Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

  results were inconclusive. As the intensity of the

  showers increased and decreased, the probable location of the

  ship expanded and contracted like a living circle.

  Jake and Toad drank coffee and ate sandwiches

  as they waited and watched the computer presentations.

  Jake wandered around the compartment looking at maps between

  glances at the computer screen and conversations over

  another encrypted circuit with the brass in the

  Pentagon. The White House was in the loop nowthe

  president wanted to know how in hell a shipload of

  chemical and biological warheads could disappear.

  "What do you think happened, Admiral"..."...Toad

  asked.

  'Too many possibilities."

  "Do the people in Washington blame you for not having the

  Coldn

  escorted all the way to Norfolk?"

  "Of course. The national security adviser wants

  to know , why the destroyer left the

  Colon."

  Toad bristled. "You weren't told to escort that

  ship, you

  were told to guard the base. Escorting that ship out of the

  area wasn't your responsibility."""

  "Somebody is going to second-guess every decision

  I makeea"...Jake Grafton said, "all of them.

  They're doing that right now. That comes with the stars and the

  job."

  "Hindsight is a wonderful thing."

  "I'll be out on the golf course soon enough, and the

  only person who will second-guess me then will be

  my wife."

  Despite the best efforts of the wizards in Maryland

  and aboard ship, the location of the

  Colon

  under the rain of the cold front could not be established.

  Jake gave up, finally.

  'Tell them to move forward in time. Let's see where

  the ship was after the storm."

  But when the rain ceased, the computer could not identify the

  Colon

  from the other ship returns. There were

  thirty-two medium- to large-sized vessels in the

  vicinity of the Bahamas alone.

  Toad stayed on the encrypted circuit to the NSA

  wizards. Finally he hung up the handset and turned

  to the admiral.

  "They can assign track numbers to each blip,

  watch where they go, and by process of elimination come up

  with the most likely blips. There is a lot of

  computing Involved. The process will take hours,

  maybe a day of* two."

  Jake Grafton picked up the flight schedule,

  took a look, then handed it to Toad. "Put the

  air wing up in a surface search pattern.

  Let's see what we"...c find out there now."

  Toad turned to the chart on the bulkhead. "Where do

  you want them to look?"

  "From the north coast of Cuba north into the

  Bahamas. Look along the coast of

  Hispaniola, all the way to Puerto Rico. Do

  the Turks and Caicos. Have the crews

  photograph every ship they see. Have NSA

  establish current ship tracks, then match up

  what the air crews see with what the satellite

  sees. Then let's run the current plot

  backward."

  "Someone got a lucky break with the rain

  stormea"...Toad

  commented. "Maybe they were playing for the break, maybe

  it just happened."

  "Send a top secret message to the Gitmo

  base commander. Find out everything they know about die

  crew of that ship."

  Jake Grafton tapped the chart. "The

  president gave everyone in uniform their marching

  orders. Find that ship."

  Maximo Sedano flashed his diplomatic

  passport at the immigration officer in the Madrid

  airport and was waved through after a perfunctory

  glance. His suitcase was checked through to Zurich, and of

  course customs passed his attach@l case without

  inspection. Traveling as a diplomat certainly

  had its advantagesairport security did not

  even x-ray a diplomat's carry-on bags.

  - The Cuban minister of finance wandered the airport

  terminal luxuriating in the ambiance of Europe.

  The shops were full of delicacies, books,

  tobacco, clothes, liquor, the women were well

  turned out, the sights and smells were of civilization

  and prosperity and good living.

  In spite of himself, Maximo Sedano

  sighed deeply. Ah, yes...

  Spain or one of the Spanish islands would be his

  choice for retirement. With Europe at his feet,

  what more could a man want? And retirement seemed

  to Maximo to be almost within reach.

  What was the phrase? "Fire in the belly"? Some

  Yanqui politician said to win office one must have

  fire in the belly.

  After a morning of thinking about it, Maximo concluded

  he didn't have the fire. After Fidel died,

  Fidel's brother, Raiil or Maximo's

  brother Hector, or Alejo Vargas, or

  anyone else who could kill his rivals could rule

  CubaMaximo had given up trying for that prize.

  He'd take the money.

  And all the things money can buy: villas, beautiful

  women, yachts, gourmet food, fine wine,

  beautiful women

  ...

  Someone else could stand in the Plaza de la

  Revolution in Havana and revel in the cheers of the

  crowd.

  He filed aboard the plane to Zurich and settled

  cheerfully into his seat. He smiled at the flight

  attendant and beamed at the man across the

  aisle.

  Life is good, Maximo told himself, and

  unconsciously fingered his breast pocket, where the

  cards were that contained Fidel's signature and

  thumbprints.

  Why go back?

  Fifty-three or comfour million American

  dollars was more than enough. To hell with the gold!

  As the jet accelerated down the runway, Maximo

  told himself that the only smart thing was to take the money

  and retire. Now was the hour. Reel in the fish on

  the line don't let it off the hook to cast for

  another.

  He could transfer the money, spend three or four

  days shuffling it around, then leave Zurich on the

  Argentine passport as Eduardo Jos6 Lopez.

  Maximo Sedano would cease to exist.

  Off to Ibiza, buy a small cottage

  overlooking the sea, find a willing woman, not too

  young, not too old...

  Yes.

  He would do it.

  The sudden death of Fidel Castro caught Alejo

  Vargas off guard. The dictator's death was

  supposed to be days, even weeks, away.

  Unfortunately Vargas's political position was

  precarious, to say the least. He really could have used

  Fidel's endorsement, however obtained. At least

  now no one would get it.

  Although he had lived bis whole life in his

  brother's shadow, Raiil Castro nominally held

  the reins of government. Alejo Vargas thought that

  without Fidel, Raul was completely out on a

  limb, without a political constituency of his own.

  While he tried to analyze the moves on the

  board, Vargas had Col
onel Santana lock

  Mercedes in a bedroom, seal

  the presidential palace, and put a security

  man on the telephone switchboard. He didn't

  want the news of Fidel's death to get out before he

  was ready.

  Vargas left Santana in charge of the palace and

  took his limo back to the ministry. Of course he

  refrained from using the telephone in his limo to issue

  orders. The Americans listened to every radio

  transmission on telephone frequencies and would

  soon know as much about his business as he did. He

  sat silently as the limo carried him through the afternoon

  traffic to the ministry.

  There he called his most trusted

  lieutenants to his office and issued orders.

  Bring Admiral Delgado and General Alba to this

  office immediately. Find and arrest Hector Sedano.

  Alejo Vargas stood at the window looking at

  Mono Castle and the sea beyond. Far out from shore he

  could just make out the deep blue of the Gulf Stream,

  which appeared as a thin blue line just under the horizon.

  An overcast layer was moving in from the southeast and a

  breeze was picking up.

  A historic day ... Fidel Castro, the towering

  giant of Cuban history was dead. The end of an

  era, Vargas thought, and the beginning of a new one, one

  he would dominate.

  Despite the timing surprise, Vargas really had

  no choice: he was going to have to go forward with his plan.

  He had concluded a month or so ago that the only

  course open to him upon the death of Castro was to create

  a situation that would induce the Cuban people to rally around

  him. He would need boldness and a fierce resolve

  if he were to have a chance of success, but he was just the

  man to risk everything on one roll of the dice. After

  he personally loaded them.

  Colonel Santana brought an American

  artillery shell to Havana yesterday, one removed

  Nuestra Senora de Coldn.

  The thing was in the basement of the ministry now, under armed

  guard. The Cuban leadership had known for years that

  the Americans had CBW weapons stored at

  Guantanamo. Now the Americans were removing the

  things, but too late! Thanks to El Gato,

  Vargas had one he could show the world. Soon he

  hoped to have a great many more.

  Alejo Vargas took a deep breath, stretched

  mightily, helped himself to a'cigar. He lit it,

  inhaled the smoke, and blew it out through his nose. Then

  he laughed.

  "I want a little house with a garden. Every day food

  to eat. Children. A doctor to make them well when they

  get sick. A man who loves me. Is that so

  much?"

  Dora's mouth was so dry she didn't

  enunciate her words clearly, but Ocho knew what

  she meant. They lay head to head under the awning in the

  shade as the

  Angel del Mar

  pitched and rolled endlessly in the long sea swells.

  Surrounded by a universe of water they couldn't

  drink, the twenty-six humans aboard the boat were

  tortured by thirst and baked by the sun. Many

  had bad sunburns now, raw places where the skin

  had blistered and peeled off, leaving oozing sores.

  The old fisherman dipped buckets of water from the

  sea and poured salt water over the burns. He

  gently poured sea water on the small children, who had

  long ago ceased crying. Perhaps the water would be

  absorbed by their dehydrated tissues. If not, it

  would at least help keep them cool, ease their

  suffering somewhat.

  Near Dora a woman was repeating the Rosary,

  over and over, mumbling it. Now and then another

  woman joined in for a few minutes, then fell

  silent until the spirit moved her again.

  It seemed as if everyone left alive had lost

  someone to the sea that first night. The cries and grief

  were almost more than people could bear when they realized who had

  been lost, and that they were gone forever. Mothers cried,

  daughters were so distraught they shook, the hopelessness

  hit everyone like a hammer. The mother of the captain, who

  saw him dead, shot hi the back, could neither move

  nor speak. As Dora talked, Ocho watched the

  woman, who sat

  now at the foot of the mainmast, holding on to it with one

  hand and a daughter or daughter-in-law with the other.

  Every now and then Ocho sat or stood and

  searched the horizon. Nothing. Not a boat, not land,

  not a ship. Nothing.

  Oh, three airplanes had gone over, two jets

  way up high making contrails and a twin-engine

  plane perhaps two miles up mat had crossed the

  sky straight as a string, without the slightest waver as

  it passed within a half mile

  of Angel del Mar,

  rolling her guts out in die swells.

  To see the airplanes, with their people riding inside,

  safe, full of food and drink, on their way from

  someplace to somewhere else, while we poor

  creatures are trapped here on this miserable boat,

  condemned to die slowly of thirst and exposure...

  Surely the boat would be found soon... by somebody!

  Anybody! How can the Americans not see us?

  How?

  Do they see us and not care?

  Ocho was standing, watching for other ships and listening

  to Dora talk of the house she wanted, with the flowers

  by the door, when he realized that the dark place he

  could see to the west was a rain squall.

  "Rainea"...he whispered.

  "Rain."

  He shouted the word, pointed.

  The squall was upon them before anyone could muster the

  energy to do anything. The people stood with their mourns open

  as raindrops pounded them and soaked their clothes and

  ran off the awning and along the deck, to disappear into the

  scuppers.

  "The awning! Quickly. Make a container from the awning

  to trap the water!"

  Ocho untied one corner with fingers that were all

  thumbs, the old fisherman did another comer, and they

  held the corners up, trapping water.

  They had a few gallons when the rain ceased

  falling.

  Several of the men tried to lean over, drink from the

  awning.

  "No. Children first."

  Ocho managed to catch one man by the back of the neck

  and throw him to the deck.

  "Children first."

  One by one the children were allowed to drink all they could

  hold. Then the women.

  Several of the men got a swallow or two each,

  then the water was gone.

  Ocho sat down, wiped the sweat and water from his

  hair and sucked it from his fingers. The only water he

  had gotten had been from holding his mourn

  open.

  Dora had drunk her fill. Now she lay on

  the deck with her eyes closed.

  Diego Coca had even gotten a swallow.

  He looked about with venomous eyes, then lay down

  beside his daughter.

  "We must rig the awning so that it will catch water
/>
  if die rain comes againea"...Ocho said to the old

  fisherman.

  They worked at it, cut a hole in the low place

  in the canvas and put a five-gallon bucket under

  die hole.

  If it will just rain again,

  Ocho thought, studying the clouds.

  Please God, hear our prayer.

  "Why are you here, on this boat"..."...the old fisherman

  asked Ocho, who stared at him in surprise.

  "Why are you here"..."...the fisherman repeated. "You

  aren't tike us."

  Ocho looked around at his fellow sufferers, unable

  to fathom the old man's meaning.

  "These people are all losersea"...the old man said,

  "including me. We came looking for something we will

  never find. Why are you with us?"

  "It's time for someone to relieve Lopez

  on the pump. I will do it for a while, then you

  relieve me, old man."

  "We are going to die soon, I thinkea"...the old

  man said.

  Ocho hissed, "There are children listening. Watch your

  mouth."

  "When we can pump no more we will swim. Then we will

  die. One by one people will drown, or sharks will come."

  %

  "Look for a shipea"...Ocho said harshly, and went below.

  Sharks! The old windbag, scaring the children like that

  Of course sharks were a possibility. Blood or

  people thrashing about in the water would attract them, or so

  he had always heard. Sharks would rip people apart, pull

  them under.

  He pumped for a bit over twenty minutes, then

  took a break. The water came in fast. After

  five minutes he began pumping again. Another

  twenty-one minutes of vigorous effort was required

  to empty the bilge.

  The water was coming in faster than it did yesterday.

  Pumping the handle manually seemed to require more

  effort too, though he knew he just had less energy.

  Pump, pump, pump, take a brief rest in the

  stinky bilge, then pump again....

  The more tired he grew the more hopeless he felt.

  All of them were doomed. Dora, the baby growing within

  her, the baby that he had put in her womb ...

  It was his fault. If he had been man enough to say

  no, to not surrender to lust, all these people would still be in

  Cuba, they would have a future to look forward to, not

  watery death. All the people who had been swept to their

  death would still be alive.

  Alive!

  He had no idea of the horrible things he was setting

  in motion when he opened her dress, felt the

  ripeness of her body, felt the heat of her.

  The guilt weighed on him, made it hard to breathe.