He could imagine those scenarios. All too well. “What now?”
“My suggestion is take a vacation. You and SAC Simpson. Go someplace tropical and lounge around. Drink margaritas and play shuffleboard on a cruise ship. Go scuba diving. You’ve earned it.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Will you promise me something as a personal favor?”
“That depends.”
“Don’t kill Montez.”
She raised a brow. “That’s quite a request.”
“If you include the dead mercenaries from Montez’s Long Beach warehouse, Harv and I have killed sixty-two people. We’ve got enough blood on our hands.”
“Okay. I’ll agree to that. Or more accurately, I’ll recommend it. But Montez may wish I hadn’t.”
“You’re a good woman, Rebecca. I wasn’t sure when we first met, but I am now.”
She smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot coming from you.”
“Why do I get the feeling I haven’t seen the last of you?”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
Chapter 50
General Hawthorne’s C-20G turned final into Leeward Point Airfield, Naval Station Guantanamo Bay, just after 1400 hours. Nathan found himself gripping the armrests a little too tightly as the wheels touched down.
“Nervous?” Harv asked.
“A little.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Thorny hung up the phone and turned toward them. “We’re all set. Rear Admiral Patricia Maas has agreed to meet us in person, so has Captain Brett King, the station’s commander. Maas is the commanding officer of Joint Task Force Guantanamo, so we’ll be in good hands. The JTF deputy commander, Brigadier General Gabriel Porras, will also be meeting us at the terminal. Porras is Army. JTF Gitmo is under a separate command from the rest of the station.”
The jet’s thrust reversers deployed and the pilot applied power.
“A separate command?” Harv asked over the engine noise.
“Yes, it’s comprised of mostly naval personnel, but it has servicemen and women from all branches. There are other Marines on the station, but their primary assignment is to guard the perimeter fence.”
Thorny must have sensed his apprehension. “Relax, Montez won’t be able to see us. We’ll be behind a two-way mirror.”
Nathan looked out the window at three Jeep Cherokees sitting on the tarmac near a vehicle entry gate. The jet came to a stop and the doors to the Cherokees opened. Four people dressed in combat uniforms climbed out and walked toward the jet. Three were in Naval working uniforms, the other in a desert Army combat uniform, no doubt the JTF’s deputy commander, the Army brigadier.
The copilot opened the fuselage door and warm, humid air flooded the interior. It reminded Nathan of his vacation in Puerto Rico. It had the same feel.
Thorny exited the jet first. All four Gitmo officers issued crisp salutes. Thorny returned the gesture. “Everyone at ease. This is an informal visit. Who’s the senior officer here?”
“You are, General,” Porras said.
Thorny grinned and it lightened the tension. “You’d be surprised how many get that wrong.”
The station commander, Captain Brett King, stepped forward. “Welcome to Gitmo, General.” Introductions were made all around.
Admiral Maas spent a fraction too long looking at Nathan’s scars, but recovered quickly. Porras looked and acted all business and clearly wasn’t happy about hosting a couple of unknown spooks. Understandable, but unwarranted. Porras had no way to know he and Harv weren’t here for a clandestine Big Brother spy mission.
“Once we’ve crossed the bay,” Maas said, “it’s about a ten minute drive over to Camp Delta.”
They piled into the Cherokees. Naturally, he and Harv ended up in Brigadier General Porras’s vehicle. Nathan exchanged a look with Harv, who took the front seat. Thorny rode with Rear Admiral Maas and Captain King, while the third Cherokee hosted the two aides. No doubt they’d exchange a story or two.
A minute later, Porras drove directly onto the waiting ferry. It looked like a scaled down mix between an aircraft carrier and a landing craft and probably accommodated fifteen to twenty vehicles. Not surprising, the three Cherokees were the only vehicles boarding. Eight Marine MPs, armed with M4s, were stationed at various points around the perimeter of the ferry. He wondered if they were normally there. Probably weren’t. No doubt Captain King was playing it safe for the twenty minute journey across open water.
Everyone got out of the vehicles for the ride. The MPs tried not to stare, but most of them would never get another chance to meet the commandant of the Marine Corps again. Thorny made it a point to return their salutes and shake hands with each of them. Nathan smiled at seeing his friend acknowledge the service of enlisted personnel-one of the many traits of a good leader.
Nathan walked over to the rail and looked across the expanse of water. He thought back to Kramer, what it must’ve been like for him at the end, and how close Duane Dalton, his ex-wife and his two girls, had come to suffering the same watery fate. He shook his head.
At the windward landing all three vehicles drove off the ferry. Ten minutes after that, they crested a hill and could see the checkpoint preceding the camps. The view of the Caribbean looked awesome. The bluish-green water along the rocky shoreline nicely contrasted the arid landscape. There was no shortage of cactus around here. Heck of a location for a detainee camp, but it made logistical sense.
Admiral Maas’s Cherokee received a salute from the MPs as it passed through the checkpoint. Their vehicle was also saluted. Camp Delta sat directly ahead, a series of linear buildings surrounded by high fencing and guard towers. Essentially, a prison. At the bottom they passed a parking lot and followed Maas’s vehicle to the left. Nathan looked at the detention camp. All quiet. No one could be seen, guards or prisoners. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he had no idea what to expect. San Quentin? Soledad? This looked nothing at all like those California prisons. It almost had the informal feel of a juvenile detention facility.
So why did his unease continue to grow with each passing minute? Duane Dalton survived. Nichole and her daughters were reunited. Operation Ironclad remained secret. And Montez would spend the rest of his life in prison. So why the trepidation? He relaxed his hands and took a deep breath. He had a role to play as a CIA operations officer. Acting like a nervous schoolboy wouldn’t do. Besides, not that long ago he’d actually been a CIA operations officer. Not that long ago? It felt like a lifetime.
They followed Maas’s Cherokee into a small parking lot on the right side of the road.
Porras cut the engine. “You’ve been briefed about procedures inside?”
“We’re basically invisible,” Harv said.
“That’s correct. We’re going into camp five. It houses the most dangerous detainees and also the detainees deemed to have the most valuable intelligence. It’s a computer-controlled facility. The central mainframe even controls the showers. The man you’re visiting doesn’t fit the normal profile of who we usually see here.”
Neither of them said anything.
“If at any time you have any questions, give me a very slight head nod. I’ll pull you aside and address your concern. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Harv said.
“Okay, here we go.”
Admiral Maas led them across the street to where several MPs stood guard at tall fencing topped with razor wire. The MPs came to sharp attention at seeing JTF’s commanding officer approach. Nathan watched their eyes grow when they saw a four-star accompanying her, along with JTF’s deputy commander and the station commander.