Stalked: The Boy Who Said No

by Patti Sheehy

  “I have news, Lazo. The Russians have decided to relinquish the majority of the training of the new recruits to us.”

  “Is that so, sir.”

  Lucas opened his desk drawer and scrambled through some clutter until he found what he wanted. He withdrew a book of matches and a pack of Populares, lit a cigarette, and blew a ring of smoke upward. He rotated the cigarette in his hand, studying it as if it could provide an answer to a troubling question.

  Lazo coughed to refocus Lucas’s attention. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

  The commander looked up, as if shaken from a reverie. “The fact is, Lazo, I would very much like you to be part of our team.”

  “Team, sir?”

  “The permanent reserves.”

  “Thank you, sir. But why me?”

  Lucas chuckled. “I thought that would be obvious to you.” He dropped his match into the ashtray. “You are one of our best ATGM operators. But more than that, you’re a helluva good instructor. You’ve assisted in the training of new recruits for almost six months now, so you’ve got some experience under your belt.” He hesitated and smiled. “Besides, you’ve been a big help to me during this difficult transition. I’ve had my hands full taking over from Commander Martinez, and you’ve stepped up to the plate, especially with the weaponry. That’s not an area in which I’m well versed.”

  “I’m glad to have been of service, sir.”

  Lazo’s thoughts turned to Lieutenant Pino. If it weren’t for him, Martinez would still be in charge, and Lazo wouldn’t be afforded this opportunity. I wonder whether Pino is dead? No, he’s probably in jail. That’s what usually happens to those who don’t follow military procedure. In any event, things have been much more pleasant without him.

  The commander interrupted Lazo’s thoughts. “As a member of the reserves, you would interview new recruits and determine who should serve as drivers and who would be more suited to be ATGM operators. You would train them on the current equipment as well as on the new Russian weapons. I don’t need to tell you, this is a very responsible position.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Once you graduate from Special Forces, you’ll have a month to decide whether you want to join the permanent reserves. Meanwhile, I will draw up plans regarding who you would report to—that sort of thing—so you could begin your work as soon as possible.”

  “I will give it serious thought, sir.”

  “I hope you do, Lazo. You’ve been a real asset to me, and I would welcome your continued support and advice.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve learned a lot working with you too.”

  Lucas nodded his appreciation. “A word of caution: jobs are not easy to find these days. As part of the permanent reserves you would receive a guaranteed income as well as further training in military weapons, strategy, and tactics. Take that into account when making your decision.”

  “It is very generous of you to make me this offer.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “May I ask about the salary, sir?”

  “You would serve one week a month for a salary of ten dollars. But more importantly, you would continue to be an integral part of the Revolutionary Armed Forces and the vital work that goes on here.” Lucas paused. “Of course, you could make a career out of the military. But I get the impression you’d rather do something else. Is that true?”

  “I’m keeping my options open, sir. I haven’t made my mind up. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

  “You do.”

  The men saluted each other.

  “I look forward to learning of your decision, Lazo.”

  “You will be the first to know. Thank you, sir.”

  “One more thing,” said Lucas. “It has been decided that from now on, all new recruits to the Special Forces must be members of the Communist Party. As you know, the bond and loyalty between members of the Special Forces has traditionally been very strong, perhaps too strong. You protect and die for each other if necessary.

  “But that bond cannot supersede loyalty to the Party and to the State. Special Forces members often confuse this issue. This cannot stand. We must bring in new recruits whose loyalty to Cuba and to the cause remains above reproach. We got burned once with Mederos and the traitors who helped him escape. And the chain of command is not going to allow that to happen again.”

  Lazo inhaled and managed to utter, “I understand, sir.”

  He would not sleep well that night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lazo had a decision to make. For three years he had served as an ATGM operator, a highly skilled position that left him unqualified for just about any job outside the military. He was ambitious, but he also knew securing even modest employment would be a challenge.

  The day after finishing his three years of mandatory military service, his family and friends threw him a party. Due to the embargo, his parents served a modest buffet of rice, beans, and fresh fruit. The occasion was short on food but long on laughter and good wishes.

  The weather was lovely, sunny and breezy, a good day for a walk. Once Lazo said good-bye to the last of his guests, he decided to visit Frank’s grandfather. He had always liked the man and remembered how often Frank had turned to him for advice.

  Not finding him home, he went to see Frank’s parents who lived nearby. They often received telegrams and letters from Frank and had filled Lazo in on their son’s life in Union City. Lazo knew nothing about New Jersey but vowed to learn more.

  He spent the next two weeks looking for work. He asked everyone about possible jobs, applying at hotels, restaurants, factories, and bodegas. He stopped at an auto-repair shop, informing the owner of his mechanical skills. But he took one look at Lazo’s clean hands and groomed nails and waved him away in bemusement.

  Needing some time to think, Lazo grabbed a blanket and hat and headed to the beach. He spread his blanket on the sand as seagulls roamed the sky. The sun was beginning to drop, and the water shimmered beneath it. Lips of waves licked the shore.

  Lazo was enjoying the moment. For someone who had had precious little leisure time during the past three years, this day seemed nothing short of miraculous.

  Resting his head on his knees, Lazo traced a labyrinth in the sand with his finger, drawing each maze a little different. It helped him to focus and to forget his troubles. When he looked up, he saw a familiar figure strolling toward him. The man threw one leg to the left, making a half circle as he walked. Lazo recognized the gait. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.

  “Is that you, old buddy?” came a friendly voice.

  “Matia! God, it’s good to see you. How are you?” said Lazo.

  “Fine, just fine! I haven’t seen you forever. What’ve you been up to?”

  Lazo dug his feet into the sand and curled his toes. The sand felt damp and refreshing. He wriggled his toes and stood on the balls of his feet. A little girl ran by, her kite fluttering in the breeze. Rows of pink ruffles decorated the bottom of her bathing suit.

  “I just finished my stint in the army.”

  “Special Forces, right?”

  “You old fox! You never forget a thing.”

  “It must feel good to have it over.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice to be able to relax a bit.”

  “So what are your plans?”

  “I don’t know. Find a job—like everyone else. Or at least try. I’m not having much luck.”

  “It’s tough out there—a lot of people are out of work.” Matia thought for a moment and then slapped his forehead.

  “What?”

  “Just the other day my boss asked me whether I knew of anybody who was getting out of the army and might need a job.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “At the oil refinery—Nico Lopez.” He gestured in the direction of Belot, across the bay from the Havana harbor.

  Lazo’s heart sank. “I do
n’t think I’d qualify. Aren’t the jobs there very technical?”

  “Some are, but Tomás is looking for someone with an ability to learn. He’s looking for a man to train.”

  “That sounds almost too good to be true. Tell me about Tomás.”

  “He’s an engineer, a family man—a good father. I met him on the beach one day, and we started talking.”

  “And—?”

  “We went for a drink and hit it off. He’s a great guy, a lot of fun—good sense of humor. I told him I was out of work, and the next thing I knew I was working at the plant. I couldn’t have been more surprised myself.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a technician.”

  “How long have you worked there?”

  Matia looked up, calculating. “Almost three years.”

  “That’s as long as I’ve been in the military. How’d you avoid the army?”

  “I got a deferment. They let me off because I worked in a facility vital to national interest.”

  “Lucky bastard! Do you like it?”

  “What’s not to like? The pay is great. I’ve learned a lot. And it’s air-conditioned!”

  Lazo whistled. “Air-conditioned? Man, that could be the best part of the job.” They laughed and looked out to sea. A seagull mimicked their laughter.

  “Want me to put in a good word for you? Maybe I could get you an interview.”

  Shoulders sagging, Lazo said, “I doubt it. Don’t you need a security clearance?”

  “We have to be careful. There’s lot of resentment against the oil company, especially since Fidel took it over from Esso. We even had a bombing a few years back.”

  “I remember.”

  “But you shouldn’t have a problem, not with having been part of the force. I’ll set you up for an interview, if you’d like.”

  “Could you?”

  “I think I can pull it off.”

  Lazo beamed. “Damn, that would be great.”

  Three days later, Lazo sat in the refinery’s personnel office, filling out an application. When he finished, he walked to the lobby and handed the paperwork to the receptionist. She took it with a smile, telling him that her boss would be with him shortly.

  A few minutes later Tomás arrived. Lazo rose to greet him, and they shook hands. “I’m Tomás Valdes, but you can call me Tomás.”

  “Call me Lazo.”

  “Okay, Lazo.”

  Tomás, a trim man with thick hair and bright eyes, extended a hand toward a chair. “Please, be seated.”

  Tomás sat down and scanned Lazo’s application. “I see you just finished up with the army. What are your plans?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been home for a couple of weeks, and I just have two more weeks to figure it out.”

  “What did you do in the army?”

  “Special Forces.”

  Tomás dropped the file and looked at Lazo. “What did you do for the force?”

  Lazo felt apprehensive about answering the question. “I’d rather not say.”

  Tomás waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s your prerogative. I was just trying to determine your level of skills.”

  “I understand.”

  Tomás grew more serious. “So do I.” They sat in silence for a minute.

  Tomás glanced again at Lazo’s application. “You have two years of college—very commendable. We need educated people—people who can follow directions, people who can think.”

  “I would’ve finished college, if I hadn’t been drafted.”

  “I see it all the time.” Tomás thought for a moment. “Would you be willing to take a test for us? In order to make an offer, we would need to assess your skills.”

  “Do I need to study?”

  Tomás chuckled. “No, it’s not that kind of test.”

  “What kind of skills are required?”

  “Basic intelligence—analytical skills, math abilities, that kind of thing.”

  “Sure, that’d be fine.”

  “Good. There’s a lot of competition for these jobs, and we have to be certain we select the right person.”

  “I’m honored just to be considered,” said Lazo. “It sure beats picking coffee or working the cane fields. And those are my only civilian prospects at the moment.”

  “We like to hire through word of mouth,” said Tomás, ignoring Lazo’s comment. “Matia speaks highly of you. He’s known you since kindergarten?”

  “We go way back.”

  “Matia’s a good man. Trustworthy.”

  “He is.”

  “Trust is an important thing to me. I’ve worked here for seven years, and I sit on the board of directors. I’m interviewing you on Matia’s recommendation. I trust him. Trust his judgment. Trust his opinions.”

  Lazo nodded, wondering what Tomás meant, but he was unsure how to frame the question. There’s something a little off about all this emphasis on trust. But, again, this is an oil refinery.

  Tomás looked at Lazo with an intensity that was almost frightening. “Can I trust you?”

  “I’m trustworthy,” said Lazo.

  Tomás nodded. “You mentioned your civilian options. What are your military options?”

  The question surprised Lazo. He didn’t think Tomás had been listening that closely. There’s more to this guy than meets the eye. He’s sharp— doesn’t miss a thing.

  “I could make a career out of the military.”

  “Does that appeal to you?”

  Lazo shook his head. “Not really.”

  “What else?”

  “I could just do my regular stint in the army reserves until I’m twenty-eight and try to find a job on the outside. Or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I could become part of the permanent reserves and continue to train the new recruits.”

  “Train them on what?”

  “Various aspects of weaponry.”

  “So you’d remain current with all the new weapons coming out of the Soviet Union?”

  “Yes, what they are and how to operate them.”

  Tomás leaned back in his seat and touched his fingers to his chin. “But if you did that, you’d still be able to work for us.”

  Lazo’s heart quickened. “Yes. Time would allow me to do both.”

  “Would you like my opinion?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, it’s none of my business. But if it were up to me, I’d take advantage of the opportunity to be part of the permanent reserves.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Tomás smiled. “I like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that you asked a follow-up question. It shows you have a curious mind—that you don’t take things at face value. That kind of thinking could be a real asset to us.”

  “Thank you, sir. But why did you recommend the permanent reserves?”

  “It’ll keep you in the know. Help you maintain your connections. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “No. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Tomás stood, signaling the end of the interview. “The receptionist will administer the aptitude test. If you perform the way I expect, we will both have something to think about.”

  “I hope so.”

  Tomás glanced at his watch. “I must run. I have an important appointment. Stay in touch.”

  “Will do,” said Lazo.

  His jaw unclenched and his shoulders relaxed as he watched Tomás walk out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A week elapsed before Tomás called Lazo for a second interview. During that time, Lazo had given a lot of thought to his future. He didn’t want to make a career of the military, but the idea of serving in the permanent reserves held some appeal. It would give him extra income. Tomás thought it was a good idea, and Lazo respected his judgment. After all, Tomás had made a success of himself.

  Lazo entered the conference room to a waiting Tomás. The older man stood and pumped his hand.r />
  “Glad to see you again.”

  “Good to see you too,” said Lazo.

  “Sit, sit,” said Tomás, gesturing toward a wooden chair on the opposite side of the conference table. “I have great news for you.” Lazo smiled and took a seat. “What?”

  “The scores on your aptitude test place you in the top tenth percentile.”

  Lazo lifted his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yes, we rarely see scores this high.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Tomás sat back, lightly holding the arms of his chair. “It means you have a job if you want it.”

  Lazo leaned forward, elated. “Wow! I don’t know what to say.”

  “You probably shouldn’t say anything until you hear the particulars.”

  Lazo beamed while Tomás opened a folder. “First things first. If you don’t mind, you will report directly to me.”

  Lazo shifted his body in his chair. “Great.”

  “I need help with new Russian equipment, and I believe you are the right man for the job.”

  “I’m flattered you think so.”

  “Once you learn to operate the equipment, you’ll train six men at a time for a period of weeks. When you finish, you’ll oversee one of our key operations.”

  “This would be a permanent position?”

  “Permanent as long as your performance remains satisfactory— and I have no doubt it will. A man with your abilities should be able to enjoy an exemplary career at the refinery.”

  “It sounds promising.” Lazo thought for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but can we discuss my salary?”

  “Your salary would be forty dollars a week.”

  Lazo looked at Tomás, wondering whether he had heard him correctly. He made a mental calculation. The figure sounded far too high. “A week? You’re talking a hundred and sixty dollars a month?”

  “I hope that meets your expectations.”

  Blinking, Lazo let out a whistle. This was four times what most Cubans made no matter how hard they worked. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d be working in a nice facility, close to home, with a great boss and an enviable income. He couldn’t ask for anything more.