90 Miles to Dead

miami, cubans, fidel castro, assassination plot

In the world of clandestine operations and covert warfare, there exists a group that has been secretly fighting the war on terror. When called upon, whether sabotage, assassinations, or support for coups d’état, every mission has been met with success. But now they face a new challenge and an enemy that escaped hundreds of assassination attempts, including their own.

Mitch Correa is a law student ready to vacation on the forbidden island of Cuba. What he doesn’t know is that his every move is being watched. His plans for enjoying Habana’s nightlife with the beautiful stranger he met from Miami quickly turns deadly. Mitch is accused of being a spy for the United States and is tortured and imprisoned on an island prison far from the shores of Habana where Cuba’s most dangerous and notorious criminals are housed.

Former Navy SEAL Dominick Black has been given the deadly mission of infiltrating Cuba and rescuing Mitch. In a dangerous game of cat and mouse where revenge is your enemy, Mitch becomes the bait in an assassination plot.

Excerpt:

He moved his head around trying to shake off the cobwebs. He struggled to open his eyes. Mitch slapped him again, this time much harder. The guard became alert, shook his head, and opened his eyes wide. He saw Dominick in front of him with the knife ready to be thrown at him. Dominick reared back and let the knife fly. It landed inches from his groin. The guard looked up at Dominick with fear in his eyes.

While age is not always a factor, Dominick knew that the guard was inexperienced. He may have been good, if not great at security detail, but fighting in the jungles alone was another story. The guard had flinched, and that is all that Dominick needed to know. Dominick walked slowly towards the guard. He did so purposefully, knowing it would create more anxiety. Thousands of negative thoughts flooded the guard’s mind.

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“My name is Dominick Black. I’m a mercenary. I have no affiliation with the United States other than I am a citizen. I am here because I was paid very well to be here. Now, the way this works is I ask you a question, and you will answer.” Dominick emphasized the word ‘will.’ “Because I am a mercenary and not a soldier, you are not a prisoner of war. Meaning, I am under no obligation to keep you alive, especially since Cuba does not subscribe to any of NATO’s treatises. Of course, you also have no obligation to take us as POW’s either, but for now, you’re in no position to negotiate. This cannot be any simpler. You answer my questions and I give you my word as one soldier to another, that I will kill you quickly; without pain and without shame. You could die a hero and your family will be well compensated by your government, but, if you complicate my life, you will die slowly and suffer pain like you’ve never imagined possible. You will not die a hero because I will bury your body and you will never be found.” Mitch was shocked at how fluently Dominick spoke in Spanish. “Do you understand?”

The guard nodded “yes.”

“Good, first question, how many men are there?”

The guard was non-responsive. This was expected. Dominick pulled the knife out of the ground. He held it before his face, examining the sharp jagged edges. “How many men are there?”

“I don’t know,” responded the guard in Spanish.

Dominick flipped the knife end over end, each time catching the handle in the palm of his hand. He then tossed the knife several feet in the air, on the way down, he caught the knife by the handle with the blade pointing down and in one motion, stabbed the guard’s left calf muscle. The guard yelled out. With his left hand, Dominick picked up a handful of dirt from the ground and slammed his hand into the mouth of the guard. The guard stopped yelling and started spitting out the dirt.

“By the time you get out most of the dirt in your mouth, your brain will start to release endorphins and the pain will go away. It’s a nice calming effect. Like a high. However, the pain does come back.” Dominick twisted the knife like a joystick. The guard’s face contorted from the pain. The guard was going to yell again, but, he was greeted with another handful of dirt to his mouth.

“Next time, the knife goes in the shoulder blade. That is the part of the body that has the most nerve endings. Trust me, that one really hurts. I’ve used that technique on hundreds of terrorists before. So, let’s try again. How many guards are there?”

Beads of sweat trickled down the guard’s forehead. Dominick placed the knife tip against the guard’s shoulder blades. He applied just enough pressure to break the skin. “I… I… don’t know.”

With one quick jab, the knife was embedded in the guard’s shoulder. Dominick slammed more dirt in the guard’s mouth. He twisted the knife by the handle less than an eighth of an inch. That was enough for tears of pain. “This pain is like no other you have ever experienced. It feels like thousands of volts of electricity shooting through your body. Some nerves will be damaged and you will lose sensitivity in those areas permanently. Dominick pushed on the end of the knife slightly. Again, the guard tried to scream from the agony, but another mouthful of dirt prevented him.

 

COLLAPSE

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