Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

by Cuba (lit)

  hand, they must know something they can't share with us. If the

  risk were zero, they wouldn't have sent us here with orders

  to monitor, whatever the hell that is. Gentlemen,

  I just want to be ready if indeed we win

  the lottery and our number comes up."

  Toad thoughtfully put the message from Washington

  back into its red folder. He pursed his lips, then

  said thoughtfully, "One thing is for suresomething is

  up."

  Alejo Vargas thought he had the finest office in

  Havana, indeed, in all of Cuba, and perhaps he

  did. He had the whole corner of the top floor, with

  lots of glass. Through the large windows one got a

  fine view across the rooftops of Morro Castle

  and the channel leading into Havana Harbor from the sea.

  The desk was mahogany, the chairs leather, the

  carpet Persian.

  William Henry Chance paused to take in the

  view, then nodded appreciatively. He turned,

  saw the old United Fruit Company safe in the

  corner, now standing open, and the display of gold and

  silver coins from the Spanish Main under glass.

  He paused again, ran his eye over the coins just long

  enough to compliment his host.

  "Very niceea"...Chance said, and took the chair indicated

  by Alejo Vargas. At a nearby desk sat

  Vargas's Chief of Staff, Colonel Pablo

  Santafla, who nodded at Chance when he looked his

  way, but said nothing.

  Colonel Santana was dark, with coal black

  eyes and black hair combed straight back; he had

  some slave and Indian somewhere in his bloodline. He

  slit the throats and pulled the trigger for Alejo

  Vargas whenever those chores needed to be done.

  Chance forced himself to ignore Santana and look at

  his host. "I appreciate you taking the time from your

  busy day to see me, Generalea"...the American said,

  and gave Vargas a frank, winning smile.

  Chance was tall and angular, with

  craggy

  good looks, and dressed in a light gray suit of a

  quality one could not

  obtain in Cuba for love or money. He appeared

  perfectly at ease, as if he owned the building and

  were calling on a tenant.

  No wonder the Russians lost the race to the

  Americans,

  Vargas thought ruefully. A true Latin male,

  he was acutely aware of his own physical and

  social shortcomings, his lack of grace and

  self-assurance, so he was quick to appreciate the

  desired qualities in others.

  "I understand you have been discussing a business

  arrangement for the future with officials of

  several departmentsea"...Vargas began.

  "That is correct, General. As you probably

  know, I represent a consortium of stockholders

  in several of the major American caret tobacco

  companies. My errand is discreet, not for public

  discussion."

  Vargas certainly did know. He had a complete

  dossier on William Henry Chance in the upper

  right-hand drawer of his desk, a dossier decorated

  with a half dozen photos, photocopies of all the

  pages of Chance's passport, and one of his entry in

  Who's Who.

  A senior partner in a major New York law

  firm, Chance had represented tobacco companies for

  twenty-five years. That Chance was the man in

  Havana talking to the Cuban government was a sure

  signal that major money was behind him.

  Indeed, Chance was in Vargas's office today because

  Fidel Castro had asked Vargas to see him.

  "Alejoea"...Fidel had said, "our future depends

  on Cuba getting a piece of the world economy. The

  Americans have kept us isolated too long. If

  we can make it profitable for the Americans to lift the

  embargo, sooner or later they will. The Yankees

  can smell money for miles."

  If William Henry Chance knew that Castro had

  personally asked Vargas to see him, he gave no

  sign.

  The less he understands about our government, the better,

  Vargas thought. He cleared his throat, and said, "I

  am sure you understand our concern, Senor Chance.

  Cuba is a poor nation, dependent on sugarcane

  as the mainstay of the

  economy, a crop that is, as usual, a glut on

  the world market. Your client's proposal, as I

  understand it, is to cultivate tobacco in Cuba

  instead of sugarcane."

  Chance gave the tiniest nod. A trace of a grin

  showed on his lips. He glanced at Santana, who

  was scrutinizing him with professional interest, the way

  a cat examines a mouse.

  "Your comprehension is perfect, General."

  "Through the years, senor, the price of tobacco on

  the world market has been even lower than that of

  sugar.", "This meeting shall be a great help to my

  clientsea"...Chance declared. "Here today I will show you the

  many benefits that will accrue in the future to the nation that

  keeps an open mind about tobacco. I am not

  talking about cigar leaf, you understand, which is a

  tiny percentage of the world market. I am talking about

  cigarette tobacco."

  "The price of which will collapse in America when the

  American government ends its subsidy

  to American tobacco farmers."

  "Indeedea"...sd William Henry Chance. "The

  United States government

  will

  soon cease supporting the price. But of greater

  interest to our clients, the government will increasingly

  regulate and tax the cigarette business.

  Plainly stated, the government is hostile to our

  industry. The current administration has stated that

  their eventual goal is to put the industry out of

  business."

  Chance moved his shoulders up and down a millimeter,

  settled deeper into his chair. "The American

  public is gradually giving up the cigarette

  habit. In a few years the only Americans

  smoking will be rebellious youth and addicted

  geriatrics."

  Chance leaned forward slightly in his chair and looked

  Alejo Vargas straight in the eye. "The

  future of the cigarette industry is to sell

  American brands to non-Americans.

  All over the world people in developing countries want

  the image American cigarettes present:

  prosperity, sex appeal, luxury, a rising

  status in the world. These images are no

  accident. They have been carefully created and

  nurtured at great expense by the American

  cigarette companies."

  Chance paused here to see if his host had anything

  to say. He didn't. Alejo Vargas sat

  silently with a blank, expressionless face. Not a

  single muscle revealed a clue about its owner's

  thoughts. Through the years Alejo had had a lot of

  experience listening to Castro's long-winded

  expositions.

  William Henry Chance summed up: "Minister,

  under the benevolent eye of a government that wants the

  industry to succeed, the prospects for profit are
/>   enormous. In the future the cigarette companies

  will grow the tobacco, process it, advertise, and

  sell the cigarettes. Cubans could own part of the

  companies, which would pay taxes and employ Cubans

  at a living wage. Here is a product that could be

  produced locally and sold worldwide. Cigarettes

  could be gold for Cuba in the twenty-first century."

  Now Alejo Vargas smiled. "I like you,

  Senor Chance. I like your style."

  "You can't fool meea"...Chance shot back. "You like my

  message,"

  "Cuba needs industries in addition to sugar."

  "The key, General, is a stable government that will

  protect the industry. Let me be frank: my

  clients have a great deal of money to invest, but they will

  not do so without the clear, unequivocal prospect

  of a stable government that will guarantee their right to do

  business and earn a fair profit."

  "Any promises or guarantees must come from the

  proper ministries of our government, witheathe consent of

  our president, Seflor Castroea"...Alejo

  Vargas said from the depths of his padded leather chair.

  "It is the future of Cuba I wish to discuss with

  you, General. I state unequivocally that my

  clients will not invest a dime in Cuba until such

  time as the American, government lifts the

  economic embargo. Candidly, the embargo will not be

  lifted as long as Castro remains in office."

  "Your candor deserves equal honesty on my

  partea"...General Vargas said. "Castro will remain in

  office until he chooses to leave of his own free

  will or until he dies. Do not be

  mistakenregardless of what drivel you hear from the

  exiles, Fidel Castro is universally

  admired, loved, revered as a great patriot

  by virtually everyone in Cuba. There is no

  opposition, no movement to remove him... disnone of

  that."

  "It is the distant future I wish to discuss with

  you."

  "Very distantea"...the general said. *

  "After Castro."

  "I do not have a crystal ball, Sefior Chance.

  I may not live so long."

  "Nor I, sir. But very likely the cigarette

  industry will still be in business and looking for new

  opportunities to grow."

  "Perhapsea"...Alejo Vargas admitted, and cocked his

  head slightly. He had seen transcripts of

  Chance's telephone calls to the. United States

  and a transcript of the conversations that had taken place

  in his room. The man hadn't said one word about

  Castro's health nor had anyone mentioned it to him.

  Still, it was a remarkable coincidence that he was here in

  Havana talking about post-Castro Cuba, and

  Castro was dying.

  Alejo Vargas didn't believe in

  coincidences. His instincts told him that William

  Henry Chance was not who he appeared to be. As he

  listened to Chance talk about cigarette marketing and

  demographics in the Third World, he removed the

  file on Chance from his desk drawer. Holding the

  file in his lap where Chance could not see it, he

  carefully reviewed the information it contained. The

  photographs he could not scrutinize closely but

  he was willing to accept them as genuine. Mr.

  William Henry Chance of New York City was

  probably a senior partner in a large law

  firmafter looking once more at the file Vargas

  would have been shocked if he weren't. All the right

  things were

  in the file. At least the file collectors were

  thorough, if nothing else, Vargas thought. Still,

  Chance's position and profession might be an

  elaborate cover.

  When he finished with the file Vargas returned it to the

  desk drawer just as Chance was summing up. The lawyer

  had charts and graphs. Vargas didn't even glance

  at them. He studied Chance's eyes, the way they

  focused, how they moved, how the muscles tensed and

  relaxed as he talked.

  It was possible, Vargas decided.

  William Henry Chance might be

  CIA.. plus

  Thirty minutes later when Chance was packing his

  charts and graphs to leave he pulled a small

  package from his briefcase and offered it to Vargas.

  "Here's something you might enjoy, General. Sort of

  an executive pacifier. These things are hot right

  now in the States so I picked up 'a few at the

  airport."

  Vargas unwrapped the tissue paper. He was

  looking at a small plastic frame from which three

  odd-shaped crystals dangled, suspended by strings.

  "These crystals are man-made and react

  to differential heatingea"...Chance explained. "You put this

  on the windowsill and the crystals dance around,

  refracting the sunlight. Very colorful."

  "Thank youea"...Vargas said mechanically, and sat the

  toy on his desk.

  When Chance was gone Colonel Santana called

  an aide, who examined the device visually, then

  took it away to be examined electronically.

  An hour later the aide returned with the toy in hand.

  "It is what it appears to be, sir, merely three

  lumps of oddly shaped crystal on strings. The

  crystals and frame are entirely solid;

  they contain nothing."

  "Americans! Executive pacifierff"...Vargas

  said contemptuously.

  Colonel Santana put the toy on a

  south-facing windowsill, watched the crystals dance in

  the sun for a moment, then forgot about it.

  William Henry Chance took his time walking to his

  hotel, the Nacional, a classic 1930's

  masterpiece near Havana harbor. He left his

  locked briefcase in his room, then went

  downstairs to the hotel restaurant, which charged

  truly stupendous amounts of American dollars for

  very modest food. In fact, the only currency the

  hotel staff would accept was American dollars.

  Colorful wooden panels and ceramic accents, and

  peacocks wandering around like refugees from an aviary,

  gave the place an over-the-top Caribbean look,

  Chance thought, sort of South Miami Beach racheted

  one notch too tight.

  Chance ordered a sea bass, blackened and grilled,

  black beans and rice, avocados, and a

  mojito,

  a delicious concoction of lime juice, sugar,

  mint leaves, and rumjust what the doctor

  ordered to prevent scurvy. He savored the fish,

  sipped a second

  mojito,

  contemplated the state of the universe and his fellow

  diners.

  The hotel staff, he knew, were employees of the

  Cuban secret police. When they weren't rushing

  here and there with daiquiris and fruit drinks they worked

  for Yargas, spied on the guests, listened to their

  conversations,, searched their luggage, filled out

  written reports.

  Chance knew the routine. He also knew that the

  Cubans would learn nothing by watching him because there was

  nothing to learn.

  As he drank his second

&n
bsp; mojito

  he carefully reviewed everything Vargas had said

  during his interview. He thought about the general's

  face, the total lack of expression when the

  demise of Fidel Castro was discussed.

  Of course Alejo Vargas knew that Castro was

  dying. He must know. What Vargas didn't know was

  that the CIA was equally aware of Castro's medical

  condition.

  When Chance finished dinner he went out on the

  street for a walk. First he had to work his way through the

  crowd of Cubans loafing around the entrance to the

  hotel. Knots of poor, bored Cubans with

  nothing to do and nowhere to

  go thronged the sidewalks in front of every nightclub

  and casino listening to the music that floated out through open

  doors and windows. Occasionally people danced or sang,

  but mostly they just passed the time chatting and watching the

  tourists, and beggars and prostitutes trying

  to extract dollars from them.

  Several blocks away Chance stopped to buy bread.

  The man who sold him the bread gave him a peso

  in change.

  One peso meant yes, two meant no.

  Chance smiled, nodded his thanks, and walked on.

  The crystal device was working. The vibrations of

  human voices in the room changed the motion of the

  crystals in predictable, minute amounts. When a

  powerful optical device was focused on the

  crystals, the refracted light was processed through a

  computer into human speech. The crystals were a

  totally passive listening device.

  So far so good, Chance reflected, and walked on

  aimlessly, for the exercise, drinking in the sights,

  sounds, and smells of Havana. She was like

  a painted old whore, he thought, trying to keep up

  appearances. The tourist attractions were gay and

  lively, temples of hedonism set in a gray

  communist wasteland.

  Outside the tourist area the city reeked of

  destitution and decay. The crumbling, rotting

  buildings were choked to the rafters with people, often four

  families to every apartment. The people fought daily

  battles to get enough food and basics to sustain

  life. Away from the clubs and hotels, the faces

  of the people were gloomy, drawn, without hope.

  The poison of communism had done its work here, as it

  had in every nation that had ever embraced it. After the

  revolution the government expropriated almost all

  private property, from the vast estates of the rich

  to the corner grocery. Hopeless, grinding poverty

  became nearly universal. Forty years after the