by Cuba (lit)
promised to bring her something expensive from a
jeweler, and that promise pacified her.
The flight attendant brought the glass of wine and
he sipped it, then put his head back in the seat and
closed his eyes. Ah, yes,
He had a new identity hi his wallet: an
Argentine passport, driver's license and
identity papers, a birth certificate, several
valid credit cards, a bank account and a real
address in Buenos Aires, all in the name of
Eduardo Jos6 Lopez, a nice common surname.
This identity had been constructed years before and
serviced regularly so that he might move money
around the globe when drug smugglers sought
to pay Fidel Castro. Becoming the good Senor
Lopez would be as easy as presenting the passport
when checking into a hotel.
He had the papers for two other identities in a
safe deposit box in Lausanne, across the lake
from Geneva.
Maxlmo Sedano fingered the bank transfer cards
one more time, then reclined his seat.
How does it feel to be rich? Damned good, thank
you very much,
Lord, it was tempting. Just walk away with the money as
Senor Lopez, and poof! disappear into thin air.
And yet, the gold was there for the taking. His plans were
made, his allies ready... all he had to do was
find the gold and get it out of the country.
He reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and savored
the feeling of being rich.
* * *
Dona Sedano was sitting on her porch, inhaling the
gentle aroma of the tropical flowers that grew around
her porch in profusion and watching the breeze stir the
petals, when she saw Hector walking down the
road. He turned in at her gate and came up
to the porch.
After he kissed her he sat on the top
step, leaned back so he could see her face.
"Why aren't you in school, teaching"..."...she asked.
He made a gesture, looked away to the north,
toward the sea.
There was nothing out that way but a few treetops waving
in the wind, with puffy clouds floating overhead.
He turned back to look into her face, reached for
her hand. "Ocho went on a boat.two nights
ago. They were trying to reach the Florida Keys."
"Did they make it?"
"I don't know. If they make it we won't hear
for days. Weeks perhaps. If they don't reach
Florida we may never hear."
Dona Maria leaned forward and touched her son's
hair. Then she put her twisted hands back in her
lap.
'Thank you for telling me."
"Ocho should have told you."
"Good-byes can be difficult."
"I suppose."
"You are the brightest of my sons, the one with the most
promise. Why didn't you go to America,
Hector? You had plenty of chances. Why did you
stay hi this hopeless place?"
"Cuba is my home."...He gestured
helplessly. "This is the work God has given me
to do."
Dona Maria gently massaged her hands. Rubbing
them seemed to ease the pain sometimes.
"I might as well tell you the rest of
itea"...Hector said. "Ocho got a girl
pregnant. He went on the boat with the
girl and her father. The father wants Ocho to play
baseball in America."
"Pregnant?"
"Ocho told me, made me promise not to tell.
He did not confess to me as a priest but as a
brother, so I am exercising an older brother's
prerogativeI am breaking that promise."
She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment.
"If God is with them, they may make it across the
Straitsea"...Hector said. "There is always that
hope."
Tears ran down her cheeks.
It was at that moment that Dona Maria saw the human
condition more clearly than she ever had before. She and
Hector were two very mortal people trapped
by circumstance, by fate, between two vast eternities.
The past was gone, lost to them. The people they loved who were
dead were gone like smoke, and they had only
memories of them. The future was ... well, the
future was unknowable, hidden in the haze. Here there was
only the present, this moment, these two mortal people with
their memories of all that had been.
Hector stroked his mother's hair, kissed her
tears, then went down the walk to the road. When he
looked back his mother was still sitting where he had left
her, looking north toward the sea.
Ocho was probably dead, Hector realized,
another victim of the Cuban condition.
When, O Lard, when will it stop? How many more people must
drown in the sea? How many more lives must be blighted
and ruined by the lack of opportunity here? How many more
lives must be sacrificed on the altar of
political ambition?
As he walked toward the village bus stop, he
lifted his hands and roared his rage, an angry shout
mat was lost in the cathedral of the sky.
The pain was there, definitely there, but it wasn't
cutting at him, doubling him over. Fidel Castro
made them get him up, had them put him in a chair
behind his desk. He wanted the flag to his right
Mercedes and the nurse helped him into his green
fatigue shirt.
He was perspiring then, gritting his teeth
to get through this.
"Do you know what you want to say"..."...Mercedes
asked.
"I think so."
The camera crew was fiddling with the lights, arranging
power cords.
"I want to say something to you, right nowea"...she
whispered, "while you are sharp and not heavily
sedated."
His eyes went to her.
"I love you, Fidel. With all my heart."
"And I you, woman. Would that we had more time."
"Ah, time, what a whore she is. We had each
other, and mat was enough."
He bit his lip, reached for her hand. "If only
we had met years ago, before"
He winced again. "Better start the tapeea"...he
said. "I haven't much time."...He straightened,
gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles
turned white.
With the lights on, Fidel Castro looked
straight into the camera, and spoke: "Citizens of
Cuba, I speak to you today for the last time. I am
fatally ill and my days on this earth will soon be
over. Before I leave you, however, I wish
to spend a few minutes telling you of my dream for
Cuba, my dream of what our nation can become in the
years ahead...."
The door opened and Alejo Vargas walked hi.
Behind him was Colonel Pablo Santana.
"Well, well,
Senor Presidente. I
heard you were making a speech to the video cameras this
afternoon. Do not mind us; please continue. We will
remain silent spectators, out
of die sight of the camera, two loyal Cubans
representing millions of other
s."
"I did not invite you here, Vargas.""...'True, you
did not,
Senor Presidente.
But things seem to be slipping away from you these
daysimportant things. The world will not stop turning on
its axis while you lie in bed taking drugs."
"Get out! This is my office."
Alejo Vargas settled into a chair. He turned
to the camera crew. 'Turn that thing off. The lights
too. Then you may take a short break. We will
call you when we want you to return."
The extinguishment of the television lights made the
room seem very dark.
Colonel Santana escorted the technicians"
from the room and closed the door behind them. He stood
with his back against the door, his arms crossed.
"If you are pushing the button near your knee
to summon the security staff, you are wasting your
timeea"...Vargas said. "Members of my staff have
replaced them."
"Say what you want, then get outea"...Castro said.
Vargas got out a cigarette, lit it, taking his
time. "I am wondering about Maximo Sedano. The
night before last he was here, you signed something for him,
he left this morning on a plane to Madrid, with a
continuation on to Zurich. What was that all about?"
Fidel said nothing. Mercedes noticed that he was
perspiring again.
"I am in no rushea"...Vargas said. "I have all the
time in the world."
Fidel ground his teeth. "He went to move
funds. On a matter of interest to the Finance
Ministry."
"The question is, where will the funds end up when their
electronic journey is over? Tell me that,
please."
"In the government's accounts in the Bank of
Cuba, in Havana."
"I ask this question because the man who was here last
night did not see you check the account numbers in
any book or ledger. You have the account numbers
memorized?"
"No."
"So in reality you don't know where Maximo
Sedano will wire the money?"
"He is a trustworthy man. Loyal. I cannot
be everywhere, see everything, and must trust people. I have
trusted people all my Me."
"How much money are we talking about,
Senor PresidenteThat
"I don't know."
"Millions?"
"Yes."
"Tens of millions?"
"Yes."
"Dios mio,
our Maximo must be a saint! I wouldn't trust my
own mother with that kind of money."
"I wouldn't trust your mother with a drunken
sailorea"...Mercedes said. "Not if he had two
centavos in his pocket."...She handed some pills
to Castro, who glanced down at them.
"Water, pleaseea"...he whispered. He
put the pills on the desk in front of him.
Vargas continued: "If we ever see the face of
Maximo Sedano again,
Senor Presidente,
you have me to thank. I am having one of my men meet
the finance minister in Zurich. We will try to convince
Maximo to do his duty to his country."
Mercedes handed Fidel a glass of water. He
picked up several of the pills, put them in his mouth,
then swallowed some water. Then he put the last
pill in his mouth and took another swig.
Vargas was a moral nihilist, Castro thought,
a man who believed in nothing. There were certainly
plenty of those. He had known what Vargas was for many
years and had used nun anyway because he was good at his
job, which
STEPHEN COONTS
was a miserable one.
We entrusted it to a swine so that we need not dirty
our hands.
Another mistake.
"I need restea"...he said, and tried to rise.
"Noea"...Vargas said fiercely. He leaned on the
desk with both hands, lowered his face near Fidel.
"You still have a statement to make before the
cameras."
"Nothing for you."
"You think you have nothing to lose, do you not? You think,
Alejo could kill me, but what is that? He merely
speeds up the inevitable."
Fidel looked Vargas square in the eye. "I
should have killed you years and years agoea"...he said. He
took his hands from the arms of his chair and wrapped them
around his stomach.
"There is no regret as bitter as the murder you
didn't commit. How true that is! But you didn't
kill me because you needed me, Fidel,. needed me
to ferret out your enemies, find who was whispering against
you and bring you then* names. Help you shut their mouths,
cut out the rot without killing the tree.
"Kill me? Without me how would you have kept your
wretched subjects loyal? Who would have kept these
miserable
guajiros
starving on this sandy rock in the sea's middle from
cutting the flesh from your bones? Who would have provided
the muscle to keep you in office when the Russians
abandoned you and nothing went right? When everything you touched
backfired?
"Kill me?
Ha!
That would have been like killing yourself.
"Now I have come for mine. Not centavos, like in the
past. I want what is mine for keeping you in power
all these years, for keeping the peasants from slicing
your throat when in truth that was precisely what you
deserved. You are a miserable failure, Fidel,
as a man and as a servant of Cuba. And you are
going to die a revered old manGod,
what a joke! Hailed as the Cuban Washington
for the next ten centuries...."
Vargas sneered.
"Now still have the power of life or death, Fidel. I
think you will make your statement in front of the camera.
You will name me, Alejo Vargas, your loyal,
trusted minister of interior as your successor; you will
plead with all loyal Cubans everywhere
to recognize the wisdom of your choice."
Sweat ran in rivulets from Fidel's face,
dripped from his beard. His voice came out a hoarse
whisper. "Forty years" service to my country, and
you expect me to hand Cuba over to you? To rape
tilde for your profit? Not on your life."
"Don't be a fool. You have nothing to bargain with."
"Kill me. See what you gamea"...Fidel
said, his voice barely audible.
"You'll die soon enough, never fear. But before you do
Colonel Santana will butcher Mercedes on this
table while you watch."
"Have you no honor?"
"Don't talk to me of honor. You have told so many
lies you can't remember ever telling the truth. You have
profaned the Church, denied God, sent loyal
Cuban soldiers to die in Angola, demanded that
generation after generation give their blood to fulfill your
destiny as Cuba's savior. You have impoverished a
nation, reduced them to beggary to salve your ego. I
spit on you and all that you would have us become."
And he did.
Fidel brought a hand up
to wipe away the
spittle. "Fuck youff"...he whispered.
"And you too,
Lider Maximal"
Vargas shot back. "I do not pretend to be
God's other son, strutting in green fatigues and
spouting platitudes while the people worship me. But
enough of this. Before we get to the camera, tell me where the
gold is."
"The gold?"
STEPHEN COONTS
"The gold, Fidel. The gold from the peso coins
that the Ministry of Finance melted down into ingots, the
gold ingots that you and Che and Edis Lopez and
Jos6 Otero carried away. How much gold was
there? Forty or fifty tons? You certainly
didn't spend it on the people of Cuba. Where is it?"
A grimace twisted Castro's lips, "You'll
never find it, that's for certain. Edis and Jos6
died within weeks of Che. I am the only living
person who knows where mat gold is; I am taking
the secret to my grave."
"The gold isn't yours."
"Nor is it yours, you son of a pig."
"We will let you watch us cut up Mercedes. We
will make a tiny incision on her abdomen, pull out
a loop of small intestine. I will ask you questions, and
every time you refuse to answer Colonel Santana will
pull out more intestine. You will tell us everything we
want-to know or we will see what her insides
look like. Colonel?"
Santana grabbed Mercedes by the arms. With one hand
he grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it from
her body.
Fidel Castro's jaw moved. Then he went
limp, slumping in his chair.
"Fideir
Mercedes screamed.
Vargas leaped for Castro, pried open his jaw and
raked a piece of celluloid from his mouth with his
finger.
"Poisonea"...he said disgustedly. He felt
Castro's wrist for a pulse.
"Stone cold dead."...He tossed down the wrist and
turned toward Mercedes.
"You
gave him the poison! He had the capsule in his
mouth."
Alejo Vargas slapped her as hard as he could.
"And this is for insulting my mother,
puta backslash was
He slapped her again so hard she went to her knees,
the side of her face numb. "If you do it again I
will cut your tongue outea"...he added, his voice almost a
hiss.
Then Vargas took a deep breath and steadied himself.
The sight of Fidel Castro's corpse drained the
rage from bun and filled him with adrenaline, ready
for the race to his destiny. He had waited all his
life for this moment and now it was here.
"Listen to misea"...the technician said, and