Havana Five. Don Pendleton
here on out could very well determine the fate of our future relations with the Cubans. I’m not trying to add pressure to you, either personally or to your men in the field. I also know your man didn’t have to take this job, although I don’t mind saying I’m awfully glad he’s on our side.”
Brognola couldn’t resist a wry grin and a chuckle. “I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing that, sir.”
The President nodded. “This isn’t my way of tightening the thumb screws, you understand. All I’m trying to do is to impart the fact we’re at a very critical juncture. It’s important we recover our men if they’re in Cuba, particularly Waterston, and it’s even more important we do it as quickly and quietly as possible. What we can’t afford to do is to expose our supporters there. If Castro found it, there would be public hangings.”
“I’m sure,” Brognola said. “But, Mr. President, it’s very important you understand that right now we have it on pretty good authority that Colonel Waterston might be dead.”
The President blanched and his expression went flat. Brognola hadn’t meant for that little fact to come out quite so indelicately, but there weren’t many ways to give the most powerful man in the free world bad news.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the President finally replied after a very long and very uncomfortable minute.
“I don’t know what to say, sir,” Brognola replied.
The man shrugged. “What can you say? I can only hope this is one of those times where you’re absolutely wrong. Does your man in Cuba know?”
“He’s the one who gave that to us originally.”
“Mr. President,” Price interjected, “you can be assured we’re doing everything possible to confirm or deny the information. But Striker’s operating off scant intelligence as it is. He’s playing a lot of this by ear right now.”
“Well, I don’t normally make it my business to poke my nose into field operations,” the President replied. “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 Guantánamo to do whatever they had to, to protect the U.S. and its boundaries.”
“War?” Brognola asked. “With Cuba?”
The President cleared his throat before replying, “If necessary, yes. A Cuban civil war would threaten an already uneasy balance of power in the Western hemisphere. We cannot afford that. Peace in this region is too important to the greater interests of this country and its populace. I don’t want another missile crisis, but I don’t want a repeat of 9//11, either.”
“I suppose to some degree I can understand this rather precarious position you’re in, Mr. President,” Brognola said. “But an all-out declaration of war against Cuba seems, well…”
“Don’t beat around the bush, Hal,” the Man said. “I’ve always held your opinions in high regard. Say what you have to say.”
“I was simply going to say that it seems pretty extreme,” Brognola replied.
“Extreme is the situation at hand,” the President. “And it may call for extreme measures.”
“But we’re not there yet,” Brognola said.
“Right.”
“And you’re willing to give us some more time to hammer this out.”
“Of course, Hal.” He rose. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to Camp David.”
Brognola and Price rose accordingly and walked the President, accompanied by Able Team, to the nondescript SUV that awaited him.
Once he departed, Brognola and Price returned to the War Room.
“Barb,” Brognola said, “we need to pull everything we have on the situation down there in Cuba. Names, faces, the whole kit and caboodle. I want to know what we’re up against as soon as possible.”
“Understood,” Price said with a nod.
“Also, get Able back here as quick as possible and put Phoenix Force on full alert.”
“You’re not going to give Striker and crew a chance to resolve this?”
“Certainly,” Brognola said. “But we both know if this thing goes south we need to have a backup plan. I don’t want to get caught asleep at the wheel on this.”
“What about Waterston?” she asked.
“I don’t think there’s much we can do to confirm his status. We’ll have to rely on Striker to get that information. We should focus our efforts on the political end of this. If we stick our finger in the dike, I want it to hold, not spring another leak somewhere else. Also, I want you to pull all the plugs with the NSA. I want to know everything we have on this Havana Five, past or present. Call in favors, go over heads, threaten jobs, but do whatever you must to get us some answers. I want to know who’s running the operation down there and what they’re into. Maybe we’ll shake something loose, get a line on this ELN training camp.”
“And if we don’t?”
“At least we’ll get close enough to start making people nervous. Maybe they’ll make a mistake and expose themselves in some way.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll send Striker their way to do what he does best.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mack Bolan studied the layout of the two-story motel through binoculars. An innocent inquiry by Encizo revealed the motel had no air conditioning, and these July days were sweltering in Cuba. Soon the sun would start to set and with the dissipation of heat would come drowsiness for the occupants.
Dusk or dawn was the best time to conduct a military assault against any type of stronghold under any type of guard. Such an assault wouldn’t be difficult under the circumstances if what the Cuban police official had told Encizo was true. The men were being guarded by three officers. But if his plan worked there would be a lot more men there in a short period of time, and a lot of cops with a motel filled to capacity would create just the kind of confusion he needed.
Still, Bolan didn’t intend to assume either way—he liked to deal with the facts.
He swung the binoculars from his view of the motel entrance to Encizo’s position approximately fifty meters down the street. The Phoenix Force veteran held position inside a primer-gray 1984 Olds Ninety-Eight they procured from a vendor’s used lot. The vehicle would have been a find to some car enthusiasts, but it had the worn and unobtrusive look required to divert attention. Encizo sat low behind the wheel, head canted back with sunglasses to hide his open eyes. To any other observer, he would appear as just another local copping a siesta.
Bolan grinned behind the field glasses and then swung them past the motel entrance in the opposite direction. He could barely make out the lines of Jack Grimaldi. The pilot sat at a table in a sidewalk café adorned in the ridiculous poncho and hat Bolan had purchased early that morning. Grimaldi would serve as eyes and ears, with Encizo providing backup. This was Bolan’s show and his alone, and when he’d pointed that out, neither man argued with him.
Bolan studied the street, which seemed totally devoid of movement. In the past twenty minutes of