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Pace’s response took a moment, but when it came Court realized the man knew the gravity of the situation.
In a grave tone he said, “Kind of in the middle of something, Violator. I need you to do that thing you do.”
Court moved through a thick group of laborers moving together with pushcarts, then began crossing the street between swiftly moving scooters and cars. “I’m on it, but if he knows where you are, then that means somebody’s probably got eyes on you now. Suggest you relocate.”
“Unable. I’m working with Victor to get them out of the container yard.”
Court picked up his speed even more. “Jim…Chris is a big boy. He can handle himself. Lancer’s got a forty-five-second head start on me, and he’s got a pair of local boys I’m going to have to get around before I get to him.”
“I’m staying put, Violator, and you’d do the same.”
Court sighed as he stepped up onto the sidewalk on the far side of the circle from the café. “Expediting as able, Overwatch.” Pushing through the crowd now, he saw uniformed Cuban police milling around near the entrance to the big market, and Lancer only one hundred feet or so away from them.
•••
Chris Travers watched the third bus appear around a building between his position and the main gate, then pull to a stop in front of a row of warehouses several hundred yards to the south—exactly in the direction he had been leading his men to make their way out of the terminal.
He spit on the ground in front of him in frustration. “Okay, Overwatch. We’re totally cut off now. Any ideas?”
“You can’t go back to the water. Both patrol boats have closed on the container terminal; they’ll see you when you pop out. The north is crawling with security at the quayside operations area around the Estelle, plus all the terminal employees, and now the south is cut off by the military. The only thing left is to try to get into the container storage yard to the west. You’ll have good cover once you’re there, but it’s going to be like negotiating a maze getting you there.”
“And then what?”
“You’ll have to find a way over the fence. It’s about eight feet high. Razor wire. There might be pedestrian access there, but I can’t see from here.”
Travers didn’t like his odds at all. The container storage yard was shielded to him by rows of buildings, but people were coming in and out of those buildings, and he knew that on the far side would be workers operating forklifts and trucks, or moving on foot. He wasn’t about to start shooting at anyone who might sound an alarm, and getting into a gunfight with over one hundred Cuban soldiers was a nonstarter, so he told Pace they were willing to head west with his guidance.
Pace said, “Okay, Victor Actual, we’ve got an opportunity. Estelle is unloading freight. Tractor-trailers are lining up to take containers from the gantry cranes to the container yard, and they’ll pass within about fifty feet of the chassis pool. You might be able to shield your movements to the buildings by running alongside them.”
“What about the soldiers to the south?”
“They’re still debussing, but they will be able to see you from where they are until you get behind that row of forklifts to the left of the buildings. You tracking that?”
“Got it.”
“After that there are concrete Jersey barriers that will hide you from the buildings if you get low enough. I can see that area from this position, so I’ll talk you through.”
“Roger. We’ll wait for the first truck and start moving one by one.”
“Good,” Pace said, and then, “Be advised. My overwatch has been compromised. My support element is moving into position to deal with it. I’m not breaking down, but if you lose me…you lost me.”
Travers blew out a sigh. “Understood, boss. Good luck.”
FIFTY
Carlos Contreras leaned close to his monitor, his eyes locked on the eyes of the American in the fourth unit of a row of abandoned apartments at the top of the market in Havana’s harbor. The Mexican national still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he would be involved in the murder of a senior CIA officer today. He smoked, the nicotine a poor controller of his anxiety, but the habit was soothing to him, nonetheless.
Lancer came through his headset. “You have eyes on me?”
“Negative, I’m over the target. He’s still in position, still looking into the spotting scope out at the harbor. I alerted Cyrus that something might have been going on out there, and ten minutes later a couple of patrol boats began circling and busloads of soldiers showed up at the terminal.”
The American sounded fascinated by this. “How the hell did Cyrus make that happen?”
“No idea.”
“Okay,” the American said. “I want you on me. Watching my back for cops, security forces, whatever.”
“I understand. Where are you?”
