Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba
Page 4
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."
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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.