“What’s not good?”
“You asked me to look into O. To find out what I could about Oswaldo Guerrero.”
“I’m worried that he isn’t real. Don’t tell me you found nothing.”
“Just the opposite. The file on O is as thick and ugly as I’ve seen.”
“What does that mean?”
“Guerrero is the Cuban military intelligence chief. The one who’s foiled virtually every U.S. covert action to destabilize the regime over the past twenty years.”
“So O’s smart,” she said.
“More than that. O’s ruthless. You ever hear what went wrong in Santiago?” Sunday asked.
“Tell me,” she said as her heart rate quickened.
“An op that went bad a few years ago. The last real attempt to incite a counterrevolution in eastern Cuba. In the city of Santiago. We sent in some of our people and it was”—Sunday coughed and cleared his throat—“a bloodbath.”
She exhaled loudly. “Rainmaker,” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am. Our operatives walked right into O’s trap,” Sunday said.
“And?” Jessica’s heart raced.
“That’s why they call Oswaldo Guerrero . . . El Diablo de Santiago.”
57.
EASTERN CUBA
FRIDAY, 10:23 A.M.
The taxi had driven in silence, away from the gate at Guantánamo Bay. For the past fifteen minutes, the ’57 Chevy Bel Air had wound down a dirt road that cut through the hills of rural Cuba. Judd tried to keep track of their direction—first northeast, then east, then north again—but he lost his bearings in the twists and turns of the road. He tried to memorize markers just in case he needed to make his own way back to the base. He made a mental note of a small tobacco farm, a pink-and-blue dilapidated shack, an abandoned church.
Judd eyed the driver. “Where . . . are we going?”
The driver shrugged without turning around. Then he reached forward to the dashboard. Judd could see scars along the driver’s muscular forearms and a nose that must have been badly broken at least once. An ex-boxer, perhaps? The man grabbed the radio’s knob, twisted, and suddenly the cab was filled with the rhythmic drums and a wailing trumpet of Cuban rhumba.
“Are you taking me to Oswaldo?” Judd asked over the music.
The car screeched to a halt.
Judd looked through the windshield. Nothing in the road. He looked out the windows both ways. No homes. No buildings. They were in the middle of nowhere.
“Why are we stopping?”
The driver silently opened his door and stepped out of the still-running car. He slowly turned and opened the back door. Judd saw a pistol in the driver’s hand. No witnesses.
Judd showed his palms. “Easy.”
“Out!” the driver demanded.
Judd exited the car, his hands above his head. Am I being robbed? “I have no money,” Judd said, trying to remain calm. The driver shoved the barrel of the gun against Judd’s cheek.
“Turn!”
Or kidnapped? Judd spun around. “I’m American,” he said.
The man pushed the gun into Judd’s kidneys. He slapped handcuffs on one wrist and pulled down one arm, then the other.
“I’m here to see Oswaldo Guerrero,” Judd insisted, his hands now bound together. He twisted his neck to try to see the man’s face and that’s when, for the second time that day, a dark hood was slipped over Judd’s head.
58.
FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA
FRIDAY, 10:33 A.M.
Coney Island Pizza? I have a special order for urgent delivery . . . Yes, extra-spicy . . . What the fuck have you gotten Judd into?” Jessica spat into the phone. “Tell me right now!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Deputy Director said so calmly that it only enraged Jessica further.
“With respect, sir, I don’t give two fucks about your compartmentalization. Tell me what you’re doing that’s put Judd in danger!”
“Remember who you’re talking to, little lady,” he shot back.
“Sir.” Jessica took a deep breath. “I told you I wouldn’t run an operation on my own husband. I told you when we eventually reactivated Purple Cell that I wouldn’t do it. These were our new ground rules and you’re breaking them already.”
“I didn’t break any rules. Purple Cell isn’t reactivated.”
“You’re forcing me to lie to Judd again.”
“I didn’t force you to do anything.”
“I already told you I’m out. And now you’re dragging me back in.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. My whole family is now in the middle of your operation.”
“What kind of business do you think we’re in, Jessica?”
“I told you I wouldn’t lie to him anymore. I wouldn’t do it. We agreed that I’m out.”
“That’s right.”
“Now Judd’s life is in danger. He’s been sent into the clutches of . . . the Devil.”
“What do you mean ‘the Devil’?” he snapped.