Читать книгу Diplomacy Directive - Don Pendleton - Страница 7

Mack Bolan deplaned from the Gulfstream C-21 belonging to Stony Man Farm, one of America’s top covert special operations units.

The vulcanized neoprene soles of his combat boots held firm on the rain-slickened tarmac at Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport. Balmy winds off the North Atlantic tugged at his black hair and filled his nostrils with its salty scent.

Jack Grimaldi poked his head out of the cabin and took a deep breath. “Ah, there’s nothing like the tropics.”

Bolan looked up the steps at Grimaldi and produced a half smile. The two men had been friends for what seemed like an eternity, their initial meeting more fate than chance for both of them. Grimaldi had been working as a chopper pilot for a Mafia casino boss, and meeting the Executioner had created a paradigm shift in his life neither of them would soon forget. Now Grimaldi served as ace pilot for Stony Man and served Able Team and Phoenix Force—Stony Man’s elite counterterrorism teams—with the occasional “loan out” to Bolan’s officially sanctioned missions.

“You need help with the equipment?” Bolan asked.

“Naw, but if you can get our wheels that would be sweet.”

Bolan nodded and headed across the tarmac toward a solitary hangar close by. Inside he knew he’d find everything he requested: a sport utility vehicle, a briefcase containing assignment information, military uniforms, credentials and official-looking military orders. Since Puerto Rico was a commonwealth and protectorate of the United States, and there was no official military presence here other than a contingent of National Guard, any potential acts of terrorism fell under the jurisdiction of the Department of Defense. Bolan had used the alias of Colonel Brandon Stone many times, and would do so again.

“You’ll have the full cooperation of the governor’s office,” Hal Brognola had informed him.

While Bolan had maintained a strictly informal alliance with his government, Brognola was a friend and wouldn’t hesitate to call on him in the direst circumstances. The violent attack on political candidates perpetrated by a paramilitary guerrilla unit qualified, and the president had agreed when Brognola brought that fact to his attention.

Bolan drove the SUV to the tarmac and, despite Grimaldi’s protests to the contrary, helped offload equipment into the back. Normally, Bolan would have preferred to operate alone and leave Grimaldi with the plane, but he needed the time to review the paper and electronic files provided by Stony Man, so the pilot agreed to be his chauffeur.

“So what’s the gig, Sarge?” Grimaldi asked as he left the airport and headed for the downtown area. The ace pilot was the only person from the Executioner’s past who called him that.

Bolan’s eyes never left the file he was reading by a red interior lamp. “Unknown aggressors engaged police and civilians at a political rally two days ago. Total of nineteen victims, four were fatalities.”

“Terrorists?”

“Not sure,” Bolan replied. “Although if this were a terrorist group I’d have trouble buying politics as a motive.”

“Why’s that?”

“There are easier ways, Jack. Politically motivated terrorists don’t usually operate so openly. They tend to favor well-placed bombs or hit key targets. This was entirely random. To march into a crowd and simply start shooting doesn’t sound political.”

“I thought I heard Hal say they blew something up, too,” Grimaldi replied.

“Yeah. They threw a grenade at the stage. It wasn’t a bomb.”

Grimaldi sighed. “Grenades and automatic weapons. Sounds like a paramilitary group, maybe militia or rebels.”

Bolan nodded. “Exactly.”

The drive to the hotel took less than thirty minutes. Once they checked in, Bolan traded his civilian garb for a class B army uniform. As Bolan emerged from the bedroom bedecked in olive-drab trousers and a light green, short-sleeve shirt adorned with military decorations and the appropriate rank insignia, Grimaldi returned from the restaurant with two cups of coffee and a half-dozen cheese Danishes. Bolan gratefully took the coffee, but shook his head at the pastries.

“Just leaves more for me,” the pilot said.

“Which I’m sure you had planned,” Bolan replied.

Grimaldi nodded with a wink as he stuffed half a Danish in his mouth. Around a mouthful of the food he said, “Don’t you look dapper.”

“I have a meeting first thing this morning with one of the governor’s security advisers.”

“You need me for that?”

Bolan shook his head. “The office is only a few blocks from here. I’ll walk.”

After a few minutes of small talk, Bolan secured his Beretta 93-R in a standard military holster, donned his utility cap and headed outside. The streets were coming alive with morning commuters, but it was still early enough that Bolan didn’t encounter many passersby. It took him ten minutes to reach the government building, and a secretary immediately showed him to the office of the security adviser. Bolan had read the brief on his contact, a native-born Puerto Rican named Alvaro Fonseca, who’d served with the Central American desk of the CIA and as a Foreign Affairs adviser to the U.S. Senate before taking this assignment. Fonseca had a reputation as a no-nonsense type with a dubious background in foreign intelligence. Still, Bolan had every confidence the guy knew his stuff, which was affirmed upon meeting the man, who offered a strong handshake and polite smile.

Fonseca asked his assistant to bring coffee and then took a seat on a comfortable sofa across from one of a couple chairs he offered Bolan.

“I hate meeting with folks behind my desk,” he told the Executioner. “It’s too impersonal.”

“I understand. I know you’re busy so I won’t impose on too much of your time, sir,” Bolan said, easily shifting into his role as a military man accustomed to extending full diplomatic courtesies.

“Are you kidding, Colonel? Hell, you’re doing me a big favor by being here. I’m sure you can understand the governor wants this situation resolved as soon as possible. It’s resulted in a lot of political unrest.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you,” Bolan replied. “What are your thoughts about this attack being politically motivated?”

“I’m not buying it. And frankly, by virtue of the fact you even bothered to ask that question I’m thinking you aren’t, either.”

“Not really.”

Fonseca settled into the sofa by crossing his legs and draping one arm over the backrest. “As I’ve already told the president, I believe this indicates a move by militant members of the Puerto Rican Independence Party calling themselves Los Independientes. The Independents.”

“That’s a serious charge,” Bolan observed. “Especially seeing they’re an officially recognized party of government.”

“True, but not all of their members necessarily speak for the PIP. Please bear in mind this particular faction does not have any official position or support by the party. In fact, the PIP leadership denounces any actions by the Independents, and has further implemented both political and legal sanctions against them. Moreover, the views of this group are diametrically opposed to the New Progressive Party.”

Bolan furrowed an eyebrow. “Afraid I’m not familiar.”

“The New Progressives also support independence for Puerto Rico, but by means of ratification into U.S. statehood rather than adoption of territorial autonomy. If I might be blunt, it surprises me that the Oval Office would choose to respond to this incident by sending a military man rather than a full ambassadorial party.”

Bolan thought fast. “My position is…unique.”

“Really? In what way?”

“My function is actually as military liaison to the Diplomatic Security Service. Because of my particular background, someone thought I’d be of more use than a politician or DSS agent alone.”

“I see,” Fonseca replied, poker-faced. “You are, um, attaché to some sort of special operations group.”

Bolan smiled. “If it allays your concerns as to my qualifications.”

“Fair enough. I won’t press with uncomfortable questions. I’m sure the president’s decision to send you was well thought out, and that’s good enough for me, Colonel. And I can assure you that you’ll have the full cooperation and authority of my office as well as that of the governor’s while you’re in Puerto Rico.”

“Thank you. What else can you tell me about the militant group you suspect was behind this?”

“Well, you’ll recall I mentioned the New Progressive Party, or PNP as they are often referred to. They have their own entourage of violent radicals, whose actions are also fully sanctioned. The PNP has had considerably more success disavowing this group than the PIP has of the Independents, since there’s never been any evidence that ties the PNP cell to any violent actions in Puerto Rico, political or otherwise. Or anywhere in the Western Hemisphere for that matter.”

“Peaceful political extremists?” Bolan frowned. “Doesn’t feel right.”

“It may not be after what happened the other night,” Fonseca replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody’s claimed credit for the attack, yet, but if the Independents do come forward this might very well spurn their enemies into a counterresponse. A violent one. And that won’t be good for either the current political state of Puerto Rico or the upcoming elections.”

“You think the Independents might try to foment the PNPs folks into armed rebellion under some flag of solidarity.”

“The thought had merited my concerns for just such a possibility, and the governor agrees. In either case it’s a threat we cannot afford. We must stop the Independents, guilty or not, before there are any further acts like this.”

He paused for a time, probably to let the Executioner chew on that statement for a bit.

After a time, Fonseca continued, “There’s always been a level of political unrest here, Colonel. Most individuals in the general populace have very personal and impassioned views about what should be done to solidify Puerto Rico’s political sovereignty and economy. If such incidents continue to occur, warring between the Independents and their enemies could well become the least of our problems. It could cause Puerto Ricans to utterly lose faith in our system of government and, quite honestly, result in a full-scale civil war.”

“Thus destabilizing U.S. interests here.”

“Right. That would also give the more conservative elements in Washington ammunition to talk the president into adopting a military solution.”

That idea was unthinkable, although Bolan knew that a civil war in Puerto Rico would leave the Man no choice but to send military forces to restore law and order. The small National Guard presence here would never be enough to tamp down the fervor of an all-out armed conflict between civilians. The circumstances leading to the very founding of America had proven that. Democratic society only worked as long as the people had faith in the system of representative government. The moment they lost that faith, it wasn’t hard to believe they would take matters into their own hands by organizing an opposing force. Civil war in Puerto Rico? America having to intervene with its own protectorate by means of military force? The end results of such a thing would be tragic and horrific.

“I think I’ll start by sending a message to the Independents, letting them know if they are responsible this won’t go unchecked,” Bolan said.

“Fair enough. What do you need from me?”

“A place to deliver it,” the Executioner replied.