Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba
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might be in prison just now."
"That's rightea"...the director agreed, nodding. "We
think the rioting is directly due to the fact
Sedano is in prison. The lid is coming off down
there."
"We've had our finger in a lot of Cuban
piesea"...the president said disgustedly, folding his hands
on the table in front of him. "Probably too
many. I seem to recall that die CIA did some
fast work with a computer, emptied Fidel's Swiss
bank accounts."
"The money is still hi those banksea"...the director said
quickly. "We just created a few new accounts and
moved the money to them. Don't want anyone to think
we are into bank robbery these days."
"Why not? This administration has been accused of
everything elseea"...die president said
lightly. Poking fun at himself was his talent, the
reason he had made it to die very top of die heap
in American politics. He laced bis fingers
together, leaned back in his chair. "If we had any
sense we would let die Cubans sort out their own
problems. Lord knows we have enough of our own."
A murmur of assent went around die table.
Tater Totten sighed, took his letter of resignation
from an inside jacket pocket and unfolded it,
placed it on die table in front of him. Then he
took out another letter, a request for immediate
retirement, and placed it beside die first. He
smoothed out both documents, put on his glasses,
looked diem over.
The secretary of state was sitting beside him. She
looked over to see what Totten was reading. When she
realized she was looking at a letter of resignation, she
leaned closer.
"What is today"..."...later whispered. "The date?"
"The seventh."
General Totten got out his ink pen, wrote the
date in ink on the top of the letter of resignation and the
letter requesthag retirement. Then he signed both
letters and put his pen back hi his pocket.
"... our willingness to work with the new
government. In fact, I think this would be an
excellent time to end the American embargo of
Cuba...."...The national security adviser was
talking, apparently reciting a speech he had
rehearsed with the president earlier today. As the
adviser talked, the president had been looking
around die room, watching faces for reactions. Just
now he was looking at Tater Totten with narrowed
eyes.
He knows, the general thought.
When the adviser wound down, the president spoke
before anyone else could. "General Totten, you look
like a man with something to say."
"We can't ignore six ICBM'S armed with
biological warheads. We can't ignore a lab
for manufacturing toxins. We can't ignore a
warehouse full of stolen CBW warheads." He
leaned forward in his chair, looked straight at the
president, whose brow was furrowing into a scowl.
"Fifty million Americans are within range of
those missiles. We must move
right now
to disarm those missiles, put the Cubans out of the
biological warfare business, and recover those
stolen warheads. We have absolutely no
choice. When they find out what the threat is, the
American people are not going to be hi the mood to listen
to excuses."
Tater Totten looked around the table at the
pale, drawn faces. Every eye hi the room was on
him. "If one of those missiles gets launched at
America, everyone hi this room will be responsible.
That is the hard, cold reality. All this happy
talk about lifting embargoes and a new era of peace
hi the Caribbean is beside the point. We can't
ignore weapons of mass destruction aimed at
innocent Americans."
The silence that followed lasted for several
seconds, un-
til the president broke it. "General, no one
is suggesting we ignore those missiles. The question
is how we can best deal with the reality of their presence.
My initial reaction is to wait until a new
government takes over in Cuba, then to talk with them
about disarmament and return of the stolen warheads in
return for lifting the embargo. Reasonable people will
see the advantages for each side."
"Your mistakeea"...General Totten replied, "is
thinking that reasonable people will be involved in the
negotiations. Reasonable people don't build
CBW weapons of mass destructionunreasonable people
do. Unreasonable people use mem to commit murder for
ends they could achieve in no other way, ends they
think are worth other people's blood to attain. Now,
that,
by God, is reality."
The secretary of state had snaked the chairman's
letter of resignation over hi front of her while he
was speaking. Now she showed it to the director of the
CIA, who was on her left.
"What is that document"..."...the president asked.
"My letter of resignationea"...Tater Totten said
blandly. "I haven't decided whether to submit it
now or later."
As the president's upper lip curled hi a
sneer, the secretary of state put the letter back on
the table in front of disthe general.
"Totten, you son of a bitch!
I'm
the man responsible."
"I have to sleep nightsea"...Tater shot back.
"You reveal classified information to the press,
I'll have you prosecuted."...The president knew
damn well that Totten would hold a press conference
and tell all. "You'll spend your
goddamn retirement in a federal pen," the
president snarled.
"Bullshit! When the public finds out about polio
warheads on ICBM'S aimed at Florida, the
tidal wave is going to wash you away."...General
Totten pointed a finger at the president.
"Don't fuck this up, cowboy: there are too many
American lives at stake. Now isn't the time
for a friendly game of Russian roulette."
"Okayea"...the president said, lifting his hands and showing
the palms. "Okay! What's the date on that letter?"
"Today."
"Make it a week from today. We'll do this your
way, and a week from today you're permanently off to the
golf course with your mouth welded shut."
Totten got out his pen, changed the date on both
the letters, and passed them across the table to the president,
who didn't even glance at them.
"Better get cracking, Generalea"...the president
snarled.
"Yes, sirea"...sd Tater Totten. He rose
from his chair and walked out of the room.
At the same time the president and National
Security Council were meeting in Washington, the
Council of State of the communist government
of Cuba was meeting in Havana.
"Where is FidelThat someone roared at Alejo
Vargas as he walked into the room, flanked
by Colonel S
antana on one side and a
plainclothes secret policeman on the other.
Santana limped as he walked. He was heavily
bandaged about the head and left arm, and moved like a man
who was very sore.
Vice President Raul Castro watched
Alejo Vargas take his seat at the table beside die
other ministers. His face was mottled, his anger
palpable. He motioned for silence, smacked a
wooden gavel against the table until he got it, then
looked Vargas straight in the face.
"Where is my brother?"
"Dead."
"And you have hidden the body."
"The body is being prepared for a state funeral.
I didn't think anyone would object."
"Liarff"...Ratil Castro spit out the word. He
stood, leaned on the table, and shouted at Vargas.
"Liarst I think you murdered Fidel. I think you
murdered him so mat you could take over the
country."...He waved at the window. "The
people out there think so too. You have murdered my
brother and arrested the man that he hoped would eventually
succeed him, Hector Sedano. Jesus, man, the
whole country is coming apart at the seams; they are
rioting in the streets!"
Alejo Vargas examined the faces around the table
while Raul shouted. Maximo Sedano was there, his
face impassive. Many of the faces could not be read.
Most of them merely wanted food to eat and a place
to live, something better than the people in the cane
fields had. They went to their offices every day,
obeyed Fidel's orders, took the blame when
things went wrongas they usually did watched Fidel
take the credit if things went right, and soldiered
on. That had been a way of Me for these people for two
generationsforty yearsand now it was over.
"... the people loved Fidelea"...Raul was saying,
"honored and respected him as the greatest patriot
in the history of Cuba, and I think you, Alejo
Vargas, had a hand in his death. I accuse you of his
murder."
"Watch your mouthea"...Santana told him, but Raul
turned on him like an enraged bear.
"I am vice president of the republic, first in
line of succession upon the death of the
presidentea"...Raul thundered at the
colonel. "Maintain your silence or be evicted."
Alejo Vargas had already removed his pistol from his
pocket while he sat at the table listening
to Raul. Now he raised it, extended it to arm's
length, and squeezed the trigger. Before anyone could
move he pumped three bullets into Raul
Castro, who fell sideways, knocking over his
chair. The reports were like thunderclaps in the room,
leaving the audience stunned and slightly deafened.
Alejo Vargas got to his feet, holding the
pistol casually in front of him in his right hand,
"Does anyone else wish to accuse me of
murder?"
Total, complete silence. Vargas looked from
face to face, trying to make eye contact with everyone
willing. Most averted their eyes when he looked
into their face.
"Colonel Santana, please remove Senor
Castro from the room. He is ill."
As a bandaged Santana and the plainclothesman were
carrying out the body, Alejo Vargas again seated
himself. He placed the pistol on the table in front
of him.
"I will chair this meetingea"...he said. "We
are here today to decide what must be done in light of the
recent death of our beloved president, Fidel
Castro. He fought a long, valiant fight against
the disease of cancer, which claimed him four days ago.
Of course the news could not be publicly announced
until the Council of State had been informed and
decisions reached on the question of succession.
"I do hereby officially inform you of the tragedy of
Fidel Castro's passing, and declare this meeting open
to discuss the question of naming a successor to the office of
president."
With that Vargas reached across the table and seized die
gavel that Raiil Castro had used. He tapped
it several times on the table, sharp little raps that made
several people flinch.
"This meeting is officially openea"...he declared. "Who
would like to speak first?"'
No one said a word.
"The news of our beloved president's death has
hit everyone hardea"...Vargas said. "I understand. Yet
the business of our nation cannot wait. L hereby
nominate myself for the office of president. Do I
hear a second?"
"I second the nominationea"...sd General Alba, his
voice carrying in the silence.
"Let the record show that I move to make the
nomination unanimousea"...Admiral Delgado said, his
voice quavering a little.
"I second that motionea"...General Alba replied,
"and move that the nominations be closed."
One would almost mink they rehearsed that, Alejo
Vargas thought, and gave the two general officers a
nod of gratitude.
* * *
Sharks!
The silent predators came gliding in even as
Ocho Sedano watched with his face hi the water,
gray, streamlined torpedoes swimming effortlessly
through the half-light under the surface. They seerned
to be swimming toward the place where the
Angel del Mar
had just gone under. No doubt the turbulence and noise
from the sinking boat attracted them.
The people thrashing about on the surface were also making
noise. Nature had equipped the sharks to sense the
death struggles of other creatures, and to come to feed.
He raised his head from the water, shouted, "Sharks.
Sharks."...His voice was very hoarse, his throat
terribly dry. He sucked up a mouthful of
salty seawater, men spit it out.
"Sharks!
Do not struggle. Swim away from the wreck, from each
other."
He didn't know if anyone heard him or not.
A scream split the air, then was cut off
abruptly, probably as the person screaming was
pulled under.
Another scream. Shouts of "Sharksff"...and calls
to God.
He felt something rub against his leg, and kicked
back viciously. With his face in the water he could
see the shark, a big one, maybe eight feet,
swimming toward the concentration of people in the water.
He turned the other way, began swimming slowly
away.
The old fisherman was nearby, doing the same.
"Do not panicea"...the old man said. "Swim slowly,
steadfly."
"The others ..."
"There is nothing we can do. God is with them."
He heard several more screams, a curse or two,
then nothing. He didn't want to hear. And he was
swimming into the wind, so the sound would not carry so
well.
Dora was back there. If she got off the
boat. He couldn't remember if she leaped from the
boat before it sank. Perhaps s
he drowned when the boat
went down. If so, that was
God's mercy. Better that than being eaten by a
shark, having a leg ripped half off, or an arm,
then bleeding hi agony until the sharks tore you
to pieces or pulled you under to drown.
That mere were still things, on this earth that ate people was an
evil more foul than anything he had ever imagined.
He tired of swimming and stopped once, but the
old fisherman encouraged him.
"Don't die here, son. Swim farther, get
away from the sharks."
"They're everywhereea"...Ocho replied, with impeccable
logic.
"Swim fartherea"...the old man said, and so he did.
Finally they stopped. How far they had come they had
no way of knowing. The sea rose and fell hi a
timeless, eternal rhythm, the wind occasionally ripped
spume from a crest and sent it flying, puffy clouds
scudded along, the sun beat down.
"We will die out hereea"...he told the old man, who
was only'ab ten feet away.
f
The fisherman didn't reply. What was
there to say?
Even the tragedy of Dora couldn't keep him
awake. He kept dozing off, then awakening when
water went into his nose and mouth.
In the afternoon he thought he saw a ship, a sailing
ship with three masts and square sails set to catch
the trade winds. Maybe he only imagined it.
He also thought he saw more contrails high in the sky,
but he might have imagined those too.
He would swim until he died, he decided.
That was all a man could do. He would do that and God
would know he tried and forgive him his sins and take him
into heaven.
Somehow that thought gave him peace.
"Gentlemen, your backing this morning touched me
deeply."
Alejo Vargas was sitting with General Alba and
Admiral
STEPHEN COONTS
Delgado in his office at the Ministry of
Interior. Colonel Santana was parked in a
chair near the window with his leg on a stool and a
bandage around his head.
"What happened to you, Colonel"..."...General Alba
asked.
"I was in an accident."
"Traffic gets worse and worse."
"Yes."
"Gentlemen, let's get right down to itea"...Alejo
Vargas began. "Right now I don't have the
support of the people. The mobs are out of control. We
must restore order and confidence in the government; that
is absolutely critical."
Delgado and Alba nodded. Even a dictator
needs some level of popular support. Or at