Targets of Revenge (11 page)

“As if the local authorities would care about some drug runners shooting at each other.”

The Mexican shook his head. “They don’t give a shit about narcotics; they’re here to protect the oil.”

————

Monter’s men were rapidly losing patience. There was no purpose in firing if you’re not allowed to hit the boat and you can’t see the man on board.

“Report in to Monter,” the pilot told them. “We could be here all day waiting for him to show himself.”

The man on his left spoke into the radio and Monter instantly responded. “What have we got?”

The man explained their situation.

“So it really is only one man?”

“That’s all we’ve seen. We came at him, he ducked down, now we’ve circled around, no sign of him.”

“You have no shot at all?”

“Not without shooting at the boat. And we don’t know who may be on there with him.”

“Not our problem,” Monter said without hesitation. “Anyone stupid enough to be captured deserves what he gets.” He paused. “Any chance you can board? You have a three-to-one edge.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“He fire at you yet?”

“Not yet. Like I said, we circled back once we were in range. I don’t think we hit him, but he’s laying low.”

Monter hesitated. It was an expensive boat and he was in no mood to have it blown to pieces.

“What if he finds the weapons on board?”

Monter had apparently lost four men already this morning. “All right,” he said. “Take a run at him. He returns any fire, you lower your sights and get this done. We don’t want the Armada on our backs, and you’re too close to the southern rigs to stay out there for long.”

————

The Venezuelan navy, officially known as the Bolivarian Armada, serves as both coast guard and naval force, with authority on all waters surrounding or within the country. They run frigates along the coasts and engage in regular maneuvers to protect the nation’s oil industry.

Sandor’s concern, other than the obvious goal—to avoid getting shot—was the risk of being captured by the Venezuelan government. Given Adina’s relationship with Chavez, it was no understatement to say that Jordan Sandor would never be heard from again if he was taken prisoner within the borders of this country. Once the Armada arrived, the capture of these drug runners would seem like a misdemeanor arrest compared to the apprehension of an American intelligence agent.

Sandor worked quickly to arm the rocket launcher; then he set it down beside him and reached for the satellite phone again.

“Go ahead,” Bergenn said.

“I’m out of time here,” Sandor told him, then gave a full assessment of the situation, available weapons, and his plan.

“Once you blow them sky-high we’re going to have the entire Venezuelan navy after us.”

“I have to figure they’ve already been alerted by security on that oil rig. Which means you’ll have to come in for a landing right now or we’ll all wind up like sitting ducks.”

“Roger that. You going to cover us?”

“Like a blanket.”

————

The men in the other speedboat noticed the Otter for the first time as it circled in a descending path, just far enough away to be out of their range. Before they could decide what, if anything, there was to do about that, Sandor peeked over the gunwale and opened fire with one of the long-range rifles from the locker.

All three of Monter’s men hit the deck, which is just what Sandor wanted. With the men in the other Fountain diving for cover and out of view, Sandor mounted the rocket launcher on his shoulder, steadied himself on one knee, and fired.

There was the customary instant of hesitation when he squeezed the trigger, then the
thump
of recoil as the rocket sped away, followed by a thin trail of white smoke. With Sandor’s fusillade having temporarily abated, the three men peered over the side just as the missile was released. Their boat was still moving and, at the sight of the onrushing projectile, the pilot instinctively shoved both throttles forward and yanked the wheel to starboard. His two cohorts, having no way to control the speed or path of the boat, took the simpler approach and dove over the side into the dark waters.

For a moment it seemed to Sandor as if everything was happening in slow motion. It was quiet, with no shots being fired. The only action was the frantic attempt by the pilot of the attacking boat to avoid the path of the rocket.

But it was too late.

The projectile hit the port side of the boat with a loud crash, followed
by an explosion of light and smoke and noise. The missile, which was heat-guided, found its optimum target toward the aft of the Fountain, detonating with full force as it struck the port engine, driving the stern of the boat into the air with propellers spinning helplessly as the fuel lines ignited, creating a pyre of burning gas, rendering the once sleek boat an unrecognizable tangle of destruction.

As Sandor got to his feet he watched the Otter complete its landing a few hundred yards away. He moved back to the cockpit, put the engines into gear, and headed toward the waiting plane.

“Get ready pal,” he said to the man who was still tied to the railing, “you and I are taking a little trip.”

A
S SOON AS
Adina got word of the debacle in the Lago de Maracaibo he commanded Alejandro to speed up the work dismantling the laboratory and making preparations to relocate the facility.

His men crated and loaded the sacks of cocaine as well as the various apparatus. Then everyone was ordered out of the area as the final work was turned over to four specialists who had access to the segregated area where the anthrax was manufactured.

They pulled on their hazmat suits and went about the dangerous business of placing the deadly toxin in airtight containers and readying the encapsulated parcels for transport in a separate vehicle. They also gathered the various chemical components that had not yet been combined into the lethal concoction and placed those in the back of the same truck.

Then they doused the entire subterranean installation with gasoline and set it ablaze.

At Adina’s direct instruction, Carlos, his trusted lab technician, was left locked inside the secure room, from which none of them could hear the man pleading for mercy, or later, begging for his life to end as he was engulfed in the chemical fire that melted his skin away before incinerating him beyond all recognition.

From a safe distance, Adina watched as the flames shot up from the laboratory. Then, accompanied by his two most trusted men, Alejandro and Jorge, he left for Caracas.

————

In recent years, Adina had spent as little time as possible in the Venezuelan capital. His role in various terrorist activities had made him a marked man, and surfacing in a heavily populated area was not an ideal situation. He actually preferred the controlled environment of his jungle retreat, where all of his needs could be met with minimal risk. There was an added benefit—for so long as he remained a phantom, he reduced the risk of embarrassing the administration he supported, obscuring the connection between his actions and the government at large.

Now, however, his sanctuary had been violated. Someone had breached his compound and escaped with knowledge of its location and purpose. He was determined to find out who was behind the invasion and to contain the damage. This required a visit to the intelligence facilities that served the Chavez regime.

His destination was a multilayered building known as El Helicoide, which houses the Servicio Bolivariano de Inteligencia Nacional, more familiarly known as the SEBIN. The architecture is an odd mix of spaceship and cliffside dwellings, the overall impression imposing, and the purposeful effect of intimidation not lost on anyone who has ever been there.

The impending arrival of Rafael Cabello was communicated well in advance as he traveled a secure and circuitous route, and he was welcomed with appropriate deference and formality when he and his two men finally entered the underground garage beneath the southern face of the building. From there Adina was whisked upstairs in a private elevator to the sixth floor. He was shown to a secure conference room where men at the highest level of this agency had already convened.

Greetings between the members of this group and their esteemed guest were respectful. Most of them had been acquainted with Adina for many years. Others, who knew him less well, were nevertheless familiar with his exploits and the closeness of his relationship with their president. Once the polite salutations were concluded they sat around the large table and Adina got down to business.

“I assume you have all been fully briefed on what occurred.”

They assured him that they had.

“Then please tell me what, if anything, you have learned so far about this intruder.”

Gilberto Bargas was a minister in the Chavez regime, the highest-ranking officer in attendance, and an old crony of Adina. “He was an American,” he said.

Adina frowned. “That much I know from my own men. He spoke with two of them, a guard and a chemist. I thought you were all fully briefed.”

The minister nodded and said, “Of course,” then looked down at some notes before him. “It appears he was acting alone, at least with respect to this raid.”

“Meaning what?”

“He was alone during the invasion. Others helped him escape.”

This time Adina gave an impatient nod. “Is that it?”

“We received word through some locals. That night a small aircraft was spotted, flying low over the jungle.”

“And?”

“We have already done aerial reconnaissance. These are photographs from a clearing a few miles from your compound.” He reached into a file and handed over several prints. “Our analysts say these are remnants of some sort of glider. That was his method of entry.”

“I see. So this American crash-landed a glider in the jungle in the middle of the night. Impressive.”

Bargas held out another group of photos. “We managed to retrieve these shots of a seaplane, taken by one of our spotters, just north of Cabimas. We have enlarged them and have a partial identification of the call numbers. We believe it’s privately owned and kept in Curaçao.”

“Inquiries are being made?”

“Yes. Discreetly, of course.”

“Any results yet?”

“Unfortunately there is no record of this plane having taken off or landing yesterday. At least not officially. If this was the plane, there was obviously no flight plan filed. It is owned by a company in Curaçao,
used for shuttling tourists around. Likely took off and set down there. We are still pursuing the possibility that there were witnesses who saw it leaving or returning.”

Adina sat back, hands folded in his lap, considering the information. “Gentlemen, would you all permit me some private time with the minister?”

The others, if insulted, offered no resistance to being dismissed. When Adina was alone with the only man in the room he trusted, he leaned forward and spoke. “So Gilberto, we are dealing with a man who risks his life to land in the jungle and find his way to my home, with no clear means of escape. I think it’s obvious that the ruse of a narcotics robbery is nonsense, you agree?” The minister nodded his assent. “And, having found his way to our underground facility, he did nothing to destroy or even disrupt that operation. Which means that could not have been his purpose.” Again, the other man concurred. “Leaving only one logical explanation.” Bargas waited. “This man was an assassin who came there for me.” Adina now tented his long, elegant fingers, tapping them together as he considered the likelihood of his conclusion.

After a few moments, the minster said, “But no attempt was made to reach you. Isn’t that correct?”

“That is correct. At least as far as we know. Which can only mean that this man changed his mind once he discovered the laboratory.” Adina sat back in his chair. “If this was someone who was determined to murder me for reasons that we can only guess at right now, once he stumbled upon what we were manufacturing he decided there were larger issues at stake.”

The minister was clearly impressed. “As always, your powers of deduction are ahead of mine, Rafael.”

“It’s obvious, is it not? The man is an American. He was sent to liquidate me as retribution for the attack on their refineries. When he found his way into the lab he knew he had stumbled upon important information and he could not risk murdering me without greatly reducing the chances of his own escape.”

“Of course,” the minister agreed. “He wanted to do whatever he could to get out and relay that information.”

“Just so.” Adina allowed himself one of his thin-lipped smiles. “It was not fear of his own death that had him change course; he proved that by the risky means he used to enter the jungle. No, he was hoping to have us believe he was a thief and that we would leave our plant intact as he reported back to Langley.”

“Langley?” the minister asked.

“Naturally,” Adina replied, the smile still in place. “This man is a professional. He disabled one of my sentries and murdered the other. He got in and out of our lab and managed to escape my compound despite pursuit by two of my best guards and an encounter with several armed men waiting for him at the shore. He not only managed to deal with them, but he also stole their boat, then overcame another attempt to apprehend him and got safely away. Our intruder is a professional,” he repeated. “It’s now up to us to find out who he is and what he is up to.”

M
ARK
B
YRNES WAS
not a man easily amused, and this morning was certainly no exception. He was seated at his desk, staring up at Jordan Sandor who was standing there as if called to attention. Craig Raabe and Jim Bergenn were outside in the waiting room. The three men had arrived back in Washington late the preceding night and were promptly summoned to this early meeting.

After what seemed a long silence, Byrnes said, “I want to do my best to fully understand everything before I react.”