“It’s me. I’m starting to see chatter on the encampment in southern Belize. We need to meet. Soon.”
“Does now work for you?” the voice on the phone asked in a neutral tone.
“Fifteen minutes. The usual spot.” Terry terminated the call.
He was stirring sweetener into his coffee at the Starbucks three miles from headquarters when he sensed a presence behind him.
“Five bucks for a cup of coffee. This society is doomed,” a deep baritone lamented from over his shoulder.
Terry didn’t comment, but instead walked up the stairs that led to the secondary seating area. A few students were huddled over their computers, taking advantage of the wireless facility. Other than that, in the middle of the afternoon, they had the place to themselves.
“I’ve been asked to provide what amounts to intelligence and logistical support to our rogue Mossad operatives, and I agreed to do so, but I want to understand how far I should be prepared to go,” Terry said after the two men had taken a seat.
“I would say that you should provide all reasonable support. Give them what they need, and then sit back and see what happens.”
Richard Sloan held a key position at the Defense Department. Theoretically, neither man was even remotely responsible for any sort of an active op in Belize. But in practice, both were not only cooperative with each other’s agendas, but also enjoyed substantial financial reward from bending the rules to the whims of powerful corporate interests with expansion plans that required exceptional levels of understanding from the nation’s armed forces and intelligence apparatus. Between Sloan, Terry and a few select others, they represented a powerful secret affiliation of like-minded men, unified by the most powerful bond in existence: cash.
“He asked about weapons.”
Sloan nodded. “It would be hard to take on an armed camp without weapons. Who do you have in the region?”
“That’s not the problem. We have plenty of contacts in Honduras. It’s lousy with guns from the millions we and the Russians shipped there. I just question how much active support we want to provide. If the shit hits the fan and anything leaks out about this…”
Sloan moved closer to Terry and leaned in.
“All facts aren’t going to become known. I would say no harm could come from you making an introduction. Provide some sat photos. These are small things. You know the strategy. If they are successful in stopping whatever our Russian friend is up to, then we’ll be in a position to win. If they aren’t, then we’ll still win, only via a different route. But we have to manage things so we appear to be disinterested observers.”
Terry nodded. “Of course. Is there any chance we get sucked into this in an official capacity later?”
“None at all. We’re just trying to grease wheels here. Sort of like benevolent guardian angels. We can’t appear to intercede or favor anyone, and we have to be able to claim ignorance no matter what happens.”
Terry switched gears. “What do you make of the death of the governor general?”
“A stroke of good luck. If the Russian is successful in his scheme, he believes he will get the concession for the new field and that the current interests in the region will be rejected. But I’ve already had assurances that the new governor general, a gentleman who’s predisposed to our preferences, will request British and American troops to help the beleaguered nation battle the drug cartels responsible for the heinous violence — that’s in actuality the Russians. That will result in a U.S. military presence in Belize for the first time, and will pave the way for U.S. companies to help the country extract and refine its oil.”
“Grigenko will go nuts. That’s a double cross…”
“Indeed it is. But nobody said life was fair, and it’s not our deal — we never gave Grigenko any go ahead to pull this stunt. Once the governor general has made the request for assistance, you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube, and it is a fait accompli. Doesn’t matter what deals the Russian had before with the prospective new administration, the following one will trump it and set in motion a completely different course than the one he’s banking on. A course that’s good for us.”
“And if the pair is successful?”
“Then the governor general will take actions that still ensure our interests prevail. Either way, we win.”
“If that’s the case, then why help the Israelis?”
“The Russian is getting too big for his britches, and if someone can cut him off at the knees, that saves us the trouble down the road. He’s pissed off the wrong people. But the important thing from our perspective is that we don’t really care who wins. Either outcome will result in a positive for us.”
Terry took a swig of his nonfat soy latte and shook his head. “Kind of astounding that coffee is more expensive than gasoline.”
“So is bottled water. Amazing what you can convince people to spend their money on, isn’t it?” Sloan sipped his tea. “Anything else?”
“We didn’t have anything to do with the late governor general’s untimely demise, did we?”
“Of course not,” Sloan said, his face stony, impossible to read. “Is there anything else?”
Terry’s stomach lurched at the response. He was almost sure the man was lying.
“Not really. I just wanted to hear it straight from you.”
“Have no fear, Terry. This is just another skirmish — a relative non-event. Oh, and funds will be transferred to the usual account tomorrow. As always, the group is grateful for your efforts.”
Terry was low-key about his occasional windfalls, but they helped his lifestyle. With a wife, three kids, private schools and a substantial mortgage, he was usually strapped. An extra tax-free hundred grand a year nobody knew anything about enabled him access to the platinum-level escorts that he couldn’t have dreamt of on his pay grade. And the world was being kept safe for capitalism. Everyone got what they needed out of the deal.
Terry stood and, without saying any more, descended the stairs and left the establishment, walking slowly to his car.
Sloan waited five minutes and then departed by the rear entrance, making a stop at the bakery next door to get a chocolate chip bagel for a pre-dinner snack.
Neither man had any guilt about renting his station to shadowy representatives of mega corporations. After all, the same companies paid hundreds of millions every year to lobbyists to push for amendments to legislation that would have cramped their style, or to agitate for this country or that to be invaded or overthrown. All Terry and Sloan were doing was taking a small slice off a loaf that had been their good fortune to be offered. If it wasn’t them, it would just be someone else. You couldn’t fight human nature.
Pragmatism was the philosophy of survival, and Sloan had learned the hard way that any other belief system was misguided foolishness. He’d watched enough of his more ethical peers fall by the wayside during his career. Let someone else save the whales or protest injustice. His stay on the planet was scheduled to be all too brief, and job number one was to get what he could and make himself happy.
In the end, well-intentioned ideologies were developed for those without access to money.
Fortunately, he had access.
End of story.
Jet and David pulled themselves up onto the dock at the St. Raphael resort marina and waved goodbye to the deckhand, who was already gliding away in the tender, returning to the yacht a few kilometers offshore. The water was dead calm near the island, and within a minute, he diminished into a dot moving out to sea.
They shouldered their bags and walked to the main hotel building, where they could get a cab. No customs or immigration officials were in evidence, and whether that was typical or had been arranged, they didn’t know, but they were grateful for it. From this point on, things would get easier — it wouldn’t be necessary to skulk around.
Cyprus was a good choice as a gateway. A member of the European Union, the island nation was a business and banking center, and had a decent number of flights departing any given day. They could blend into the crowd of business or holiday travelers and not raise any eyebrows — key to a safe getaway from the region.