Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

  He didn't accumulate a fortune worth almost a

  half billion dollars by being timid. So he and his

  bodyguards boarded the plane. That was almost a week

  ago. He had been steadily losing money in the

  casinos every day since while waiting. Now the waiting

  was over.

  Tonight he was to see the man he came to meet,

  Alejo Vargas. In five minutes.

  He checked his watch, then pocketed his chips and

  walked for. the door of the club, the Tropicana, the

  jewel of Havana. His bodyguards joined him, like

  shadows.

  El Gato left the casino via the back entrance.

  The three men walked a block to a large black

  limousine sitting by the curb and climbed into the rear

  seats.

  Two men were sitting on the front-facing seats.

  "El Gato, welcome to Havana. I confess,

  I didn't think we would ever meet on

  Cuban comsoil."

  "Miracles never cease, Senor Vargas. The

  world turns, the sun rises and sets and we all

  get older day by day. Wise men change with the times."

  "Quite so. This is Colonel Santana, head of the

  Department of State Security:"

  El Gato nodded politely at Santana, then

  introduced his bodyguards, men Santana didn't

  even bother to look at.

  "I was hoping, Senor Vargas, that you and I might

  have a private conversation, perhaps while these gentlemen

  watched from a small distance?"

  Vargas nodded Ms assent, pushed a button, and

  spoke into an intercom to the driver. After about

  fifteen minutes of travel, during which nothing was

  said, the limo pulled up to a curb and all the men

  got out. The car was sitting on a breakwater near

  Morro Castle, with the dark battlements looming

  above them in the glare of Havana reflecting off the

  clouds.

  Vargas and El Gato began strolling.

  "The cargo is aboardea"...El Gato said, "and the ship

  has sailed. I presume you kept me waiting

  to see if that event would occur."

  "When you proposed this operation, I had my

  doubts. I still do."

  "I cannot guarantee successea"...El Gato said.

  "I do everything within my power to make success

  possible, but sometimes the world does not turn my way.

  I understand that, and I keep trying anyway."

  'The waiting will soon be overea"...Vargas said.

  "Indeed. In many ways. I hear rumors that

  Fidel will not be with us much longer."

  Vargas didn't reply to that remark.

  "Change is rapidly coming to Cubaea"...El Gato

  began, "and the thought occurred to me that a man with friends in

  Cuba under the new order would be in an enviable

  position."

  "You have such friends?"

  "I am here to test the water, so to speak, to learn if

  I, do."

  "After your years of opposition to Castro, any friends

  you have will not be very vocal about it."

  "Noisy friends I have aplenty in Florida. No,

  the kind of friends I need are the kind who keep their

  friendship to themselves and help when help is needed, who

  give approvals when asked, who nod yes at the

  appropriate time."

  "How much money have you given the exiles"

  political movements over the years?"

  "You wish to know the figure?"

  "Yes. I wish to learn if you will be honest with me.

  Obviously I have sources and some idea of the amount.

  Come now, impress me with your frankness and your

  honesty."

  "Over five million Americanea"...El Gato

  said.

  This was twice the figure Vargas expected, and he

  looked at the American sharply. If El Gato

  was lying, exaggerating the number to impress Vargas,

  it didn't show in his face.

  "Some of that money, a small amount it is true,

  came directly from the Cuban governmentea"...El

  Gato said. "I believe you authorized those

  payments."

  "You have a sense of the sardonic, I seeea"...Vargas

  said without humor. One got the impression he had not

  smiled in his lifetime, nor would he.

  El Gato nodded.

  "You had a commodity to sell, we wished to buy. We

  paid a fair price."

  "Come, come, Senor Vargas. Let's not pretend

  with each other. I arranged for you to acquire the

  equipmenteaand chemicals necessary to create a

  biological warfare program. What you have done with

  those chemicals and equipment

  1 don't know, nor do I want to know. But you know

  as well as I that if the American government found

  out about the sale I would be ruined. And you know that I

  made no profit in the transaction."

  Vargas nodded, a dip of the head.

  "Nor have I asked for money for arranging to steal

  Nuestra Senora."

  "That is true, but if the operation succeeds, we would

  have paid a fair amount."

  "I do not want your money."

  "You want something. What?"

  El Gato walked a few paces with his hands in his

  pockets before he spoke. "After Castro I

  envision a Cuba much more friendly to American

  interests, more open to a free flow of capital in and

  out. A great many people in the

  United States have a great deal of money

  accumulated that they want to invest in Cuba, which they

  will do as soon as the United States government

  allows them to do so, and as soon as the Cuban

  government guarantees these investors that their investment

  will not be confiscated or stolen with hidden taxes or

  demands for graft. A man who could

  guarantee that his friends would be fairly treated in

  Cuba could make a lot of money. He would be a

  patron, if you will. And if he carefully screened

  his friends, Cuba would get a vetted flow of capable

  investors who would perform as promised."

  "Something for everyoneea"...Vargas said.

  "Precisely."

  "Just so that I understandare you suggesting that you want to be

  that man,

  el jefecitol"

  "I could do it, I believe."

  "The exiles expect to come to Cuba at Castro's

  death and take over the country. They want

  billions in repatriations! I tell you now, you have

  helped fuel their expectations with your five

  million dollars."

  What he failed to mention was the fact that the Cuban

  government had played to the fears of the peons who

  stayed, telling them they would be thrown from their

  homes"...if the exiles ever returned.

  El Gato smiled. "Like the exiles, you fail

  to clearly see the situation. They are Americans.

  They make more money in America than they ever could in

  Cuba. They will never return in significant

  numbers. In fact, if the borders are

  thrown open, the net human flow will be toward the

  United States, not back to Cuba. If the

  American government would allow it, a million

  Cubans a year would leave this island. You would be

  wise to let people go where the
y wish to go."

  "You are saying the exile problem will just disappear?"

  "Except for a few bitter old men, yes, I

  believe it will. The young ones have gotten on with their

  lives. They have no old scores to settle."

  "So you betray these old ones for your own profit?"

  "Senor Vargas, if they wish to nurse old

  grudges and dream of a time which is long past and will

  never come again, who am I to tell them no? Most of

  these people are quite harmless. Those who aren't can be dealt with

  when they cause problems. A public apology

  to dispossessed old people, a plea for healing, a few

  pesos, and the exiles could be appeased."

  "Assassination plots against Castro and the like?"

  "Plots that never get off the ground are harmless.

  Let them have their meetings and their thunderous

  denunciations. These people will pass from the scene soon

  enough."

  Vargas made a gesture of irritation. He had his

  own opinions and didn't really wish to hear

  other people's. "Colonel Santana will take you and

  your men to your hotel."

  "Thank you."

  "I can promise you very little, El Gato. I understand

  that you cannot guarantee the future, but the North

  Koreans must fulfill their part of our bargain. If

  they do, there is a chance, just a chance, that I may

  rule after Castro."

  El Gato waited.

  Vargas continued: "I will not forget what you did for

  me, for Cuba. If the day ever comes when I am in

  a position to help you, feel free to ask. What

  I can do then will have to be decided upon that day."

  "That is more than I hoped forea"...El Gato said,

  genuine warmth obvious in his voice. "I thank you

  for that promise."

  The F-14 Tomcat hung suspended in an

  infinite blue sky, over an infinite blue sea.

  Or so it seemed to Jake Grafton, who sat in

  the front cockpit taking it all in. Behind him

  Toad Tarkington was working the radar, searching the sky

  ahead. The air was dead calm today, so without a

  visual reference there was no sensation of motion. The

  puffy clouds on the surface of the sea seemed to be

  marching uniformly toward the rear of the

  aircraft, almost as if the sky were spinning under the

  airplane.

  The fighter was cruising at 31,000 feet, heading

  northwestward parallel with the southern coast of

  Cuba, about a hundred and fifty miles offshore.

  "I sure am glad you got us off the ship,

  sirea"...Tarkington said cheerfully. "A little flying

  helps clean out the pipes, keeps everything in

  perspective."

  "That it doesea"...Jake agreed, and stretched.

  He had the best job in the navy, he thought. As a

  battle group commander he could still flyindeed, an

  occasional flight was part of the job description.

  Yet his flying days would soon be over: in just two

  months he was scheduled to turn over the command to another

  admiral and be on his way somewhere.

  He searched the empty sky automatically as he

  thought again about where the next set of orders might send

  him. If the people in the flag detailing office in the

  Pentagon had a clue, they certainly weren't

  talking.

  Ah, it would all work out. The powers that be would send

  him another set of orders or retire him, and it

  really

  39

  didn't matter much which way it went. Everyone has

  to move on sooner or later, so why not now?

  Maybe he should just submit his retirement papers,

  get on with the rest of his life.

  With his right hand he hit the emergency disconnect for the

  autopilot, which worked as it should.

  Without touching the throttles, Jake Grafton

  smoothly lifted the nose and began feeding in left

  stick. Nose climbing, wing dropping ... rolling

  smoothly through the in-- verted position, though with

  only seventy degrees of heading change. The

  nose continued downkeep the roll inffandthe G

  increased as the fighter came out of the dive and back

  to the original heading, only 1,400 below the entry

  altitude. Ta-ta! There you have ita sloppy

  barrel roll!

  Jake kept the stick back and started a barrel

  roll to the right.

  "Are you okay up there, sir"..."...Toad Tarkington

  asked anxiously.

  "You ask that of me? The world's fine'st acrobatic

  pilot? Have you no respect?"

  "These whifferdills are not quite up to your usual

  worldclass standards, so one wonders. Could it be

  illness, decrepitude, senility?"

  They were passing the inverted positon when Jake said,

  "Just for that, Tarkington, you can put us on the flight

  schedule every day so we can practice. An hour and a

  half of high-G maneuvers seven times a week

  will teach you to respect your elders."

  "You got that rightea"...Toad replied, and moaned as if

  he were in pain as Jake lifted the Tomcat into a

  loop.

  "War Ace One Oh Four, this is Sea Hawk.

  You have traffic to the northwest, one hundred miles,

  heading south at about 30,000."

  "Roger, Sea Hawk.",

  Coming down the back side of the loop, Jake turned

  to the northwest.

  STEPHEN COONTS

  "Admiral, I know you think I was loafing back

  hereea"...Toad said obsequiously, "but I had that guy

  on the scope. Honest! I was just gonna say something

  when that E-2 guy beat me to the switch."

  "Sure, Toad. These things happen. If you're

  going to nap, next time bring a pillow."

  "This guy is coming south, like he's out of some base in

  central Cuba, about our altitude. Heck of a

  coincidence, huh?"

  The F-14 had an optical camera mounted in the

  nose that was slaved to the radar cross-hairs.

  "Tell me when you see himea"...Jake murmured.

  "Be a couple miles yet. Let's come right ten

  degrees just for grins and see what happens."

  Jake again had the fighter on autopilot. He

  pushed the stick right, then leveled on the new

  course.

  At fifty miles Toad had the other airplane

  on the screen of his monitor. A silver

  airplane, fighter size, with the sun glinting off its

  skin. The electronic conntermeasures (Ecm)

  panel lit up as the F-14's sensors picked

  up the emissions of the other plane's radar.

  "A MiGo-29ea"...Jake said.

  "What's he doing out here"..."...Toad wondered.

  "Same thing as we are. Out flying around seeing what

  is what."

  "I thought th@lCubans had retired their

  MiGo-29's. Couldn't keep paying the bills on

  "em.". "Well, at least one is still operational."

  .

  Even as they watched, the MiGo altered course to the

  left so that he would have a chance to turn in behind the

  F-14 when their flight paths converged.

  Jake Grafton was suddenly sure he didn't

  want the MiGo behind him. The Soviets


  specifically designed the MiGo-29 to be able

  to defeat the F-14, F-15, F-16 and

  FirstA-18 in close combat; it was,

  probably, the second-best fighter in the world (the

  best being the Sukhoi Su-27 Flanker). Jake

  altered course so the two planes would converge

  head-on.

  What would the MiGo pilot do?

  If the Cuban pilot opened fire over the ocean,

  over a hundred miles from land, who would ever know?

  "Sea Hawk, One Oh Four, are you getting this

  on tape?"

  "Yes, sir. We're recording."

  "This bogey is a MiGo-29."

  "Roger that. We've been tracking him for

  twenty-five minutes now."

  The range was closing rapidly, but still Jake

  didn't see the MiG. He looked at the target

  dot in the heads-up display, but the sky was huge and the

  Cuban fighter too far away, although it was almost as

  large as the F-14.

  The MiGo was about four miles away when

  Jake finally saw it, a winged silver glint that shot

  by just under his right wing. Jake Grafton disconnected

  the autopilot and slammed the stick over.

  He pulled carefully, cleanly, craned his head and

  braced himself with his left hand as he kept the turning

  MiGo in sight.

  The Cuban fighter rolled out of his turn heading

  north. Jake leveled out on a parallel course.

  Careful not to point his nose at the Cuban, Jake

  let the Tomcat drift closer on a converging

  course.

  When the planes were less than a hundred yards

  apart, he slowed the closure rate but kept moving

  in.

  Finally the two planes were in formation with their wingtips

  about twenty yards apart.

  "Look at that thing, would you"..."...Toad enthused. "Have you

  ever seen a more gorgeous airplane?"

  "I hear it's a real dream machineea"...Jake

  agreed.

  "Oh, baby, the lines, the curves ... The

  Russians sure know how to design flying

  machines."

  "If this guy has to jump out of that thingea"...Jake

  asked Toad, "do you think Cuban

  Air-Sea Rescue is going to come pick him

  up?"

  "I doubt itea"...Toad replied. "And I suspect

  he knows that."

  "He's got a set of cojones on himea"...Jake

  said. "Bet he can fly the hell out of that thing,

  too."

  In the Cuban fighter, Major Carlos

  Corrado took his time looking over the American

  plane. This was the first time he had ever seen an

  F-14. Amazing how big they were, with the two men