Between Havana and The Deep Blue Sea
Page 3
best to spot the cutback into the swamp. The Cuban refugees had drawn him a good diagram of the lagoon. He prayed earnestly that they had not set him up.
Jim tasted salty sweat on his lips in the sullen heat. The boat barely moved in the still water, and he cranked up the diesel. The engine sounded unusually loud in the still night inside the lagoon, so he cut it.
He finally saw what appeared to be a cutback into the trees. He could just barely make it out, so he cranked the little engine again. Alternating between forward and reverse, he worked the boat closer. His depth sounder read two feet under the keel. He kept easing her in until the stern was clear of the sides of the lagoon. He looked at the depth sounder: zero feet. He cut the engine. He was in.
Sweat was pouring off him by now, and he took huge swallows of water and swallowed two salt tablets. There was no air stirring in the close, watery, jungle-covered cutback. He eased his way to the bow of the boat and tied a mooring line to a large overhanging limb, then walked back to the cockpit and sat down to wait for first light. As nearly as he could tell, it would be about an hour and a half before he could see well enough to cut camouflage for the boat. Then he would sleep the day away.
He sat in the cockpit and listened for the slightest sound above the insect noise coming from the jungle.
At first light, still hearing nothing unusual, he reached up and started pulling the lowest limbs down onto the stern and cockpit, tying them to the safety rails that circled the boat. He worked steadily for an hour and a half, sweating in the steaming heat, then put the final touches on it with smaller foliage hung over the stern. He then made himself a thatch of crossed foliage to cover the aft hatch.
Descending the steps into the cabin, he pulled the foliage over the hatch and sat down at the table, sweat rolling off him in rivulets. He hooked the little 12-volt fan to the alternate battery, flipped the battery switch, and held the fan in front of his face. The air down below was close and fetid, and he swallowed two more salt tablets and lay down in the heat.
He had been awake now 24 hours, and after 10 minutes or so, he dropped off into a fitful sleep. He slept off and on all day. By the time the sun was behind the tall trees surrounding the cutback, he was desperate to escape the confines of the cabin.
He decided to explore his way back into the jungle of tangled trees, undergrowth, and vines. He slipped off the bow of the boat and made his way through the murky water into the jungle. Then he began hacking a trail through it toward the prison. He stopped and listened repeatedly as he made his way through the jungle. He got about a thousand yards in, and listened again. He heard a dog bark, so he turned and followed his trail back.
When he got back to the boat, it was dark. He waded through the water, and, taking hold of the bowline, he pulled himself up over the bow and lay there, exhausted. He made his way back to the hatchway and down the steps into the cabin. Since it was dark, he left the thatch cover off, and was relieved to feel a tiny breeze waft its way down into the cabin. He drank more water, and slept until first light.
When he awoke, he took out the AR-15 and holstered the Glock. He made his way back through the jungle, and finished hacking his way to the prison clearing. He lay behind a log just at the edge of the clearing. He reached over slowly, silently sliced off a large fern with the razor-sharp knife, and pulled it over himself for cover. He turned, and found himself at eye level with a snake. The snake flicked his tongue at him, decided Jim was bigger than a rat, and crawled slowly away.
He looked across the front of the clearing at a large, three-story concrete affair. It had been built like a fort, with a large walled courtyard in front. There was a large barred gate in front, topped with concertina wire, and barred windows to the south. A guard perched on the edge of the guard tower, smoking a cigarette.
Jim was situated at the front left corner of the prison. The front of the compound faced a small hill. A road ran out from the front, around the hill, and came to within twenty feet of where he lay. He needed to get a look through that gate, so he retreated back a way into the jungle. Finally he found a spot where he thought he might be able to cross the road and climb the hill.
He came to the edge of the jungle. He slung the AR-15 across his back, and, crawling on his elbows, he slid into the ditch that ran alongside of the road. He glassed the guard tower, saw that the guard was looking into the prison, and then made a dash across the road and fell into the ditch on the other side. He crawled into some low brush. He slowly circled the hill and then made his way to the top. He could see right over the gate into the prison yard. There were no inner or outer fences. There was just the large outer gate with a single concrete wall.
Now he saw what had the guard’s attention. The prisoners were being let out into the yard. The guards had their rifles trained on the yard. Jim figured they must keep the prisoners locked in their tiny cells most of the time. He studied the men in the yard through the powerful binoculars. The wall and the guard tower prevented him from seeing everyone, but he scanned the ones he could see. Most were standing around in small groups of two or three. He let the glass sweep over the dark-skinned ones.
Finally, he spotted a light-skinned man in khaki pants and a dirty white shirt. He had come out the prison door and stood no more than fifteen feet away from the single prison entrance. Jim’s heart leapt in his chest as he recognized his brother. He quickly adjusted the glass until he could make out his features clearly. He looked closely at his brother’s drawn face. He had his arms crossed, and Jim could see he was shivering in the heat.
Fever, Jim thought, as another shudder went through his brother’s shoulders. Bad fever. His brother’s eyes stared hollowly at nothing. As Jim watched, a guard came up and jabbed Randy with the butt of a rifle. Randy stumbled back and fell to the hard ground. The guard said something, and brandished his weapon at Randy and toward the door.
A cold anger arose in Jim and gripped his heart with an icy hand as he brought the AR-15 forward. He caught himself. “No… not yet, you bastard,” he muttered. He felt helpless and he shook with rage as he saw his brother stagger back through the steel door of the prison.
He swept his glass over the building, looking for a weak spot, but saw none. There was no way in but the front gate. A plan began to form in his mind, but he would need a diversion to make it work.
Why not blow a hole in the back, and take the front guard out and take Randy out the front? He mulled. Getting him out any other way would be next to impossible. He had to get him out the front, around the side, into the jungle, and down to the boat.
That has to be it, thought Jim, as he backed away from the top of the hill. He scrambled back the way he had come, widening the path through the jungle as he went. He made his way back across the road and into the jungle, then headed back to the boat.
When he was back onboard, he sat at the little table, breathing hard, as he began to sketch the prison on a blank writing tablet.
“Geez!” he muttered, “I got to do this in daylight! There must be twenty personnel in that place.”
As he sketched the building, he knew he only had one of two choices. He could try to kill all the guards, go in, and get Randy. Or he could blow a hole in the back of the prison and try to take Randy out the front while the explosion distracted the guards. To do that, he would also have to blow the gate so he could get inside to get Randy.
“This is insane.” There were too many factors that would have to go just right. The guards and other prison personnel would have to fall for the diversion.
I will have to shoot the tower guard without the shot being heard by other prison personnel, plus I will have to blow the front gate, Jim plotted to himself. There is a chance the guards, if they rush back into the prison, will not hear a shot through the thick concret
e walls, but they might hear an explosion. Geez!
“But if I don’t do it, I don’t think Randy will last…he looks to be bad sick.” Jim stopped talking to himself, but his lips moved as he stared at the cabin ceiling. Finally, he made up his mind. He decided he probably didn’t have a fool’s chance either way, but the second plan seemed the likeliest to work. When they brought the prisoners out into the yard the next day, and he had no guarantee that they would, he would just have to wing it.
Randy didn’t look to be in good enough shape to make it through that stretch of jungle to the boat, if by some miracle Jim got him out.
“Well, we might as well go down together, because I’m not leaving here without him,” Jim muttered, and at that moment, he became calmer than he had ever been. He no longer had any doubt or misgivings.
He looked at his hands and said, “Lord, I don’t know much about the Bible. I know my brother is all right with you, but I don’t know if I am all right with you or not, because of what I am about to do. I know I will have to kill one of those men tomorrow and perhaps more, but I got to do it. You do what you have to do with me; I ain’t gonna hold it against you. Well … I guess that’s all. I just wanted to talk to you early on to be on the up and up with you.”
Jim swallowed two more salt pills and refilled the little waterproof pill case. He rummaged through the galley drawer and found a small plastic bottle of aspirin. He would try to shove some of the pills down his brother, provided that, by some miracle, they ever reached the jungle.
He awoke at dawn, sat at the table, and kneaded the plastic explosive into pliable dough. He separated it into two pieces. He checked the little transmitter, and put everything in a bag. He would set the larger charge on the back of the building first. If luck was with him, that would draw the prison personnel back into the building. He would blow the front gate after the other charge went off. He figured he would have to shoot at least one guard, perhaps two. He would wait for his brother to come out into the yard, and then set the first charge off.
He headed into the jungle, planning to arrive at the prison about 9:30. When he reached the compound, he carefully circled to the back and set the shaped charge on the concrete wall, and inserted the electronic detonator. He then worked his way back the way he had come to get across the road to the little hill. Working his way up to the top, he arrived at the position he had occupied the day before.
Jim scanned the prison yard, but it was empty. He looked at his watch and waited. He had almost decided they weren’t going to allow the prisoners to come out that day, when the steel door to the building opened, and the prisoners started filing out, led by two guards. Two more guards followed in the rear. That made four total on the ground. There was one guard on duty in the tower, and when the prisoners started out, the guard aimed his rifle at the yard.
Good. They’re depending on the tower guard to quell any trouble, Jim thought.
He saw his brother standing in about the same spot as yesterday, and he still looked sick. Randy bent double with a coughing fit, then slowly straightened back up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes looked dull and glassy, and he was gasping for air after the coughing spell. The same cruel guard, who had hit him the day before, stood about twenty feet away. He looked at Randy and laughed.
Jim’s anger started to rise again, and he forced it back down. He wiped the sweat off his face