The Skyhawk bucked as bullets ripped through the starboard wing, Dillon tipped the small aircraft through ninety degrees, the tip of his port wing almost in the water as they got closer to the cliff face. The Cuban pilot had no time to pull out at the speed he was travelling, the four large rotor blades sheared off in all directions of the compass, as the helicopter ploughed through the narrow gully opening, and fireballed.
Dillon, came out of the gully fast, trimming as best he could for flying with bullet holes in the tailplane and through one wing. The fuel gauge was registering almost empty; as the single engine started to lose power. There was a clearing up ahead and to his right. He tried to bank towards it but was already losing height as he clipped the pan tile roof of a ramshackle farm building. The last drop of fuel used, they braced themselves for the belly landing.
In the end, it was the soft earth of the ploughed field that saved them, slowing the Cessna’s progress so much that they slid to a shuddering halt at the edge of a small wooded area.
Releasing the harness straps, they scrambled out of their seats; both doors were kicked open in an instant. Dillon came out headfirst into the rain rolling over in the mud and was on his feet, running with Romerez at his side. They made for cover towards the nearby farm building as fast as they could. The Cessna didn’t burst into flames, as Dillon thought it would, it simply creaked, and hissed a little in the rain.
Inside the old run down barn, they hid for over an hour amongst last season’s musty straw bales, before the contact that Romerez had called using her mobile phone, came and took them to the safe house on the outskirts of Havana. Dillon had expected the area to be crawling with soldiers within minutes, but none came. A spotter plane flew overhead at least three times, but the Skyhawk was well concealed by the undergrowth of the wood and the torrential rain had washed away the gouge that the Light aircraft had made on landing.
Dillon stood at the small porcelain washbasin in the corner of the bedroom. His reflection looked back at him from the old cracked mirror that was hung on the wall. Three days stubble and too many cuts about his face did not enhance his otherwise rugged good looks. His whole body felt as if it had been put through a mangle and then hung out to dry. Early morning sunlight squeezed through the wooden shutters of the safe house, creating an abstract on the whitewashed walls; fine particles of dust floated lazily, with no purpose or direction, in mid air highlighted by the thin shafts of light. From the kitchen came the welcome aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and crispy cooked bacon and eggs.
Romerez sent two text messages after breakfast. The first, to report to Dan Parker that they had been compromised on their arrival. And the other was to one of her regular contacts on the island, to find out the location of Harry Caplin’s hacienda. This done, they then had to work out a plan of how and when they were going to snatch the drug baron, and successfully get him and themselves off the island alive. Knowing Harry, as Dillon did, he knew that finding him was going to be the only easy thing about the entire mission.
Later that morning, Dillon and Romerez found themselves high on a hillside crouching in the pouring rain at the side of a narrow dirt track that wound its way down to a large hacienda. Looking through powerful binoculars at the high security walls, and lookout towers surrounding the palatial residence of Harry Caplin, made a sobering sight. They waited and watched patiently, until it was dark before making their move. Dillon felt uneasy going through the window, because, for someone who was paranoid about security, Harry’s place was remarkably easy to break into.
The room was oak-beamed with natural stone walls that were adorned with hand made tapestries hanging here and there. A roaring log fire burned in an open hearth, a stack of chopped wood piled high at the side of it. Caplin sat on a large sofa with his feet up reading a book and drinking from a crystal glass, a bottle in an ice bucket beside him. As Dillon stepped out of the shadows, Harry glanced up, a large smile on his face. He then took the bottle from the ice bucket, and filled another two glasses.
“Been expecting you Ace. Champagne? It’s the best, just the way you like it.” He laughed as he got up, adding. “Miss Romerez, you really don’t need to skulk in the shadows you know, I won’t bite — promise.”
Romerez stepped out, a gun held up in her right hand.
“Hell Jake, I’d like to say it was good to see you after our last encounter, but I’m getting an odd feeling of deja vu here. You and me along with a female who has a dangerous look on her face and a gun in her hand. What is it with you stiff assed Brits?”
Dillon said in a relaxed voice. “Harry, Harry, Harry, it’s very simple really. You see, Romerez and I are here to take you quietly back to Florida for a very long holiday. All expenses paid of course. You see, for some bizarre reason, the Miami D.A. wants you back on drug trafficking charges. He even has a cosy nine by nine bed-sit, just for you to spend your twilight years in.” Dillon walked over to the side table, and picked up the glass of Champagne that Harry had poured for him, and turning, added. “So tell me Harry, who was it that fed us to you and the Cuban Colonel?”
“Down here in the land of plenty Ace, if you’ve got the money, and believe me I’ve got plenty, you can buy anything you want; including information from the Feds. In fact it saddens me to have to say it, Ace. But you, and the little lady here, were both dead long before you even left Johnson’s Field.” He said it with no malice, as he walked over and stood in front of the fire, sipping the Champagne. He looked up adding. “Jake, I’d say that your problems are just about to start. You’re either mad or very naïve, if you think that I’m going back to the States with you and the little lady over there. In fact, I’d start re-thinking my strategy before my boys come bursting in here if I were you son?”
“But, you haven’t answered my question Harry. Who was it?” Jake asked bluntly, sitting down on one of the enormous sofas.
“You know I can’t tell you that Ace, not even for old times sake.”
“Well how about as a last request then?”
Caplin looked down at Dillon, thinking just for a second, “Well if you put it like that Ace, his name’s Fernandes, he’s the one. Serra has a hold on him, if he doesn’t feed back information, his family gets the chop, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh I know exactly what you mean Harry.” Dillon replied, giving Romerez a quick sideward glance. The Glock automatic that Dillon was carrying in the holster under his arm felt somehow comforting.
Caplin refilled his glass again, and then casually walked across the room to a mahogany desk. He started to sit. The slight movement of his hand, would have gone unnoticed under normal circumstances. As it was, the small dart struck him before he was able to push the small button under the highly polished top. Immediately keeling him over, and down onto his knees. The fine Persian rug softening his fall. The glass of Champagne flew out of Harry’s hand, and smashed into a million tiny pieces as it hit the flagstone floor a few feet away.
Dillon had only glanced up briefly at Romerez, which had been enough. She had fired the small silenced weapon just once. It spat out the dart that hit Caplin in the side of the neck, the liquid inside the phial had an immediate effect on the big American. He was flat on his back within seconds, but still wide-awake, not able to move or speak. His eyes said everything. The disbelief and pure anger at being caught off guard in his own home.
They wasted no time in putting on white paramedic jackets and trousers, that Romerez had been carrying in her rucksack, over their ordinary clothing. Dillon squatted down by Harry and spoke quietly. “Now what’s all this about you not going back to the States with us Harry? Romerez, as you now know is an expert shot, she could easily have killed you, but I give you my personal assurance, as I did before in Dorset, that you’ll be all right in a few hours. I know that you can hear and see me, old son, because the drug that is now in your system has rendered your whole body incapable of any movement, but not affected your sight or hearing. You’ll be like that for about six hours. Just enough time in which to get you off this island and back to Florida and afterwards you’ll be back to your old cheerful self again. Now you just lay back and enjoy the ride.”