De la Fuente was caught between a rock and a hard thing: he had yet to inform the Colombians that their contact in George Town was dead and that their banking operation in the Cayman Islands was blown. As if he didn't have enough troubles already.
Meanwhile, where was his buddy, his ally, his comrade in crime? Seeing his buxom girlfriend in Budapest, that's where. He looked at his watch. Another two hours and he would have to leave for the airport. Then there would be six more hours of agony on that bone-rattler to Africa.
Casas met him at Luanda airport; the staff car pulled right up to the plane's steps as soon as the aircraft's engines were switched off.
“Welcome, Oscar,” the general extended his hand in greeting. “What's the matter? You look like hell.”
“I wouldn't talk if I were you.” De La Fuente was in a foul mood. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? Whatever happened with your hand?”
Colonel Font, General Casas's second-in-command, coughed discreetly. “Gentlemen, if you've finished sniping at each other we could perhaps get back to headquarters in time for the briefng.”
“What about my luggage?” De la Fuente wanted to know.
“Already in the car, comrade. It was the frst piece off the plane.”
“What time is the briefing?”
“Every Friday night at ten p.m.”
“What a strange hour.”
Font laughed. “Cuts down on the time our officers have to get themselves into trouble during the weekend.”
“Things are that boring around here then?”
“Strategic withdrawals are never fun—all work and no play Besides, this isn't Havana, you know.”
It was midnight by the time the meeting broke up and De la Fuente could barely stay awake. Casas, equally tired, tried to put things off until the morning, but De la Fuente would have none of it. “Get some coffee up here, and let's talk for a couple of hours. We have a lot of ground to cover.” They were in Casas's office on the top floor of the Hotel Presidente. “By the way Patricio, is this office a secure place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it bugged or is it safe to talk here?”
“I don't know, but I don't much give a care,” the general said, then indicated the ceiling with an upward nod of his head and pointed to the balcony. “There's nothing we have to discuss that is illegal, improper, or even immoral. To tell the truth, we're so busy here we don't have time to sweep the offices for bugs.”
“What if the locals were to snoop?”
“They need no bugs. They have other ways of finding out what we're up to.”
“Such as?” De la Fuente asked, but just then the coffee arrived, saving Casas from having to elaborate.
The general poured them two generous cups, which they took with them to the balcony and leaned out over the railing.
“You first Oscar,” Casas whispered. “What's up?”
“The Fernandez defection really threw a spanner in the works. His second-in-command is not as swift as the captain was, so I had to do part of his job for him. As a result, I had to reschedule a couple of shipments and the Colombians are very upset.”
“Because?”
“Their dealers in the States are running out of merchandise.”
“So relieve the guy. Put one in charge who knows what to do.”
Easy for you to say that, Patricio, you self-righteous bastard, De la Fuente thought, because you're under the impression our operation is legit. Out loud, he protested testily. “Easier said than done. Remember when you first approached Fernandez, how reluctant he was to go along? Well, guess what. He's not the only one objecting to doing drugs.”
“Don't tell me you can't find a competent replacement.”
“Patricio, my friend,” De la Fuente had had enough, “aren't you forgetting something? Military liaison with the Ministry of the Interior is your responsibility, not mine. I was only pinch-hitting for you in Havana while you were in Hungary.”
Casas had to fight hard to retain his cool. “Come off it, Oscar. You know very well I had to go to Budapest on business. There was a problem with the Hungarian Ministry of Defense that I had to clear up. Besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I also had a message from Schwartz asking me to meet him in Hungary.”
“Oh?” De la Fuente pretended surprise. “How is Schwartz?”
“No idea.” Casas lied smoothly. “Never got to see him. He didn't show.”
De la Fuente was taken aback. “He never showed up?” “That's correct. I left him a note as always, giving him the time and place of the meeting. I went to the rendezvous, but the old man didn't turn up.”
“Did he get as far as Budapest?”
“I verified that he had checked into his hotel all right, that he'd been given my message all right, but something must have happened to him.”
“What?”
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me that, Oscar.”
“Me? How do I come to figure in this situation all of a sudden?”
“Come off it, Oscar.” Casas was barely able to control his anger. “Your people have been following me around for weeks now—in Budapest, in Prague, even here. Do you think I'm stupid or blind? Ever since Fernandez defected you and your people have been hounding me.”
De la Fuente's mind went blank with panic. He knew damn well that it wasn't his people who were following Casas around. The candidates were the CIA and Cuban Military Intelligence. But the CIA was unlikely to be keeping Casas under surveillance in Luanda. So it must be Raul Castro's men.
He had to marshal his thoughts fast and control his fear. “I have no idea what you're talking about. To the best of my knowledge nobody at the Ministry of the Interior is keeping you under surveillance. You must either be imagining things or you are being followed around by Military Intelligence.”
“That's impossible. First, I would know about it from my friends, and second they have no reason. I've done nothing wrong.” Except spook Fernandez, he said to himself.
De la Fuente seemed to read his mind. “Except that your man is spilling his guts to the Americans as we speak.”
“He's a defector, pure and simple.” Casas couldn't think of anything else to say. “And these things happen in the best of families. I have over two hundred officers under my command.”
De la Fuente decided to put in the needle. “But very few in the drug business,” he said. “And tell me Patricio, has anyone questioned you about Fernandez's disappearance?”
“Not yet, but that's no surprise. If anyone should have been questioned, it should have been you. The man was seconded to you, remember?”
De la Fuente bit his lip. Casas was right. “Of course you know I've covered for us by passing the word that Fernandez was on a special mission.” His stomach began to churn, a prelude to an attack of diarrhea caused by the sudden realization that things were unraveling faster than he'd expected. He and Casas were on the brink and there was no safety net below.
“Oscar!” Casas pretended to be running out of patience. “First, Fernandez, working under your orders, goes missing. Then you tell me you want him killed to save our necks. Now you inform me I'm probably subject to investigation by M.I. There is only one explanation for all of this. The drug thing is not a legitimately authorized government operation.”
“What is it then?”
“It is an exercise in free enterprise.” Casas, his eyes wide with the shock of discovery, looked at De la Fuente, with distaste. “And it looks to me as if the chief free enterpriser in this venture is you.”
De la Fuente saw that allowing Casas more room for guessing-games could mean the end of Operation Adios and serious, indeed deadly, danger for himself. “Patricio, listen up.” He was exhausted and worried sick, but, somehow, had to keep up appearances so as to extricate himself from immediate peril. “It no longer matters who did what to whom and for what reason. I told you in Havana we needed proof of the government's involvement in the drug operation to s
ave ourselves. I got on with obtaining such proof, but you did not. Instead, you ran off to Budapest to see your precious Conchita.”
Casas was furious. “You leave her out of this,” he shouted.
“Don't raise your voice, Patricio,” De la Fuente cut in. “It won't do for people to think we're quarreling.”
Casas backed down. “So what proof have you found?”
“My wife has been giving me little tidbits of information about my wonderful father-in-law. Apparently, he's been on the take for a long time. She has gotten quite interested in his activities because she wants him to buy her … buy us … a beach house in Varadero.”
“What has that got to do with the drug business?”
“Don't be impatient, Patricio.” Although dying to go to the bathroom De la Fuente sat down in one of the armchairs on the balcony and motioned Casas to pull his over next to him. “Although I doubt that her father knows about the operation, we could say he did and then provide the old man's bank account numbers to the investigators. I'm sure the money they'd find there would be substantial enough to make them believe the minister was one of the free enterprisers.”
Casas was stunned. “Are you now confirming that the operation is not a properly authorized one?”
“I'm confirming nothing. I'm just lining up our defenses.”
“Why this brotherly concern all of a sudden? You know very well I'm not guilty of any wrongdoing. You're the one who told me about the operation and that it was legit. It was you who provided the contacts with the Colombians, and, finally, it was you who kept on and still keeps on, about involving more and more innocent people in this dirty business to make it look as if our Revolutionary government were involved in drugs, which I now see it is not!” Casas could barely keep his voice down. Gripping his visitor's upper arm he pulled the man toward him and whispered fiercely into his ear. “You have set this whole thing up for your own benefit, haven't you, Oscar? And you have now painted yourself into a corner.”
“And you with it,” De la Fuente cut in before Casas could go on.
“What do you mean by that you … you … you son-of-a-bitch?”
De la Fuente shook off Casas's grip and got up. “Patricio, I'm tired of your insults. Can't you get it through you head that we're in this thing together, that we are, through our own acts, so deeply compromised that no amount of righteous protestation will get either of us off the hook. Besides, there are documents …” He let his voice trail off.
“What documents?”
“We'll talk again tomorrow, Patricio.” Oscar headed back into the room. “I'm going to bed before I faint of fatigue.” And fear, he added to himself. Tomorrow he would have to tell Patricio the truth about Operation Adios and face the consequences, but just now he needed to get to a bathroom before he burst.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Sunday
Luanda, Angola
To De la Fuente the facts were clear, as were his own and Casas's fate. Casas was under surveillance by Cuban Military Intelligence, which was bound to tumble onto the drug-smuggling operation within days, perhaps even hours. His own involvement would be discovered within a week and Casas and he would be arrested by the end of November at the latest. That they would have a speedy trial was beyond question. To stem international criticism Castro would have to demonstrate as soon as possible that his government was not involved. The verdict at such a trial was a foregone conclusion. With De la Fuente claiming that Casas had been the instigator Casas would be shot for treason and De la Fuente imprisoned for life.
He would have to serve about five years of his sentence before the United States would arrange to have him exchanged.
Casas on the other hand, was bewildered and desperate. He had played “what if” until dawn then had gone to the pool for a long swim to calm his screaming nerves. The realization that he had totally misread the situation and that he had made the wrong moves was almost more than he could bear. He was trapped and could not escape. All the money he'd squirreled away with Schwartz was gone, taken by Fernandez when he had defected. Irony of ironies: Casas had used the means of his salvation to engineer his own downfall. Spooking Fernandez had been a horrible mistake. By making him run away, Casas had not only tipped off the CIA, but the Cuban government's Intelligence Services as well.
What to do next? Getting in touch with the CIA man and defecting was one option. This would be an act of admission of guilt and not even the Americans would believe his story. They'd use him anyway. His going over to the other side would just muddy the waters, making it that much more difficult for Fidel to prove that the government was not involved. But with De la Fuente also pointing the accusatory finger at Casas, Castro would have a fair chance of escaping unsullied.
No. He had to go back to Havana and explain to Fidel personally what had really happened. He would then have to bear witness at trial against De la Fuente and, if necessary, shoulder all the blame. How else could he protect his mother and daughters? In the meantime, he'd have to keep close watch over Oscar and prevent him from leaving for Cuba before he, himself, did.
Having made the necessary arrangements to ensure De la Fuente's presence in Luanda until Tuesday, the day Casas intended to return to Havana, Casas took De la Fuente for a plane ride early Sunday morning, using the excuse of looking at troop deployments. They landed in Lubango, about four hundred and twenty miles south of Luanda on the Huila Plateau.
From there they took Casas's reinforced all-terrain vehicle to visit the troops dug in south of the highway leading from Mocamedes to Lubango and to Menongue. This line of defense would protect Lobito, Angola's most important port, about two hundred and fifty miles south of Luand, from the South Africans long enough to allow the Cubans to evacuate through Lobito in an orderly fashion.
The inspection tour was not easy to organize. Men of their rank had to be protected. By the time they got underway they had become part of a convoy consisting of a communications/scout car leading the way, followed by Casas's vehicle, and a half-track troop carrier filled with bodyguards bringing up the rear.
Casas was ready to have a showdown with De la Fuente at the earliest opportunity, but the deputy minister surprised him. “Before you get on your high horse again and lose your temper, allow me to explain how I see our respective situations,” De la Fuente said and made himself sound reasonable and conciliatory. “We're both in big trouble and, to tell the truth, neither of us will escape unharmed, let alone unsullied. I'm sure we both spent the night trying to figure out what to do next. You, unlike I, are an idealist who thinks it is immoral, but, at least, amoral, to deal in drugs. I suspect it was you who somehow, frankly I have no idea how, put Fernandez up to defecting.”
Casas began to protest, but his companion stopped him. “Please Patricio, hear me out. Keep driving while I say what I have to say, then park the vehicle somewhere and I promise I will give you all the time in the world to rebut my arguments.”
“Go on, then.”
“Allow me to assume it was you who put Fernandez up to defecting. Your reason: you wanted to alert the Americans to what was going on in Cuba and how low the Cuban government has sunk, running drugs, smuggling ivory, and looting. You might even have entertained the idea of helping the CIA bring the Castro regime down by publicizing these immoral activities and getting public opinion on the side of proponents of a U.S. invasion of Cuba.” De la Fuente took a deep breath and watched Casas carefully as he continued. “As far as I'm concerned, it no longer matters what we think. What matters is to determine how to limit the damage we've done to ourselves, for whatever reason.”
Casas signaled the convoy to pull over. His heart was racing, and he was nauseated with fear. “What do you propose we do next?”
“We have to go back to Havana and continue implicating people. We must also find proof that the government is involved.”
Casas shook his head “Come off it, Oscar. We both know there is no such proof.”
“There can be.”
“There can? What?” Casas sounded doubtful. It was only ten in the morning, but he was already exhausted. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself then gave the order for the convoy to resume moving. They were approaching the Mocamedes Desert. These hot, arid plains used to team with wild life—elephant, rhinoceros, antelope—but, with the advent of modern transport, such as the tough jeep for example, the region was opened to extensive hunting and many fine species, like the mountain zebra, became extinct. The Cubans' presence did not help. They hunted for ivory shamelessly.
“What's the matter with you Patricio, don't you ever listen?” De la Fuente, who could barely wait to get back at his father-in-law for always siding with his daughter against him, pretended to be exasperated. “Don't you remember me telling you about my father-in-law's secret bank account?”
“Of course I do, Oscar.” Casas was also fed up. “But, to tell the truth, I think you're dreaming. Once Fidel gets to know about that little bit of corruption he will simply jail your father-in-law with us and, ultimately, we'll all be shot.”
“Not if I can implement my plan.”
“What plan?”
“A plan whereby I would involve my father-in-law in the drug deal by showing that the drug money in the Panamanian bank account is slowly being transferred to my father-in-law's Swiss bank account.” De la Fuente put his hand on Casas's arm. “Hang in there for a few more weeks Patricio and have confidence. In the end all will come right, you'll see.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Monday
Washington, DC
On Sunday night, Lonsdale flew home from Miami, and, by Monday morning at seven, he was going over the reports on Fernandez's murder. Unfortunately, the ballistics report the Agency had requested from the Budapest police through Interpol had not yet been received. Lonsdale wasn't surprised. Replies to such requests took weeks rather than days.
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