Hawke
“He looked over at his lone passenger, Fidel Castro.“All buckled in, Comandante?” he asked over the intercom. Both of them were wearing headphones with speakers. It was the only way you could communicate because of the turbine engine’s whine.“Sí, Manso. Vámonos!” Castro said.Manso flipped a switch that killed any transmission in the leader’s headphones.“Havana Control, this is Alpha Bravo Hotel One,” Manso said. “Do you copy?”“Copy loud and clear, Alpha Bravo, you’re clear for takeoff. Over.” Ma...nso recognized the silky voice of Rodrigo del Rio, owner of the Club Mao-Mao and, more importantly, Castro’s former deputy head of State Security. Now he’d been bought and paid for by Manso. His loyalty to Manso was unquestioned. Only this morning, the air traffic controller typically in the tower at this time of day had been stabbed to death in his bed by del Rio. Rodrigo had used his weapon of choice, a gleaming pair of silver scissors that had earned him the nickname Scissorhands.“Roger that, tower,”MoreLess
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