Ghosts of Havana (Judd Ryker #3)(80)

“Ricky’s lucky I didn’t kill him. You know he tried to kill me?”

“That’s not what Bravo reported.”

“You know that Bravo’s real name is Ricardo Cabrera? That he’s the brother of the Alejandro Cabrera. That he’s working for Ruben Sandoval? And he—”

“I don’t know who those people are, Jessica,” he cut her off. “Don’t try to lose me in irrelevant details. Remember who you’re talking to. I’m not falling for it. Stop deflecting blame.”

“You know Bravo blew up your boat?”

“What? My Cobalt?”

She made an explosion gesture with her hands. “Gone.”

“We’re talking about Triggerfish, Jessica!”

“I didn’t kill Triggerfish either, sir.”

“Tell me one f*cking piece of the operation that you did not kill? The whole thing has gone to shit. And wherever I see something that went wrong, all I see is . . . you.”

“I didn’t betray you, sir.”

“You can lie to your goddamn husband, Jessica, but you can’t lie to me!”

“You’re right. I gave the money to Oswaldo Guerrero. That’s true.”

“I knew it!”

“Judd needed to get the hostages back.”

“I don’t f*cking believe my ears!” he huffed. “You’re conspiring with your husband!” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you working for that little prick, Landon Parker?”

“No, sir. I gave the money to Guerrero in order to accomplish the mission.”

“Your mission was to deliver the cash to people who would bring him down, not hand the money over to the enemy.”

“Sir, ECP is gone. People are on the streets. Cuba’s going to hold an election. Isn’t that what you wanted? Wasn’t that the objective of Triggerfish?”

“You don’t have the big picture, Jessica. You never did. That’s the whole point of running an operation like this. That’s the whole point of needing everyone to just do their job. That’s why I can’t have my people second-guessing me. You can’t run your own rogue operation! Not again, Jessica!”

“Cuba’s having an election. How is that not mission success, sir?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve unleashed?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s the point! No one knows. And the f*cking icing on the f*cking cake is that you gave my money to Oswaldo Guerrero? Of all people, Jessica. How am I supposed to explain this to Congress?”

“Do you mean Brenda Adelman-Zamora?” Jessica couldn’t contain her smirk.

“What do you know about her?” he shot back.

“I know all about her, sir,” she said.

“Why are you smiling? How do you know about Brenda? Do you have someone planted at the Willard?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you following me?”

“Sir . . .” Jessica paused and pursed her lips. “I don’t know . . . anything about that hotel. I . . . don’t think I want to know. I’m talking about illegal campaign finance. I’m talking about her congressional campaign . . . accepting donations from secret sources. Her campaign has been secretly receiving money seized from drug traffickers during Operation Everglades.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I witnessed it with my own eyes.”

The Deputy Director looked Jessica up and down. “What are you going to do with that information?”

“Me?” Jessica feigned horror. “I’m not going to do anything. But if Adelman-Zamora tries to make trouble for you—I mean, trouble for us—about how Triggerfish went down, you could remind her that we know about it”—Jessica shrugged—“and that the Justice Department doesn’t.”

“You’re just telling me this? As leverage? To blackmail a member of the United States Congress?”

“Sir, I’m simply sharing this information with you. I don’t need to know what you do with it. Consider it a present . . . In gratitude for everything you’ve done for me . . . And for what happened to your boat.”

The Deputy Director rubbed his head and paced the foyer. Then he stopped short. “You are calculating, Jessica Ryker.”

“You just said it yourself, sir. I’m your best operative.”

“So, now what? You expect me to just forget everything that’s happened? You want a Presidential Medal or something?”

Jessica shrugged again.

“You want me to reinstate Purple Cell? Is that it?”

“Right now, sir, the only thing I want is to take my family to the beach.”

“That’s all?”

“And fifteen million dollars. In untraceable cash.”

“What?”

“To complete our deal with Guerrero. And I know exactly where to get it.”





84.


U.S. CAPITOL BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C.

SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.

This is a glorious day!” Brenda Adelman-Zamora tapped the microphone on the lectern twice to quiet the crowd. “We have much to celebrate today!” she crowed, bursting with excitement. The stage was tightly packed with exhausted-looking wives and children standing behind four men in golf shirts and khakis. Alejandro Cabrera, Brinkley Barrymore, Crawford Jackson, and Dennis Dobson stood awkwardly under the lights.