October's Ghost Read Online Free PDF

could not remove the pangs of loss from his gut as he watched the finest fighting force the world had ever known shrink toward a smaller, equally capable—he hoped—force that would continue to protect the nation in perpetuity. The warriors had made the world safe for peace, and they were now fading away.
    “Our work here is done,” Granger observed. He started to walk toward the jet
    “Back to Disneyland,” Bud said, exhibiting a touch of cynicism himself. “And to the same old same old.”
    “Isn’t that the truth,” Granger agreed.
    It wasn’t.
    *  *  *
    He was a businessman before all else.
    “Soothe my nerves, Gonzalo. Give me the total again,” José-Ramon Alvarez directed. His eyes, aged but still filled with the fire born in his youth, added a silent admonition for his aide to be certain of the figure.
    “Sixty-five million dollars,” Gonzalo Parra repeated, sure of his accounting.
    Alvarez smiled. “Information is very valuable.”
    “The correct term is intelligence,” Parra corrected. He was the only man to hold enough favor with the executive secretary of the Cuban Freedom Society to chance such a seemingly mild rebuff.
    “I think still as a businessman,” Alvarez told his trusted aide, a man equal in age to his sixty-one years.
    “You must begin to think as the leader of a nation.” The suggestion was delivered with an expression that those who had wielded absolute power would recognize clearly, though this was in anticipation of such power. “Think what we will be able to do once we have the resources of an entire country at our disposal. That sixty-five million will be multiplied by ten times ten. With such money, with such power...”
    “Yes.” Power came in many forms, José-Ramon Alvarez knew. In the form of money it could purchase and persuade. In others it could deter and defend. Soon the combination would be in his possession. With it he would see that his people, enslaved by a failed ideology for decades, would prosper, as would he. Strength would be theirs. They, under his guidance, would be seen no longer as the weak. The weak ... “I wish I could speak to Avaro once more before we go.”
    “It is not wise. Not at this time. He will contact us when the problem is taken care of.” Parra heard the sound of approaching feet outside the door to the CFS inner sanctum, which was innocuously located in a converted mini-mall in Miami’s Little Havana. “He has run the network for months now. This is not much different.”
    Alvarez knew that lack of trust or comfort was not his motive for desiring a final call, but his aide was very right. Great, momentous things lay ahead. Sentiment would have to wait.
    The door opened after a quick knock. One of Alvarez’s security men stepped in. In the hall stood two men in suits, both Anglos. Their jackets were unbuttoned for quick access to what was undoubtedly on their hips.
    “Mr. President,” the CFS security man began, looking directly at Alvarez. “It is time.”
    José-Ramon Alvarez smiled at the somewhat early use of the title that would soon be officially his. It would take very little getting used to.
    *  *  *
    It was the beginning of a catastrophic failure.
    The USS Pennsylvania , an Ohio-class ballistic-missile submarine, was arguably the most complex platform in the arsenal of the United States for the employment of strategic nuclear weapons. On board she carried a mix of sophisticated sensors, machinery, and weapons, all of which worked in harmony to make the eighteen-thousand ton sub a silent and potent deterrent to aggression against the country she served. Costing more than a billion dollars, the Pennsylvania was a reliable boat but one that required regular maintenance to ensure her effectiveness. Everything that could be done to keep her in tip-top shape was.
    But there had been a mistake.
    “Cap’n, that harmonic is gettin’ worse,” the chief of the boat reported.
    The Pennsylvania’s captain finished his