Читать книгу Diplomacy Directive - Don Pendleton - Страница 9

Despite Guadalupe La Costa’s reservations, Mack Bolan eventually convinced her to take him to the leader of the Independents.

Something made him admire this young, spirited reporter. She didn’t take any sass and gave out plenty, and she seemed genuinely concerned about reporting the truth no matter how brutal it might seem. Bolan could admire that kind of gutsy determination and devotion to duty; he understood those traits because they were so much a part of what made up his own identity. He related to La Costa and in large part that contributed to her attractiveness.

“The Independents are led by a man named Miguel Veda,” La Costa told him as Bolan drove them to the man’s seaside home northwest of San Juan.

It seemed Veda lived off the coast. Although he had other business interests to the degree that his political interests seemed more entrepreneurial—or those of a raving lunatic who really cared little about the future of Puerto Rico—La Costa’s description of Veda’s estate left Bolan with the impression business was good. When they finally arrived at the place, about a thirty-minute drive from the hotel, the big American’s assessment was confirmed.

Two uniformed security men checked their credentials and La Costa’s vehicle, including looking in the trunk and running a mirror the length of the undercarriage, before an escort team in a golf cart led them up the driveway. More armed security ushered them into the house. They were shown to a spacious office and library. Most of the furniture looked early twentieth century, although some peculiar-looking pieces were interspersed among the predominant decor. Everything here looked as if it had been chosen with regard to functionality, with very little gaudiness apparent. Everything had to serve some practical purpose; Veda obviously didn’t buy anything for its artistic value.

“You’re damned right he doesn’t,” La Costa replied in agreement when Bolan verbalized the sentiment. “Miguel’s the kind of man who doesn’t feel he should squander his hard-earned money on overpriced trinkets while his people are starving.”

“Miguel,” Bolan echoed. “You’re on a first-name basis?”

La Costa looked abashed. “Have been. He gave me my first big break down here. It’s not easy being both a woman and a minority in the press, even today. Especially working in Puerto Rico, where the male ego is fragile enough that machismo is still a mainstay of the culture.”

“I’d think something like that would prove a real turnoff for someone as strong-willed as you.”

La Costa smiled and winked. “You have no idea.”

A set of double doors on the far side of the office, opposite from where they had been shown in, swung open and cut short their dialogue. The man who stepped into the room walked slowly with a visible limp. From what little La Costa had told him about Veda’s activities, Bolan didn’t figure that the man could have been a day over fifty, but this man looked twice that age. Unkempt white hair grew in tufts along the sides of his head and yet curled oddly into neatly trimmed sideburns that ended midear level. Liver spots were visible on his exposed arms and the once-dark skin had taken on an odd, yellowish tint when the light hit it a certain way. His face possessed a gaunt quality, but still had more health and glow than the rest of his body appeared to have, which was a bit of a surprise to Bolan.

Two muscular men wearing pistols in shoulder holsters followed Veda and took up positions where they could react quickly should any threat present itself.

“Lupe,” Veda cried, shuffling over to her and bending to accept a kiss on the cheek.

Veda turned to Bolan, then extended his hand.

Bolan felt as if he were shaking the limb of a skeleton. “I’m—”

“Colonel Stone, U.S. Army,” Veda finished. “Yes, Colonel, I knew of your arrival practically from the moment you stepped foot in Puerto Rico.”

Bolan held an impassive expression. “You seem well-informed.”

Veda chuckled as he sat behind his desk. “It’s a job requirement in my business.”

“Which is?”

“Come now, Colonel, there’s no need to be coy,” Veda said pleasantly. “I know who you are, so it stands to reason I would know why you’re here.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because of the incident the other night at the rally.”

Bolan nodded in way of prompting him to go on.

“I’m sure that Governor Hernandez’s advisors are telling him that either the Independents or our contenders are to blame,” Veda continued, “but I can assure you that such allegations are entirely false.”

“Really,” Bolan interjected. “Why?”

“Because despite whatever rumors you might have heard to the contrary, we are not violent militants. In fact, I do not believe in violence as means to an end, whether for political purposes or otherwise. I believe in peaceful resolution to conflict.”

“You can’t ever hope your views will be recognized through standard political channels while your group is sanctioned.”

“On the contrary, it is because we are under sanctions that is at the very heart of these matters. You see, Colonel, supporters for the idea of statehood for Puerto Rico have dwindled over recent years for a good number of reasons, the instability of the economy and devaluation of the U.S. dollar not the least of them. This has caused significant increased support for our cause. The current party in power knows that, just as they know that their own influence falters.”

“So if you know that they’re touting propaganda about your efforts and the Independents, why not set the record straight through peaceful means?”

Veda laughed outright this time. “We do, Colonel Stone, we do! And that’s why I can promise you that we had nothing to do with this. Someone is out to destabilize Puerto Rico because it is a commonwealth and protectorate of the United States.”

“And?”

“What sense does it make for a group like ours to conduct violent acts against the established government, when by their nature those same acts would topple our wish to be independent and promulgate further interference by the United States? In fact, I surmise such acts would force the president to invoke emergency powers by military means. Your presence here is proof enough of that. Is it not?”

Veda gave pause there, probably so Bolan had some time to absorb it.

The soldier locked gazes with Veda. He’d learned long ago how to spot deception in people. What he saw now made him wonder if Veda was one of the biggest liars alive or if he actually spoke the truth. Bolan decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, play a card and see what happened.

“I never really bought the whole political motive from the start,” Bolan ventured.

“And well you shouldn’t, Colonel.”

Bolan didn’t miss a beat. “But what I haven’t heard you do is offer any hard evidence your people aren’t behind the attack.”

“From where I stand, I can offer no such proof,” Veda conceded. “Only my word. And assurances that those you encountered earlier today are not members of the Independents.”

“How did you know about that?” La Costa asked.

Veda’s expression softened and he offered La Costa an ingratiating smile. “My dear, you know I have eyes and ears everywhere in Puerto Rico. Why should this surprise you?”

La Costa didn’t have an answer for him.

Veda turned to Bolan. “Colonel, when I first heard of your arrival I wasn’t the least bit inclined to cooperate with you. But now that we’ve spoken and I’ve seen you’re only interested in getting to the truth, I offer you every resource at my disposal.”

“I appreciate that,” Bolan said warily. “But I think you’ll understand if I decline your offer for the moment.”

“I understand. You must maintain some air of neutrality. But consider the offer standing for the duration of your time here.”

Bolan nodded. “Thanks.”

“As to other places to look, might I suggest you start within the very place this thing started?”

“The governor’s office?”

“You sound surprised,” Veda said. “Is it so hard to believe? Who else stands to suffer considerable losses if political parties pressing for an independent Puerto Rico gain popularity? The idea of becoming a country of our own is known in many circles as progress. But I and my colleagues wish to do this peacefully and legally. We still lack resources and the support of the strongest backers, those with the money and political clout, primarily due to the current government’s disinformation campaign against any group preaching independence be it by nationalism, secession or otherwise.”

“You’re proposing the government’s in bed with terrorists,” Bolan said evenly.

“I’m proposing that someone inside Governor Hernandez’s office is in bed with terrorists,” Veda countered.

Bolan grasped the tight, aching muscles on the back of his neck and considered Veda’s proposal. In other circumstances it would have sounded utterly preposterous, but in this case he could see its feasibility. Whoever hit the rally, and Bolan was fairly convinced he could rule out anyone working for Veda at the moment, would have given an insider exactly the leverage they needed to point the finger at the Independents or another group like it, not to mention all the political ammo they needed to take the attention off themselves. That left just motive and Bolan could think of only one.

If terrorists could get Puerto Rico out from under American control, it would provide them not only with a significant financial resource, but would also establish a strategic stronghold and base of operations from which to launch strikes against the continental U.S. and her allies. It was unthinkable, but not implausible.

“Let’s suppose your theory has some merit,” Bolan finally said. “Where would I start looking? I can’t very well start poking my nose into the affairs of the Puerto Rican government’s office without raising eyebrows. I’d be demoted and transferred to some remote post for the duration of my career.”

“Having once been a soldier myself, I can empathize with the predicament such actions might cause you, Colonel. So in good faith, I would like to suggest that you look in Las Mareas.”

Bolan looked askance at La Costa.

“On the other side of the island,” she offered.

The soldier returned his attention to Veda. “That’s all?”

“It is, I am afraid, all that I can offer you,” Veda replied. “To say any more would violate the…ah, air of neutrality we spoke of. Now if you don’t mind, I have a tremendous amount of work here that demands my attention.”

Veda looked to the two guards, who took a couple of steps forward. Bolan knew the conversation was over, so he nodded at La Costa and the pair rose.

As they turned to leave, Veda said, “My men will conduct you safely back to your vehicle and off the premises.”

“We can manage,” Bolan said.

“It’s our pleasure,” Veda replied in a nonnegotiable tone.

When they were off Veda’s estate and on their way back to the hotel, Bolan said, “Well, he told us something but nothing.”

La Costa smiled. “That’s Miguel. Do you trust him now?”

“No.” Bolan glanced at her. “But I’m not sure why. Not yet.”

“Well, I tried,” La Costa said. “I’ll admit he was acting a bit strange.”

“He’s sick, isn’t he?”

La Costa nodded. “Very. Pancreatic and liver cancer. The doctors have given him less than a year. So was it something he said, maybe, that makes you mistrustful of him?”

Bolan shook his head. “Instinct.”

“That’s all?”

“That…and the fact there’s someone following us,” Bolan replied as he scanned the rearview mirror.

AS SOON AS THE VISITORS departed, Miguel Veda considered his options. He hadn’t wished to tell the American as much as he had, but he also knew if he’d refused to cooperate that Stone would hound his every waking moment. He didn’t need those kinds of distractions. Not now. Not when the time was coming so close to his plan. His final plan. The plan that would bring independence to Puerto Rico, make her a free nation.

Not that he stood much chance to see that day. The cancer had eaten at his internal organs so rapidly that even the best physicians on the island couldn’t offer much hope. By the time they detected it, he’d already advanced to late-stage sarcoma that had metastasized to most of his abdominal organs. He’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to fly in some of the greatest oncologists in the world, but even they could offer little comfort. None of that really mattered now, however. The only thing that mattered was going through with his plans.

Veda felt sick having to lie to La Costa. He didn’t really give a damn for the man named Stone or his precious American government. America. Why the very word was like a monosyllabic curse that left the same foul aftertaste as if he’d imbibed sewer water. But La Costa had been straight with Veda from the beginning, and he couldn’t imagine what she would say—even what she would do for that matter—if she uncovered his deceptions. Well, best to put it from his mind. He had an important call to make.

Veda ensured none of his staff were within eavesdropping range and then secured the doors to his office. He returned to his desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. A gruff voice on the other end answered with a “Yeah” on the third ring. Veda identified himself and a few minutes ticked by before another voice came on the line.

Veda recognized the smooth, cultured tones of Siraj Razzaq. Still, they had to exchange their code words for the day. Veda felt foolish playing these silly games of secrecy, yet he knew the importance of pleasing Razzaq.

“What have you to report?” the terrorist leader asked.

“Well, you already know the attack in the square was successful,” Veda replied. “But I think someone may be onto our plans.”

“Who?”

“A U.S. Army colonel by the name of Stone. He’s been to the governor’s office, and he’s engaged some of my men firsthand.”

“You mean my men,” Razzaq interjected. “The Americans have a saying—‘don’t forget where your bread is buttered.’”

Veda considered a flippant reply at first, but bit it back in afterthought. It hadn’t been easy making alliances with a member of a cell within the New Revolutionary Justice Organization. He hadn’t lied when telling La Costa and Stone he abhorred violence as a means to gain a political end, but the cancer eating away at his body had transformed Veda’s optimism into pragmatism. The fact the NRJO stood to benefit significantly from this unholy alliance was too obvious to even bear mentioning, but it had come to the point that Veda saw this as the only way to get things done. Once he’d left this life, he didn’t think any of his subordinates would be able to hold things together for long. There would be infighting after his death, followed by a complete breakdown in order. Ultimately, that would lead to dissolution of the Independents. Veda saw the NRJO and its offer as the only remaining option.

It wasn’t a decision he’d come to lightly, and it had proved most difficult because he had to maintain a business-as-usual air around his people. They could never know about this alliance. Never.

“As you prefer,” Veda finally said. “My point is that this new development stands to create a complication for both of us.”

“I’ve just received word that one of our subposts near the city did not check in at their appointed time.”

“Yes, I was led to believe he had a violent encounter with one of your small-ops units.”

“And how did he connect them back to you?”

“I’m not sure,” Veda lied. Thus far, he’d managed to keep La Costa’s existence under wraps and he intended to keep it that way.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing, of course, other than that I do not believe in using violence to gain political advantage.”

Razzaq produced an almost scoffing laugh. “Yes, that tired old story. However, I do know it is a conviction you’re passionate about. That should have been convincing enough for him. What do you think he will do next?”

“I know exactly what he’ll do.” Veda paused, savoring the moment. “I sent him to Las Mareas. I’m sure he’ll travel there by vehicle. That will give you time to implement a reactionary plan and take him down before he gets there.”

Razzaq didn’t say anything for some time. Then, “That should do nicely. Yes, my friend, well done.”

Veda felt sickened by the mere intimation he could be friends with a man like Razzaq. “I figured whether you send someone to intercept or simply order your people there to await his arrival, which I believe will be imminent, you should have no trouble eliminating him.”

“And what of the rest of our plan? Are your preparations nearing completion?”

“I should need a few more days, at most, which is still well ahead of your timetable.”

“That is good news. Very good news, indeed.”

Veda considered not even bringing up the last thing, but he felt there wouldn’t be a more opportune time, particularly since he had Razzaq in good spirits.

“You are still committed to our agreement, yes?”

“You refer to your longevity.”

“You know I am.”

“No need to go on the defense, my friend. I may not have the most endearing virtues, but one of them is that I’m a man of my word. Your personal affairs will be addressed when the time comes.”

“I would hope so. And now if you’ll excuse me I have other matters that need my attention. I will be in touch when all is readied.”

Veda hung up without waiting for Razzaq to say goodbye, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. They burned and itched, partly from exhaustion and partly from the pain medication. He checked his watch and realized the time had come to take what he’d christened his “comfort cocktail.” He reached into his desk drawer to remove the pill bottles. He poured a glass of water from the crystal set on a nearby tray, then dutifully swallowed the three-pill combination that enabled him to function.

What Veda appreciated more about the medication was it masked some of the internal feelings, not those derived from the disease ravaging his organs, but the more foul aspirations of his soul. To have allied himself with the NRJO went against nearly everything he’d fought for these many years. This only served to remind him just how desperate he’d become to see it through. One day his countrymen would curse him, but he saw a bright future—one beyond the boundaries of the short-term—where a united and independent Puerto Rico would one day immortalize his name.