Ghosts of Havana (Judd Ryker #3)(23)

18.


U.S. STATE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THURSDAY, 8:42 A.M.

Judd was checking the cost of last-minute flights to Fort Lauderdale when Serena burst into his office.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Ryker. I know you asked not to be disturbed, but I have to interrupt.”

“It’s fine, Serena. I was about to call you. Can you clear my schedule for the rest of the week? I’m going to join my family in Florida since I’m done. I’ve just sent my memo to Landon Parker.”

“That’s why I’m here, Dr. Ryker,” she said, out of breath, “Mr. Parker is on his way down.”

“He’s coming here? What for?”

“I don’t know, but his assistant just called to give me a heads-up that he’s on his way right now.”

“Now?”

She nodded and left to stand guard in the outer lobby. Judd tidied his desk and groaned to himself. So much for Florida.

“Ryker!” Parker barked from the next room.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Serena said as she escorted him in.

“Love your ideas on Cuba, Ryker. Adam Smith didn’t go over too well with Melanie Eisenberg.” Parker smirked. “But I like how you think. That’s why we have S/CRU in the first place. To throw out new ideas. To shake things up.”

“Thank you, sir,” Judd said, offering the chief of staff a seat, which Parker declined with a wave. “I’ve just sent you the memo on potential problems in Cuba and a menu of responses. The first—”

“Oh, right,” Parker interrupted. “That’s OBE now. Overtaken by events, I’m afraid. I need you on a special project that’s just come up. I need creative thinking and fast. You’ll need to drop everything and help me on this. Now.”

“On . . . what, sir?”

“We don’t negotiate with hostage takers. That’s a redline, of course. But I need someone who understands the subtleties. Someone not stuck in the bureaucracy. Someone not worried about the media. Or covering his ass. I like how you don’t care about sticking your neck out. No matter how crazy your idea, you don’t care what people think.”

“Okay . . .” Judd furrowed his brow.

“That’s what I need, Ryker.”

Judd nodded—to what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

“We’ll let Melanie Eisenberg run the front channel.” Parker flicked his hand dismissively. “Let WHA be visible. Let her handle the press and the interagency. Let Mel run the show. She’ll insist on that anyway.” Parker placed both hands on Judd’s desk and leaned in. “You told me I need a backchannel. Well, that’s you.”

“Me?”

“I need S/CRU to be my backchannel. This will be delicate. I need someone I can trust. Someone discreet. Someone to operate in the shadows.”

“Thank you, sir. But what are we talking about?”

“The AMCITs, of course.” Parker stood up straight. “I need you to come up with a way to get them back. You’ll be helping me. You’ll be helping the Secretary. And you’ll be helping to prove S/CRU. It’s a win-win-win, Ryker. Are you in?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Good. Figure out what the hell those bastards are up to. Why now? What are they getting out of this? What are they thinking?”

“Who, sir?”

“The Cubans, Ryker! Who the hell else could I mean?”

Judd nodded.

“And, Ryker, you have to figure out how we’re going to get the AMCITs back without giving anything away. Who do we even talk to? I want some creative ideas! No more oldthink!” Parker turned to leave.

“I’m in, Mr. Parker. I’m in one hundred percent,” Judd said. “But I’ve been on lockdown all morning with this memo. What citizens are you talking about?”

Parker didn’t turn around as he walked out of Judd’s office. From the outer lobby, he called out, “Turn on your TV.”





19.


MIAMI, FLORIDA

THURSDAY, 10:02 A.M.

The television camera zoomed in on the chairwoman’s face as she approached the podium. A bouquet of microphones clustered at the front. A large American flag hung in the background, perfectly positioned by her press secretary to frame the screenshot.

Brenda Adelman-Zamora wore her most serious business pantsuit and an even sterner expression. Her personal makeup artist had used extra eyeliner that morning, adding subtle black lines to suggest intense ferocity.

The congresswoman stared into the camera for a moment, ensuring that all the networks had time to catch her opening statement. Satisfied the assembled media was ready, she inhaled deeply.

“I have called this press conference on short notice to express my deep outrage at the actions of the Cuban government. Last night, the Cuban navy illegally detained four innocent American citizens. My office has learned that these four men were on a fishing trip. These men are husbands. These men are fathers. Their young daughters play on the same soccer team in the great state of Maryland, just a few miles from where we stand this morning. One of the detained Americans is the coach. A hardworking businessman and a girls’ soccer coach. These soccer dads were together on a fishing trip out of the Florida Keys, enjoying the bounty of my own beautiful state, when they were illegally captured by the communist regime.”