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Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

Page 4

by Cuba (lit)


  my hands. If you have

  betrayed me or the people of Cuba, you had better find

  a way to get off this planet, because there is no

  place on it you can hide, hot from me, not from the

  CIA, not from the men and women you betrayed."

  "I have betrayed no one,".alfredo Garcia said.

  "God? Yes. But no rnan."

  He went away then, leaving Sedano to smoke in

  solitude.

  Fidel Castro dying! Hector Sedano could hear

  his heart beat as he tried to comprehend the reality of

  that fact.

  Millions of people were waiting for his death, some

  patiently, most impatiently, many with a feeling of

  impending . doom. Castro had ruled Cuba as an

  absolute dictator since

  1959: the revolution that he led did nothing more than

  topple the old dictator and put a new one in his

  place. Castro jettisoned fledgling

  democracy, embraced communism and used raw

  demagoguery to consolidate his total, absolute

  power. He prosecuted and executed his enemies and

  confiscated the property of anyone who might be against

  him. Hundreds of thousands of Cubans fled, many

  to America.

  Castro's embrace of communism and seizure of the

  assets of the foreign corporations that had invested in

  Cuba, assets worth several billions of

  dollars, were almost preordained, inevitable.

  Predictably, most of those corporations were

  American. Also predictably, the

  United.states government retaliated with a

  diplomatic and economic blockade that continued

  to this day.

  After seizing the assets of the American corporations

  who owned most of Cuba, Castro had little choice:

  he had to have the assistance of a major power, so he

  substituted the Soviet Union for the United

  States as Cuba's patron. The only good thing

  about the substitution was that the Soviet Union was a

  lot farther away than Florida. Theirs was

  never a partnership of equals: the Soviets

  humiliated Fidel at almost every turn in the road.

  When communism collapsed in the Soviet Union

  in the early 1990's, Cuba was cut adrift as

  an expensive luxury that the newly democratic

  STEPHEN COONTS

  Russia could ill afford. That twist of fate was a

  cruel blow to Cuba, which despite Castro's best

  efforts still was a slave to sugarcane.

  Through it all, Castro survived. Never as popular

  as his supporters believed, he was never as

  unpopular as the exiles claimed. The truth of the

  matter was that Castro was Cuban to the core and

  fiercely independent, and he had kept Cuba that

  way. His demagoguery played well to poor

  peasants who had nothing but their pride. The

  trickle of refugees across the Florida

  Straits acted as a safety valve to rid the

  regime of its worst enemies, the vociferous

  critics with the will and tenacity to cause serious

  problems. In the Latin tradition, the Cubans who

  remained submitted to Castro, even respected him

  for thumbing his nose at the world. A dictator he

  might be, but he was "our"...dictator.

  A new day was about to dawn in Cuba, a day

  without Castro and the baggage of communism, ballistic

  missiles, and invasion, a new day without bitter

  enmity with the United States. Just what that day would

  bring remained to be seen, but it was coming.

  The exiles wanted justice, and revenge; the

  peons who lived in the'exiles' houses, now many

  families to a building, feared being dispossessed.

  The foreign corporations that Castro so cavalierly

  robbed wanted compensation. Everyone wanted food, and

  jobs, and a future. It seemed as if the bills for

  all the past mistakes were about to come due and payable

  at once.

  Hector Sedano would have a voice in that future,

  if he survived. He sat smoking, contemplating

  the coming storm.

  Mercedes was of course correct about the danger

  posed by Alejo Vargas. Mix Latin machismo

  and a willingness to do violence to gain one's own ends,

  add generous dollops of vainglory, egotism, and

  paranoia, stir well, and you have the makings of a

  truly fine Latin American dictator,

  selfrighteous, suspicious, trigger-happy, and

  absolutely ruthless. Fidel Alejandro Castro

  Ruz came out of that mold: Alejo Vargas,

  Hector knew, was merely another. He

  could

  not make this observation to Mercedes, whom Hector

  suspected of loving Fidelhe needed her

  cooperation.

  Alfredo Garcia found a seat near the

  ticket-taker's booth from where he could see the

  shadowy figure on the top row of the bleachers. He

  was so nervous he twitched.

  Like Hector Sedano, he too was in awe of the

  news he had just learned: Fidel Castro was dying.

  Alfredo Garcia trembled as he thought about it. That

  priest in the top row of the bleachers was one of the

  contenders for power in post-Castro Cuba. There were

  others of course, Alejo Vargas, the Minister of

  Interior and head of the secret police,

  prominently among them.

  Yes, Garcia talked to the secret police of

  Alejo Vargas he had to. No one could refuse

  the Department of State Security, least of all a

  fugitive from American justice seeking

  sanctuary.

  And of course he cooperated on an ongoing basis.

  Vargas's spies were everywhere, witnessed every conversation,

  every meal, every waking moment... or so it seemed. One

  could never be certain what the secret police

  knew from other sources, what they were just guessing at,

  what he was their only source for. Garcia had handled

  this reality the only way he could: he answered

  direct questions with a bit of the truthif he knew itand

  volunteered nothing.

  If the secret police knew Alfredo had a

  CIA contact they had never let on. They did know

  Hector Sedano was a power in the underground although they

  seemed to think he was a small fish.

  Garcia thought otherwise. He thought Hector

  Sedano was the most powerful man in Cuba after

  Fidel Castro, even more powerful than Alejo

  Vargas.

  Why didn't Hector understand the excruciating

  predicament that Alfredo Garcia found himself in?

  Certainly Hector knew what it was like to have few

  options, or none at all.

  Alfredo was a weak man. He had never been able

  to

  STEPHEN COONTS

  resist the temptations of the flesh. God had forgiven

  him, of that he was sure, but would Hector Sedano?

  As he sat in the darkness watching Hector,

  Alfredo Garcia smiled grimly. One of the

  contenders for power in po/castro Cuba would

  be Hector's own brother, Maximo Lufs

  Sedano, the finance minister. Maximo was Fidel's

  most trusted lieutenant, one of his inner circle.

  Three years older than Hector,
he had lived

  and breathed Castro's revolution all his life,

  willingly standing in the great man's shadow. Those days

  were about over, and Maximo's friends whispered that he was

  readyhe wanted

  more.

  That was the general street gossip that Garcia heard,

  and like most gossip, he thought it probably had a

  kernel of truth inside.

  For his part, Maximo probably thought his only

  serious rival was Alejo Vargas. He was going

  to get a bad shock in the near future.

  And then there were the exiles. God only knew what

  those fools would do when Fidel breathed his last.

  Yes, indeed, when Fidel died the fireworks would

  begin.

  Hector Sedano was taking the last few puffs on

  his cigar when his youngest brother, El Ocho, climbed

  the bleachers. Ocho settled onto a bench in front

  of Hector and leaned back so that he could rest his

  feet on the bench in front of him.

  "You played well tonight. The home run was a

  thing of beauty."

  "It's just a game."

  "And you play it well."

  Ocho snorted. "Just a gameea"...he repeated.

  "All of life is a gameea"...his older brother

  told him, and ground out his cigar. .

  "Was that Mercedes I saw talking to you earlier?"

  "She is here for

  Mima's

  birthday."

  Ocho nodded. He seemed to gather himself before he

  spoke again.

  "My manager, Diego Coca, wants me to go

  to the United States."

  Hector let that statement lie there. Sometimes Ocho

  said outrageous things to get a reaction. Hector

  had quit playing that game years ago.

  "Diego says I could play in the major

  leagues."

  "Do you believe him?""

  Ocho turned toward his older brother and closest

  friend. "Diego is a dreamer. I look good playing

  this game because the other players are not so good. The

  pitch I hit out tonight was a belt-high fastball right

  down the middle. American major league

  pitchers don't throw stuff like that because all those guys

  can hit it."

  "Could you pitch there?"

  "In Cuba my fastball is a little faster than

  everyone else's. My curve breaks a little more. In

  America all the pitchers have a good fastball and

  breaking ball. Everyone is better."

  Hector laughed. "So you aren't interested in going

  to America and getting rich, like your uncle

  Tomas"..."...Tomas had defected ten years ago

  while a team of baseball stars was on a trip

  to Mexico City. He now owned five drycleaning

  plants in metropolitan Miami. Oh, yes,

  Tomas was getting rich!

  "I'm not good enough to play in the big leagues.

  Diego tells me I am. I think he believes

  it. He wants me to go, take him with me, sign a

  big contract. I'm his chance."

  "He wants to go with you?"

  "That's right."

  "On a boat?"

  "He says he knows a man who has a boat.

  He can take us to Florida, where people will be waiting."

  "You believe that?"

  "Diego does. That is what is

  important."

  "You owe Diego a few hours of sweat on the

  baseball field, nothing else."

  STEPHEN COONTS

  Ocho didn't reply. He lay back on his

  elbows and wiggled his feet.

  "Why don't you tell me all of it"..."...Hector

  suggested gently.

  Ocho didn't look at him. After a bit he said,

  "I got Diego's daughter pregnant. Dora,

  the second one."

  "He knows this?"

  Ocho nodded affirmatively.

  "So marry the girl. This is an embarrassment, not

  dishonor. My God,

  Mima

  was pregnant when Papa married her! Welcome

  to the world, Ocho. And congratulations."

  "Diego is the

  girl's father."

  "I will talk to himea"...Hector said. "You are both

  young, with hot blood in your veins. Surely he will

  understand. I will promise him that you will do the right thing by this

  girl. You will stand up with her in church, love her,

  cherish her...."

  "Diego wants the best for her, for the baby, for

  me."

  "For himself."

  "And for himself, yes. He wants us to go on his friend's

  boat to America. I will play baseball and earn

  much money and we will live the good life in America.

  That is his dream."

  "I seeea"...sd Hector Sedano, and leaned back

  against the fence. "Is it yours?"

  "I haven't told anyone elseea"...Ocho said,

  meaning the family.

  "Are you going to tell

  Mimal"

  "Not on her birthday. I thought maybe you could tell

  her, after we get to America."

  "Estd loco,

  Ocho. This boat... you could all drown.

  Hundredsthousands of people have drowned out there. The sea

  swallows them. They leave here and are never heard from

  again."

  Ocho studied his toes.

  "If they catch you, the Americans will send you

  back. They don't want boat people."

  "Diego Coca says that"

  "Damn Diego Coca! The Cuban

  Navy will probably catch you before you get out of

  sight of

  Mima's

  house. Pray that they do, that you don't die out there in

  the Gulf Stream. And if you are lucky enough

  to survive the trip to Florida, the Americans will

  arrest you, put you in a camp at Guantanamo

  Bay. Even if you get back to Cuba, the

  government won't let you play baseball again.

  You'll spend your life in the fields chopping

  cane. Think about

  thatl"

  Ocho sat silently, listening to the insects.

  "Did you give Diego Coca money"..."...Hector

  asked.

  "Yes."

  "Want to tell me how much?"

  "No."

  "You're financing his dream, Ocho."

  "At least he's got one."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means what I said. At least Diego Coca

  has a dream. He doesn't want to sit rotting

  on this goddamned island while life passes him

  by. He doesn't want that for his daughter

  or her kid."

  "He doesn't want that for himself."

  Ocho threw up his hands.

  Hector pressed on, relentlessly. "Diego

  Coca should get on that boat and follow his dream,

  if that is his dream. You and Dora should get married.

  Announce the wedding tomorrow at

  Mima's

  party^the people are your flesh and blood. Cuba is your

  country, your heritage. You owe these people and this country

  all that you are, all that you will ever be."

  "Cuba is

  your

  dream, Hector."

  "And what is yours? I ask you a second time."

  Ocho shook his head like a mighty bull. "I do not

  wish to spend my life plotting against the government,

  making speeches, waiting to be arrested, dreaming of a

  Utopia that will never be
. That is life wasted."

  Hector thought before he answered. "What you say is

  true. Yet until things change in Cuba it is

  impossible to dream other dreams."

  Ocho Sedano got to his feet. He was a tall,

  lanky young man with long, ropy muscles.

  "Just wanted you to knowea"...he said.

  "A man must have a dream that is larger than he is

  or life has little meaning."

  "Didn't figure you would think it was a good idea."

  "I don't."

  "Or else you would have gone yourself."

  "Ocho, I ask you a personal favor. Wait

  two weeks. Don't go for two weeks. See how

  the world looks in two weeks before you get on that

  boat."

  Hector could see the pain etched on Ocho's

  face. The younger man looked him straight in the

  eye.

  "The boat won't wait."

  "I ask this as your brother, who has never asked you

  for anything. I ask you for

  Mima,

  who cherishes you, and for Papa, who watches you from

  heaven. Have the grace to say yes to my request.

  Two weeks."

  "The boat won't wait, Hector. Diego

  wants this. Dora wants this. I have no choice."

  With that Ocho turned and leaped lightly from bench to bench

  until he got to the field. He walked across the

  dark, deserted diamond and disappeared into the home

  team's dugout.

  Although he was born in Cuba, El Gate's

  parents took him to Miami when he was a toddler,

  before the Cuban revo* lution. He had

  absolutely no memory of Cuba. In fact,

  he thought of himself as an American. English was the

  language he knew best, the language he thought

  in. He had learned Spanish at home as a

  youngster, understood it well, and spoke it with a

  flavored accent. Still, hearing nothing but Cuban

  Spanish spoken around him for days gave him a bit

  of cultural shock.

  He and two of his bodyguards had flown to Mexico

  City,

  V

  CUBA

  then to

  Havana.

  He had always kept His contacts with the Cuban

  government a deep, dark, jealously guarded

  secret, but rumors had reached him, rumors that

  Castro was sick, that important changes in

  Cuba were in the wind. The rumors had the feel of

  truth; his instincts told him.

  El Gato, the Cat, didn't get rich

  by ignoring his instincts. He decided to go to Cuba and

  take the risk of explaining it away later. If the

  exiles in Florida ever got the idea that he had

  double-crossed them, money or no money, they would

  take their revenge.

  Courage was one of El Gate's long suits.

 

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