Cigarettes for Two: A Lee Thomas Novel (Spy Dreams Book 3) Page 13

  I thought about leaving my weapons, I was only carrying two firearms and a couple of knives on my person, in the car when I entered the church, but I decided against it. Usually I would not have gone armed into a place of worship. This time however my paranoia was rampant. I had just had a meeting with the target of our operation, a meeting that had not been pleasant. I had threatened at least grievous bodily harm to members of Robertson’s organization if they screwed with me again. If the idiot had moved he probably would have been shot. The stupidly setup up arrest had raised my hackles.

  Robertson was a man that was almost a rabid animal who might decide that I had not shown him proper respect, but they had to think that I was crazier and more dangerous than any of them. Crazier than them? Perhaps I was crazier in a cold and calculating way. The difference was that I was highly trained, properly motivated and now really pissed. They now figured that I was at least as dangerous as anyone they had ever met and probably much more dangerous than they wanted to think. People tend to think of you as one type only. In their minds you are a smuggler therefore you are probably not a stone cold killer. Stone cold? Maybe not, but I was capable of killing. Actually meeting these people just reinforced my intention of never being unarmed during this operation. Even with Jacob and others watching my back I could not relax. My paranoia was working overtime and I looked in every direction to make sure no one was following me. I had been careful when I left the meet. Tradecraft was second nature to me and probably had been since before I took my current job. When you grow up a spy novel fan that tends to get carried away, you become the characters, at least to a small degree. General Fleming had taken that core and ground it down into a blade, a thin sharp blade. The honing process was still underway but it was getting there. For now they thought I was crazy enough to tread lightly around me. Being the tiger in the room brings with it a certain security. They were dangerous and crazy. I was dangerous, well trained and capable of being just as crazy as anyone they had ever met. The difference was that my crazy was cold and calculating.

  Watching all around me without being obvious about it I walked up to the door of the church. The inside was dim, not dark, just lit only by late afternoon light coming in through stained glass windows. I paused at the entrance and then walked in. Walking to the left side of the building I walked just over halfway up the outside aisle and sat down along the outside aisle. Sitting slightly sideways I could see the door without much movement of my head. On the other side of the building I saw movement in a curtain. A moment later an older lady exited the confessional and walked to the back of the church. Pausing to light a candle she crossed herself and then left, seeming to never have noticed me. The priest exited the other side of the confessional box just after the woman had left. He noticed me and walked over. He was smiling but I could tell by the way he moved that he was ready for trouble. There are a lot of neighborhoods in South Florida where trouble is a constant companion. Unfortunately some of those are not what most people would consider bad neighborhoods.

  “Can I help you son?”

  “No Father I just needed to come in here and sit for a while.” I smiled at him warmly as I spoke. His graying hair was cut Ranger close and he had that aura of been there, done that and didn’t want the damn t-shirt. What ever else he was he had been in the dark and dangerous places. You learn to recognize the other wolves from the pack. Well, maybe we’re not the wolves but those first generation domesticated wolves, still dangerous as hell but more discriminating in our targets. He looked Hispanic but had little accent.

  “You are not bringing trouble into my church are you?” He was smiling as he said this so I knew he did not think so. He was trying to gauge my mental state.

  “I would never do that if I had any choice. I just needed some contemplation time and your church was on my way. Sometimes the things we have to do in life get us down.” Truer words I had probably never spoken. When you deal with the lowest form of humans you sometimes get depressed.

  “You are not a criminal type. In this part of the world you learn to recognize those in a hurry. No, you are one of the good guys, maybe military.” He paused a long moment before he continued, “No, not really military, not usually. I was a Marine chaplain in Viet Nam and did a combat tour as a Marine Corporal before that. We could always tell who the spooks trying to look military were. The uniforms never looked right. The uniforms were right just, I guess worn with no conviction or something. On you the uniform probably does look just fine.” I took that as a great compliment. He was good at judging people. Of course in his current line of work that was a good thing.

  “Well, I know a Force Recon Marine from Tennessee who would agree with you. AJ never let on that I was anything but correct, but an SAS Sergeant-Major had me pegged. Of course he had done work with some very serious spooks, the kind that books get written about. How did a Chaplain learn about the special ops guys?”

  He laughed, “I wasn’t a chaplain on my first tour in the mid 60’s. Some of the things I saw that trip are why I became a priest after the Corps. After seminary I went back in the Corps as a Chaplain and volunteered for Nam.” I could tell that he was remembering someone, “Was that Marine’s name McGee? The one I knew was a PFC at the time. I was a chaplain on that trip in 1973. I used to call him Jethro to rattle his cage. He hated that. He was a hell of a shot”

  “He still hates being called Jethro or at least he did when I saw him in August about three years ago. He had made Gunny by then. He still is a damn fine shot, but now he is also a sniper. We keep in touch but I haven’t seen him in person since that op.”

  “I heard about that one,” I looked at him quizzically and he smiled, shrugged and nodded his head, “Spec Ops is a small world son. I still know people and most of my old friends figure a Priest can keep secrets. You hear some stories. There is a rumor about a special coin?”

  “Circumstances prevent me showing it to you Father, but you might recognize this one. I have a few others and earned every one of them except for a couple presented special to me.” I was quite proud of the fact that most were earned. I swung my right leg over my left leg and worked a catch on the heel of my shoe. The heels of these shoes were real spy stuff. Believe it or not they were so shielded that I could carry small metal objects through metal detectors and not be found out. I handed the priest the challenge coin I had been given when I completed Special Forces Training. That particular coin happened to fit in with the legend that I was living for this mission.

  From his back pocket he took out a wallet and carefully removed a coin from it. This priest was carrying a Marine Force Recon Challenge coin. There was more to this man than the collar would have you think. We handed the coins back to each other.

  “Scuttlebutt is that a Special Forces Captain on that August operation threatened to throw a jerk of a Marine Major over the side of the Nimitz. Any truth to that rumor?” He had a conspiratorial grin.

  “I can tell you that the rumor is a total lie. The Captain said no to an SAS Sergeant-Major who offered to deep six the Major. That Special Forces man did tell him that if the Major showed his face around his men again that deadly force was authorized. That waste of a Marine Corps uniform did end up assigned to Thule, Greenland. He resigned his commission after that assignment.” I was grinning broadly by then.

  “Would you have tossed him overboard?” No pretense now he knew that I was that Captain as surely as if I had told him.

  “In a heartbeat if I thought it would keep my men alive. I would have dealt with the consequences later.” My face showed a cold determination as I spoke those words.

  “That is the correct answer from a true leader. Son, I have a pretty good idea what you are doing in this part of the world. Drugs are probably involved in some way. If you need to talk you know where to find me. If you need anything or anyone to help you, I still know people. Some are veterans, some are ex gang members who turned their lives around and all have suffered from the damn drug wars. They are all
good people.” He put special emphasis on those last two words. “If you talk to AJ anytime soon tell him that Padre Garcia was asking about him.”

  “I’ll let him know. I hope I don’t need any more help than maybe an occasional conversation, but I appreciate the offer.” I stood up and extended my hand. His grip was firm and strong as we shook hands. “Thanks for your time.”

  “It is my job to aid the troubled. You just needed someone to remind you why you do your job. It may not always be pleasant but, it is like my job, someone has to do it. We try and make the world a better place. Sometimes we succeed at least partially.” He managed a serious look for a moment and then it dissolved into a warm smile.

  “What are the odds that I would walk into a random church and find that the priest and I had a mutual friend?”

  He put on his best serious priest face as he spoke, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Then he broke into a wide and friendly grin. “Take care. Stop by anytime, except Thursday.” I looked at him a bit quizzically. “I play golf on Thursday.” His smile got broader.

  I turned and walked back to the front door. I put $500 of the confiscated drug money into the alms box, not to ease my conscience, but I figured that helping out people who needed help was a good use for money that had been made in the drug trade. At the door I carefully checked out the street for things that did not fit. Making that check was not just habit but necessity. In my business careless can get you very dead. I once again drove around in a somewhat aimless fashion to shake any tails. Before this operation was over I would know a lot of the streets and roads in this area pretty well. I had inherited an excellent sense of direction and good memory for roads from my father.

  Chapter 23

  I got back to our humble abode and took a long hot shower. After the shower I felt cleaner but not squeaky clean. Sylvia was not yet back from her session of data analysis with John and company. This was going to be an evening when we did not go out. We needed to tell John exactly what had happened and just depressurize. Hell, I did not even feel like going out for dinner. We found that our larder was better stocked than we thought. There were steaks in the freezer, beer in the fridge, fresh bread in the cupboard and potatoes in the vegetable bin. There was even a gas grill out back. Jacob put some potatoes in the oven to bake while I did some thawing on the steaks courtesy of the microwave. Jacob handled the cooking. We fixed four steaks in case Sylvia got back before we could eat them all. She did and wolfed down the steak and baked potato like a linebacker in the SEC. Since she did not have a car John dropped her off and he stayed and ate the extra steak. Too bad Jacob and I were looking forward to splitting that one, but with Sylvia there it might have been a three way split.

  We spent part of the evening discussing what had happened so far and where we went from here. One thing that was becoming obvious was that if we actually got to transporting anything for Robertson this entire investigation might not take long. We started also planning on what to do about our friend from the KGB. Yuri Andropov Leonid was a high priority. The question was what were we going to do about him? We all decide that that was a question for another time. Our nonparty broke up early.

  I spent some time writing up reports and got to bed fairly early. The next morning Jacob headed for Key Largo to get the Turkey ready for a sea cruise. He was going to stay with the boat until the job was set and then he would bring it up. I still needed some alone time and headed out to a nondescript diner for a real diner breakfast. Sylvia was still asleep when I got back from the eggs, hash brown, pancakes, juice and coffee. I fired up the coffee maker when I got back and the smell roused her from her slumber.

  We had nothing on the books for the day but we had work to do. We went shopping and sight seeing. The driving around was mostly to make sure we were not followed. After an hour or so of that we pulled into an almost empty office park. Our controllers were here. It was time to debrief and get additional information. Based on the intelligence that we had it looked as if our delivery trip would be to Cuba. We might even meet our friend from the KGB.

  After the debriefing and briefing we made the ceremonial “Shaking of the tail” drive and then we went to a mall. I needed a few things that I had forgotten. Some idiot tried to grab Sylvia’s bag. She did not need my help. He grabbed the strap; she grabbed his arm and twisted it violently. I don’t think I heard anything snap but he went down hard. The girl was quick on her feet. She actually managed to give him a swift kick, you can guess where, before he went down. After this she straightened the bag on her shoulder and we left the poor bastard there holding on to something that for a moment he thought he had lost forever. As we walked away she giggled like a twelve year old at a slumber party.

  “That was fun,” she said in that giggly voice. Damn, she was more than a little scary. Competent and scary is kind of sexy in a woman.

  We found a local place and had Italian food for dinner. Back at the safe house we watched television and then went to our separate rooms. If she had asked I might have gone to her room. I probably would have gone. Having seen the girl in action I figured that she was not someone you said no to.

  Not having anything scheduled we slept until after nine on Thursday. After we ate we each killed the time until I was going to make the call in different ways. I broke down my guns, cleaned, lubed, reassembled and reloaded them. I even did this with the little revolver that I had not even shown to anyone but Sylvia. That little gun had been around my neck since I got started on this operation. Sylvia went through a stack of data files that she had brought back to the house the night before. In the movies we would probably have spent the morning and early afternoon in bed, but this was not the movies. In real life it is hard enough to see someone you know get hurt. I knew from experience the anguish of watching someone you had been intimate with get hurt. That was pain I hoped to never feel again.

  I called the number of the car dealership right around 2 o’clock. When I told the receptionist who I was she transferred me directly to Robertson. How the man did not sound hung over or something like it I had no idea.

  “Good, I figured you would call even if you were pissed off. How soon can you be ready to make a trip by boat?” He was a cocky son of a bitch.

  “Within an hour or so. You have something you need done tonight?”

  “Late this afternoon actually. You should be back early tomorrow morning or sooner if you boat is fast enough.”

  “Care to tell me where I will be headed?” I sort of needed to know that.

  “Not over the phone, but do you like good cigars? Call me back when the boat is ready.” He just hung up. I hung up that phone and called John on the secure line.

  “Did you get that?” All of the phones in this house were under constant surveillance.

  “Yes, sounds like a trip to Cuba. The other really good cigar place is Nicaragua and it is too far for a day trip. Any firm idea what he wants you to haul”

  “From what he said before I think he wants me to deliver money to one of his contacts. I think he does not trust his own people. Maybe someone was skimming from the payments. Jacob is at the marina in Key Largo getting the boat prepped. He didn’t know we would need it today. Can you get in contact and have him bring it up and meet us somewhere?” There was no phone on the boat and cell phones were still rare and too large to carry on your person so I guessed his was still in his car.

  “Money would be my bet also. I can get word to Jacob and get him headed this way. I will let you know where to meet him.” John hung up the phone.

  “So if it is money how much do you guess it is?” I could see the calculations going on in Sylvia’s head. Most Computer Science majors are at least closet math nerds.

  “He said around 600 pounds so with about 454 or so bills per pound that would come to.” She had the answer before I could finish my thought.

  “Approximately 392,400 bills.” She did that so fast that she had just identified herself as a true math nerd. “If all of the bills ar
e tens that will be close to four million dollars. All hundreds would be close to 40 million. Damn that is a lot of money.”

  About 45 minutes later he called back and gave us the address of a small marina. Jacob was maybe an hour out. John had also arranged for a yet another very nondescript car to be delivered to the safe house. Now that I knew a time frame I placed a call to Robertson and he gave me the address of a private boat dock. We took a gray Chevy to the marina John had indicated and waited for Jacob to arrive. I had the bag phone from my car with me and when Jacob brought the boat in to tie up I called Robertson. He gave us the location of a pier. It took us a few minutes to find it on a map. He had given us the street address.

  We got to the location in about twenty minutes. There were three cars waiting for us. In my boat hands were on guns. Sylvia was below deck with some heavy fire power should it be needed. We were dealing with heavily drugged people with automatic weapons after all. A plain white van was one of the vehicles waiting for us. There were also two large cars. Standing around and not even trying to look harmless were four, that I could spot, heavily armed men. We cut the engines and coasted to the dock. One of the guard types caught the line Jacob threw to him in his left hand and fastened it around the mooring cleat. Standing next to Robertson was the idiot who had set the stupid cop on me. He was sweating and I don’t think it was just the heat.

  “Vincent will be making this trip with you. He knows the people and procedures.”

  “Do you want him back?” I tried to sound pissed. I wasn’t really.

  “No you better bring him back. He married my sister.”

  “Okay.” I nodded with a smirk on my face as I spoke the one word. Vincent looked nervous.