The three vehicles were driven along the Autopista Nacional toward Havana and met, approximately halfway to the capital, by Juan and two Cubans. The men got into the panel truck and the clerk who had been driving the truck into Juan's taxi.
One of the men, using props he had brought with him in a small suitcase, then “transformed” into a woman in the truck because two men frequenting a “hot-pillow” place in Cuba would look suspicious. The couple then drove the truck to La Posada Monumental, a motel just off the Havana-Varadero highway. They were in luck; they found an empty unit on their frst try and, breathing a sigh of relief, drove the truck into this “love nest's” garage.
Meanwhile, the two cabs were driven to a restaurant nearby the motel where their drivers ate a late lunch, while Juan dropped the clerk off at the Caves of Bellamar, a popular tourist spot near Matan-zas about forty miles east of Havana. At the entrance to the caves, the clerk was accosted by a local who offered him a room at his modest boarding house. The clerk accepted to stay overnight. At three a.m. he was led to a spot on the beach and rowed to a cigarette boat that took him Mule Key.
La Monumental is a rent-by-the-hour roadhouse for amorous Cubans, a rectangular-shaped building constructed around an inner courtyard situated in the middle of a quarter-acre lot surrounded by a nine-foot wall. It contains units along the four walls of the quadrangle, each consisting of a garage, a small entrance hall, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The bedrooms have mirrors on the walls and ceilings. Discretion is assured.
The routine is to take one's lady friend to La Monumental after a night's dining and dancing, drive into one of the garages, pull down the overhead door and then help the lady into the bedroom. While she showers, her beau would order drinks by telephone then adjust the light and sound systems to his taste and get ready for his paramour. Their lovemaking over, the couple would call for the bill, pay in cash through a small trap door in the wall contiguous with the inner courtyard, and leave the way they had come—without being seen by anyone.
One could stay at La Monumental para un rato, which meant a maximum of two hours, or for una media noche, six hours.
The couple in the maintenance truck opted for two hours, ordered their drinks, went into the garage, deployed a thick tarpaulin under their vehicle, and got down to work quickly and in absolute silence. First they freed up the two metal plates that constituted the false bottom of the panel truck and folded them back to reveal the space beneath into which ten grenade-launcher-equipped Galil assault rifes, ten SWAT-type commando helmets, fully equipped for two-way hands-free communication and infrared goggles, ten respirators, ten flak jackets, four sets of “dragon's teeth,” and some ammunition had been secreted. After checking that the equipment was not damaged, they folded the metal plates down and replaced the bolts that held them in place. Next they covered the false bottom with the thick tarpaulin, carefully precut to ft. Total elapsed time: one hour, forty-nine minutes.
The occupants called for their bill, and left a few minutes past three in the afternoon. They found themselves a “dollar” restaurant and had an ample late lunch. Around six they drove to La Posada Canada Dry, a motel near the Canada Dry bottling plant in the Ayes-taran district, this time for six hours' sleep. By that time they were just about all in. They had spent most of the previous night hiding in an abandoned tobacco barn near Ovas in Pinar del Rio Province where their guide, who had smuggled them into Cuba on board a cigarette boat, had left them to wait for Juan.
From La Canada Dry they proceeded to yet another motel just past La Monumental, where they spent six hours cleaning, checking and loading weapons, and verifying that the communication features in the helmets worked. They also inspected the “dragon's teeth” assemblies designed to allow a vehicle to pass over them in one direction, but to cut the vehicle's tires to ribbons if it tried to cross the opposite way.
After breakfast on Friday they responded, as pre-arranged, to a call from Juan who was having mechanical trouble inside the British Embassy's Chancery compound. This required the maintenance truck to enter the compound.
While the mechanics were “repairing” the broken-down vehicle, Juan, helped by one of the embassy guards, transferred a television set, a few radios, and a case containing four Galil assault rifes and some ammunition to the truck. Once the taxi was “repaired,” it was driven downtown, with the truck following it.
Meanwhile, the drivers of the two specially equipped cabs were crisscrossing Havana and scouting the target areas.
The vehicles were then parked in predetermined spots and left unattended while their drivers had dinner. After finishing their meal they returned to their respective vehicles in which each found an additional passenger waiting for them, freshly in from Florida via cigarette boat.
The two sets of three men then went through the process of going from motel to motel to extract and store the weapons, ammunition, grenades, and other gear hidden in the false bottoms of the cabs. This process had to be conducted with care because, to look believable, each cab had to appear to be containing two women and one man.
New Year's Eve, Lonsdale had a team of ten fully equipped, highly mobile, and action-craving men in Havana: three Israelis, including Gal, six Cubans, and himself.
For New Year's Eve the Tremblays invited Mr. and Mrs. Granda and Juan, a bachelor, to the party for estrangeros at the Hotel Internacional, where the food was delicious, the drinks copious, and the foor show spectacular. During the night Tremblay ran into an old classmate, Marie. She and her husband, a keen yachtsman, had sailed all the way from Montreal to Havana to spend Christmas in Cuba. The couple invited the Tremblays to come sailing with them the following week on their forty-five-foot sailing yacht, the Vagabundo.
Everybody had a wonderful time at the party. Juan, who stayed over at the boarding house for the night, woke up on New Year's Day around noon with a tremendous crudo, or hangover. It took him until late afternoon to settle his stomach, and Roger Tremblay, worried about Juan's health, insisted on driving him back to Havana and staying with him overnight to make sure he was all right.
Micheline remained in Varadero.
execución
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Monday, January 2
Havana, Cuba
The Casas-De la Fuente drug trial was a frst in Cuban revolutionary history: a public admission that, although the Socialist Revolutionary Movement subscribed to high moral principles, its leaders were no less immoral and corrupt than their counterparts in America.
To the man in the street General Patricio Casas Rojo had been an idol in the past, a brave and highly decorated soldier. But now, public opinion was divided. There were some who felt an innocent Casas was being used as a scapegoat by a government with its hand caught in the cookie jar. There were others who shrugged and said they had known for years that the ideals of the Revolution had been compromised long ago.
And then there were those who were convinced Casas was being framed because he had become too much of a rival of Fidel.
The people were troubled and restive. Childlike graffiti in red chalk of little houses appeared overnight on the walls of public buildings everywhere. Red houses—casas rojas: an obvious indication that General Casas Rojo had wide-spread public support.
This concerned the government. Under no circumstances could the trial end without the vindication of the government, the condemnation of the guilty and the unmasking of the true villain, the one pulling the strings behind the scene: the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency.
For the CIA, such an ending would mean acute embarrassment and yet another failed operation; for the Republican president yet another diplomatic flasco; for Smythe, speedy retirement into oblivion. Unless, of course, Castro failed in his efforts to prove CIA involvement.
Lonsdale concluded that Smythe's best interest lay in the mission succeeding, but only if it succeeded before De la Fuente opened his mouth on the witness stand. With CIA involvement unproven, Castro would look very bad and Smythe's sto
ck within the Agency would rise, perhaps enough to carry him through nomination for DCI. Thus, Smythe needed the mission to succeed and the sooner the better. He would, consequently, keep the operation a secret from Reyes Puma.
Of course, there remained yet another alternative for Smythe: silence Casas and De la Fuente by having them terminated with extreme prejudice by Q Division. Lonsdale thought that such a scenario was unlikely: too many checks and balances would be affected within the Agency, the operation, even if it succeeded, would damage the CIA's public image considerably, and Smythe's image with it.
Juan stuck his head into the bedroom. “I'm back.”
Lonsdale looked at his watch: a few minutes past seven a.m. “Where have you been?”
“Had to go to the bakery early this morning.”
“What for?”
“For bread, of course. And this.” He handed Lonsdale a piece of paper, a coded message from Colonel Bellon from one of the dead-letter drops. Decoded, it read
Day 1: Casas Military Tribunal of Honor.
Day 2: Trial of all accused begins, Casas first.
Day 3: De la Fuente accusations against Casas, who will be present.
Security tight Day 1 and 2 with helicopters
overhead. Day 3 plus, no helicopters, or military
escort. Only civilian convoy of 2 cars,
leaving prison at random times. Authorities
want to play down military presence in front
of international press.
Lonsdale was pleased. Bellon's message helped him make up his mind. He would swing into action on Day 3, Wednesday, and forego the diversionary attack. With the military escort absent, his team of eight fighting men would come up against a maximum of six guards, three in each car. Manageable odds, given the element of surprise. As for the random departure times, as long as Colonel Bellon could narrow the window to a two-hour span, Lonsdale's satellite imaging capability would take care of the rest.
He had Juan drive him to the Canadian Embassy where he visited the commercial counselor and used the embassy telephone. Lonsdale pretended to call a partner in Paspebiac and then acted out the role of partner while waiting for the commercial counsellor to step out of the office. He left a message on the answering machine at the number he had called, advising that he had an appointment with the Cuban Fisheries people on Wednesday and asking if his partner would please arrange for the shipment of a refrigerated container of salted cod ready to go on a moment's notice.
Ramirez, the accountant, to whom the message was relayed as soon as it came in, interpreted it correctly to mean that the Barbara was to be in position just outside Cuban territorial waters within thirty-six hours, and that the Brothers to the Rescue, who had been on standby since New Year's Day, should organize the inaugural fight of the Argentine patrol on Wednesday.
Ramirez contacted the Captain of the Barbara, also on standby in Jamaica, and got him underway. Then he called José Basulto to advise that the Argentinean donors had arrived as planned and would like to patrol with the Brothers on Wednesday morning at daybreak from six thirty to eight thirty, after which there could be a light breakfast and a brief ceremony at the Brothers' hangar. The Argentineans would catch a plane to New York at noon where they had business.
Ramirez's last call was to a Washington unlisted number where he left a message for Patricio Patriciano, advising of the date on which the inaugural fight of the Argentine patrol would take place. Mr. Patriciano was none other than James Morton, who then arranged that two Agency people, pretending to be Argentinians, turn up at Basulto's offce at the appropriate time.
Juan drove Lonsdale from the embassy back to Varadero. Just this side of Matanzas, they acted as if the cab had broken down again. They left a note on the cab's windshield and waited for the prearranged truck to pick them up.
Squeezed into the back of the truck with Gal, his two Israeli team leaders, and the two Cuban drivers, Lonsdale outlined his plan of attack in just under ninety minutes. The briefing was thorough, precise, and graphic, illustrated with maps and photographs that were then destroyed.
By four in the afternoon, Lonsdale was back in Varadero, walking on the beach with Micheline.
“What's the next move?” she asked, sounding nervous. The strain was getting to her.
“Miche, when I allowed you to talk me into bringing you here, we agreed that you will go home before the real hanky-panky starts.”
She began to protest, but he cut her off. “There is no discussing it. I should have sent you home on Saturday, but I didn't, and that was a mistake—”
“OK, OK. But what now?”
“Remember I told you I had a secret escape plan just for the two of us. Well, I will be activating it for you tomorrow.”
“Does that mean you are not coming with me?”
Lonsdale lifted her hand to his lips. “Hear me out darling and humor me. You remember Marie, my so-called classmate, and her husband with the sailboat?” She nodded. “Marie is no classmate. They're pros I've hired for getting you away from this place before it becomes too dangerous.”
Micheline would have none of it. “I'm not leaving without you!”
“Darling, we made a deal. I've kept my side of the bargain, now you keep yours.”
“But I love you.”
“I know you do, sweet lady.” Lonsdale pulled her toward him, his arm encircling her waist, “and I adore you, which is the very reason why I want you off this island. Besides, changing plans this late in the game would upset everything.”
“How?”
“When I visited the embassy this morning I told them we wanted to sail to Nassau with our friends who were leaving by boat tomorrow. The consul called the Ministry of the Interior and arranged for our exit visas.”
Micheline cut in “What are they? Why do we need them?”
“When you travel by private yacht, you have to get permission to leave this island before they let you get off it, and it is the Ministry of the Interior that grants this permission. It's called a Permiso de Salida.”
“You said exit visas. Does that mean that you are coming with me?”
Lonsdale looked at her and smiled. “Up to a point, yes.”
They walked back to the boarding house.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Tuesday and Wednesday, January 3 and 4
Havana, Cuba
On Tuesday morning, Lonsdale and Micheline left Cuba on board the Vagabundo. The vessel was intercepted, as arranged, by an Agency cigarette boat in late afternoon near the Bahamas, at Salt Key. Vagabundo continued her journey toward the Bahamas while the cigarette boat took Lonsdale back to Cuba under cover of darkness.
Juan picked him up in the middle of the night on the coast near Pablo de la Torriente Brau and handed him Colonel Bellon's latest message. It was laconic. “Transfer between six-thirty and eight on fifteen minutes' notice. 2 prisoners, 2 cars, 6 guards. No 'copters, no jeeps.”
While Lonsdale was being driven to Havana by Juan, the maintenance truck “responded” to two breakdown calls on the outskirts of the city during which the arms, ammunition, grenades, tear gas, and other gear were distributed so that, by four a.m., all team members were fully equipped and operational.
On Wednesday at 0430 hours Lonsdale met Reuven Gal, who was driving the maintenance truck, near the entrance of La Monumental. He changed into battle gear and tested the electronic equipment on board. Everything was functioning perfectly.
At 0530 sharp the truck joined a military police jeep, provided by General Casas's army supporters, mobilized by Colonel Bellon. The jeep was parked on the periphery road above the northern entrance of the tunnel that links the Havana proper with the Havana del Este/La Cabaña Prison district. The seven-hundred-and-fifty-meter-long tunnel, built by a French company in the 1920s, was wide enough to accommodate four lanes of traffic: two northbound and two southbound. To eliminate the risk of head-on collisions, the two two-lane sections are separated by a wall that effectively divides
the tunnel lengthwise.
Gal followed the jeep north on the periphery road then made a sharp right turn onto the main highway, the Via Monumental, leading into the tunnel.
The jeep stopped just inside the entrance. Gal drove around it and stopped the truck a hundred meters down the road where he helped Lonsdale unload two sections of “dragon's teeth” while the military policemen halted the sparse traffic. Lonsdale and Gal laid the two sections across the tunnel end-to-end and anchored them into place with giant explosive rivets so that the teeth, when deployed by radio command, would face the oncoming traffic. They repeated the operation five hundred meters further into the tunnel. Once the two barricades were in place the jeep backed out of the tunnel and parked on the soft shoulder about fifty meters from the mouth of the tunnel behind the cab containing Team A. The jeep's hood was up—yet another “mechanical breakdown.”
Gal and Lonsdale exited the tunnel on the Havana side, rounded the Maximo Gomez monument and worked their way back into the tunnel, northbound this time. They saw that Team B's cab was in position on the soft shoulder of the southbound lane.
By 0615 hours the maintenance truck, lights extinguished, was once again on the periphery road above the northern entrance to the tunnel. While Gal acted as lookout, Lonsdale powered up his computer, which he then linked to the satellite imaging and communicating system. The eerie light from the LCD screen lit up the inside. Open boxes of ammunition were stacked along one wall, specially rigged smoke canisters lined the racks fastened to the rear doors. Two assault rifles and two helmets lay on the floor to Lonsdale's left.
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