on the Baby Doll in the middle of the Caribbean watching the prettiest sunset you ever saw. Thanks for arranging the Plan C, by the way. Needless to say, I’m not gonna make the rendezvous at twenty hundred hours.”
“What happened?”
He had to give Hathaway credit. The guy didn’t waste time moaning and groaning when a plan went to hell. He got right to the point.
“I left the hotel early to sanitize my tail before the meeting with Zaragosa. A pair of men picked me up immediately. As soon as I made a move to shake them, they closed in and tried to off me. I ran for the emergency egress point. When I got there, the driver was dead and his boat’s engine sabotaged. You know the next bit. I headed for Hollingsworth’s boat.”
“Did you get away clean?”
“Nope. The bastards followed me. Stole a boat and came after us.”
“Us?” Hathaway asked sharply.
“Uhh, yeah. Small complication to Plan C. When I got to the Baby Doll, Hollingsworth’s daughter was already aboard her. Which worked out pretty slick, by the way. She already had the boat untied and fired up when I got there. I jumped aboard and she took off. Probably saved my life.”
“Then what?” Hathaway asked grimly.
“I exchanged fire with the hostiles while we fled.”
“How’s Hollingsworth’s daughter?”
“Not a hair on her pretty little head out of place. She’s a hell of a driver, by the way.”
Hathaway replied wryly, “I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to the Congressman. Status of the shooters?”
“One down. Probably dead but not confirmed. The other’s still up.”
“Any idea who they were?”
“I got a half-decent look at the one who’s still alive. He’s a Cuban player. Guy by the name of Camarillo.”
Hathaway whistled between his teeth. “Camarillo’s a heavy hitter. Rumor has it he used to work directly for Fidel himself.”
Mitch retorted in mock shock, “Why, sir! Fidel was a peace-loving guy. He would never stoop to violence to gain an end.”
Hathaway laughed. “Save the politically correct bull for the media. You and I have both operated in Cuba and know exactly what the Old Man was capable of.”
“And to think, the new regime has exponentially less scruples than he had.”
Silence fell between them for a moment. Then Hathaway said, “Any idea who sent Camarillo after you? He could be freelancing these days.”
Mitch turned over the concept. Fidel Castro’s personal assassin cut loose to sell his skills and knowledge to anyone willing to pay? Nah. The regime in Cuba was smarter than that. They’d keep the guy on retainer. “He’s not freelancing. The Cuban government had to have sent Camarillo after me.”
“How did they find out about your meeting?”
Mitch sighed. Aye, and there was the rub. “How well do you know Zaragosa, sir?”
Startled silence echoed in Mitch’s ear. Finally, Hathaway answered, “I’ve never worked with him personally. Supposedly, he’s one of the CIA’s best sources in Cuba. And you’ve got to admit, we couldn’t place a mole in a much higher position if we tried.”
No kidding. Zaragosa was the Deputy Prime Minister of Cuba and widely expected to be the next Presidente of that tiny, but pesky nation.
A shadow crossed the hatch, and Mitch’s eyes narrowed. Was Kinsey eavesdropping or harmlessly moving around the deck?
He switched to rapid Spanish. Even if she spoke the tongue, she probably wouldn’t catch it at first. “Talk to me about the Congressman’s daughter, sir.”
Hathaway didn’t miss a beat. Mitch registered yet again how good it was to work with active field operators. It cut out so much red tape and bureaucratic hemming and hawing. The navy man answered evenly, “Miss Hollingsworth has had a tough year. She caught her fiancé humping her best friend a couple weeks back and dumped him. The tabloids have had a field day with it.”
That was a switch. In his experience, it was the stunning blonde who screwed around.
Hathaway continued, “Apparently the ex wasn’t appreciative of the negative media coverage. To divert attention from himself, he published a series of, uhh, explicit photos of Miss Hollingsworth on the Internet.”
Ouch. What a scumbag. Even spoiled little rich girls didn’t deserve that.
“I expect she’s looking to lie low. Blend in with the locals.”
“On a hot-pink cigarette boat with her looks?” Mitch exclaimed.
Hathaway chuckled. “Any port in a storm, my friend.”
Mitch thought fast. His job was to make contact with Zaragosa, infiltrate Cuba with identity papers the guy provided, then once in the country, spot any conspiracies against the guy, and protect Zaragosa’s back.
Of course, having now missed the meeting with Zaragosa, that plan was shot to hell. The Cuban politician was due to return to Havana later this evening and there would be no time to arrange for a second meeting. Mitch wasn’t going to get his papers today. Which meant his easy-as-pie, walk-through-the-front-door entry into Cuba was blown. Now he had to find his own way into that closed country. Illegally. Not that sneaking into Cuba posed any great challenge at the end of the day. He’d infiltrated a hell of a lot more difficult places to penetrate than Cuba in his career. But it was still a pain in the rear. Not to mention any change of plans represented a risk to the mission.
Mitch asked, “Can you guys contact Zaragosa and set up an alternate meeting with him in Cuba? Not Havana. Something on the south coast in a day or two. Maybe Cienfuegos. That’s close to Zaragosa’s old stomping grounds. He ought to be able to come up with an excuse to go there.”
“What about you? Are you gonna be able to get there and blend in with the locals?”
“I’ve spent a fair bit of time operating in that neck of the woods. I’ll be fine. Just tell Zaragosa to press on to Cuba without me and I’ll hook up with him there.”
Kinsey’s shadow passed the porthole as she did some chore outside. Probably trying to keep busy to stave off the panic he’d seen lurking at the back of her baby blues. Odd how fate had thrust this woman into his path. Not being one to look gift horses in the mouth, however, an interesting thought struck him. He could just possibly use her looks to his advantage.
Mitch said thoughtfully, “I may have an idea of how to get into Cuba fast. Can you scrounge up a catamaran for me? Something berthed close to Cuba.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I show you sailing toward the U.S. Virgin Islands right now. Is that correct?”
He glanced out the porthole. “If that means we’re heading south by southwest in the middle of a whole bunch of water,
