When she pulled into her driveway, she parked the car and dug her phone out of her bag, sending a text before she forgot.
Olive: Thanks for breakfast.You made my day.Just need a dress code for tonight.
As she walked in the door and set her keys on the table, he replied.
Jerry: Casual and warm.
Excited, she pulled the band out of her hair and started to undo her braid, humming a bright Christmas carol as she walked toward her bedroom.
Miami, Florida
Jean Desalin kept his infrared blocking sunglasses on as he wove his way through the throngs of tourists in the heart of Miami’s Little Haiti Christmas parade.The sun beat down on his head, causing sweat to bead on his forehead.Food vendors hawking their wares had fans pointed at the crowds, sending the scents of grilling meats and spices out to tempt hunger.
He stepped out of the way of a man pushing a toddler in a stroller.He didn’t mind the crowds.More crowds meant more anonymity.The sunglasses would help defeat any facial recognition cameras that happened to record his image.
Jean ducked into a cigar shop, and the man behind the counter gestured with his chin toward a beaded curtain.Jean went through the beads into the back room.A large Chinese man in a linen shirt stood next to a closed steel door.Jean approached and spoke quietly.“Good to see you, Hao.”
Hao Jun, Chinese MSS agent assigned to the Caribbean, nodded in greeting.He and Hao met in the early days of this deal and had spent several weeks together hashing out details and plans.In that time, Hao and Marie had, surprisingly, become extremely close.
Jean wondered if Hao’s masters in Beijing, who directed his mission, also knew of his romantic involvement with the sister ofPapa Libète.Or, he thought—and not for the first time—perhaps they had ordered it?
“You as well,” Hao said in perfect French.“I am happy to facilitate this meeting.”He punched a code into the panel near the door, and it swung silently open.
From his perch just inside the doorway, he stood for a moment in the cool room, his eyes running over the cutting-edge technology lining the walls—at the screens and computers displaying market data and a live feed of Congress, as well as various CCTV feeds from different cities.
His sister, Marie Desalin, approached him, arms outstretched.She spoke their native Haitian Creole in her greeting.“Bonjou, frè.” She hooked her arm in his and turned to the man sitting in an armchair.“I would like you to meet George Schwartz.”
The old white man with the pudgy face and blue suit did not stand, nor did he extend his hand for a handshake.Jean could not have cared less about his lack of manners or decorum.“Mr.Schwartz,” he said, “I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me.”
“Get to the point quickly.”
Anger burned deep in his chest, but he did not react.“I need ten million American dollars.”
The old man raised a thin eyebrow.“I know that.What will I get for my investment?”
“I have made preliminary arrangements with China.I already have half the money.In exchange for deeply discounted arms, I will grant them access to my country, deep water ports, surveillance outposts, and a home base for any anti-Western operations.”
Schwartz sat silent for several seconds.“Why do you think I care about that?”
Jean laughed and sat in the chair opposite the billionaire.“It is no secret you hope to destroy this administration.And you don’t care about the collateral damage in the process.”
Jean’s mind drifted off to the 2010 earthquake, when armed American “relief” helicopters buzzed overhead but delivered more troops than tents, followed shortly by the ceaseless cycle of UN missions that imported cholera and exported nothing but excuses.“I want to save my people from the endless gang wars and give my nation a strong leader.”
Schwartz looked him up and down.“The people call youPapa Libète.”
Marie answered.“The people love him.He has rallied an army.We just need weapons.”
The billionaire glanced in Marie’s direction but did not respond to her.Instead, he stood and said to Jean.“I will give you twenty million.Save your money to feed your men.”
Jean lowered his head and said, “You will not regret your decision.”
“I trust I will not.”
McGregor Park, Clarksville, Tennessee
Jerry zipped his flannel jacket tighter, the high 40s air nipping his ears as he guided Olive through the crowd at Christmas on the Cumberland.McGregor Park’s Riverwalk glowed from over a million colorful lights strung along the path, their reflective colors dancing in the Cumberland River’s dark ripples.The beauty made him forget his upcoming mission and allowed him to pretend for a moment that life was fun and bright.
“Ever come to this before?”he asked.
