The president had recently given up smoking a pipe at his wife’s insistence. “May I have one?”
“Certainly.” Couture reached into the arm pocket of his starched, digitally camouflaged ACUs and gave him the red pack of cigarettes.
The president took one and tossed the pack onto the table. “Help yourselves, gentlemen.”
Brooks was the first to reach for the pack, and the president smiled as Couture leaned forward to light his cigarette for him. “I’ll make sure to buy you another pack, General.”
Couture shook his head. “Won’t be necessary, sir.”
The room filled slowly with a smoky gray haze as they sat watching Gil and Dragunov make their way through the forest. On the other screen, a force of more than fifty men were chasing after them from the west, easily moving twice as fast.
An aide-de-camp stepped into the room and whispered into Couture’s ear.
“Mr. President, Bob Pope on line four, sir.”
The president picked up the phone and pressed the button. “This is the president… Yes, I saw it. We all did… You’re kidding me! You mean they have to fight their way back to Moscow on their own? Hold on a second, Robert.” The president turned to Couture. “The Russians have fallen out of contact with our men on the ground. Apparently there’s no help coming.”
Couture snapped his fingers at the air force liaison. “Find our nearest Predator and get it flying in that direction!”
“We can’t do that,” the president said. “They’re in Russia.”
“Barely, Mr. President.”
“Russia is Russia, General.”
“Can Pope get us permission?”
“Robert, can you get us permission for a Predator strike?” The president looked at Couture and then shook his head. “He says he already tried that, and they won’t even consider it. Moscow says this is a Russian operation and that Shannon volunteered to operate under Russian command.”
Couture sucked from the cigarette in frustration. “How about asking them to send in one of those flying washing machines of theirs?”
The president conferred with Pope. “He says not before first light, and even then he’s not sure. The Russians say Umarov has acquired MANPADS. I assume you know what those are. I don’t.”
“It’s a shoulder-fired antiaircraft missile, sir. Does Pope have anything in mind at all?”
“He says not at this time.”
“Where the hell is the Russian air force?” asked the air force chief of staff.
“Pope says that’s a very good question, General.”
“Unbelievable,” the air force general muttered. “The mission’s a failure, so they’re just going to let them die?”
“Pope says it’s beginning to look that way,” the president said. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Robert?” The president listened and then replied, “Call me the second you learn anything new.” He hung up the phone and looked at the men sitting around the table. “Unless one of you has a suggestion that doesn’t involve starting World War III, I think President Putin is about to have his revenge for Operation Bunny Ranch.”
None of the generals had any ideas, but the president spotted a young air force lieutenant sitting back in the corner in front of a computer with his hand partially raised.
“What is it, son?”
“Well, sir,” the lieutenant said. “What about calling Tbilisi for help? The Georgian army has helos on the ground right across the border. If they fly low between the mountains, Russian radar will never even pick them up. And they might not mind invading Russian airspace for twenty minutes or so, given that Russia still occupies Georgian territory in South Ossetia.”
The president looked at Couture. “What do you think?”
Couture shrugged. “It can’t hurt to ask, sir.”
The president grabbed the phone and pressed zero. “This is the president. Get Secretary of State Sapp on the phone immediately. And call the Georgian Embassy. We’re going to need to speak with the Georgian ambassador.”
59
It was well after midnight, and Paolina was curled up in the crook of Crosswhite’s arm, running her fingers through the dark hair on his chest by the light of a candle. He was thinking impossible things about an impossible future in Havana when she raised up onto her elbow and looked into his eyes.
“Me ves como una puta?” she asked. Do you see me as a whore?
He combed his fingers through her hair and smiled. “I see you as the most beautiful girl in the world.”
She smiled back and kissed him. “How long will you be in Havana?”
He shrugged, the smile plastered to his face. “How long would you like me to be here?”
She curled back up in the crook of his arm. “How long, Daniel?”
“A few days,” he said. “Maybe a little longer.”
“Will I see you again before you leave?”
“Every night that you’re available.”
She raised back up, cracking a grin. “Then I’ll be available every night.”
“Good,” he said, pulling her down and kissing her. “You don’t have any regular clients that are going to be mad?”
She shook her head, looking sad for the first time. “While you’re here, can we pretend there are no other clients… that I’m someone else?”
He sat up against the wall and took her into his arms. “I don’t want to pretend you’re someone else. I want to know you… everything about you.”
“Will you stay the night?”
“Your father won’t be upset if I’m still here in the morning?”
She shook her head. “Not about you. He’s never drunk with anyone else who’s come here — never made friends.”
“This is hard for me. I’ve never…” He shook his head. “It’s very different for me.”
“I understand. But I have to survive, to help take care of my family.”
“It’s nothing about you,” he said. “It’s that I’m embarrassed in front of your parents.”
“Okay. But it’s not necessary.”
They were in the midst of making love a second time when his cellular buzzed on the table beside the bed.
“Shit,” he said in English. “Ernesto’s the only one with this number.” He picked up the phone and said, “Bueno?”
“Señor? This is Ernesto.”
“Yeah, Ernie. What is it?”
“I told Fernando to keep his eyes open while I was on break. He says two men came to the hotel asking about you. He said they described you and wanted to know if you had checked into the hotel. He said they looked Cuban but spoke with a Miami accent.”
“Okay, Ernie. Where are they now?”
“I think maybe they’re going to Paolina’s house.”
Crosswhite got out of bed fast. “Why do you think that?”
“Because they asked where you had gone, and Fernando was afraid to lie to them, so he told them you left in a taxi — but nothing more. Then they asked him where to find the cabstand. I’m sure they are going to question the driver.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About ten minutes.”
“If you had to guess, Ernie, how much longer before they show up here?”
“At Paolina’s? Maybe twenty minutes. Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep your eyes open, buddy, and call me if you hear anything else.”
Crosswhite put down the phone and reached for his pants. “You’d better wake your father, sweetheart.”
Paolina sat up in the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Wake your father,” he said gently. “You all need to go to a neighbor’s house for the night. There’s very little time.”
Paolina left, and Duardo came into the room a minute later looking concerned. “What is going on?”