Diplomacy Directive. Don Pendleton

There would be infighting after his death, followed by a complete breakdown in order. Ultimately, that would lead to dissolution of the Independents. Veda saw the NRJO and its offer as the only remaining option.

      It wasn’t a decision he’d come to lightly, and it had proved most difficult because he had to maintain a business-as-usual air around his people. They could never know about this alliance. Never.

      “As you prefer,” Veda finally said. “My point is that this new development stands to create a complication for both of us.”

      “I’ve just received word that one of our subposts near the city did not check in at their appointed time.”

      “Yes, I was led to believe he had a violent encounter with one of your small-ops units.”

      “And how did he connect them back to you?”

      “I’m not sure,” Veda lied. Thus far, he’d managed to keep La Costa’s existence under wraps and he intended to keep it that way.

      “What did you tell him?”

      “Nothing, of course, other than that I do not believe in using violence to gain political advantage.”

      Razzaq produced an almost scoffing laugh. “Yes, that tired old story. However, I do know it is a conviction you’re passionate about. That should have been convincing enough for him. What do you think he will do next?”

      “I know exactly what he’ll do.” Veda paused, savoring the moment. “I sent him to Las Mareas. I’m sure he’ll travel there by vehicle. That will give you time to implement a reactionary plan and take him down before he gets there.”

      Razzaq didn’t say anything for some time. Then, “That should do nicely. Yes, my friend, well done.”

      Veda felt sickened by the mere intimation he could be friends with a man like Razzaq. “I figured whether you send someone to intercept or simply order your people there to await his arrival, which I believe will be imminent, you should have no trouble eliminating him.”

      “And what of the rest of our plan? Are your preparations nearing completion?”

      “I should need a few more days, at most, which is still well ahead of your timetable.”

      “That is good news. Very good news, indeed.”

      Veda considered not even bringing up the last thing, but he felt there wouldn’t be a more opportune time, particularly since he had Razzaq in good spirits.

      “You are still committed to our agreement, yes?”

      “You refer to your longevity.”

      “You know I am.”

      “No need to go on the defense, my friend. I may not have the most endearing virtues, but one of them is that I’m a man of my word. Your personal affairs will be addressed when the time comes.”

      “I would hope so. And now if you’ll excuse me I have other matters that need my attention. I will be in touch when all is readied.”

      Veda hung up without waiting for Razzaq to say goodbye, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. They burned and itched, partly from exhaustion and partly from the pain medication. He checked his watch and realized the time had come to take what he’d christened his “comfort cocktail.” He reached into his desk drawer to remove the pill bottles. He poured a glass of water from the crystal set on a nearby tray, then dutifully swallowed the three-pill combination that enabled him to function.

      What Veda appreciated more about the medication was it masked some of the internal feelings, not those derived from the disease ravaging his organs, but the more foul aspirations of his soul. To have allied himself with the NRJO went against nearly everything he’d fought for these many years. This only served to remind him just how desperate he’d become to see it through. One day his countrymen would curse him, but he saw a bright future—one beyond the boundaries of the short-term—where a united and independent Puerto Rico would one day immortalize his name.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      The tail initiated when Bolan and La Costa were no more than a mile outside Veda’s estate and maintained a discreet distance on the return trip to San Juan. As Bolan swung into the small drive and stopped beneath the overhang in front of the hotel, the other vehicle edged to the curb about half a block back. It was still early afternoon, so traffic didn’t clog the thoroughfare, and a minute adjustment to the side mirror earlier afforded the soldier a direct line of sight.

      “Are they still there?” La Costa asked, tension in her voice.

      “Yeah.” Bolan unbuckled his seat belt. “Stay here.”

      “But—”

      “No buts, stay here.”

      Bolan left the car, walked around the front of the vehicle and pushed through the revolving door that led into the hotel foyer. He walked straight to the courtesy phone and dialed his room. Jack Grimaldi answered on the first ring.

      “It’s me,” Bolan said. “I’ve picked up watchers.”

      “Friendly?” Grimaldi asked, voice immediately alert.

      “Not sure yet,” Bolan said. “I need to know their real interest. They’re in a late-model, silver Toyota. I’ve also picked up a reporter named La Costa. I need you to come down here, go straight out front where her car’s parked. Blue Toyota. Get behind the wheel and drive away. Keys are in the ignition.”

      “Where to?”

      Bolan thought on it a moment. “Airport. When you get there, requisition us a light chopper. Where’s your rental?”

      “Hotel garage, ground floor. White Ford Escape. Keys are under the front wheel well in a magnetized case. What’s your angle?”

      “If they follow you, they’re after La Costa. If they don’t, then their only interest is in me. Either way, any contact will be on my terms.”

      “Understood.”

      “Out here.”

      The soldier dropped the phone in the cradle, already formulating a plan of action as he went out the back door of the hotel to the open-air, two-story parking garage. He went straight to the SUV, retrieved the key, got behind the wheel and left the garage. Bolan checked his watch, confident in the timing, and swung in behind the enemy’s sedan just as Grimaldi pulled from the curb. The enemy’s sedan left the curb to enter the flow of traffic. Bolan saw his opportunity and pulled out behind it; obviously, their interest lay in La Costa, and the soldier felt a bit of responsibility for her since she’d agreed to take him to Veda.

      Bolan waited until their vehicle had entered the thoroughfare before driving the nose of his SUV into the rear of the fender at the seam of the driver’s door.

      The jolt caught the wheelman off guard, the surprise evident on his face even as Bolan backed up a foot, then went EVA with Beretta in fist and leveled the pistol at the driver’s head. He’d hit that target with a very specific purpose in mind. He’d damaged the sedan in such a way that the door would jam against the fender if the man attempted to open it. The pair were effectively trapped since the passenger’s door would not open as it was now wedged against the rear bumper of the car behind, which they had parked.

      “Stay right there, hands clear!” Bolan ordered.

      The two men complied and Bolan quickly sized them up. Both Hispanic males, about equal in physical size, clean-shaved and with hard expressions that spoke of experience combined with training. If he hadn’t known better, Bolan would have sworn he was looking at a couple of federal agents—maybe FBI or U.S. Marshals—given the way they carried themselves. Well, at least they weren’t extremists, because if they had been Bolan knew his warnings would have gone unheeded. No, these weren’t fanatics; they had too much of a sense of self-preservation to try anything while he had them at gunpoint.

      Bolan