Diplomacy Directive. Don Pendleton

      “How did you know about that?” La Costa asked.

      Veda’s expression softened and he offered La Costa an ingratiating smile. “My dear, you know I have eyes and ears everywhere in Puerto Rico. Why should this surprise you?”

      La Costa didn’t have an answer for him.

      Veda turned to Bolan. “Colonel, when I first heard of your arrival I wasn’t the least bit inclined to cooperate with you. But now that we’ve spoken and I’ve seen you’re only interested in getting to the truth, I offer you every resource at my disposal.”

      “I appreciate that,” Bolan said warily. “But I think you’ll understand if I decline your offer for the moment.”

      “I understand. You must maintain some air of neutrality. But consider the offer standing for the duration of your time here.”

      Bolan nodded. “Thanks.”

      “As to other places to look, might I suggest you start within the very place this thing started?”

      “The governor’s office?”

      “You sound surprised,” Veda said. “Is it so hard to believe? Who else stands to suffer considerable losses if political parties pressing for an independent Puerto Rico gain popularity? The idea of becoming a country of our own is known in many circles as progress. But I and my colleagues wish to do this peacefully and legally. We still lack resources and the support of the strongest backers, those with the money and political clout, primarily due to the current government’s disinformation campaign against any group preaching independence be it by nationalism, secession or otherwise.”

      “You’re proposing the government’s in bed with terrorists,” Bolan said evenly.

      “I’m proposing that someone inside Governor Hernandez’s office is in bed with terrorists,” Veda countered.

      Bolan grasped the tight, aching muscles on the back of his neck and considered Veda’s proposal. In other circumstances it would have sounded utterly preposterous, but in this case he could see its feasibility. Whoever hit the rally, and Bolan was fairly convinced he could rule out anyone working for Veda at the moment, would have given an insider exactly the leverage they needed to point the finger at the Independents or another group like it, not to mention all the political ammo they needed to take the attention off themselves. That left just motive and Bolan could think of only one.

      If terrorists could get Puerto Rico out from under American control, it would provide them not only with a significant financial resource, but would also establish a strategic stronghold and base of operations from which to launch strikes against the continental U.S. and her allies. It was unthinkable, but not implausible.

      “Let’s suppose your theory has some merit,” Bolan finally said. “Where would I start looking? I can’t very well start poking my nose into the affairs of the Puerto Rican government’s office without raising eyebrows. I’d be demoted and transferred to some remote post for the duration of my career.”

      “Having once been a soldier myself, I can empathize with the predicament such actions might cause you, Colonel. So in good faith, I would like to suggest that you look in Las Mareas.”

      Bolan looked askance at La Costa.

      “On the other side of the island,” she offered.

      The soldier returned his attention to Veda. “That’s all?”

      “It is, I am afraid, all that I can offer you,” Veda replied. “To say any more would violate the…ah, air of neutrality we spoke of. Now if you don’t mind, I have a tremendous amount of work here that demands my attention.”

      Veda looked to the two guards, who took a couple of steps forward. Bolan knew the conversation was over, so he nodded at La Costa and the pair rose.

      As they turned to leave, Veda said, “My men will conduct you safely back to your vehicle and off the premises.”

      “We can manage,” Bolan said.

      “It’s our pleasure,” Veda replied in a nonnegotiable tone.

      When they were off Veda’s estate and on their way back to the hotel, Bolan said, “Well, he told us something but nothing.”

      La Costa smiled. “That’s Miguel. Do you trust him now?”

      “No.” Bolan glanced at her. “But I’m not sure why. Not yet.”

      “Well, I tried,” La Costa said. “I’ll admit he was acting a bit strange.”

      “He’s sick, isn’t he?”

      La Costa nodded. “Very. Pancreatic and liver cancer. The doctors have given him less than a year. So was it something he said, maybe, that makes you mistrustful of him?”

      Bolan shook his head. “Instinct.”

      “That’s all?”

      “That…and the fact there’s someone following us,” Bolan replied as he scanned the rearview mirror.

      AS SOON AS THE VISITORS departed, Miguel Veda considered his options. He hadn’t wished to tell the American as much as he had, but he also knew if he’d refused to cooperate that Stone would hound his every waking moment. He didn’t need those kinds of distractions. Not now. Not when the time was coming so close to his plan. His final plan. The plan that would bring independence to Puerto Rico, make her a free nation.

      Not that he stood much chance to see that day. The cancer had eaten at his internal organs so rapidly that even the best physicians on the island couldn’t offer much hope. By the time they detected it, he’d already advanced to late-stage sarcoma that had metastasized to most of his abdominal organs. He’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to fly in some of the greatest oncologists in the world, but even they could offer little comfort. None of that really mattered now, however. The only thing that mattered was going through with his plans.

      Veda felt sick having to lie to La Costa. He didn’t really give a damn for the man named Stone or his precious American government. America. Why the very word was like a monosyllabic curse that left the same foul aftertaste as if he’d imbibed sewer water. But La Costa had been straight with Veda from the beginning, and he couldn’t imagine what she would say—even what she would do for that matter—if she uncovered his deceptions. Well, best to put it from his mind. He had an important call to make.

      Veda ensured none of his staff were within eavesdropping range and then secured the doors to his office. He returned to his desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. A gruff voice on the other end answered with a “Yeah” on the third ring. Veda identified himself and a few minutes ticked by before another voice came on the line.

      Veda recognized the smooth, cultured tones of Siraj Razzaq. Still, they had to exchange their code words for the day. Veda felt foolish playing these silly games of secrecy, yet he knew the importance of pleasing Razzaq.

      “What have you to report?” the terrorist leader asked.

      “Well, you already know the attack in the square was successful,” Veda replied. “But I think someone may be onto our plans.”

      “Who?”

      “A U.S. Army colonel by the name of Stone. He’s been to the governor’s office, and he’s engaged some of my men firsthand.”

      “You mean my men,” Razzaq interjected. “The Americans have a saying—‘don’t forget where your bread is buttered.’”

      Veda considered a flippant reply at first, but bit it back in afterthought. It hadn’t been easy making alliances with a member of a cell within the New Revolutionary Justice Organization. He hadn’t lied when telling La Costa and Stone he abhorred violence as a means to gain a political end, but the cancer eating away at his body had transformed Veda’s optimism into pragmatism. The fact the NRJO stood to benefit significantly from this unholy alliance