“Hola,” the first whispered when they reached them. “You are the CIA men, no?”
“Not exactly,” Tom replied, “but close enough.”
“I am Juan,” the Cuban informed them. “Let’s hide your boat.”
He and his friends quickly helped Tom and Axel lift the boat and carry it up the beach beyond the tide line so that it would not be taken out to sea. They lowered the boat into a small ditch and covered it with palm branches. “Diego will watch over it,” Juan said, nodding to one of his compatriots. “Come with me.”
Three of the four men departed, disappearing back into the darkness from whence they came. Juan led Axel and Tom to an old, rusting pick-up truck.
“Before we get in, do you have your contribution to the Cuban Liberation Fund?” he asked with a smile. Tom unslung a small, black bag from his shoulder and tossed it to the Cuban. Juan opened the zipper and peered inside. Satisfied that the amount of American dollars inside was acceptable, he opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside the truck. Axel and Tom climbed in on the passenger side with Axel sitting in between the two men.
Juan drove just a few miles down the road before he came to an old barn. He pulled over and climbed out of the truck, indicating for Axel and Tom to do likewise. The two men complied and followed the Cuban into the barn. Once inside Juan closed the doors and then lit a small oil lamp. He unslung the small black bag of cash from his shoulder and tossed it onto a table. He sat down on a wooden stool and opened the bag, dumping the stacks of bills out onto the table.
“You should go ahead and change out of those wet clothes and into your civilians,” Juan said in a thick accent, without looking at them. “We’ll try to get a couple hours sleep and then we’ll drive into Havana.”
“How far is it ?” Tom asked.
Juan shook his head from side to side. “Not far,” he replied.
Tom shot a frustrated glance to Axel who suppressed a chuckled. Axel then began unbuttoning his wet shirt. Both men changed into dry clothes, specially selected to match their cover as German tourists. Then they ate a dinner of canned beans and sausages before laying down on sleeping bags and going to sleep as Juan, who had finished counting the money, turned off the lamp.
The three men only slept for a couple of hours before the sun was rising overhead, peeking through slits in the barn wall. They rose, dusted off and once again piled into the truck, intent on stopping at a cafe in Havana for breakfast, just like real German tourists would.
The old truck drove into Havana and stopped near the bus terminal. Axel and Tom exited the vehicle, thanking their host as they climbed out of the cab of the truck. They removed their suitcases from the truck bed and stepped into the terminal.
The terminal was not extremely busy, but it was busy enough that no would pay them much attention. They walked through the terminal and stepped out on the other side. From there, the two men casually strolled down the busy city street until they came to a small hotel. Axel and Tom checked into the hotel with their falsified German passports, finding their room sparse, but adequate. They took quick baths in tepid water and then left to eat breakfast.
That afternoon, after both had recuperated from their journey with long naps and a hearty lunch, they sat at small table at an outdoor cafe. Axel fanned the heat away from him with his hat and Tom puffed on a Cuban cigarette. “These are quite good,” Tom said to Axel in excellent German as he looked at the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke from his nostrils.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Axel replied with a smile and took a sip of his drink.
As they sipped their guarapos, an incredibly sweet drink of sugar cane juice, a slightly plump, middle-aged man sat at a nearby table, removed his hat and wiped the beading sweat from his balding head. From the look of him, he appeared to be eastern European and clearly disliked the Caribbean heat. He ordered ice water from the waiter through broken Spanish and when it arrived sat back in his chair and and sipped it gratefully. Another man, clearly Cuban, joined him a moment later handing the balding European a newspaper.
“Gracias,” the European said to his companion as the Cuban took a seat across from him.
Tom smiled at Axel and spoke in German with a glance to the neighboring table. “This poor man might melt right into the street.”
The European man lowered his newspaper and looked at Tom. Then he also spoke in German. “The Cuban sun is hot enough to melt steel,” he retorted with good humor.
“And where do you normally shade yourself?” Tom asked him.
“Minsk,” he replied. “And you?”
“Berlin, on the south side.”
The man then turned to his companion and pointed at Tom and Axel. “These two are German,” he said in thickly accented English. The Cuban looked up at them.
“La bienvenida a Cuba,” he said with a smile.
“Gracias,” both Tom and Axel replied with a nod and pleasant smile. The Cuban then asked them several questions in Spanish and Tom and Axel just smiled, staring blankly at him. Though Tom understood Spanish fairly well, it was better for their cover to pretend to comprehend little of it.
“I don’t think they speak Spanish any better than I do,” the European said to the Cuban in English with a laugh. Then he turned to Axel and Tom, slipping back into German. “I am called Sava Ruslan,” he said.
“I am Thomas and this is Axel,” Tom replied in flawless German.
Sava turned to his Cuban companion. “I learned German during the war,” he explained in English. “Do you speak German?” he asked the Cuban.
“No,” the Cuban replied as he shook his head. “Only Spanish and English.”
Sava turned back to Tom and Axel with a smile. “He is a government official that trails me all over the island,” Sava explained to them in German.
“Does the government suspect something?” Tom asked.
Sava shook his head and then looked up at the sky as if speaking about the weather and sun. “No, they are more afraid I will see that their economy is failing. See the dirtier sides of town. That I will return to Moscow and tell them that Cuba is not the socialist utopia that they claim. As if we do not already know that. Of course neither is Russia, eh?” he smiled and took a sip of his ice water. “That is why I am coming with you.”
“How are you going to lose this guy?” Axel asked.
Sava waved Axel’s concerns away. “He has a family. He will go home tonight. After he leaves, I will meet you over there by the fountain,” he said with a nod in that direction. Axel fought hard not to turn and look.
“Sounds good,” Tom replied. He smiled at both Sava and the Cuban, stood and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, imitating poor English in a German accent, as he shook each man’s hand. Axel followed suit. He and Tom took their leave, pointing out various pieces of architecture as if they were actual tourists. They made their way back to the hotel and Tom telephoned Juan to have him ready to pick them up that evening.
***
The streets were not deserted, but neither were they busy as the sky turned dark over Havana. Sava was waiting as promised in front of the fountain, carrying a large case full of documents and nervously puffing on a cigarette. Juan’s truck pulled up and Tom opened the door to the passenger side allowing Sava to climb inside. Axel rode in the bed of the truck, his back leaned up against the cab. Juan pulled away and began the drive back to the beach where they had hidden the boat.
“How do you plan to get us out of here?” Sava asked Tom in English.
“Same way we came in,” Tom replied. “By boat.”
Sava nodded. “It seems easy so far,” he smiled.
“Well, that is why we wanted to get you out of Cuba instead of Russia.”
“Yes,” Sava said with a nervous laugh. “We would probably already be dead if we were trying to sneak out of the Soviet Union.”
They drove out of the city and continued south for a couple of miles. Soon they reached the same barn that th
ey had stopped at the night before. Juan began to pull the truck over.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked.
“I just need to stop and get something.”
Something seemed wrong to Tom. “Get what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the Cuban.
“Just something I forgot.” He pulled over in front of the barn, but before he could turn off the engine Tom had a pistol in his hand and pressed against Juan’s temple. The Cuban swallowed hard.
“Get back on the road,” Tom said calmly.
Juan held his hands up. Suddenly, the barn doors swung open and Cuban police stepped out, all aiming weapons at the truck.
“Sorry, amigo,” Juan said. “They caught me a while ago and this was the only way to save my family.”
“Whatever,” Tom muttered, dismissing the man’s excuse. “Get out!”
Juan opened the door and stepped cautiously out of the truck with his hands high in the air. Tom slid over into the driver’s seat as he reached over and closed the door. He slid the gear into reverse and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. Headlights flipped on illuminating them as the Cuban police rushed to their vehicles to give chase. Once back on the road Tom shifted into first gear and sped away, sending gravel flying.
“So much for being easy,” Sava said.
“Don’t worry,” Tom said, “we’re not exactly running from the Red army here.”
The Cuban police chased after them.
“Do you think we can make it to your boat?” Sava asked.
“Juan helped us hide the boat. We have to assume it has been compromised.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to Guantanamo Bay,” Tom said as they sped down the road.
“What?” Sava asked. “That is the most idiotic plan I’ve ever heard. You’d think this was your first mission. It will take us all night to drive to Guantanamo.”
“Well, I don’t have any better plans right this second,” Tom smirked. “Do you?”
“I’m sure they have better plans for us all,” Sava said as he pointed at the vehicles chasing them.
Tom stuck his head out the window. “Hey Blitz, you ever going to do your thing?” he shouted at Axel.
“Just waiting for the best place to do minimal damage,” Axel said. He was not really ready to take the lives of Cuban police officers who were simply doing their jobs.
“I promise that they are not giving us the same consideration,” Tom shouted back.
Axel slid along the bed of the truck to the tailgate and sat up on his knees. There were two trucks, a Volkswagen, and three motorcycles chasing them. Axel held up his right arm, pointing his fingers at the lead truck, taking it out with a quick bolt of lightening to the vehicle’s engine. The hood of the truck flew up and it spun off the side of the road, colliding with a tree. Axel had hoped the truck would remain on the road, blocking the path of the other vehicles and he cursed as the other officers were able to maneuver easily around it.
Tom did not see the hole in the road in time to avoid it and Axel was almost tossed out when the truck hit it. “Watch where you’re going!” he shouted over his shoulder at Tom.
“Sorry!” Tom returned.
When Axel turned his attention back to the vehicles pursuing them, he noticed the three motorcycles were speeding ahead of the others. One of the motorcycles sped up close to the tailgate while the other two pulled along either side of the truck, in an attempt to surround them.
Axel quickly took stock of the situation, glancing back and forth at each of the motorcycles. He reared back and threw a bolt of blue energy hitting the middle motorcycle in the front tire and sending it crashing in a spray of dirt and gravel. He then held his arms out like wings releasing low-energy bolts from each hand popping the driver of the motorcycles themselves. The bolts were enough to stun, but not kill the drivers, and he watched as their motorcycles wobbled before sliding along on their sides.
Now, only the Volkswagen and a truck remained. A Cuban officer leaned out of the passenger side of the Volkswagen, aiming a Russian AK-47 automatic rifle. A pull of the trigger sent a burst of bullets that peppered the tailgate and shattered the rear windshield.
“Jesus Axel, take’em out!” Tom shouted as glass rained over him. Sava had ducked down low in the passenger seat hiding his head from sight. Lucky for him, or the last spray of gunfire might have killed him. Axel turned back to face the Cubans and shot a bolt of lightning straight into the car’s engine, disabling it immediately.
Only one pursuer remained, an old pick-up truck, not unlike the one Axel rode in. The Cuban officer driving it stepped on the accelerator slamming into the rear of Axel’s truck and sending him falling backward into the bed. Axel pushed himself up and leaned over the tailgate and placed the palm of his hand upon the hood of the police truck. He released a spark of electricity, frying the truck’s engine. The truck slowed to a stop and the Cuban officers leapt out, firing their weapons. Axel dropped to his stomach in the bed of the truck as Tom sped away.
When they had left the Cuban police in the distance, Axel crawled back to the front of the truck bed and stuck his head through the opening where the rear windshield had once been. “Pull over,” he told Tom. “We’re clear.”
Tom nodded and then slowed the truck to a stop. Axel leapt out of the bed and climbed inside the cab forcing Sava to slide over. The Russian smiled at him. “That was impressive,” he said. “I take it you are one of the prime?” he asked.
Axel tilted his head, looking at Sava quizzically. “The prime?” he asked.
“Yes, the prime humans,” Sava replied. “Genetically engineered super humans?”
“I’ve never heard that term before,” Axel said thoughtfully.
“Really?” Sava asked. “That’s interesting, because I was under the impression that it was the Americans that coined it.”
Axel shrugged. Tom turned to Sava. “Well, you are correct though. Axel is a genetically engineered super human.”
Sava’s eye lit up and his mouth fell open. “You’re Donar!” Sava said excitedly, referring to him by the codename the Germans had given him and Rolf.
“What, I…” Axel began. He had not heard that name in years.
“Yes, yes you are. You are Donar.” Sava smiled and slapped Axel on the shoulder. “It is very nice to meet you, Donar.”
Axel turned away from him and stared out of the window as the landscape sped past.
Sava turned to Tom. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“Just drop it,” Tom replied.
They continued down the road south toward Guantanamo Bay in silence.
Chapter 8
Axel was driving now and Sava and Tom both snoozed beside him as the truck rumbled along the road. The heat of the rising sun glaring onto the side of Axel’s face helped keep him awake as he drove. The truck was old and loud and it was hard to hear much over its rumbling engine, but Axel thought he heard a low hum in the distance. His ears perked up as he listened. Soon the hum became a chop, chop, chop sound and Axel quickly began scanning the sky, praying that he was wrong about what was making the sound. Unfortunately, he was not wrong, and it did not take long before he saw it.
“Wake up!” he shouted and both Tom and Sava bolted awake. “Helicopter, incoming,” Axel said and both Tom and Sava began to search the sky. They quickly spotted it.
“It’s Russian,” Tom said as he watched the helicopter get closer and closer. “Yep, it’s a Hound.” The helicopter was almost on top of them now. “Can’t you shoot it out of the air?” Tom asked Axel.
“You were the one that insisted that I drive for a while so you could rest,” Axel replied. At least that was his excuse. He knew if he shot it out of the air, every man aboard would die.
“Well, we need to do something,” Sava said as he watched the helicopter. From the look on his face, it was evident that he was terrified. Axel was not sure if the Russian was more scared of being killed or being captured and sent
back to Moscow as a traitor.
Suddenly, a burst of machine gun fire kicked up a spray of dirt in the road in front of them. Axel slammed the brakes as the helicopter moved to hover directly in their path. Once the truck had stopped, the Hound began lowering to the ground, kicking up dirt and leaves into the air.
Axel put the truck in neutral and opened the door, climbing out with his hands high in the air. Tom and Sava did likewise. The helicopter was on the ground now, blocking their path and the door opened allowing several armed soldiers to pour out, AK-47 rifles raised.
“Hey, Tom, I’m going to let you drive the rest of the way,” Axel shouted over the noise of the Hound.
“Sounds good to me,” Tom said.
“Wait, what are we doing?” Sava asked.
“Get ready,” Axel shouted as he ignored Sava’s question. “Now!” he shouted and Tom bolted back to the truck. Sava picked up on that and followed behind, leaping into the passenger side as Axel released a bolt of energy that found the soldiers, shocking them and sending them to the ground writhing. Axel then shot another bolt of energy at the helicopter itself, frying its circuits. When he was satisfied that neither the helicopter or the soldiers were a threat, he spun and dashed back to the truck, leaping into the bed as Tom sped away kicking dust and gravel into the air. They drove around the disabled helicopter and continued down the road toward Guantanamo City.
***
Less than an hour later, Guantanamo City came into view. Unfortunately, so did the military blockade that had been set up to capture them. Tom swore under his breath and then stuck his head out of the window to yell at Axel.
“Get ready Blitz!” he shouted over his shoulder through the opening where the rear windshield used to be. Axel stood up in the bed of the truck and peered over the roof of the cab. The military blockade consisted of imposing barriers, scores of soldiers, and several vehicles of different types including a tank.
Origins of the Prime Page 7
