Diplomacy Directive

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.

CHAPTER FOUR

The tail initiated when Bolan and La Costa were no more than a mile outside Veda’s estate and maintained a discreet distance on the return trip to San Juan. As Bolan swung into the small drive and stopped beneath the overhang in front of the hotel, the other vehicle edged to the curb about half a block back. It was still early afternoon, so traffic didn’t clog the thoroughfare, and a minute adjustment to the side mirror earlier afforded the soldier a direct line of sight.

“Are they still there?” La Costa asked, tension in her voice.

“Yeah.” Bolan unbuckled his seat belt. “Stay here.”

“But—”

“No buts, stay here.”

Bolan left the car, walked around the front of the vehicle and pushed through the revolving door that led into the hotel foyer. He walked straight to the courtesy phone and dialed his room. Jack Grimaldi answered on the first ring.

“It’s me,” Bolan said. “I’ve picked up watchers.”

“Friendly?” Grimaldi asked, voice immediately alert.

“Not sure yet,” Bolan said. “I need to know their real interest. They’re in a late-model, silver Toyota. I’ve also picked up a reporter named La Costa. I need you to come down here, go straight out front where her car’s parked. Blue Toyota. Get behind the wheel and drive away. Keys are in the ignition.”

“Where to?”

Bolan thought on it a moment. “Airport. When you get there, requisition us a light chopper. Where’s your rental?”

“Hotel garage, ground floor. White Ford Escape. Keys are under the front wheel well in a magnetized case. What’s your angle?”

“If they follow you, they’re after La Costa. If they don’t, then their only interest is in me. Either way, any contact will be on my terms.”

“Understood.”

“Out here.”

The soldier dropped the phone in the cradle, already formulating a plan of action as he went out the back door of the hotel to the open-air, two-story parking garage. He went straight to the SUV, retrieved the key, got behind the wheel and left the garage. Bolan checked his watch, confident in the timing, and swung in behind the enemy’s sedan just as Grimaldi pulled from the curb. The enemy’s sedan left the curb to enter the flow of traffic. Bolan saw his opportunity and pulled out behind it; obviously, their interest lay in La Costa, and the soldier felt a bit of responsibility for her since she’d agreed to take him to Veda.

Bolan waited until their vehicle had entered the thoroughfare before driving the nose of his SUV into the rear of the fender at the seam of the driver’s door.

The jolt caught the wheelman off guard, the surprise evident on his face even as Bolan backed up a foot, then went EVA with Beretta in fist and leveled the pistol at the driver’s head. He’d hit that target with a very specific purpose in mind. He’d damaged the sedan in such a way that the door would jam against the fender if the man attempted to open it. The pair were effectively trapped since the passenger’s door would not open as it was now wedged against the rear bumper of the car behind, which they had parked.

“Stay right there, hands clear!” Bolan ordered.

The two men complied and Bolan quickly sized them up. Both Hispanic males, about equal in physical size, clean-shaved and with hard expressions that spoke of experience combined with training. If he hadn’t known better, Bolan would have sworn he was looking at a couple of federal agents—maybe FBI or U.S. Marshals—given the way they carried themselves. Well, at least they weren’t extremists, because if they had been Bolan knew his warnings would have gone unheeded. No, these weren’t fanatics; they had too much of a sense of self-preservation to try anything while he had them at gunpoint.

Bolan ignored the honking of angry motorists who had to maneuver around the crash site. He kept his eyes on the pair, watchful for movement while he occasionally scanned the area surrounding them for any sort of backup. Convinced they were operating alone, Bolan approached the driver’s door until the muzzle of the Beretta came within a few yards of the man’s head but still afforded Bolan a clear field of fire in the passenger’s direction.

“Which of you boys would like to explain?” Bolan said.

“We mean you no harm,” the driver replied.

“Could have fooled me. I saw you the moment you picked up my tail. You obviously aren’t interested in me, so that means you’re after the woman. I want to know why.”

“We work for the Internal Security office,” the passenger protested.

“Fonseca sent you?”

He nodded. “We’re just following orders, Colonel.”

Bolan gestured toward the driver. “Show me ID. Slowly.”

The man reached into his jacket pocket. If these guys were legit—and Bolan had the sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t have made up such a ridiculous story on the fly—neither of them would try drawing down on him. The driver held his ID card out the window for inspection. Bolan took it from him, perused it for any hint of forgery, then flipped the holder back through the window, satisfied it was the real thing.

Bolan holstered his pistol. “What’s Fonseca’s interest in the woman?”

“She’s been consorting with known political criminals,” the passenger answered.

Bolan frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“What way would you put it?”

“That you should drop it,” Bolan replied with a hard edge to his voice.

“Mr. Fonseca—”

“Is out of line sending you to tail her. I’m here operating under the authority of Governor Hernandez. You go back and tell your boss I said to remind him of that. And no more covert ops against the woman.”

“We got orders.”

“Like I said, drop it.”

Bolan didn’t wait for any further arguments. He returned to the SUV, reversed easily from his contact with the sedan and swung into traffic. He checked the side mirror once and caught the pair of stony faces watching him go, glanced again in the rearview to make sure they didn’t follow him and then pointed his vehicle in the direction of the airport. He turned on the wipers as an early-evening rain had begun to fall while the sun dipped toward the horizon.

Something didn’t make sense here. Why would Fonseca tell Bolan about Veda and the Independents and then put a pair of his men on La Costa’s tail when he knew his tip would have to lead Bolan right to her? The soldier didn’t believe for a second that Fonseca didn’t foresee his information would lead the Executioner straight into a hornet’s nest. For one, he could hardly have called Fonseca’s intelligence leads solid. If he knew about Veda already, why not just send Bolan straight to the source? Moreover, why wouldn’t he mention someone like La Costa as a potential lead? No, Bolan was beginning to see a lot more at work here than met the eye.

From this point on, he knew he couldn’t afford to take anything in Puerto Rico at face value. It wouldn’t have been the first time the corruption went deep within the halls of political power. Bolan’s instinct told him somewhere along the way something, or someone, had gone awry inside Governor Hernandez’s political circle. Maybe the tale Veda had spun for him about the disinformation campaign within the present governing body wasn’t such a preposterous idea after all. Well, one way or another he’d get to the bottom of it.

And then Mack Bolan would deal with it in his own unique way.

“ANY IDEA WHY the governor’s security advisor would have an interest in you?” Bolan asked La Costa as the pair stood on the tarmac at Marín International.

“No.”

“Those the cats who were following us?” Grimaldi asked.

Bolan nodded to his friend and then pinned La Costa with a searching gaze. “If there’s something you know and you haven’t told me, it’s time to come clean.”

La Costa’s expression hardened. “I’ve told you everything I know. Okay? I told you about the Independents, I took you to see Veda and I’ve even risked my job, since I’ve been out carousing with you and I’m three hours overdue at the studio. I don’t know what the hell else you want from me.”

“Nothing, not a thing. I appreciate all your help, as does your country.” Bolan handed her a card. “In fact, if you get any trouble with your employer, just tell them to call that number and ask for Hal.”

La Costa stared at it a moment and then looked up. “The U.S. Justice Department?”

Bolan shrugged. “I have a few friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Now I have a plane to catch.”

Grimaldi took the cue and climbed into the requisitioned civilian version of the OH-58 Kiowa on which he’d done a preflight while waiting for the Executioner.

Bolan put out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, La Costa. Good luck with your story.”

“What?” La Costa looked at his hand and blinked. “You mean that’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“I mean, that’s just it?”

“What were you expecting?” Bolan asked.

“Something,” she replied. “Maybe some solid leads on my story, an exclusive…something!”

“Listen, La Costa, if Veda is right about someone high up in the government being dirty, and that same someone’s on to you, that makes you a liability to my mission. I appreciate your help, but I didn’t promise you anything and I don’t have time to be yanking your butt out of harm’s way at every turn.”

Yeah, that was for sure. The numbers were running down, Bolan knew it, and he didn’t have time to explain it to La Costa in detail. He couldn’t allow her to get in any deeper.

“I’m sorry if I’ve somehow affected your sensibilities of fair play,” Bolan told her, “but time is a resource luxury I don’t have. And every minute we stand here arguing could turn into a cost in more human lives. Understand?”

La Costa stared him in the eyes a moment, then nodded. “Oh…yeah. I understand perfectly, Colonel.”

She whirled on her heel and stomped toward her car. Bolan watched her a moment, then turned and boarded the helicopter. He pushed thoughts of the reporter from his mind. He really did feel a twinge of remorse because while he hadn’t made a direct promise, he had implied a potential reward for her cooperation. Now he was taking to the skies and telling her she couldn’t go along like an older brother telling the younger sibling she couldn’t hang out with him.

By the time Bolan dropped into the copilot’s seat and Grimaldi had the helicopter moving, La Costa’s vehicle was nowhere to be seen. He donned the headset so he could communicate with the pilot.

“Whoa, Sarge,” Grimaldi said immediately. “She did not look happy.”

“She wasn’t,” Bolan said.

“Didn’t like the travel arrangements, eh?”

“No.”

“Well, Hal called while I was in preflight. Needs you to contact him ASAP.”

Bolan nodded as he turned the receiver channel on his headset to the frequency that interfaced with a secure, onboard communication satellite uplink. He could only hope that Fonseca’s goons would carry the message back to their boss and lay off the woman reporter. Deep down, his gut told him they would. It was the same gut feeling that told him that somehow he had neither seen nor heard the last of Guadalupe La Costa.

BY THE TIME La Costa arrived at the AP offices, Julio Parmahel had already packed the van and departed.

La Costa could see by the stern look on her producer’s face, visible through the blinds spanning the office windows, that she’d really blown it this time. Well, who the hell gave a damn? She felt betrayed by the man she knew only as Colonel Stone and just rebellious enough that if her producer confronted her she’d likely lose her job for telling him exactly where he could shove his disapproval.

Fortunately, she managed to get to her desk, retrieve a bag from the bottom drawer where she kept a spare change of clothes and a toiletry bag, and beat feet out of the office before the man saw her. La Costa knew exactly where to find Parmahel as he’d probably gone with a sub—or by himself—to cover a small, red-carpet political fund-raiser. It took only one time circling the block before she spotted the van. To no surprise, she found her friend and colleague slumped with his head against the window and snoring loud enough for it to be audible outside the news van. She found more amusement in the fact he’d been sleeping long enough to fog part of the driver’s window he used as a pillow.

La Costa rapped her knuckles on the van and startled Parmahel awake. He immediately rolled down the window when he recognized her.

“Well, where in the hell have you been?” he asked. He looked at his watch as he smacked his lips, his mouth dry from his nap. “You realize we were supposed to be on a segment almost half an hour ago?”

“Screw the segment,” La Costa said through clenched teeth. “We got a much bigger story.”