by Fritz Galt
“I think we may have something in common with respect to Cooper,” Rodriguez began.
Harry sensed that he was feeling him out.
“That would be nice,” Harry said, taking a risk. “He’s wrongfully accused.”
“That’s how I see it,” Rodriguez said, a bold statement coming from a man who wasn’t exactly at the top of his chain of command. “I deal with hardened terrorists every day. The kind that blows the limbs off children and would blow their own brains out for their cause. I’m used to dealing with inmates that would rather hang themselves than squeal on a brother. These are the nuts I have to crack. It’s serious business and it saves many lives. So I don’t have time for these games Washington is trying to play with Cooper.”
“I’m glad to hear you saying that,” Harry said, relieved to hear such candor. His fear that he had repelled Rodriguez two days before with his initial bluster was put to rest. They seemed to share a common view of Cooper.
Rodriguez continued talking as he eyed his approach shot around a stand of palm trees. “So, in that regard, I’m willing to hand Cooper over to you if you’re willing to take him.”
Harry felt the blood drain from his face. His legs felt bolted to the fairway. The breeze wanted to lift him off the earth, yet he was chained to the ground.
“Boy, wouldn’t I love to take him,” he admitted. “But I can’t just bring him to Washington.”
Rodriguez swung neatly through the ball with a tidy little click on impact.
“Keep playing,” he said under his breath.
Harry walked up to his ball that sat lightly on the thick turf. He needed a two-iron for his next shot.
“To hell with Washington,” Rodriguez said behind him. “Take him straight to his family.”
Harry stood upright and stared back at the officer. “You know about his family? Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”
“I had to. Orders from above.”
Harry took a wild whack at the ball. He was giving up information to Rodriguez with every admission on his part. Was the guy trying to sucker information out of him? He decided to clam up.
Taking long strides to catch up with Harry, Rodriguez resumed the conversation. “I’ve reviewed your military record. You are a certified pilot on several types of aircraft. I understand that you have time on the B-2 Weapon System Trainer at Whiteman. I have a bird ready and waiting if you are willing to fly Cooper out of here.”
Harry decided not to give up anything. Let the fool talk all he wanted. Harry Black wasn’t going to hang himself.
“You got a mike in your golf bag, too?” he asked.
Rodriguez stopped. “Hey, you. I’m not setting you up. I’m here to help you.”
“Yeah, prove it,” Harry said, ready to throw off his golf bag and land a punch.
Rodriguez held up both gloved hands. “Hey, I’m not trying to start anything. I’m here to help you if you need me.”
“You bugging my mobile phone, too?” Harry demanded to know.
“Not at all,” the officer said, apparently aware that he had lost his credibility. “Let’s just play golf.”
Harry would have loved to take up Rodriguez on his offer. In fact, it sounded too good to be true. A flight out of Guantánamo with Cooper felt a bit like The Great Escape. But he didn’t trust in or plan on feats of heroism. He was too methodical for that.
When the nine holes were up and a badly defeated Lieutenant Colonel Rodriguez had dropped him off at his sea hut, Harry went right to work.
Still clad in his casual golf shirt and slacks, he walked out onto the boulders that formed the waterfront and found a secluded spot where the seagulls hadn’t yet whitewashed the rocks.
He dialed Badger, and checked his watch while he waited for the connection to go through. It was just before the men would hit the sack in Japan.
“I need you to hustle the team over to Shanghai ASAP,” he ordered Badger as soon as the tired voice came on the line. “There’s a man with the U.S. Consulate there named Merle Stevens.”
He went on to describe Merle’s inhumane act of faking the deaths of Cooper’ family just to keep the president off the hook. “What we still don’t know and what we need you to find out from Stevens is where he stashed the family.”
“Sounds like just asking him wouldn’t be very productive,” Badger said.
“You’ll have to figure out what will make the guy sing. I’ll approve any methods you can come up with.”
“He sounds like a real a-hole. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him and find the family.”
“Stay in touch,” Harry said, and clicked off.
He stood up in the small hollow that was protected from the wind. The salty sea breeze caught him full in the face.
Now he had to decide on how to spring Cooper out of Guantánamo. How he wished he could trust the lieutenant colonel.
Harry had gone to flight school with the Marines and had toiled away in flight simulators for many hours. He was a bit rusty, but he was sure it would all come back to him in a hurry.
What worried him more was that Rodriguez was onto him.
Out at sea, several local fishing boats were plowing home with their catch. He couldn’t see any way to commandeer a boat and sneak Cooper off the base and into Cuba. Even if he did, he would be delivering Cooper into the hands of Castro, which was no better than turning him over to al-Qaeda once more. Cooper was still political dynamite.
He climbed over the rocks back up to the row of sea huts, that neat line of military uniformity that stretched as far as the eye could see. Cooper was held under constant guard in a protected detention camp within a naval base fortified against the Cuban Communist regime. Springing Cooper from captivity would be an overwhelming challenge in itself. And frankly, he was feeling somewhat bankrupt for creative solutions.
Even if Rodriguez was giving him enough rope to hang himself, how far would the lieutenant colonel go with his ploy? Take him to the airstrip? Provide a long-range jet? He could play along as far as he could without getting into trouble. And, if Rodriguez wasn’t careful, an opportunity to escape might crop up.
By the time he reached his hut, he had made up his mind to call back Rodriguez and sound him out further.
But as soon as he opened the door to the plain wooden building, Harry abruptly sucked in his breath. There would be no need to contact Rodriguez. A dark, menacing pillar of power, the lieutenant colonel stood waiting for him in the gloom of the hut. And seated on the bed beside him was Sean Cooper, a pair of shiny glasses plastered to his face, as if having them back demonstrated an act of good faith on the lieutenant colonel’s part.
“What’s this?” Harry asked, sniffing the air for some sort of sting.
“Hey, will you stow away your boxing gloves?” Rodriguez said. “You’re as stiff as a Sunday preacher. I’m giving you Cooper. I figured you didn’t believe me on the golf course, so here he is. He’s yours.”
“And how do I get him out of here?”
“Tonight I’ll have the Spirit of Kansas waiting at the Air Terminal on Leeward Side.”
“A B-2? The stealth bomber?”
Rodriguez nodded. “The Joint Task Force has her deployed here for drug surveillance in South America. She’s yours. I figure you might like to take her to China, so she’s fueled as far as Guam. You can refuel there and take her as far as you like.”
“I can’t fly continuously that far by myself.” He tried to calculate the number of hours the trip would take, crammed in a cockpit manning the complex plane.
“I’ll assign a co-pilot to the mission.”
Harry tried to think up other reasons not to fly the stealth bomber into China, but couldn’t.
“I won’t ask any questions,” Rodriguez said. “But I do need her back in one piece.”
Harry examined the Marine officer’s proud bearing. “You could lose your commission over this, if not be drummed out of the service.”
“That doesn’t matter enough. Anyway, the w
ay I figure it, if you do your job right, the top brass will hand out promotions all around. In any event, I’m on a first-name basis with half the JAGs in the military.”
That sealed it. Harry would accept the offer, contingent on the lieutenant colonel coming through with the stealth bomber and not pulling any stunts along the way. “So how soon before we can leave?”
“I’ll have your leave papers ready by six, and I’ll have the MPs escort you to the airport at seven.”
It was a relief to hear that Rodriguez was sticking his neck out by providing official orders and transportation, both of which would be documented in paper on the base.
Rodriguez turned to Sean. “In the meantime, I suggest that you do not leave these barracks. It might be better to keep a low profile.”
Sean Cooper smiled. “I’m good at keeping a low profile,” he said, and stood to thank the officer who had released him from jail.
An awkward handshake followed, then Rodriguez turned and left.
Harry faced his new charge. “Well, what’s it feel like to be a free man?”
Cooper looked around the room at the ten beds arranged in two neat rows. “Somehow it doesn’t feel like freedom yet.”
Chapter 30
Hadi Ahmed had never been in such a sticky and sweltering climate. He felt dangerously close to passing out as he approached the large mosque on the edge of Purang. He was drawn to the white-domed building because his instincts told him he could find sanctuary there.
In his tribal clothes, designed for the snow-capped Hindu Kush, he stood out from others in the tropics. And his instincts told him that he had to blend in. He alone had survived that big brute’s ambush of Osama and his key associates. And he alone could seek to free Osama and seek revenge for his capture. He was horrified to think of the mighty leader of the holy war languishing in a prison cell, and he needed to pull together a band of similar-minded brothers and storm the police station where the group was jailed. He might find the support he needed in the mosque.
He passed the normal array of widows, limbless and impoverished as he approached the marble building. He didn’t have any of the local currency with him to donate, and besides, these people didn’t look so bad off. It was he who should be lying on the pavement begging. If he didn’t obtain food that day, he would have to steal some from one of those numerous bakeries along the main road in town.
At the front steps of the mosque, he kicked off his woven grass shoes and entered the building.
Thankfully it was cool inside. His brothers were assembling in throngs for Friday prayer, and he followed them to the large hall. He was happy to know that he was among East Pakistanis who resembled him in their accent, appearance and demeanor. Should he confront one now and ask questions?
They seemed all business as they entered the lofty hall. Either they were pious and their minds were centered on Allah, or they were in a rush to get the service over with. Hadi couldn’t tell which.
They grabbed rolled up straw mats stacked against the wall and lined up in rows to face Mecca. Hadi unrolled his mat, fell to his knees with the others and bowed low to offer a prayer.
“Mighty Allah, help me to free the great leader of your crusade for Islam. Help me to assemble the brothers I need to do your work.”
Shortly, a robed imam appeared before them. Hadi listened closely to the oratory and prayers as the old guy rambled on about the harvest of cane and influx of tourists. He didn’t hear a word about jihad and injustices brought upon their people.
Hadi was more than disappointed; it threw all his plans in disarray. He peeked at his brethren about him. Who were these guys? If they weren’t going to the mosque to seek guidance in doing Mohammad’s unfinished work, then why were they there? To ask for more money?
He wouldn’t find jihad-ists at the mosque.
After the imam reached the end of a long Koranic reading, he launched into a prayer in English that caught Hadi’s attention.
“May the almighty Allah watch over our former president and his family as they seek a new life in the carpet business. And may He bless the giant hero who saved our island from terrorists who sought to destroy our way of life here on Purang.”
What? This guy was against the invasion? What infidels!
Hadi lifted his head off the floor. These weren’t sacred stones. These were the chambers of the coerced. He tried to close his ears to spare Allah the painful words he was hearing. But he couldn’t resist continuing to listen.
“Bestow your grace on the mighty Hiram Klug and his beloved wife Tiffany as they strive to bring reconciliation to our island home. Lavish on them great riches at their humble abode. Grant them your wisdom, we beseech you.”
Blasphemy! They were praying for the infidel of all infidels, the man who held a gun to Osama’s head and took him prisoner!
He couldn’t wait for the prayer service to conclude. He rolled up his prayer mat and threw it on the heap. Turning to the young man who had prayed beside him, he felt compelled to open his mouth and speak.
“Where is Hiram Klug’s humble abode?”
The young man looked at him, startled that Hadi needed to ask. “He is staying at the Sandalwood Resort.”
“Of course,” Hadi said, recovering himself. “Thank you, brother.”
As he emerged into the bright day, the throng dispersed in all directions, seeking shelter from the hot sun. Hadi came to a decision. It was a decision that his forefathers would have reached without thought, and came naturally to him.
He would seek revenge.
An armed Chinese soldier escorted Kate Cooper and her newborn baby down the dim passageway back to her cell. It was hardly the homecoming that she would wish for a child being brought into this life.
They passed cages filled with North Korean families that stopped their normal chatter and stared at her.
They had all heard the sounds of childbirth. She could read into their eyes that they had vicariously felt her pain.
But catching a glimpse of the newborn brought instant joy to their faces. In cell after cell, the families began rising to their feet to catch sight of the new miracle in the midst of their desperate lives.
Caught attempting to escape into foreign embassies in Beijing, the political and economic refugees from North Korea had found themselves slammed from one brutal existence, that of underground asylum seekers, to prisoners in a Public Security Bureau jail. Frankly, she could tell from the ease of their gestures that neither had been as bad as starvation and freezing to death in Pyongyang.
Unexpectedly, a prisoner began clapping, the toothless gaps in his smile indicating his age. That provoked several more people to cheer and join in the clapping.
Before Kate was halfway back to her children’s cell, she was holding up the newborn Sean Cooper, Jr., for all to see. It felt more like a victory parade with police escort, and perhaps that was how her fellow captives felt. She had achieved a small victory that they could all share.
Jane and Sammy had thrust their small heads between the bars of their cell to see what was causing all the celebration.
“Mommy!” they cried, repeating her name again and again.
“I’m back.” She approached their humble abode with a broad smile. It infuriated her that the guard took so long to find the right key to unlock the gate and let her in.
“You brought us a baby!” Jane shouted.
“Can we keep him?” Sammy asked, pulling his sister back to get a look.
Kate knelt between her children and soaked up their enthusiasm. It was clear that they had weathered her absence well, or at least forgotten about it in the blink of an eye. Which was good. She hadn’t enjoyed being separated from them all that much.
But the baby was the new focus of their lives.
“Is he a brother?” Sammy asked.
Kate nodded. “His name is Sean.”
Jane began to giggle. “He doesn’t look much like Daddy,” she said. Her ponytail flipped around as she laughed, and s
he reached back to tighten the rubber band that held her hair together. When had Jane become so mature?
Kate regarded Sammy, who was petting little Sean’s cheeks. And when had Sammy grown capable of sharing his mother’s affection?
Little Sean began to screw up his features.
“Oh oh, Mommy,” Jane said with concern. “What is the problem?”
“I’m not sure,” Kate said.
Then the small body contorted, his face turning bright red.
“Mommy, look!” Sammy said. “He moves!”
“Is he going to cry?”
Jane’s question was answered within seconds as Sean belted out an angry wail that resounded throughout the prison.
“I think he’s trying to tell us he’s hungry,” Kate said, beginning to unbutton her blouse. “I’ll have to nurse him.”
Sammy reached down to his own shirt and began unfastening the buttons. “Can I help?”
“No, big guy. That’s Mommy’s job.”
Jane’s eyes grew wide with wonder.
“Boy, Mommy, how did those get so big?”
That night precisely at seven, just as the orange sun slipped beyond the bay and behind the Cuban mountain range, Harry Black heard a U.S. Army Humvee pull up to the sea hut.
Earlier that day, Harry had bought Sean some civvies at the Navy Exchange, including shoes, casual wear and a windbreaker.
“You go first,” Harry whispered to his companion.
Sean scampered into the Humvee and ducked out of sight. Then Harry strode toward the awaiting vehicle with all the confidence he could muster. As soon as the two men settled down on a bench seat, the car lurched forward, heading for the airport.
U.S. Naval Base Guantánamo Bay was an eerie place at night. Most lights were turned off for security reasons, and the buildings were few and far between. Riding in the quiet of the open road, Harry absorbed for the last time the sights and smells of the lonely American footprint on Cuban soil. Maybe someday, the Cuban nation would be able to live the good life as well and Americans could come down to the sandy shores of the Queen of the Antilles and soak up her unique beauty.
