“What are you doing, mi bella?” Oswaldo laughed to himself as Jessica dug her knee into his back.
The Rykers both glared at the object—not a gun but a satellite phone.
“A phone?” Jessica said.
“Call Parker,” Oswaldo groaned. “That’s what I want.”
“You want me to . . . call Landon Parker?” Judd’s heart was still pounding as Jessica released Guerrero from her clutches.
“Of course. When you needed money a few hours ago”—Guerrero stood up and brushed off his pants—“you called him.” He snatched the phone off the floor. “You called him with this phone. And then”—Oswaldo winked at Jessica and flashed his gold-toothed smile—“this angel flew from the clouds onto my ship with ten million dollars in cash. Do it again.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy to just . . . reach him,” Judd said, shaking his head.
“Yes. It is. This is a magic phone,” Oswaldo said with a shrug. He pushed redial. “I’m calling Landon Parker. As you did.” Oswaldo pressed his ear to the speaker. “It’s ringing.”
Judd and Jessica exchanged glances of surprise as the phone in Jessica’s pocket erupted in song.
Oswaldo Guerrero glared at Jessica, then down at her ringing pocket, then at his phone. His expression turned to a snarl. “What kind of yanqui trick is this?”
76.
MORRO CASTLE, HAVANA, CUBA
FRIDAY, 11:52 P.M.
The abrupt light broke the darkness. The clang of the cell door jolted the men awake.
“Mueve se!” a guard shouted, poking the end of his gun into Dennis Dobson’s ribs. “Move it!”
Deuce groaned and held his shoulder, still pulsing with pain from where the Cuban navy doctor had removed the bullet.
Crawford Jackson scampered to his feet and stepped between them. “Hey, man! What are you doing?”
“Silencio!” The guard shoved Crawford away and waved his weapon menacingly at the others.
“Easy . . . Easy . . .” Brinkley Barrymore III held up his hands. “No problema . . . No problema, se?or.”
“What do you hijos de puta want now?” Alejandro Cabrera growled.
“Al, please,” Brinkley pleaded. “Not helpful.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Al said, standing up to full height and leering at the guard.
“Mueve se!” the guard scowled, pointing his gun at Alejandro. “Let’s go, yanqui spies! Move it! Mueve se!”
“They think we’re spies, Brink!” Dennis cried as Crawford helped his friend to his feet.
“Dónde vamos, se?or?” Brinkley asked.
“Silencio!” the guard snapped, and rammed the butt of his gun into Brinkley’s gut. The lawyer doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, coughing and spitting.
“Puta!” Alejandro snarled, and rushed the guard.
Within seconds, more guards flooded the cell and wrestled all four men to the floor. The Americans’ hands were all tied behind their backs and they were wrenched back to their feet. Each was blindfolded and then they were led roughly out of the cell in single file.
“Where’re they taking us, Brink?” Dennis begged blindly. “Where?”
“Shut up, Deuce,” Alejandro quipped. “They took our brave brothers to the firing squad. Go with honor.”
“What?” Dennis shrieked. “What firing squad?”
“Silencio!” a guard ordered as he punched Alejandro in the kidneys.
“Be strong. It’s gonna be all right,” Crawford whispered.
“We aren’t spies!” Dennis wailed. “Tell them, Brink! Tell them!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Alejandro barked.
“They’re just messing with us, Brink?” Dennis wept. “Are they gonna kill us, Brink? Or is this a trick? We’re gonna be okay, right?”
“I don’t know, Dennis,” Brinkley said as they were shoved out the door, forced to walk deeper into the darkness. “I just don’t know.”
77.
OFFSHORE EASTERN CUBA
FRIDAY, 11:55 P.M.
Is this another dirty yanqui trick?” Oswaldo’s body shuddered with anger.
“No tricks, Oswaldo.” Judd held up his hands.
Guerrero bent over and pulled a Makarov pistol from an ankle holster.
“What are you doing?” Judd gasped.
“Don’t give me more of your American bullshit,” Oswaldo spat, flashing the Soviet-era handgun. “You never called Landon Parker, you called . . . her!” Oswaldo pointed the Makarov straight at Jessica’s head.
“Oswaldo!” Judd stepped in front of Jessica. “Listen to me. You’re drunk. We have a deal. A good deal. For you and for Cuba. You don’t want to do this.”
“You lied,” he hissed. “Just like all the others before you. Stinking yanqui liar.”
“You’re right. I never called Parker. But your money is here. Your money was delivered as we agreed. We still have a deal, Oswaldo.”
“Twenty-five million was our deal, not ten! You think I’m a fool? You think Cuba will fall again for your tricks? You think false promises with a few beers can outsmart me? There’s a reason your CIA calls me El Diablo. Our deal is dead.”
Oswaldo aimed the pistol directly at Judd’s chest.
“You are both . . . dead.”
78.
GEORGE WASHINGTON MEMORIAL PARKWAY, McLEAN, VIRGINIA