Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

  Now the officer standing on the tank put his hands on his

  hipsRita had the Osprey down to a thousand feet,

  only a mile from the building, set up to begin her

  transition to helicopter flight, so the activity in

  the prison courtyard was as clear to Jake as if he

  had been watching it on television.

  "Angel One, this is Battlestar One. Come on

  in."

  "Roger that, Battlestar."

  The Cuban officer was still standing on the tank when it

  disappeared in a flash as the bomb hit it.

  When the cloud of smoke and debris cleared, no one

  was moving within a hundred feet of the blasted tank, of

  which only tiny pieces remained. The bomb must have

  penetrated the armor in front of or behind the

  turret, Jake thought.

  Now the second bomb tone ended. Cuban troops

  were running out of the prison complex through the main gate,

  which Jake belatedly realized was open. The men were

  dropping their weapons, throwing away their helmets and

  running as fast as their legs could carry them.

  The five-hundred-pound bomb from Night Owl Four

  Four exploded in the gate and the running men

  disappeared in a flash.

  "Put it on the roofea"...Jake Grafton told

  Rita Moravia.

  "Okay, I got this guyea"...Sailor Karnow told

  Stiff Hardwick. "He's bogey one."

  The symbol was right there in front of Stiff on the

  headsup display.

  "About thirty miles or soea"...Sailor said

  matter-of-factly." She would sound bored if they

  were giving her an Academy Award. That was another

  thing about her Stiff didn't like. Well, the truth

  was, he hated her guts, but he knew better

  than to say so in the new modern politically

  correct genderneutral navy to which they both

  belonged. A few off-thecuff remarks like that to the

  boys could torpedo a promising career.

  "Lock the son of a bitch upea"...Stiff told his

  RIO.

  "You can't shoot this dudeea"...Sailor said, still bored

  as hell. "There are four stealth fighters flapping

  around down there, three Ospreys and a helicopter,

  or did you sleep through the brief? You can't shoot

  without the blessing of Battlestar Strike, which

  you ain't likely to get."

  Twenty-five miles now. Stiff had the F-14

  coming down like a lawyer on his way to hell, showing

  Mach 1.7 on the meter. He was fast crawling up

  this MiGo's ass.

  "Don't just sit there with your thumb up your heinie,

  honey. Get on the goddamn horn."

  "Battlestar Strikeea"...Sailor drawled on the

  radio. "This is Showtime One Oh Two. We

  got us a situation developing out here."

  Rita didn't use her landing light until the last

  possible moment, snapping it on just in time to judge the

  final few seconds of her approach. As it was,

  only one of the demoralized snipers on the roof

  took a shot at the plane, a wild, unaimed

  shot that punched a hole in the fuselage near

  the port gear and spent itself against a structural

  member. Then the marines charging out of the back of the beast

  fired a shot over his head and the sniper threw down his

  rifle. The other snipers had already done so.

  In seconds thfc chopper from

  United States

  came out of the darkness and set down alongside the

  V-22. Tommy Carmellini and Ocho Sedano

  came scrambling out.

  All this was new to Ocho. With wide eyes he

  looked at the Osprey, at the marines, at the

  skyline of Havana, at the bonfires in the

  street and the tens of thousands of people.

  Toad Tarkington appeared at Jake's elbow.

  "I think I know how to get off this roofea"...Toad

  said.

  "Lead onea"...Jake told him.

  "Uh, Showtime One Oh Two, negative on the

  permission to shoot. That's negatory, weapons red,

  over."

  "Strike, goddamn itea"...Stiff Hardwick roared,

  "We're sitting right on the tail of a goddamn

  MiGo on his way to Havana to kill some of our people.

  I got the son of a bitch boresighted."

  "Showtime, there are too many friendlies over Havana.

  Weapons red, weapons red, over."

  "How about I pop this guy with my gun? Request

  weapons free for a gunshot. Over."

  "Wait."

  Stiff was off the power, idling along at about 400

  knots', five miles behind the bogey. Of course,

  the bogey didn't know he was there. The Cuban

  MiGo-29's had very primitive electronic

  detection equipment, which consisted of a light

  and an auditory signal in the pilot's ear. These

  devices told Carlos Corrado he was being

  looked at by an American fighter radar but failed

  to tell him where or how close the thing was, the two

  pieces of information that he needed the most.

  As he closed on Havana and listened to the tone and

  watched the light, which didn't even flicker,

  Carlos Corrado pondered on the irony of knowing

  American fighters were

  out there somewhere and not being able to do anything about it. If

  he turned on his radar, he would beacon to the

  Americans, who would then come at him like moths to a

  flame. His only chance was to keep the radar off.

  If the Americans launched a weapon at him, he

  had a few flares he could punch off, of course, and

  some chaff. It was not much, but it might be enough. If

  it wasn't, well, he had had a good life.

  Carlos began looking right and left as he crossed

  the suburbs of the city. Amid all the lights he

  spotted some fires, and the center of the city was dark,

  without power, but all in all, Havana looked

  pretty normal. Amazing, that!

  "Battlestar Strike, this is Showtime. Still waiting

  on that permission. This MiGo is posing right here in

  front of me, begging for it. Do I zap it

  or what?"

  "We are still checking with the air forceea"...Battlestar

  told Stiff, "trying to find out exactly where

  everyone is. Don't want any accidents out there,

  do we?"

  Stiff keyed the intercom. "Assholesea"...he roared

  at Sailor Karnow. "They are all stupid

  fucking assholes."

  "I hear thatea"...sd Sailor, sighing. "I've known

  it for years. I should have joined the WNBA."

  Toad Tarkington led the procession along the dark

  corridor of La Cabana prison. Apparently

  the power had not yet been restored after the

  high-voltage towers fell. Everyone following

  Toad had a flashlight.

  The corridors were alive with echoing sound, shouts,

  curses, doors clanging, screams, shots.

  "Hurryea"...Grafton shouted, and ran toward the

  shouts.

  As he suspected, the mob was in the building. As

  he and Toad rounded-* a corner, their flashlights

  fell on a solid wall of humanity dragging two

  uniformed officers. Carmellini shouted. The human

  wall halted.

  "Th
is is Ocho Sedanoea"...Carmellini

  shouted, "Hector's brother. He is here to free

  Hector."

  The man dragging a fat officer by the collar of his

  uniform demanded, "Who are you"..."...Obviously drunk,

  this man had the commandante's pistol in his hand, but he

  didn't raise it or point it. The flashlights were

  partially blinding him, but he could still see the front end

  of Toad's M-16.

  "We are here at El Ocho's

  request."...Carmellini proclaimed loudly. "He

  has asked for our help to free his brother

  Hector."

  The mob moved forward, probably in response to a

  surging push from the people behind.

  "Give us the officersea"...Jake said to Carmellini,

  "and we will bring Hector from his cell."...Carmellini

  shouted the message in Spanish.

  The members of the mob didn't like it, but they were facing

  six rifles in a narrow stone corridor. The people

  at the head of the mob released the officers and turned

  to shout at those behind them.

  The marines grabbed the two officers and pushed them

  away along the corridor.

  Carmellini talked earnestly to the officers. "They

  will lead us thereea"...he told Jake.

  "Colonel Santana arrived an hour ago. He

  was with the commandante until just a few minutes ago."

  "Hurryea"...Jake Grafton urged. "The mob is

  out of control."...He had drawn the .357 Magnum

  he wore in a holster around his waist and now had it

  hi his right hand.

  "Showtime One Oh Two, Strike, the air force

  is having trouble confirming the location of all their

  machines."

  "Strike, this guy is hanging it out, begging for it,

  trolling right over the damn city looking for some white

  hats to zap. Are you gonna cry at the funeral

  after he kills some of our people?"

  This comment was of course grossly out of line: Stiff

  Hardwick was a mere lieutenantan O-3and the

  decisions in Strike were being made by an officer with the

  rank

  of commanderO-5or even captainO-6. He was

  going to be in big trouble when he got back to the

  ship, but he didn't care. The primary object of

  war was to kill the enemy, and by God, the son of a

  bitch was right there. He'd deal with the peckerheads

  later.

  Another minute passed. They were over the heart of

  Havana now. The oily black slash of

  Havana Harbor was quite prominent, as were the dozens

  of fires that now surrounded the walls of the old La

  Cabana fortress.

  "This guy is starting a turnea"...Sailor told

  Stiff, referring of course to the bogey.

  Carlos Corrado should have been searching the night

  sky over Havana for the planes he knew were here,

  but he wasn't. He was only human. He was

  looking at the red warning light and listening to the buzz

  that told him that a hostile fighter's radar was

  illuminating his aircraft.

  The light and tone had been on for five minutes

  now. The miracle was that Carlos Corrado was still

  alive. Five minutes in front of an

  aggressive American fighter pilot was about six

  lifetimes ... and

  still

  the American hadn't pulled the trigger!

  Carlos didn't know why, but he suspected the

  reason had something to do with the fact they were tooling over

  the rooftops of Havana.

  Ocho Sedano and the Americans ran through the

  corridors of La Cabana Prison until they

  came to a massive steel gate. It was closed but

  unlocked; they used the commandante's keys

  to lock it behind them. Then they entered a cellblock

  full of men screaming to be" freed. Hundreds of

  arms reached through the bars, trying to reach the

  Americans.

  The guards led them to Hector, who was in a cell in

  a corridor off the main cellblock. "They have no

  key to the cellea"...Carmellini told Jake.

  "Use C-4. Blow itea"...the admiral said.

  Hector reached through the bars and got his hands on

  Ocho. They hugged while Jake Grafton held

  the flashlight and Tommy Carmellini set the

  explosive.

  "Have you seen Santana"..."...Carmellini asked

  Hector.

  "Yes. He was here."

  "Where is he now?"

  "He heard you coming and ran."

  When the plastic explosive blew the lock apart

  on Hector's cell, Ocho jerked the door open

  and hugged him fiercely. "I apologize,

  Hectorea"...he said. "Please forgive me."

  Jake Grafton dragged them apart. "There is no

  timeea"...he shouted, and pushed them toward the corridor.

  The sounds of the mob tearing at the steel bars

  barred the way into the cell block could be heard above

  the shouts of the men in the cells.

  Toad led his party the other way. Another door,

  precious seconds wasted while the officers fumbled

  for a key, then they were through and going up a stairway.

  More stairs, then along a long, dark corridor

  lit only by flashlights.

  As they rounded a turn someone ahead fired a shot

  at them. The bullet spanged off a wall, and

  miraculously failed to connect with human flesh:

  Suddenly sure, Tommy Carmellini told

  Jake, "It's Santana. You go on. I'll

  get the bastard."

  "We don't have time for personal

  vendettasea"...Jake Grafton snapped.

  "I'm a civilian, Grafton. I can take

  care of myself. Go on!"

  Jake led his party onward.

  When they came out onto the roof the Osprey's

  position lights and flashing anticollision light

  revealed a crowd of at least three hundred people.

  They completely surrounded the Osprey and helo and the

  marines with rifles who held them off. The pilots

  must have shut down the engines due to the large number of

  people nearby. Lieutenant Colonel

  Eckhardt walked back and forth behind the marines, an

  im-

  posing martial figure if ever there was one.

  Fortunately no one in the crowd seemed to be armed.

  Jake and Toad forced their way through the crowd.

  It was Ocho who stepped in front of the crowd and

  began to speak. "This is my brother Hector, the

  next president of Cuba."

  The crowd cheered lustily.

  "I am El Ocho. I wish to know if you love

  Cuba?"

  "Si!"

  they roared.

  "Do you believe in Cuba?""..."...SiThat

  "Will you fight for Cuba?"

  "Si!"

  "Will you follow me and put Hector Sedano in the

  presidential palace?"

  "Si! Si! Si!"

  The crowd breathed the word over and over and swarmed around

  Ocho.

  "Comeea"...sd Jake Grafton, and pulled Hector

  toward the Osprey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  As Jake Grafton and the others climbed

  the stairs toward the roof of La Cabana

  Prison, Tommy Carmellini doused his

  flashlight and held it in his left hand. He stood<
br />
  in the darkness waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim

  light.

  He had a pistol that the marines aboard ship had

  given him, a 9-mm, that felt cold and comforting in

  his grip. He closed his eyes, listened to the cheers

  and shouts from the roof, waited until he heard the

  chopper and Osprey get airborne.

  Finally the corridors of the old fortress grew

  quiet.

  Santana was in here someplace.

  Jake Grafton had his thing and he was hard at it.

  William Henry Chance had his thing, trying to control

  biological and chemical weapons in Third World

  countries, and he had died doing it. Tommy

  Carmellini's thing was cracking safes. Sure, he

  was doing it for the CIA now instead of stealing diamonds

  from rich matrons, but somehow that wasn't enough. There

  comes a time in a man's life when he begins to tally

  up 4he score. When Carmellini realized

  Grafton wasn't going to take the time to step on the

  cockroach Santana, he knew he had to.

  He stepped forward now, walking the way

  Hector had indicated that Santana had gone.

  Taking his time in the near-total darknessthere was just enough

  light to see the outline of the corridorwalking,

  listening, walking, listening again, Tommy Carmellini

  moved to the end of the corridor and stopped.

  He could hear metal on metal, as if someone was

  trying

  to open a lock. The sound came'from the corridor

  on the right.

  Tommy Carmellini bent as low as he could get,

  eased his head around the corner.

  Yes, the sound was clearer now.

  Ever so slowly he edged around the corner, crossed the

  corridor to the other side, began moving forward into the

  blackness, toward the sound.

  The noise stopped.

  Carmellini froze. Closed his eyes to concentrate

  on the sound.

  The pistol was heavy in his hand.

  The sound began again.

  Forward, ever so stealthily, moving like a glacier, just

  flowing slowly, silently, effortlessly....

  The man was just ahead. Working on a lock.

  Probably on one of those steel gates.

  Again the sound stopped.

  Carmellini froze, not trusting himself to breathe.

  The other man was here, he could feel him. But where?

  Time seemed to stop. Tommy Carmellini held his

  breath, stood crouched but frozen, knowing that the

  slightest sound would give away his position.

  Santana was ...

  Suddenly Carmellini knew. He was right...

  There! He pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger.