Pineapple grenade

Chapter Thirty-Four

One hour later

A ’68 Plymouth rolled through a quiet neighborhood in Little Havana. Modest ranch houses and haciendas. A dog barked, trash cans at the curb for pickup, chain-link, Mexican tiles. The Road Runner continued, only one occupant in the car.

Serge slowly turned onto Southwest Ninth Street (also Brigade 2506 Way) and pulled to a stop in front of a quiet stucco home with the address 1821. He unlatched a gate, walked up the steps, and opened the front door without knocking.

Inside: long rows of bookcases, tables with maps, walls covered in photos and flags. At the rear of the room, a solitary man in a business suit stood with hands clasped behind his back. Reading a plaque.

Serge stepped beside him and stared at the next plaque. “Nice day.”

The man laughed. “Kind of weird meeting in the Bay of Pigs Museum. But from everything I’ve heard about you, actually not. How’d you find this place?”

“It’s on my rounds. And I could count on it to be empty. No respect for history.” He pointed through double glass doors. “See all the color pictures of older men on the side walls in that meeting room? They’re the patriots. The black-and-white photos of younger men behind the podium are the martyrs.”

“Whatever. The whole reason I wanted to meet-”

Serge interrupted by holding up a hand. He looked down at his own tropical shirt and the invasion brigade souvenir pin affixed over the pocket. Then at his contact’s empty lapels. “Where’s your pin?”

The man laughed again. “I know you must recognize me. Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

Serge cleared his throat and tapped the top of a small glass souvenir case. “The pin. It’s our signal.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke about national security.” Serge turned around. “I’ll go back outside, and we’ll start again.”

The man sighed as Serge left the building.

Moments later, the door opened again. Serge crossed the room.

The man tapped his lapel pin. “Happy?”

“Yes.” Serge fiddled with the area over his own pocket. “Now take off your pin before our code signal is detected by enemy agents.”

“We’re in an empty freakin’ house.”

“Ahem…”

“For the love of… Fine, whatever you say.”

The pin came off and went in a pocket.

Serge smiled. “So imagine my surprise when I got your message at Versailles. What on earth could the one and only Malcolm Glide want with me?”

“We’ve been watching you.”

“I’ve seen the black SUVs.”

“You’re good,” said Glide. “And President Guzman trusts you. That’s important.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You may scare other people.” Serge formed a steely glare. “I know you’d like nothing better than for his administration to topple so you and the generals can have the whole sandbox to yourselves again.”

Glide nodded with pursed lips. “I know why you think that. Because that’s exactly how I want it to look.”

Serge’s eyebrows knotted. “What?”

Malcolm gestured at the map table. “Have a seat. What I’m about to tell you has the highest security classification. Not even the FBI. And only the very top of the CIA.”

“Right, and you’re just going to spill it to me.”

“Guzman’s in extreme danger.”

“From you.”

“Like I said, I know how it looks.”

“It looks like you’re a disgrace to our political system. All those smear campaigns, preying on voters’ worst fears.”

“What can I say? I’m the best.” Malcolm sat back with a coy grin. “I know we’re on opposite sides of the philosophical aisle. But I was hoping that would make my proposition seem all the more credible.”

“You mean work with you? Now you’re joking.”

“That right-wing political stuff is just business. It’s also the reason why they came to me.”

“Who did?”

Malcolm shook his head. “Can’t reveal that. But they said it was the perfect cover. You know about the arms shipments?”

“Yeah, you’re ripping off the American people and destabilizing the legitimate democracy of one of our neighbors. You should go to jail for life.”

Malcolm leaned forward and folded his hands. “Have you ever asked yourself why none of the weapons ever leave Miami?”

“You’re in cahoots with Evangelista ripping off your partners in crime?”

“Serge, the arms can’t leave Miami. That would be destabilizing. Meanwhile, I’ve gained the trust of the generals and Evangelista in a way no covert agent ever could.”

Serge formed a sarcastic mouth. “They came to you because you’re a prick?”

“Precisely. We’re building an airtight case. Bank transfers, taped conversations, everything.”

Now Serge leaned forward. “Okay, purely for sporting value, what’s this proposition? But realize that if I get half the chance, I’ll use it against you and nail your ass.”

“Fair enough.” Malcolm nodded again. “The case is coming together like planned. Except things have started moving too fast in Costa Gorda. Guzman’s pushing through all these reforms. I told him it was crazy. Just wait and be patient, and he’ll get everything he wants. Right after our case…”

Serge’s eyebrows went up. “You talked to Guzman?”

Malcolm nodded harder. “He knows everything I’m doing. And he’s got the generals shitting themselves.”

“So where do I come in?”

“The summit. The best time for a coup is when the president is out of the country. And after that idiot Scooter killed himself, the generals moved up the schedule. They already tried to hit him at the Diplomats’ Ball.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. I sent in a capture team for you,” said Glide. “But lucky for us-and Guzman-we didn’t succeed. That was some nice work of yours taking out the asset.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“In any case, what you did at the ball changed my mind about you,” said Malcolm. “And I need your help.”

“What for?”

“They’re going to make another attempt at the big summit finale at Bayfront.”

“Know who they’re using?”

“Evangelista.”

“That’s the smart move,” said Serge. “He must have contacts with all the top freelancers.”

“We think the hitter he hired is already in town, but his whereabouts…”

“So why don’t you pull Guzman out of the summit?”

“Won’t budge. Says his nation’s enemies will win.”

“I like him more and more.”

“Then help your country,” said Glide. “Make sure they don’t succeed.”

“But if you and everyone else can’t find the shooter, how can I?”

“It may come to more drastic measures,” said Glide. “These things go down to the last hour, even minute.”

“Cut the head off?” said Serge.

“And the mission collapses.” Malcolm sat back and folded his arms.

“You’re actually serious,” said Serge. “You want me to do Evangelista?”

“Only as a last resort. Right now he’s too valuable. We’ve never gotten so deep inside the Latin American arms network. All his houses and mobile phones are tapped, even his yacht and the car that got blown up. Can’t tell you how hard it was to wire the second Ferrari.”

“One question: Why me?”

“Because of your particular skill set. I’ve gone over your police record.” He pulled a packet of folded paper from his jacket. “Did you really kill all these people?”

Serge grinned like a schoolboy. “We may have had words.”

Malcolm flicked his wrist. “I don’t want to know. They all look like regular crimes, and the odds are astronomical that you’ve never been caught. So the only answer is you had clearance-and protection. Plus the trail is so insane and random. Only a completely organized mind with ten million dollars of government training could have meticulously planned every last detail of a madman’s profile…”

“But I really am insane.”

“And that’s exactly what you’d be ordered to say. You have discipline, deny everything.” Malcolm returned the document to his jacket. “But we went over your record ten times. Never seen an operative so thorough. No trail to the government whatsoever.”

“And?…”

Malcolm paused and stared earnestly into Serge’s eyes. “If things go south, you’re expendable. The perfect patsy.”

Serge smiled for the first time. “I knew that was the answer before I asked the question. And you were honest about it, so we’re halfway to trust.”

Malcolm stood abruptly. “Great. Glad to have you on board.”

“I said half way.”

“Realize that,” said Glide. “We wouldn’t want you if you just went by what I’ve said here today. When we meet again, I’ll provide solid proof.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“You pick again. I’m sure I’ll get a laugh.”

Serge picked.

Malcolm laughed. “I was right. Tomorrow at one?”

“Thirteen hundred.” Serge pressed a sequence of buttons on his wrist. “I’m resetting my watch to military time. You should, too.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re within a day of the strike. I learned it from the TV show 24.” He clicked a last button. “We’re now on Serge time.”