SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops VI - Guantanamo (23 page)

"I have a plan, Admiral. We'll get to them, and we'll stop them."

A pause. "What can I do?"

Nolan chuckled. "Stay by the phone, if it's possible. If we need anything, we'll call."

"I don't like it, but I'll do what you ask. Good luck, Chief Nolan."

Jacks ended the call, and he climbed into the passenger seat of the lead F150. Eva was in the driving seat, and he made no comment as she started the engine and drove away slowly. The rain still hammered down, and her vision was reduced to little more than twenty meters. The other Ford fell in behind them, with Will driving. Vega was behind him in the rear seat, with John-Wesley. He smiled to himself.

Wonderful. There's no
way she'll have a driving license. Vega is an undocumented illegal, and Ryder is a homicidal religious lunatic. This is going to be some drive.

* * *

The ship pitched and rolled alarmingly in the heavy seas. Nasriri had returned to the deck to clear his heaving stomach from an attack of seasickness. The rain was still torrential, but he felt refreshed, more than when he was inside the dark, dank bowels of the ship. They'd been aboard for thirty hours and were due to drop anchor off the coast of New York in another eight hours.

Next to him, lashed down with heavy ropes, was the dark bulk of their powerboat. The crew of the Iranian registered vessel had winched it on board with scarcely a second glance, as if the two million dollar craft was an everyday sight.

He turned in irritation as Bakr came to stand next to him. The last thing he wanted was for any of his men to see him in a moment of weakness, vomiting over the side.

"What do you want, Abu? You're supposed to stay inside, out of sight."

"As are you, Omar." He smiled as he spoke, and Nasriri took no offence, "I merely came to see if you were ill. If you needed anything."

He turned to his second-in-command. "All I need is to reach New York City and carry out our mission." He looked at his wristwatch, "We have less than twelve hours before we enter Paradise. I can hardly believe we are to receive such a precious reward for our efforts."

Abu nodded but made no reply. He'd lied to Omar. There was another reason for coming up on deck. After so many hours trapped inside the steel box of the cabin, the men were starting to show signs of discontent. He'd even overheard one of them express reservations about becoming a martyr. He wasn't sure whom because it was dark.

"Our men, they are all well? Their spirits are high?"

He thought for a few moments and then nodded. "They are all committed, every one of them."

He knew if he told Omar the truth, their commander would take one of them out and shoot him, to set an example. Soon, the troubles would be over. They only had to hold on for a few hours more.

"Good," Nasriri nodded, "Very good. We will deal the Americans a blow that will demonstrate our power, our ability to hit them a hundred times harder than they could ever believe possible." He was silent for a moment, and Abu went to turn away. Then he spoke again, "That trouble in Miami before we left. Do we know yet who caused it?"

"No, the captain tried to contact them, but there is no reply. He said the most likely explanation is a fight between rival gangs. Nothing to worry our people."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Whoever was fighting back there, it's of no consequence. When you launch the powerboat, nothing can stop you reaching your target and detonating. Your martyrdom is assured, my friend."

Nasriri thanked him. In his mind, he gloated over the virgins he would deflower. Seventy-two to choose from, and afterward, they would serve him as his personal servants. He brought to mind the sura, from the Koran.

'They shall recline on jeweled couches face to face, and there shall wait on them immortal youths with
bowls and ewers and a cup of purest wine. With fruits of their own choice and flesh of fowls that they relish. And theirs shall be the dark-eyed houris, chaste as hidden pearls: a guerdon for their deeds.'

How wonderful the rewards for the shaheeds, the martyrs, would be. After the trials and the hardships of this life.

Truly, God is great.

She awoke in the night and smiled at Clay lying in bed next to her. He'd stayed overnight in her tiny apartment, and in the morning they would make preparations to travel out to Battery Park. She had mixed feelings about him. Sometimes she thought he cared for her a great deal. Other times, she found him cold and lacking in emotion.

It worried her, but she put it all behind her to concentrate on enjoying the coming day. As she watched him, he opened his eyes a fraction and smiled.

She returned the smile. "We're going to have a wonderful day."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right. A day to remember."

She had a sudden thought. "Clay, there's something I wanted to ask you. Do you speak any other languages?"

His eyes widened. "Why do you ask?"

"You must have been dreaming. You mumbled something, and I thought you spoke Spanish."

"Spanish? Strange, I learned some at school, maybe that's it." He grinned, "Dreaming about a pretty coed, I expect."

She gave him a playful blow on the shoulder. "She'd better not be prettier than me."

"No way, you're the best, Esperanza. What time do we leave? We don't want to be late."

"About ten o'clock, I thought that would be right. We'll take a picnic."

"Better make it nine o'clock. The traffic could be heavy."

She looked at him in surprise. "You sound keen; I thought you weren't very interested."

He gave her a strange glance. "Of course I'm keen. I can hardly wait, but let's get some sleep."

"Oh, right."

He fell asleep, but she lay awake. She reminded herself to keep her purse from Clay. If he lifted it, he'd suspect she was carrying the pistol inside. He could even take it off her, which would leave her defenseless if Hidalgo tried anything. For some reason, it pleased her he'd changed his mind about the whole event. They'd be able to enjoy it together. Afterward, she had a lot of thinking to do.

Surely, it was just shyness that made him seem cold. How could it be anything else? After all, she'd even started to enjoy the sex. Well, maybe not quite that. At least she didn't dread it so much, which was an improvement. Besides, it could partly be her. The constant threat of Carlos Hidalgo hung over her head, and it was impossible to relax, even during sex. The quicker it was resolved, the quicker she could enjoy a normal relationship. It might even end today, who knew.

She had a sudden image of Hidalgo appearing in front of her, his right hand clutching a big automatic pistol. He was only six feet away, a perfect target, standing with his back to the Hudson River. She squeezed the trigger three times, and the force of the bullets pitched him back into the dark water.

If only.

* * *

After the first hour, the journey became a mind-numbing odyssey. They passed cities with famous names, Jacksonville, Savannah, Fayetteville, and Richmond. If the attack succeeded, they'd be cities filled with fear. Neighbor frightened of neighbor, if a person looked even slightly out of place. Their skin the wrong color, their accent not quite right. The security crackdown would be immense, long queues even to enter a school or a mall. Scanners, pat-downs, constant checks, bag searches. American life would grind to a slow crawl.

The proximity of danger was like a ticking time bomb; the knowledge that a single attack could pose such a threat to an entire culture.

"It's clever. Very clever."

"You what?"

He realized he'd spoken aloud. "This attack on Liberty Island. Nothing will ever be the same again, not for decades. The bastards."

She looked sympathetic. "These people, they don't know what's about to hit them. At the beginning of 1959, Fidel and Che finally declared victory in Cuba. We thought it would be wonderful, freedom, peace, prosperity, everything they promised."

"It didn't work out, did it?"

"No. We became slaves, impoverished slaves. Many were murdered or imprisoned. At the time, we believed the lies of communism. Perhaps in the same way these suicide bombers believe the lies of the Mullahs and Imams. I see no difference. Evil men will say anything to bend the truth to their own ends. Communism, Islamism, whatever, they result in the same end, misery."

"You weren't ever tempted to join the communists?"

She laughed. "You must be joking. As I grew up, they were becoming a joke, a sick joke at the people's expense. Like many Cubans, all I wanted was to get out."

"Yet you stayed."

She shrugged. "Because of my sister, the girl you saw me with in the bar. She had a terrible time; the militia kidnapped her off the street and held her for five days. You can imagine what they did to her."

"They got away with it?"

"Of course," she replied bitterly, "Militiamen and women help out the regular police force. They're volunteers, uniformed in olive green overalls, and they carry pistols or submachine guns. When their day's work is over, they dress in their uniforms and patrol the streets. They are very powerful, and if they want something, they take it. Like my sister."

"So there was nothing you could do? Like a direct appeal to Fidel?"

She laughed again. "You are so naive, Nolan. The commandant of our local militia was a distant relation of Fidel. I would imagine he enjoyed hearing details of the brutality and excesses committed by the animals he let loose on his own people. No, the only justice we enjoyed was Vega's justice."

"De la Vega?"

"Yes. After they kicked him out of the military, he became embittered. As you know, he took to the bottle. I guess he was trying to drink himself to death. There were still elements of the old Vega present, and if you went to him, he would try to get justice. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't."

"Like a kind of Lone Ranger."

"Yes, I’ve heard of him. He's very much like the Lone Ranger, except he was a fictional character. Vega risks his life for real."

"I had my doubts at first. He looked like the town drunk, but the guy came to life just at the right time."

"Because he had a mission, something worthwhile."

"Helping Americans?"

"It reminds him of his old life in the military, living on the edge of danger. He'll help anyone who needs it. He's a good guy. I would imagine the Islamists remind him of the worst of the communists. That'd be enough to make him want to fight them."

"Thank Christ he did," Nolan replied, thinking about the astonishing way he flew the crippled Twin Commander, despite it almost falling out of the sky.

He took over the wheel after an hour, and she dozed in the passenger seat. He kept close to the speed limits, and afterward, they took turns. He was driving when they passed Richmond just after dark.

We’ll be in the city by 0100. We’ll need a couple of rooms in a motel, somewhere we can use as a base, and then a boat to locate the ship transporting the Islamist powerboat. Then we destroy it.

Their best chance would come as soon it launched, before it had a chance to pick up speed and close Liberty Island. It would be fast, so they'd need something fast, real fast to intercept. Moreover, they'd have to steal it. The trick was not getting caught. Then again, they had so much to answer for, a trail of death and destruction across three countries. What was the theft of a boat? When it was all over, they'd have the support and gratitude of their government. Provided they succeeded. If they failed, the gratitude and support would be spread thin.

They reached the City and found a fleabag motel in Brooklyn. The broken neon sign stated 'Luxury Hotel, Comfortable Clean Rooms.' It was close enough to the famous bridge and a short distance from Battery Park. The entire building had a faint stench of sewage, and the room was coated with grime and mold. When Will went down to reception to complain to the manager, the response was less than enthusiastic.

"What d'ya expect at the price you're paying? The Waldorf-Astoria? You want a clean room; clean it yourself. I got my own problems. You can go find something else, if you can find anything. The city is crowded with visitors for the Presidential visit. Lousy Democrat."

"I'll take that as a no," Will said.

"Fuck off, asshole."

He told them of his failure when he returned to the room they were using to put together a crude briefing. The place was littered with leftover food containers and paper cups, all they could grab in the unprepossessing area. John-Wesley wanted to go down and deal with him, but Nolan stopped him.

"We're only here for a few hours. It's no big deal. Let's get down to how we're going to play this."

He laid out the map on the chipped table over the tobacco burns that decorated its surface. "We have the location pinpointed. There're plenty of boat moorings, and it has a huge advantage. It's situated outside the Hudson River, so we won't bump into the security people for the Presidential visit. We can navigate straight out to sea and find that ship."

"There could be plenty of ships out there," Brad pointed out, "It might be looking for a needle in a haystack."

He shook his head. "I doubt that. This one's Iranian. That's what that guy back in Miami told us. Not too many Iranian vessels tooling around off the coast, doing nothing. It'll stand out like a sore thumb. We'll leave at 0300, time enough to locate a boat and take it out to sea before daylight." He looked at the CIA man. "Evers, I'll need your satphone. We need to keep in contact, and it's the only thing I can rely on to work offshore."

"What do I do?"

"I want you to go to Battery Park. You can take Eva with you. We need to know what's going on across at Liberty Island. Buy a disposable cellphone on the way, and call me with the number. Keep your eyes on the President, and if you see anything that doesn't look right, call me."

"Like a powerboat approaching Liberty Island at high speed?"

"That would fit the bill."

"Sure, I can do that. But what if something happens, something we can't handle?"

"You'll have to contact a Secret Service agent, even a cop. If it comes to that, and you need to attract their attention, that'll be easy. Fire a few shots in the air."

Evers nodded. "Yeah, that ought to get their attention."

"Right. They'd have the President out of there inside a few seconds."

"I'm coming with you," Eva stated. It wasn't a request, "I can help you steal the boat. If they see you with a woman, they won't be so suspicious."

"I'm not happy about..."

"I'm coming. You owe me that. If I hadn't helped, you'd still be stuck on Cuba."

It was a fair point, and he agreed. "Next, weapons. How're we fixed?"

They'd brought the holdalls up to the room, so at least it looked as if they had luggage. There were a half dozen Cuban AK-47s and plenty of ammunition. They also had a Makarov apiece, and Eva carried her Tokarev tucked into her pants, hidden under her shirt.

"Any questions?"

There was silence. They were all conscious of the enormity of the task that faced them, of the multitude of possibilities for things going wrong.

I wish Brooks was backing us up. I need his cool planning, the liaison with other agencies.

At times,
he'd even been with them
in the field. The Admiral was no slouch when the
shooting started. He was just always there. No matter what went wrong, Brooks would be waiting to pick up the pieces.
Not now, though.

But he's under arrest, facing a court martial, a jail term maybe? Shit.

He pushed it to the back of his mind. They had work to do. Perhaps the most important work of their lives.

"Let's go."

They walked down the staircase, past the elevator door with the faded 'out of order' sign, and went out into the street. Eva got into the driving seat of the lead Ford F150 and he didn't argue. Vega and Will climbed in back, and he shook hands with the other team.

"Remember, if we think it's all going south, fire plenty of shots in the air. Better to have panicked chaos than a dead President."

"There’ll be a lot of civilian casualties," Evers pointed out, "A bloodbath, if a bomb explodes near to a crowd."

"So let's make sure it doesn't. One more thing, it's possible there'll be hostiles in the crowd, for whatever reason. They could even carry a remote back up detonator, so keep your eyes skinned."

"We'll do that."

He joined Eva. She drove away, following the satnav directions for Paerdegat Basin. It was a short drive, maybe ten kilometers, and soon they drew up close to the yacht harbor. A crowd of pleasure craft of all shapes and sizes, but what they were looking for was something special. It had to be fast, very fast, to stand a chance of intercepting the Islamist's powerboat, which so far was an unknown quantity. All they knew was it would be quick enough to dash inshore and attack the Presidential party at Liberty Island before the security personnel had a chance to react.

"We need something capable of at least forty knots. Fifty would be better," he told them.

Will was the small boat expert, and he gazed along the long lines of moored craft until he fixed his gaze on a sleek craft, lying two hundred meters from where they were standing.