Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

least acceptance by a significant percentage of the

  population.

  "I propose to move on two fronts. I will

  send a delegate to Hector Sedano, see if

  he can be enlisted to endorse me. Getting out of

  prison will be an inducement, of course, but one can't

  rely on anything that flimsy. I thought of naming him

  as ambassador to the Vatican."

  "That would be a popular moveea"...Alba thought, and

  Delgado agreed.

  "All my adult life I have been a student of

  Fidel Castro's political wilesea"...Vargas

  continued. "I learned many things from watching the master.

  This may seem to you gentlemen to be heresy, but without

  the United States, Castro would have lasted

  only a few years in powerhad the world turned in the

  usual way he would have been overthrown by a coup or

  mass uprising when it became obvious that he could not

  deliver on his promises. Fidel Castro

  survived because he had a scapegoat: he had the

  United States to blame for all our

  difficulties."

  "One should not say things like that publicly, but there is

  much truth in that observation."

  "The Yanquis never failed to play their part in

  Fidel's little dramasea"...Delgado agreed, and

  everyone in the room laughed, even Santana.

  When his audience was again attentive, Alejo

  Vargas

  continued: "I propose to unite the Cuban people against

  the United States one more time, and this time I shall be out

  in front leading them."

  Jake Grafton had dinner that evening with the commanding

  officers of the units in the battle group. In

  addition to the skippers of the ships, the marine landing force

  commander, Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt, and the

  air wing commander aboard

  United States

  were also there. Held in the carrier's flag wardroom,

  the dinner was one of those rare official

  functions when everyone relaxed enough to enjoy themselves.

  Surrounded by fellow career officers, Admiral

  Grafton once again felt that sense of belonging

  to something bigger than the people who comprised it that had charmed

  him about the service thirty years ago. The

  tradition, the camaraderie, the sense of engaging in

  an activity whose worth could not be measured in

  dollars or years of service made the brutally

  long hours, the family separations, and the demands of

  service life somehow easier to endure.

  He was basking in that glow when one of his aides

  slipped in a side door and handed him a

  top-secret flash message from Washington.

  Jake put on his glasses before he took the

  message from the folder.

  He scanned the message, then read it again slowly.

  Ballistic missiles in Cuba, biological

  warheads, Castro dead comhe thanked the aide, who

  left the room.

  Jake read the message again very carefully as me

  afterdinner conversation buzzed around him. The message

  ordered him to stage commando raids on the suspected

  ballistic missile sites, "as soon as

  humanly possible, before the missiles can be launched

  at the United States."

  "Gentlemen, let us adjourn to the flag

  spacesea"...Jake Grafton said, and led the commanders

  from the wardroom.

  When the group was together in the flag spaces, with the

  door closed behind them, Jake said, "The course of

  human events has catapulted us straight

  into another mess. I just received this message from

  Washington."...He read it

  to them. When he finished, no one said anything. Jake

  folded the message and returned it to the red folder.

  He turned to the captains of the two Aegis-class

  guidedmissile cruisers that were assigned to his

  battle group:

  "I want you to get underway as soon as you get

  back to your ships. Take your ships through the

  Windward Passage, then proceed at flank

  speed to a position between the island of Cuba and the

  Florida Keys that allows you to engage and destroy

  any missiles fired from Cuba toward the United

  States. Make every knot you can squeeze out of your

  ships. Every minute counts. When you come up with an

  estimated time of arrival, send it to me. We

  won't lift a finger against the Cubans until both

  your ships are in position."

  He shook hands with the captains, and they

  strode out of the room.

  "The rest of us might as well get comfortable.

  Looks like we are in for a long evening."

  Ocho Sedano looked at it for fifteen minutes

  before the thought occurred to him that he should find out what it

  was. Something white, floating perhaps fifteen feet

  away, slightly off to his right.

  Now that the existence of the white thing had registered on

  his consciousness, he made the effort to turn, to stroke

  toward it.

  He had been in the water all day. The sun would

  soon be down and he would be alone on die sea.

  After the sharks this morning there had been only Ocho

  and the old man; now the fisherman no longer answered

  his calls. Hadn't for several hours, in fact.

  Maybe he just drifted out of hailing range, Ocho

  thought. That must be it.

  The sharks killed all the others, sparing only the

  two men who had gone off the sinking boat first and

  swam away from the group. At least he thought the

  others were dead he had no way of knowing the truth of

  it.

  He had thought about the decision to swim away from the

  sinking

  Angel del Mar

  all day, off and on, trying to

  decide just what instinct had told him and the old man

  to get away from the others. Drowning people often drag under

  anyone they can reachno doubt that knowledge was a factor in the

  old man's thinking, in his thinking, for he did not

  want to put the respensibility for his life on

  anyone but himself.

  Perhaps those who were attacked by the sharks were the lucky

  ones. Their ordeal was over.

  Dorahad she been one of them?

  Diego Coca was already dead, of course. He

  died... a day or two ago... didn't he?

  Jumped into the sea and swam away from the

  Angel del Mar.

  Ah, Diego, you ass. I hope you are burning in

  hell.

  He reached for the white thing, which of course skittered out

  of reach. He paddled some more, reached up under it.

  A milk jug. A one-gallon plastic milk

  jug without a cap, floating upside down.

  Apparently intact. He lifted the milky white

  plastic jug from the sea, let the water drain out,

  then lowered it into the water. The thing made a powerful

  float.

  He pulled it toward him.

  Hard to hold on to, but very buoyant.

  How could he hold it, use the power of its

  buoyancy to keep himself afloat through the night?

  Inside his shirt? He worked comthe jug down, Jried

  to get it under his sh
irt. The thing escaped once, shot

  out of the water. He snagged it, tried it again.

  The second time he got it under his shirt. The thing

  tried to push him over backward, but if he leaned

  into it, he could keep his weight pretty much balanced

  over it. Then he could just float, ride without effort.

  As long as he could keep the open neck facing

  downward, the jug would keep him up.

  Ocho was celebrating his good fortune when a swell

  tipped him over. He fought back upright, adjusted

  the jug in the evening light.

  Maybe he should just forget the jughe seemed to be working

  as hard staying over it as he did treading water.

  With the last rays of the sun in his face, he decided

  to keep the jug, learn to ride it.

  "I'm going to be rescuedea"...he said silently

  to himself, "going to be rescued. I must just have

  patience."

  After a bit he added, "And faith in the Lord."

  Ocho was a Catholic, of course, but he had never

  been one to pray much. He wondered if he

  should pray now. Surely God knew about the mess

  he was inwhat could he conceivably tell Him that He

  didn't already know?

  In the twilight the water became dark. Still restless,

  still rising and falling, but dark and black as the grave.

  He would probably die this night. Sometime during the

  night he would go to sleep and drown or a shark would

  rip at him or he would just run out of will. He was oh

  so very tired, a lethargy that weighed on every muscle.

  Tonight,

  he thought.

  But I don't want to die. I want to live!

  Please, God, let me live one more day. If

  I am not rescued tomorrow, then let me die tomorrow

  night.

  That was a reasonable request. His strength would give

  out by tomorrow night anyway.

  The last of the light faded from the sky, and he was alone

  on the face of the sea.

  La Cabana Prison was an old pile of

  masonry. In the hot, humid climate of Cuba

  the interior was cool, a welcome respite from the

  heat. Yet in the dark corridors filled with

  stagnant air the odor of mold and decay seemed

  almost overpowering. The iron bars and grates

  and cell doors were wet with condensation and covered with

  layers of rust.

  During the day small windows with nearly opaque,

  dirty glass admitted what light there was. At

  night naked bulbs hanging where two corridors

  met or an iron gate barred the way lit the

  interior; and for whole stretches of corridors and

  cells there was no light at all.

  Hector Sedano saw the flashlight even before he

  heard people coming along the corridor. One flashlight

  and two

  or three, maybe even four peopleit was

  difficult to tell.

  The flashlight led the visitors to this cell, and it

  turned to pin him on the cot.

  "There he is."

  "I will talk to him alone."

  "Yes,

  Senor Presidente."

  One man remained standing in the semidarkness outside

  the cell after the others left. After the flashlight

  Hector's eyes adjusted slowly. Now he could

  see himAlejo Vargas.

  Vargas lit a short cigarillo. As he struck

  the match Hector closed his eyes, and

  kept them closed until he smelled tobacco

  smoke and heard Vargas's voice.

  "Father Sedano, we meet again."

  Hector thought that remark didn't deserve a

  reply.

  "I seem to recall a conversation we had, whattwo

  or three years ago"..."...Vargas said thoughtfully. "I

  told you that religion and politics don't mix."

  "You even had a biblical quote ready to fire

  at me, Mark twelve-seventeen. Most

  unexpected."

  "You didn't take my advice."

  "No."

  "You don't often follow advice, do you?"

  "No."

  "I came here tonight to see if you wish to make your

  peace with Caesar and join my cabinet, perhaps as our

  ambassador to the Church."

  "You're the president now?"

  'Temporarily, Until the election."

  "Then the title will become permanent."

  "I don't think anyone will want to run against me."

  "Perhaps not."

  "But let's take it a day at a time. Temporary

  acting president Vargas asks you to serve

  your country in this capacity."

  "And if I say no?"

  STEPHEN COONTS

  "I want to sleep with a clean conscience, which is

  why I came here tonight to make the offer."

  "Your conscience is easily cleansed if that is all

  it takes."

  "It does not trouble me too much."

  "A man who lives as you do, a lively conscience

  would hurt worse than a bad tooth."

  "So your answer is no."

  "That it is."

  "But at least you considered my offer, so I can sleep

  knowing you chose your own fate."

  "My fate is in God's hands."

  "Ah, if only I had the time to discuss religion

  with you, an intelligent, learned man. Time does not

  allow me that luxury. Still, I have one other little thing

  to discuss with you, and I caution you, this is not the time for a

  yes or no answer. This thing you must think about very

  carefully and give me your answer later."

  Sedano scratched his head. Vargas probably

  couldn't see past the glow of his cigarillo tip, so

  it didn't matter much what he did.

  "I want to know what Fidel did with the

  gold from the pesos. I want you to tell me."

  "Me? I was six years old when he melted the

  gold, if he did."

  "I think you know. I think Fidel told

  Mercedes, and Mercedes told you. So I have come

  to ask you where it is. Will you tell me?"

  "She didn't tell me about gold."

  "I should not have asked so quickly. I told myself I

  would not do that, then I did. I apologize. I will

  ask you later, when you have had time to think about the question and

  all the implications."

  "I can't tell you what I don't know."

  "Well, think about it; that is all I ask. Of

  course I will talk to Mercedes. I think she also

  told you or the CIA about Fidel's Swiss

  bank accounts. When Maximo went to get the money

  it was not there. I would like to have been there

  to see the look on Maximo's faceah, yes,

  that

  was a moment, my friend!"

  He chuckled, then drew on the cigarillo, made

  the tip glow.

  "Maximo thinks the Swiss stole it; he is very

  gullible. I smell the CIA. The CIA could

  reach into Swiss banks as easily as you and

  I breathe."

  'The world is quite complex."

  "Isn't it"..."...Vargas sighed. "All the strings lead

  to Mercedes. She knew too much for her own good. I

  think she will do the right thing. She is a loyal

  patriot. With Colonel Santana asking the

  questions, I have faith that she will do what is best for

  Cuba."r />
  Hector could feel the sweat beading up on his

  forehead. He made sure his voice was under his

  complete control before he spoke. "For Cuba?"

  "For Cuba, yes. Cuba and me, our interests are

  identical. I want the gold, Father, and I intend

  to get it. Able you sit here rotting, you think about that."

  Alejo Vargas turned and walked away, still puffing

  on the cigarillo. ,

  The smell of the tobacco smoke lingered in the cell for

  hours. Hector fancied that he could still smell it

  when daylight began shining through the window high in the

  wall at the end of the corridor.

  The submariners put the computer in a plastic

  garbage bag to keep it dry, then put bag and

  computer into a backpack that one of the sailors had for

  his liberty gear. William Henry Chance put on

  the backpack and the sailors adjusted the

  straps.

  . "You should be okay, sirea"...they said. At a nod from

  the sound-powered telephone talker, Chance started up

  the ladder with Tommy Carmellini right behind him. They

  came out of the hatch on the submarine's deck forward

  of the island. The deck wasn't much, merely wet

  steel that curved away right and left into the black

  ocean.

  Hovering hi the darkness overhead was a helicopter the

  downwash from the rotor blades made it hard

  to breathe. Amid the comflashing lights and spotlights,

  his eyes had a hard time adjustingChance felt almost

  blind. One of the sailors on the deck put a horse

  collar over his head and he went up into the chopper

  first. Then Carmellini.

  A strong set of hands pulled him into the chopper.

  After a wave at the officers in the sail cockpit,

  Carmellini used hands and feet to get over to the

  canvas bench opposite the open door where Chance

  had found a seat.

  Forty-five minutes later the helicopter landed on

  the flight deck of USS

  United States.

  As the rotors wound down, an officer in khakis

  came to the chopper's door, and shouted,

  "Mr. Chance? Mr. Carmellini?"

  "Right here,"

  "My name is Toad Tarkington. Will you gentlemen

  come with me, pleddase? The admiral is waiting."

  Tommy Carmellini felt completely out of

  place, completely lost. After the submarine and the

  helicopter, the strange sounds, smells, and

  sensations of the huge ship underway in a night sea

  seemed to max out his ability to adjust.

  The compartment where Toad took the two agents was

  packed with people, all talking among themselves. Still, compared

  to the flight deck and the sensations of the helicopter, it