Caldera

Chapter 10: Tate/Carlie

Weather: Storm Clouds with Sporadic Showers

Wind: E 10-15 MPH

Visibility: Stinks

Tate peered through the sheen of rain as she rowed on the port side of the CRRC. Even without night-vision or thermal, she could see just enough of the mansion's shadow to know they were less than two klicks out.

Anchoring the starboard side of the rubber boat was Esteban, or "E," as he was usually called, a muscular ex-Recon Marine whom Ronnie had lent to them for this gig. Using primarily hand signals to communicate, they synchronized their rowing as closely as possible, even as the strong waves pushed against them. Every now and then, they'd stop to let the waves toss them forward or back, then continue.

Tate's limbs ached. Even with her conditioning, she hadn't done a waterborne insertion in years, let alone one that took place in nasty weather. With the motor off to ensure stealth, it took sheer muscle power to propel the Zodiac and 500 pounds of firepower.

Dicey as conditions were, conditions were, they were still ideal for the raid. Darkness and rain blanketed their presence from just about anything short of a high-powered radar. The wind had sent them gently drifting on an angled path to their target, but that would work out in their favor. Esteban reckoned that launching the Zodiac from the west side of the island was the best route to take, as that would place them in the sentries' blind spot. Nature would take care of the rest.

They got a thirty-minute head start, rowing along the coastline of the various man-made islands, steering clear of any Coast Guard vessels. For the ones loitering nearby, former gunship pilot Yanet remote-joysticked a toy motorboat that would serve as a distraction, looping around in circles in the water. Long enough for Tate and Esteban to make it to their destination undetected.

Tate glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes til 2200.

Earlier at the bridge, Carlie had assured her that she would pull through with the mission. Tate wanted so badly to believe this. If she hadn't seen her stiffen at the mention of Betancourt, that is. Shane's only-slightly ambiguous remark at the meeting didn't help in the least, adding to Carlie's anxiety. Subtlety was never quite his strong suit. And we were doing so well until then.

After she found Carlie ruminating at the bridge, Tate took her to a hole-in-the wall cafe that served the tastiest Cubanos this side of town. That managed to brighten her mood a bit. They returned to the hotel to pack up. Shane had already made arrangements for their checkout.

They met up with Esteban and his crew at the pier warehouse for a mission brief. For this operation, Esteban "E" Estes coordinated the seaborne part of this production; on the air, Yanet Sanchez would cover the air extraction. Pablo Rico, an old teammate of E's, handled the demolitions. Two others from Ronnie's group provided logistical support. In addition, Tate and Carlie employed contacts from their old network of fixers in Miami, to provide intel.

Surveillance in the past 48 hours showed no major change in activity around Star Island. They'd seen Stevens and Betancourt going out to Guiseppe's for dinner earlier that day. Otherwise, cams at the gate showed their custom BMW having returned. They confirmed as much, having zoomed in to see Stevens in a white suit and Betancourt in his killer Armani emerge and disappear into the mansion.

All seemed well enough. Yet, Tate felt a nagging twinge in her gut.

Blades thrust into the necks of the two sentries, whose mouths were clapped shut. Tate and Esteban choked them until their bodies went limp. They dragged their victims away from view, then eyed the perimeter for any sign of optics. If they found any, they sprayed them with black paint. They lit up their night vision goggles.