Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

  promised to bring her something expensive from a

  jeweler, and that promise pacified her.

  The flight attendant brought the glass of wine and

  he sipped it, then put his head back in the seat and

  closed his eyes. Ah, yes,

  He had a new identity hi his wallet: an

  Argentine passport, driver's license and

  identity papers, a birth certificate, several

  valid credit cards, a bank account and a real

  address in Buenos Aires, all in the name of

  Eduardo Jos6 Lopez, a nice common surname.

  This identity had been constructed years before and

  serviced regularly so that he might move money

  around the globe when drug smugglers sought

  to pay Fidel Castro. Becoming the good Senor

  Lopez would be as easy as presenting the passport

  when checking into a hotel.

  He had the papers for two other identities in a

  safe deposit box in Lausanne, across the lake

  from Geneva.

  Maxlmo Sedano fingered the bank transfer cards

  one more time, then reclined his seat.

  How does it feel to be rich? Damned good, thank

  you very much,

  Lord, it was tempting. Just walk away with the money as

  Senor Lopez, and poof! disappear into thin air.

  And yet, the gold was there for the taking. His plans were

  made, his allies ready... all he had to do was

  find the gold and get it out of the country.

  He reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and savored

  the feeling of being rich.

  * * *

  Dona Sedano was sitting on her porch, inhaling the

  gentle aroma of the tropical flowers that grew around

  her porch in profusion and watching the breeze stir the

  petals, when she saw Hector walking down the

  road. He turned in at her gate and came up

  to the porch.

  After he kissed her he sat on the top

  step, leaned back so he could see her face.

  "Why aren't you in school, teaching"..."...she asked.

  He made a gesture, looked away to the north,

  toward the sea.

  There was nothing out that way but a few treetops waving

  in the wind, with puffy clouds floating overhead.

  He turned back to look into her face, reached for

  her hand. "Ocho went on a boat.two nights

  ago. They were trying to reach the Florida Keys."

  "Did they make it?"

  "I don't know. If they make it we won't hear

  for days. Weeks perhaps. If they don't reach

  Florida we may never hear."

  Dona Maria leaned forward and touched her son's

  hair. Then she put her twisted hands back in her

  lap.

  'Thank you for telling me."

  "Ocho should have told you."

  "Good-byes can be difficult."

  "I suppose."

  "You are the brightest of my sons, the one with the most

  promise. Why didn't you go to America,

  Hector? You had plenty of chances. Why did you

  stay hi this hopeless place?"

  "Cuba is my home."...He gestured

  helplessly. "This is the work God has given me

  to do."

  Dona Maria gently massaged her hands. Rubbing

  them seemed to ease the pain sometimes.

  "I might as well tell you the rest of

  itea"...Hector said. "Ocho got a girl

  pregnant. He went on the boat with the

  girl and her father. The father wants Ocho to play

  baseball in America."

  "Pregnant?"

  "Ocho told me, made me promise not to tell.

  He did not confess to me as a priest but as a

  brother, so I am exercising an older brother's

  prerogativeI am breaking that promise."

  She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment.

  "If God is with them, they may make it across the

  Straitsea"...Hector said. "There is always that

  hope."

  Tears ran down her cheeks.

  It was at that moment that Dona Maria saw the human

  condition more clearly than she ever had before. She and

  Hector were two very mortal people trapped

  by circumstance, by fate, between two vast eternities.

  The past was gone, lost to them. The people they loved who were

  dead were gone like smoke, and they had only

  memories of them. The future was ... well, the

  future was unknowable, hidden in the haze. Here there was

  only the present, this moment, these two mortal people with

  their memories of all that had been.

  Hector stroked his mother's hair, kissed her

  tears, then went down the walk to the road. When he

  looked back his mother was still sitting where he had left

  her, looking north toward the sea.

  Ocho was probably dead, Hector realized,

  another victim of the Cuban condition.

  When, O Lard, when will it stop? How many more people must

  drown in the sea? How many more lives must be blighted

  and ruined by the lack of opportunity here? How many more

  lives must be sacrificed on the altar of

  political ambition?

  As he walked toward the village bus stop, he

  lifted his hands and roared his rage, an angry shout

  mat was lost in the cathedral of the sky.

  The pain was there, definitely there, but it wasn't

  cutting at him, doubling him over. Fidel Castro

  made them get him up, had them put him in a chair

  behind his desk. He wanted the flag to his right

  Mercedes and the nurse helped him into his green

  fatigue shirt.

  He was perspiring then, gritting his teeth

  to get through this.

  "Do you know what you want to say"..."...Mercedes

  asked.

  "I think so."

  The camera crew was fiddling with the lights, arranging

  power cords.

  "I want to say something to you, right nowea"...she

  whispered, "while you are sharp and not heavily

  sedated."

  His eyes went to her.

  "I love you, Fidel. With all my heart."

  "And I you, woman. Would that we had more time."

  "Ah, time, what a whore she is. We had each

  other, and mat was enough."

  He bit his lip, reached for her hand. "If only

  we had met years ago, before"

  He winced again. "Better start the tapeea"...he

  said. "I haven't much time."...He straightened,

  gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles

  turned white.

  With the lights on, Fidel Castro looked

  straight into the camera, and spoke: "Citizens of

  Cuba, I speak to you today for the last time. I am

  fatally ill and my days on this earth will soon be

  over. Before I leave you, however, I wish

  to spend a few minutes telling you of my dream for

  Cuba, my dream of what our nation can become in the

  years ahead...."

  The door opened and Alejo Vargas walked hi.

  Behind him was Colonel Pablo Santana.

  "Well, well,

  Senor Presidente. I

  heard you were making a speech to the video cameras this

  afternoon. Do not mind us; please continue. We will

  remain silent spectators, out

  of die sight of the camera, two loyal Cubans

  representing millions of other
s."

  "I did not invite you here, Vargas.""...'True, you

  did not,

  Senor Presidente.

  But things seem to be slipping away from you these

  daysimportant things. The world will not stop turning on

  its axis while you lie in bed taking drugs."

  "Get out! This is my office."

  Alejo Vargas settled into a chair. He turned

  to the camera crew. 'Turn that thing off. The lights

  too. Then you may take a short break. We will

  call you when we want you to return."

  The extinguishment of the television lights made the

  room seem very dark.

  Colonel Santana escorted the technicians"

  from the room and closed the door behind them. He stood

  with his back against the door, his arms crossed.

  "If you are pushing the button near your knee

  to summon the security staff, you are wasting your

  timeea"...Vargas said. "Members of my staff have

  replaced them."

  "Say what you want, then get outea"...Castro said.

  Vargas got out a cigarette, lit it, taking his

  time. "I am wondering about Maximo Sedano. The

  night before last he was here, you signed something for him,

  he left this morning on a plane to Madrid, with a

  continuation on to Zurich. What was that all about?"

  Fidel said nothing. Mercedes noticed that he was

  perspiring again.

  "I am in no rushea"...Vargas said. "I have all the

  time in the world."

  Fidel ground his teeth. "He went to move

  funds. On a matter of interest to the Finance

  Ministry."

  "The question is, where will the funds end up when their

  electronic journey is over? Tell me that,

  please."

  "In the government's accounts in the Bank of

  Cuba, in Havana."

  "I ask this question because the man who was here last

  night did not see you check the account numbers in

  any book or ledger. You have the account numbers

  memorized?"

  "No."

  "So in reality you don't know where Maximo

  Sedano will wire the money?"

  "He is a trustworthy man. Loyal. I cannot

  be everywhere, see everything, and must trust people. I have

  trusted people all my Me."

  "How much money are we talking about,

  Senor PresidenteThat

  "I don't know."

  "Millions?"

  "Yes."

  "Tens of millions?"

  "Yes."

  "Dios mio,

  our Maximo must be a saint! I wouldn't trust my

  own mother with that kind of money."

  "I wouldn't trust your mother with a drunken

  sailorea"...Mercedes said. "Not if he had two

  centavos in his pocket."...She handed some pills

  to Castro, who glanced down at them.

  "Water, pleaseea"...he whispered. He

  put the pills on the desk in front of him.

  Vargas continued: "If we ever see the face of

  Maximo Sedano again,

  Senor Presidente,

  you have me to thank. I am having one of my men meet

  the finance minister in Zurich. We will try to convince

  Maximo to do his duty to his country."

  Mercedes handed Fidel a glass of water. He

  picked up several of the pills, put them in his mouth,

  then swallowed some water. Then he put the last

  pill in his mouth and took another swig.

  Vargas was a moral nihilist, Castro thought,

  a man who believed in nothing. There were certainly

  plenty of those. He had known what Vargas was for many

  years and had used nun anyway because he was good at his

  job, which

  STEPHEN COONTS

  was a miserable one.

  We entrusted it to a swine so that we need not dirty

  our hands.

  Another mistake.

  "I need restea"...he said, and tried to rise.

  "Noea"...Vargas said fiercely. He leaned on the

  desk with both hands, lowered his face near Fidel.

  "You still have a statement to make before the

  cameras."

  "Nothing for you."

  "You think you have nothing to lose, do you not? You think,

  Alejo could kill me, but what is that? He merely

  speeds up the inevitable."

  Fidel looked Vargas square in the eye. "I

  should have killed you years and years agoea"...he said. He

  took his hands from the arms of his chair and wrapped them

  around his stomach.

  "There is no regret as bitter as the murder you

  didn't commit. How true that is! But you didn't

  kill me because you needed me, Fidel,. needed me

  to ferret out your enemies, find who was whispering against

  you and bring you then* names. Help you shut their mouths,

  cut out the rot without killing the tree.

  "Kill me? Without me how would you have kept your

  wretched subjects loyal? Who would have kept these

  miserable

  guajiros

  starving on this sandy rock in the sea's middle from

  cutting the flesh from your bones? Who would have provided

  the muscle to keep you in office when the Russians

  abandoned you and nothing went right? When everything you touched

  backfired?

  "Kill me?

  Ha!

  That would have been like killing yourself.

  "Now I have come for mine. Not centavos, like in the

  past. I want what is mine for keeping you in power

  all these years, for keeping the peasants from slicing

  your throat when in truth that was precisely what you

  deserved. You are a miserable failure, Fidel,

  as a man and as a servant of Cuba. And you are

  going to die a revered old manGod,

  what a joke! Hailed as the Cuban Washington

  for the next ten centuries...."

  Vargas sneered.

  "Now still have the power of life or death, Fidel. I

  think you will make your statement in front of the camera.

  You will name me, Alejo Vargas, your loyal,

  trusted minister of interior as your successor; you will

  plead with all loyal Cubans everywhere

  to recognize the wisdom of your choice."

  Sweat ran in rivulets from Fidel's face,

  dripped from his beard. His voice came out a hoarse

  whisper. "Forty years" service to my country, and

  you expect me to hand Cuba over to you? To rape

  tilde for your profit? Not on your life."

  "Don't be a fool. You have nothing to bargain with."

  "Kill me. See what you gamea"...Fidel

  said, his voice barely audible.

  "You'll die soon enough, never fear. But before you do

  Colonel Santana will butcher Mercedes on this

  table while you watch."

  "Have you no honor?"

  "Don't talk to me of honor. You have told so many

  lies you can't remember ever telling the truth. You have

  profaned the Church, denied God, sent loyal

  Cuban soldiers to die in Angola, demanded that

  generation after generation give their blood to fulfill your

  destiny as Cuba's savior. You have impoverished a

  nation, reduced them to beggary to salve your ego. I

  spit on you and all that you would have us become."

  And he did.

  Fidel brought a hand up
to wipe away the

  spittle. "Fuck youff"...he whispered.

  "And you too,

  Lider Maximal"

  Vargas shot back. "I do not pretend to be

  God's other son, strutting in green fatigues and

  spouting platitudes while the people worship me. But

  enough of this. Before we get to the camera, tell me where the

  gold is."

  "The gold?"

  STEPHEN COONTS

  "The gold, Fidel. The gold from the peso coins

  that the Ministry of Finance melted down into ingots, the

  gold ingots that you and Che and Edis Lopez and

  Jos6 Otero carried away. How much gold was

  there? Forty or fifty tons? You certainly

  didn't spend it on the people of Cuba. Where is it?"

  A grimace twisted Castro's lips, "You'll

  never find it, that's for certain. Edis and Jos6

  died within weeks of Che. I am the only living

  person who knows where mat gold is; I am taking

  the secret to my grave."

  "The gold isn't yours."

  "Nor is it yours, you son of a pig."

  "We will let you watch us cut up Mercedes. We

  will make a tiny incision on her abdomen, pull out

  a loop of small intestine. I will ask you questions, and

  every time you refuse to answer Colonel Santana will

  pull out more intestine. You will tell us everything we

  want-to know or we will see what her insides

  look like. Colonel?"

  Santana grabbed Mercedes by the arms. With one hand

  he grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it from

  her body.

  Fidel Castro's jaw moved. Then he went

  limp, slumping in his chair.

  "Fideir

  Mercedes screamed.

  Vargas leaped for Castro, pried open his jaw and

  raked a piece of celluloid from his mouth with his

  finger.

  "Poisonea"...he said disgustedly. He felt

  Castro's wrist for a pulse.

  "Stone cold dead."...He tossed down the wrist and

  turned toward Mercedes.

  "You

  gave him the poison! He had the capsule in his

  mouth."

  Alejo Vargas slapped her as hard as he could.

  "And this is for insulting my mother,

  puta backslash was

  He slapped her again so hard she went to her knees,

  the side of her face numb. "If you do it again I

  will cut your tongue outea"...he added, his voice almost a

  hiss.

  Then Vargas took a deep breath and steadied himself.

  The sight of Fidel Castro's corpse drained the

  rage from bun and filled him with adrenaline, ready

  for the race to his destiny. He had waited all his

  life for this moment and now it was here.

  "Listen to misea"...the technician said, and