Stalked: The Boy Who Said No

Home > Other > Stalked: The Boy Who Said No > Page 32
Stalked: The Boy Who Said No Page 32

by Patti Sheehy


  He wondered whether he’d live to marry Chris. She was a remarkable woman and had made such a difference in his life. When Frank was with her, he felt alive again. She and Darlene gave him a reason to hope, a reason to live. He had to live. He had to.

  He refocused on Damian. He identified with the man standing before him. He was young and determined. But also misguided. Somewhere along the line, someone had sold him a bill of goods. And Frank had his suspicions as to who could have done it.

  Damian hesitated a second too long. A shot rang out. Frank looked up, startled. Damian dropped his pistol and brought his hands to his chest. Blood soaked his clothes. Frank heard Damian’s screams through a fog of fear. Covering his head with his hands, Frank fell to the ground as another shot sliced the air. Boom! Then another.

  Gunfire echoed and skipped through the hills. The trees trembled. The sound was so near and so loud Frank thought he’d been shot. But he felt no pain. Panicked and confused, he scrambled about, patting his body parts, searching for wounds.

  A second bullet pierced Damian’s chest. He sank to his knees, writhing in agony. He screamed his pain into the sky. Blood spewed forth like gushing oil. Another shot rang out, and Damian fell on his back. Within a few seconds his body went limp.

  Damian floated in the stream, face up, his shirt blooming crimson, his eyes staring blankly at the steel-blue sky. The creek reddened with blood. The smell of death fouled the air. Crimson water traversed the rocks.

  Frank looked at the young man, aghast. Such a waste! And for what?

  Frank drew his fist to his mouth. His face felt hot. He was afraid he would vomit.

  Three more shots rang out. Frank heard a moan. Then silence. He glanced toward the woods. José fell to the ground with a bullet in his head. Blood streamed down his face. Frank looked at the two dead men in horror.

  A rustling of leaves and the crackle of twigs caught Frank’s attention. Someone was closing in on him. Fear grabbed him like a gorilla.

  He whispered a silent prayer, rose on his haunches, and readied his bow and arrows to shoot. He was out in the open—a sitting duck. No match against a man with a gun. A moment passed. Time stood still.

  Then someone hollered in Spanish, “Don’t even think about it, Frank!”

  Frank felt disoriented. Visions of Cuba flashed before his eyes. The voice was familiar, making Frank feel at once comforted and terrified. He stood. Tense. For a second, he wondered what to do.

  Then Lazo appeared, walking in Frank’s direction. Frank couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt as if he were in a dream. His old friend came up beside him, a knowing smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  “What the hell—?”

  Lazo’s eyes brightened. “It’s over,” he said reassuringly. “Relax. It’s over. It’s clear.”

  Frank nodded, trying to comprehend what Lazo was saying. Lazo looked his friend up and down.

  “You okay, Frank?”

  Frank looked at Lazo as if he were a mirage, an apparition. A million questions sprang to his mind, but he couldn’t ask them now. He had to focus on the situation at hand.

  “I’m not okay yet,” he said. He pointed toward the hill. “Two more guys are up on that ridge—both armed. One is wounded. And I’ve got a friend in the area. He’s a hunter.”

  “My men will take care of it,” said Lazo. “I’m sure your friend’s okay. These guys have no interest in him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Frank nodded, suddenly feeling dizzy. He sat on a rock on the side of the creek to steady himself. He shook his head and looked at the two dead bodies. “What—?” Frank closed his eyes, trying to piece the scene together.

  “Surprised to see me, Frank?”

  Frank looked at Lazo, wondering how to respond. He gathered his wits and croaked, “Who the hell are these people, and what in God’s name are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Lazo.

  “I bet it is. Try me.”

  Lazo motioned to the stream bank, and the two men sat side by side. Lazo draped his arm around Frank.

  “It was Pino’s idea.”

  “Pino? I figured that bastard had something to do with this. So, he’s still around?”

  “Yeah! He’s as hateful and vengeful as ever. And he still has it in for you.”

  Frank shook his head. “After all this time? I don’t understand.”

  “He’s commander of the Santa Maria base now.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It’s a long story. Do you have time?”

  “For you? After this? Yeah, I have all the time in the world.” Frank looked at Damian’s remains. “Who’s the kid?”

  “Damian Baez. Special Forces just like you and me.”

  Frank covered his mouth with his hand. It took him a moment to recover. “That explains it.”

  Augustin emerged from the woods and approached the bodies. He kicked José with the toe of his boot to make sure he was dead. Then he removed his gun. He did the same to Damian.

  Frank looked at Lazo, trying to formulate a question that would explain these bizarre events. Instead, he said, “Do you live in the States?”

  “No, I still live in Cuba.”

  Frank wondered how Lazo got to New Jersey. His mind was a blur. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “You saved my life—again. Why?”

  “For friendship, Frank.” Lazo smiled. “Funny, isn’t it? Seems like I’m always saving the same old friend.”

  Frank looked at Lazo in amazement, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that his buddy was sitting beside him. A squirrel scampered through the brush, carrying an acorn. He sat on his hind legs, holding his food with his paws, nibbling. He looked like a picture.

  Shots rang in the distance. Frank glanced at Lazo who nodded. It dawned on Frank that his pursuers had met their fate. Elias was dead, and Sebastian had been put out of his misery.

  Frank took a minute to settle his nerves. “Are you still in the army?”

  “Permanent reserves.”

  Frank sat in silence for a moment, groping for some way to make sense of the day. “What can I do for you? Do you want to stay with me? Defect? I’ll take care of you.”

  “No, Frank, you did your job more than a decade ago. You were the first member of the force who had the guts to defy Fidel. You inspired thousands of Cubans. My job is to do what I can to overthrow the regime from within, and to tell as many people as I can about your escape.”

  Frank was dumbfounded. He shook his head, amazed at Lazo’s words. Tears sprang to his eyes, remembering a time long past. Seeing Lazo made it all come back again. The two old friends sat for a minute in silence. Then they began to reminisce. They talked, laughed, hugged, and talked some more. Frank felt at home in Lazo’s company.

  Frank was hungry for the latest news about his family, and Lazo filled him in about what he had heard. Lazo expressed his sympathy for the death of Frank’s father and grandfather and told Frank that his mother was healthy and well. Then he talked about Cuba. Lazo spoke in broad strokes. Details would come later.

  Lazo related what had transpired in the army during and after Frank’s escape, and Frank told him what had happened on his end. While Frank was surprised to learn about Lazo’s position with the permanent reserves, he was more surprised to hear about Pino’s rehabilitation and plans to kill him. He had thought Pino would spend the rest of his life in jail.

  “Whatever happened to Manny?” asked Frank. “I think about him often.”

  Lazo turned his head. “Manny joined the Cuban intelligence.”

  “Jesus, that’s a surprise.”

  “His heart wasn’t in it,” said Lazo. “He couldn’t find a job. He needed to do whatever he could to survive.”

  Frank considered this for a moment. “What about Lieutenant Brown?”

  “Brown? The army sent him for more military training. He’s now back at the Santa Maria base. I see him all
the time.”

  “Did he ever become a member of the Party?”

  “No. He still hates the communists for confiscating his family’s land. Besides, the Party would never consider his candidacy after what happened.”

  “I figured as much.”

  Lazo’s face turned somber. “I hesitate to ask, but I’m dying to know: Whatever happened to Magda?”

  Frank pushed his lips into a neat, tight seam. Seeing Lazo brought back memories of Magda, some pleasant, some painful. “She died,” he said simply. “Cancer.”

  Lazo shook his head, sickened at the news. “I was afraid it was something like that.”

  Lazo placed his hand on Frank’s forearm.

  “I’m so sorry, Frank.”

  Frank puffed out his cheeks and said, “Me too.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, paying homage to Magda.

  “Did you have children?”

  “A daughter. Darlene. She just turned ten.”

  “It must be tough on her.”

  “It is. When we have time, I’ll tell you more about her. I’d love you to meet her.”

  “That won’t be possible. I’ve got to get back to Cuba.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I’d like to hear more about your escape. I’ve thought about it often.”

  “Not as often as I have, especially in the middle of the night.”

  Lazo exhaled. “Sometimes it gets to us all in the middle of the night.”

  Frank looked at Lazo, thinking about their friendship. “I’ve never had a chance to thank you.”

  Lazo waved the comment away.

  Frank shook his head. “My thinking is a little fuzzy. Tell me again why you’re going back to Cuba.”

  “To do my job to infiltrate the army and to support the Cuban underground.”

  “That sounds like gobbledygook. What does it mean?”

  “It means I work for the CIA.”

  “So, you and Manny work on opposite sides?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. But I can’t discuss it.”

  Frank looked at Lazo with heightened respect. “Jesus.”

  “Why are you surprised, Frank? You gave the agency my name, remember?”

  Frank thought for a minute and nodded. “I almost forgot about that. It seems so long ago. What about Pino? What will happen to him?”

  “Pino’s in for a big surprise. He won’t be happy.”

  Frank tried to grasp the full implication of Lazo’s words. But he was too tired to think.

  “I feel so helpless. There must be something I can do.”

  “There is,” said Lazo.

  “What?”

  Lazo looked across the stream, past Damian’s and José’s bodies, and said, “Be a good American.”

  Frank was speechless. He knew what Lazo meant. He’d been trying to be a good American for years. Lazo hesitated a moment, and added, “One more thing—”

  “Anything!”

  “Tell your American friends that the embargo isn’t working. It’s hurting the Cuban people and giving Fidel an excuse for his failed policies. Cubans need to see more of America—your goods, your values, your way of life—not less.”

  “I understand.”

  Members of Alpha Sixty-six appeared and prepared to remove Damian’s and Jose’s bodies. They had spent the past hour burying Sebastian and Elias in the woods. As they unrolled a body bag, Frank stood to help.

  “No need,” said Lazo. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Just let me do this,” Frank said. He leaned over and closed Damian’s eyes with his fingers.

  As they carried Damian away, Lazo and Frank stood and raised their hands in a salute. After all, he was a member of the Special Forces. He was one of them.

  Lazo moved to Frank’s side and draped his arm over his shoulder. They turned and hugged for a long moment, their hearts beating in joint rhythm. In a low voice, Lazo said, “Forget about all this, Frank. You’ve had enough to deal with in one lifetime. Go home, take care of your daughter, and marry your girlfriend.”

  Frank pursed his lips. “I will,” he said. “I’ve struggled with the idea that it’s too soon after Magda’s death to get married—tradition and all. But I’ve come to terms with it.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “A little over a year.”

  “It’s not very long.”

  “I know. But Chris has found a place in my heart.”

  Frank stood and shook Lazo’s hand, noting the web of lines that netted his eyes. He looked a lot older than he remembered. He guessed they both did.

  Lazo withdrew his hand from Frank’s, stepped back, and saluted. Frank returned the favor.

  Before turning to leave, Lazo reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with a phone number penciled in. “Call me early tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t have time to meet with you, but we can speak on the phone. We have much to discuss.”

  Frank smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll call. I have a few more stories to tell you.”

  Lazo laughed. “It would take a lifetime to tell each other our stories.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Frank made his way back to his blind in hopes of finding Raúl. He sat on the ground, still in shock, put his head in his hands, and sifted through his thoughts. He couldn’t believe that Lazo had come all the way from Cuba to save his life.

  He stood and fingered the pellets that riddled the trees near his blind. He imagined them entering his body, and he thought about how close he had come to dying. He was a lucky man.

  An hour later, Raúl showed up, his shirt stained with coffee. Astounded to see the deer, he slapped his forehead and whistled.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he said. “How the hell did that happen? I wasted my whole damn morning hunting, and I didn’t get a goddamn thing. Not even a squirrel. And you go and bag this big old buck!”

  Raúl leaned down, examined the deer, and shook his head. “How in God’s name did you do this, Frank? There weren’t any deer anywhere. Nada! I never even spotted one. Those shots scared them away. Did you hear them? Must’ve been a bunch of jerks.”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah, I heard them.”

  “You’re such a lucky bastard. Why don’t I ever get lucky like you?”

  “Lucky,” Frank repeated wearily.

  Raúl examined Frank’s face. “Hey man, what’s wrong with you? This is a big damn deal. You should be ecstatic.”

  “I am ecstatic,” said Frank. “Ecstatic.”

  “Well, you don’t look it. Anyone who bags a deer like this and isn’t jumping for joy is nuts.” Raúl looked at Frank and laughed. “I think you need a shrink. I’m taking you to a psychiatrist as soon as we get home.”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” said Frank.

  Raúl handed Frank a line of rope to tie up the deer. They secured his front and hind legs. When they finished, Frank looped his arm around Raúl’s shoulder.

  “It was quite a day,” said Frank.

  “For you, yes. For me, it was pretty boring. The day is still young. Maybe we could do something interesting once we get this buck in the jeep.”

  “No, I think I just need to go home,” said Frank.

  Raúl made a face. “To do what?”

  Frank smiled, and said, “To be a good American.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Chico sat on the couch watching television in the Cuban operatives’ headquarters in Union City when a knock came at the door. He had just grabbed a can of beer from the refrigerator. It was a little early for a drink, but he thought what the hell!

  He popped the tab and mumbled to himself. He sure as hell didn’t want to be disturbed. He placed his beer on the kitchen counter next to a bottle of Cuban rum and wiped his hands on his pants. He walked down the hall and opened the door to see a man dressed in a brown United Parcel Service uniform.

  The impostor glanced down at the paperwork, and said, “I have a package for a Dam
ian Baez from Miami. Someone needs to sign for it.”

  Chico glanced at the television. He had been absorbed in a John Wayne movie.

  “All right,” he said, eager to get back to the show.

  The impostor reached into his breast pocket for a pen. “Sorry, I must’ve left my pen in the truck. Do you happen to have one?”

  Chico nodded. “Yeah, come in.” The man stepped inside the apartment and closed the door behind him. The lock snapped shut. A look of terror crossed Chico’s face as the UPS man drew a gun. His silencer muffled the shots.

  When the deliveryman man left, Chico was dead on the floor. The imposter gathered the paperwork he found in the apartment and stuffed it under his jacket before he walked out the door.

  Franco had been calling Damian in Union City all morning, but he was getting no answer. He was anxious to learn what had happened on the hunting expedition. He couldn’t wait to notify Pino that the mission had been completed. And he couldn’t wait to return to Cuba and become a base commander—as Pino had promised. He smiled at the thought.

  He had just finished a breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs when the doorbell buzzed. He swallowed the last of his coffee and signaled to his associate to answer it. When he did, a man with a UPS uniform stood before him, smiling congenially.

  “I have a package for a Lieutenant Franco from Union City,” he said. “Sorry, but I need a signature.”

  Adán turned to Franco with questioning eyes. The lieutenant stood and began walking toward the door, but not before the deliveryman stepped inside. When the imposter left, the files on the mission were under his arm, Franco and Adán were dead, and the deliveryman still held the package in his hands.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  The file of Damian Baez sat open on the desk of First Captain Victor Flores. Flores was a seasoned soldier and had been in the Revolutionary Armed Forces for more years than he cared to admit. He had risen through the ranks, and he prided himself on his ability to piece things together.

  Flores had seen a lot of shenanigans in his day, including those of the now infamous Captain Pino. He never could cotton up to the man. There was something about him that made his skin crawl. Years ago he had railed against Pino going to Russia for further military training. He couldn’t see what good it would do. Pino was too hotheaded and stubborn for him. And, as far as he was concerned, zebras don’t change their stripes. But the authorities had ignored his advice, and the views of First Lieutenant Torres had prevailed.

 

‹ Prev