach
with her sons. She tried to push any thoughts of the past few days, the past years, from her mind. No stress, no work. Just relax.

Jessica pulled
Treasure Island
out of her bag and opened to chapter one.

Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted . . .

Her phone buzzed. She groaned but decided she had to check it. On the screen flashed
DANIEL DOLLAR
, her code name for the Deputy Director.
What could he want?
Against her better judgment, she pushed
ANSWER
.

“Hel-lo?”

“How’s the house? Everything all right?” the Deputy Director asked.

“Yes, thank you. It’s lovely,” she said. “We just got in yesterday morning.”

“Have you gotten to the beach yet?”

“Yes, we’re here now.”

“Wonderful. Did you find the towels?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“The white towels are for the house. The big blue ones are for the beach.”

She glanced up just in time to watch Noah drop a bucket of wet sand on one of the white towels. “Yes, got it. Thanks again. I really needed this break.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad you could use the house. It’s been in my family for years, but I rarely have time to get down to Florida.”

“Okay . . .” she said. “Is there anything else?”

He didn’t reply.

“Sir?” she said.

“I know you need a break, Jessica.”

“Yes, I do. You were right.”

“And . . .” He paused. “I need you to run a small errand for me.”

“Sir?” She gritted her teeth.

“I know you’re on vacation. I want you to relax. But, I need your help, too. It’s a small thing. Very small, I promise.”

“What kind of help?”

“Is this your secure phone?”

“Yes, sir,” she sighed.

“Good girl. I’m going to need you to clean up a mess. A sensitive mess.”

“You’re reactivating me already? Right now? While I’m at the beach with my children?”

“I didn’t want to ask you, but it’s time-sensitive. And delicate. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

“The
only
one?”

“This is why we created Purple Cell. To go anywhere. To do what’s needed. When it’s needed. No bureaucracy. No bullshit.”

She didn’t say anything. She was steaming inside. Mad at herself for not seeing this coming.

“Don’t worry about your kids,” he continued. “I’ve got someone on the way already. Her name is Aunt Lulu. I’ve now got your location, so she’ll be there in thirteen, maybe fourteen, minutes.”

“Where am I going?”

“Lulu will tell you the rest of the details. It’s a quick one. You’ll be back on the beach before you know it.”

“What am I really doing in Florida, sir?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you really send me down here? What kind of urgent cleanup could I have in
South Florida
?”

“Lulu will explain. If you need me, you know how to reach me on the pizza line.”

“You didn’t lend me your beach house as a favor, did you? You sent me to Florida for a
mission
.”

“Jessica, you needed a break. That was obvious.”

“But?”

“But good case officers always think ahead. You know that. I taught you that. The best case officers always pre-position assets.”

18.

U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THURSDAY, 8:42 A.M.

J
udd was checking the cost of last-minute flights to Fort Lauderdale when Serena burst into his office.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Ryker. I know you asked not to be disturbed, but I have to interrupt.”

“It’s fine, Serena. I was about to call you. Can you clear my schedule for the rest of the week? I’m going to join my family in Florida since I’m done. I’ve just sent my memo to Landon Parker.”

“That’s why I’m here, Dr. Ryker,” she said, out of breath, “Mr. Parker is on his way down.”

“He’s coming here? What for?”

“I don’t know, but his assistant just called to give me a heads-up that he’s on his way
right now
.”

“Now?”

She nodded and left to stand guard in the outer lobby. Judd tidied his desk and groaned to himself.
So much for Florida.

“Ryker!” Parker barked from the next room.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Serena said as she escorted him in.

“Love your ideas on Cuba, Ryker. Adam Smith didn’t go over too well with Melanie Eisenberg.” Parker smirked. “But I like how you think. That’s why we have S/CRU in the first place. To throw out new ideas. To shake things up.”

“Thank you, sir,” Judd said, offering the chief of staff a seat, which Parker declined with a wave. “I’ve just sent you the memo on potential problems in Cuba and a menu of responses. The first—”

“Oh, right,” Parker interrupted. “That’s OBE now. Overtaken by events, I’m afraid. I need you on a special project that’s just come up. I need creative thinking and fast. You’ll need to drop everything and help me on this.
Now.
”

“On . . . what, sir?”

“We don’t negotiate with hostage takers. That’s a redline, of course. But I need someone who understands the subtleties. Someone not stuck in the bureaucracy. Someone not worried about the media. Or covering his ass. I like how you don’t care about sticking your neck out. No matter how crazy your idea, you don’t care what people think.”

“Okay . . .” Judd furrowed his brow.

“That’s what I need, Ryker.”

Judd nodded—to what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

“We’ll let Melanie Eisenberg run the front channel.” Parker flicked his hand dismissively. “Let WHA be visible. Let her handle the press and the interagency. Let Mel run the show. She’ll insist on that anyway.” Parker placed both hands on Judd’s desk and leaned in. “You told me I need a backchannel. Well, that’s
you
.”

“Me?”

“I need S/CRU to be my backchannel. This will be delicate.
I need someone I can trust. Someone discreet. Someone to operate in the shadows.”

“Thank you, sir. But what are we talking about?”

“The AMCITs, of course.” Parker stood up straight. “I need you to come up with a way to get them back. You’ll be helping me. You’ll be helping the Secretary. And you’ll be helping to prove S/CRU. It’s a win-win-win, Ryker. Are you in?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Good. Figure out what the hell those bastards are up to. Why now? What are they getting out of this? What are they thinking?”

“Who, sir?”

“The Cubans, Ryker! Who the hell else could I mean?”

Judd nodded.

“And, Ryker, you have to figure out how we’re going to get the AMCITs back without giving anything away. Who do we even talk to? I want some creative ideas! No more oldthink!” Parker turned to leave.

“I’m in, Mr. Parker. I’m in one hundred percent,” Judd said. “But I’ve been on lockdown all morning with this memo. What citizens are you talking about?”

Parker didn’t turn around as he walked out of Judd’s office. From the outer lobby, he called out, “Turn on your TV.”

19.

MIAMI, FLORIDA

THURSDAY, 10:02 A.M.

T
he television camera zoomed in on the chairwoman’s face as she approached the podium. A bouquet of microphones clustered at the front. A large American flag hung in the background, perfectly positioned by her press secretary to frame the screenshot.

Brenda Adelman-Zamora wore her most serious business pantsuit and an even sterner expression. Her personal makeup artist had used extra eyeliner that morning, adding subtle black lines to suggest intense ferocity.

The congresswoman stared into the camera for a moment, ensuring that all the networks had time to catch her opening statement. Satisfied the assembled media was ready, she inhaled deeply.

“I have called this press conference on short notice to express my deep outrage at the actions of the Cuban government. Last night, the Cuban navy illegally detained four innocent American citizens. My office has learned that these four men were on a fishing trip. These men are husbands. These men are fathers. Their
young daughters play on the same soccer team in the great state of Maryland, just a few miles from where we stand this morning. One of the detained Americans is the coach. A hardworking businessman and a girls’ soccer coach. These soccer dads were together on a fishing trip out of the Florida Keys, enjoying the bounty of my own beautiful state, when they were illegally captured by the communist regime.”

Adelman-Zamora took another deep breath and hung her head in grief. “My thoughts and prayers are with the families of these innocent men. These fathers have been torn from their wives and children. These men and their families are suffering needlessly from the actions of a ruthless dictatorship.”

She lifted her chin. “We have not yet had any official statement from Cuba, but they have shamelessly released a video clip to their state-controlled media of the men in detention. Contrary to what the Cuban propaganda machine is reporting, there is no evidence whatsoever that these Americans were engaged in anything other than recreation. There is no evidence whatsoever that these Americans strayed into Cuban waters. My office has now confirmed that their last communication sent to the U.S. Coast Guard came from a location well within international waters. It is thus clear that any claims by the scurrilous regime in Havana that these men penetrated Cuban waters are patently false. There is no excuse for this gross violation of international law.”

Then she gripped the lectern with both hands and looked directly into the camera. “I am calling on the regime in Havana to immediately and unconditionally release these innocent men. Anything less is unacceptable.”

She shook her head in disbelief, her hair remaining firmly in place. “This is further evidence of the immoral brutality of the
Cuban regime. This act of barbarism is evidence that despite recent steps taken by the United States to extend the hand of friendship, the Cuban regime has nothing but disdain for basic human rights. It is evidence of their utter disregard for international norms. The United States must never waver in the face of tyranny.”

She paused for a moment and pursed her lips.

“I am calling on our own government to denounce in no uncertain terms this illegal action by Cuba. I am calling for the White House and the State Department to spare no effort to gain their release.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked down at her notes. “Even as we seek the freedom of these innocent husbands and fathers, we must also remember that the United States can never reward such acts of aggression. We cannot engage in direct talks with a regime that behaves in this manner. We cannot appease tyranny. We can never negotiate with terrorists.”

She looked directly into the camera. “I am therefore calling on the White House and State Department to immediately suspend any diplomatic negotiations until further notice. If necessary, we will reimpose sanctions on Cuba. If necessary, we will place them back on the list of state sponsors of terrorism. As the record shows, I strongly opposed the administration’s lifting of sanctions and the reestablishment of diplomatic relations. I take no pleasure in seeing my warnings come to pass. Our olive branches have only been interpreted by Havana as a sign of surrender. It can be no coincidence that just as the Cuban government believes we are weak, they undertake this latest escalation by kidnapping these innocent Americans. They are testing our resolve.