Free Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) by Todd Moss Page B

it is?”
    “Of course.” He tapped his skull with a forefinger.
    “We aren’t far.” Brinkley pointed at the GPS unit. “We could wait for a few hours, kill the lights, go in dark. We’ve got the gear. We could be in and out before sunrise.”
    “Sunrise?” Crawford threw down his fishing rod. “What the fuck are you talking about, Brink?”
    “Alejandro’s diamonds. We’re nearly there already. Maybe we could go get it. Tonight.”
    “Are you fucking crazy?” Crawford said. Dennis’s fidgeting accelerated.
    “It’s not that crazy,” Alejandro said. “We’ve got all the gearwe need. I’ve got wet suits, shovels, even night vision goggles, down in the hold.”
    “You are seriously suggesting that we land in Cuba?” Crawford’s eyes were wide.
    “We’d need one of us to set a fire,” Brink said. “To draw the firemen away from the station. Then—”
    “Set a fire? Are you fucking crazy? No way.”
    “Yesterday, you both said you were in,” Alejandro said. “You were up for it, Deuce. You said, ‘I’m up for a treasure hunt.’”
    “That’s true,” Brinkley nodded. “Those were your exact words.”
    “I was drunk. I thought you were kidding!” Dennis said, his eyes fluttering.
    “Well, I’m not kidding,” Alejandro said. “We can go get my family treasure right now.”
    “Is this why you fucking brought us down here?” Crawford growled. “For fucking diamonds?”
    “You were joking!” Dennis squealed. “I thought you were joking!”
    “Let’s do it,” Brinkley said, making a fist. “Dennis, you’re our communications expert. You stay on the boat and monitor the radios. Crawford, we need our Navy SEAL to land on the beach undetected and then set the diversion fire. Once they are all clear, Al and I will go to the firehouse to get the diamonds.”
    “Treasure hunting. Just like pirates.” Alejandro grinned.
    “Pirates hunting for treasure? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Crawford put both hands on his head in frustration. “You think we’re pirates?”
    “We’re so close,” Brinkley said, tapping the GPS.
    “We’ll all be rich. We can do it,” Alejandro agreed.
    “No we can’t!” Crawford’s eyes were wide. “We aren’t fucking pirates. We live in the suburbs. I’m retired. Brink’s retired. You’re a goddamn real estate agent, Al. Deuce isn’t a comms officer. He writes software code!”
    “Take it easy, Craw,” Brinkley said, holding his palms up.
    “We can go in and out,” Alejandro said. “We can do it. Just like pirates.”
    “Pirates don’t drive minivans, dammit!”
    Alejandro was about to reply when he heard the first shot.
    Booosh!

PART TWO
THURSDAY

16.
    U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.
    THURSDAY, 7:11 A.M.
    I don’t think we’ve had a crisis like this since the 1980 Mariel boatlift!” The commentator sitting next to the studio anchor adjusted his round tortoiseshell glasses and made a face of feigned exasperation.
    “Well, I think it’s worse than that, Wolf,” interrupted a voice from a box in the corner of the screen. “I think we’ve got to go back to the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 and the Bay of Pigs in 1961. I mean, to have innocent American citizens captured in international waters—kidnapped, really—and then to have them paraded on television like that, it’s really shocking. It’s an act of unprecedented hostility from the regime in Havana.”
    “Is this unprecedented?” asked the anchor.
    “We have to remember that, despite the diplomatic thaw and the reopening of embassies, Cuba is still a one-party communist state,” said the commentator in the studio. “I just don’t see how our negotiations with Cuba can continue now. The State Department is in a real bind. The Secretary had staked a lot oncontinuing to negotiate with Cuba. But that’s all coming to a screeching halt.”
    Landon Parker paced around his office as the television blared.
    “The Secretary of State really looks