Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba
Page 31
Then he opened the safe, examined its contents with
Santana's flashlight, then turned on his headband
light.
Lots
of papers, files, two shelves of them. The top
shelf consisted of files on people, each file had a
person's name. These were the files he had come to find.
He raked these into his duffel bag.
Ah, on the second shelf... files labeled with
numbers.
He looked inside one. Engineering drawings,
possibly of a warhead...
He dumped everything that looked interesting
into his duffel bag, including the stack of files
on Vargas's desk.
Oh, here was a file about supplies from a Miami
laboratory supply house ... one about
susceptibility studies, lethality, vaccines
... he stuffed all these in the bag, began checking
another handful.
The hell with it! He would take everything..the files
on the bottom shelf might prove as interesting as
those on the top. The bag would be heavy, but he could
lift it. He transferred the files to the bag as
quickly as he could.
When he had all the files, he hoisted the bag
experimentally. Eighty, pounds, at least. Room
for a few more things...
What else did Vargas keep in his safe? A
small laptop computer. Well, he certainly
didn't need that anymore. Into the bag with it.
He was pawing through one of the side drawers when he
sensed movement behind him.
As he turned Santana's fist grazed his jawhis
turn had been just enough to save his life. The headband and
light flew away, somewhere, the little beam flashing around
crazily.
He groped for his sap, swung it in a
roundhouse right and connected with bone.
Santana went sideways to the floor.
No time for this! The man is too dangerous!
He pulled out the Ruger, thumbed off the safety and
was ready when Santana came off the floor again.
The pistol coughed.
Santana's momentum drove his body forward and he
collapsed against Carmellini's feet.
The American stepped around the body. He put the
pistol away, stowed the headband light, zipped the
duffel bag closed.
After a quick last look around, Tommy Carmellini
went
to the door, made sure it would lock behind him. He
came back for the duffel bag, hoisted it to his
left shoulder.
Out in the dark hall, he pulled the door shut,
made sure it was locked, then walked quickly down the
dark hallway for the stairs.
Tommy Carmellini held the Ruger down by his
leg as he descended the stair and walked across the
lobby toward the shadowy figure standing hi the
doorway.
As he walked the lights came on. Instantly an
alarm sounded, loud enough to wake the dead.
He squinted against the light. That was Chance standing hi
the doorway.
"Into the car, quickly nowea"...Chance said. The alarms were
wailing and every light hi the building was on, wiuThat not
a soul in sight. If they could be gone before the
lieutenant and his men got back up here, he
wouldn't have to kill themthey couldn't have seen his face very
well in the darkness.
His watch read 2:04 A.m.
Chance stood in the doorway with euphoria flooding
over him while Carmellini stowed the bag hi the
backseat of the car, got into the driver's seat, and
started the engine. Three long strides, he jerked
open the passenger's door and jumped inside, and
Carmellini fed gas.
The lights hi the rest of the city were still off, however, so
when the car pulled away from the building the night
swallowed it.
"What did you get?"
"I got the safe opentook two drawers full of
files, everything made of paper that was in there, some
files from a desk. Got a laptop, too."
"Well done."
"Someone came hi while I was there. Santana,
I think. Left him for dead."
"I didn't take the time to check, and to be honest,
I really don't care one way or the other. I
put six bullets into the son of a bitch and whaled
on him a while with the sap. If he isn't dead he
ought to be."
Chance flipped on the interior light of the car, just
long enough to check Carmellini's face. "Looks like
he got a piece or two of you."
"Oh, yeah. He was damned quick."
"Did he get a look at your face?"
"I don't think so. Pretty dark. And he's
probably dead. Don't sweat it."
Chance grunted and stared out the window at the dark,
decaying city.
The voyagers on the
Angel del Mar
saw a ship during the night. It came out of one
dark comer of the universe and passed within a half mile
of the derelict as the people aboard shouted and waved the
single working flashlight.
The ship was a freighter of some type, huge, with
lights strung all over the topside and
superstructure. It raced through their world and disappeared
into the void as quickly as it came, leaving the people gasping
on deck, exhausted, starved, devoid of
hope.
A child had died earlier in the evening, just at sunset,
and some of the people aboard had wanted to eat it "She is
beyond caring, and her body can give us life,"eaone man
said, a sentiment several agreed with.
The old fisherman went below to tell Ocho, who was
taking his turn on the pump, which meant he had
to pump out the water that had accumulated because the man
before him could not keep abreast of it, as well as the
water that came in on his watch. He was on the ragged
edge of total exhaustion, but he listened to the old
fisherman as he struggled with the pump handle.
"Maybe..."...Ocho began, but the old man would not
listen.
"To eat her would be sacrilege, the moral death of
every
onp who tastes her flesh or watches others eat
it. All flesh must die, but to face God with that on
our souls would be unforgivable. Come with me!
Come!"
He half dragged Ocho up the ladder. Together they
swung hard fists left and right, reached the corpse,
and tossed it into the sea.
In the fading light the old fisherman stood with his
back to the wheelhouse and shouted at the
others, some too weak to move. He damned them,
dared them, kicked at those who came too close,
punched one man so hard he nearly went overboard.
The child's body floated, supported by the great vast
moving ocean, just out of reach, moving with the rise and
fall of the swells. Some of the people looked at it,
others refused to. When the last of the light faded the
body disappeared into the total darkness.
Ocho went back down the ladder to the hold, which
reeked of vomit and filth. He worked the pump
&nbs
p; handle like an automaton.
Finally the fisherman relieved him, helped him up
the ladder.
He was lying by a scupper when the ship went by. He
roused himself, stood with a hand on the rail, tried
to shout and found he had no voice left.
Then someone tried to push him overboard.
There was no mistake. The hard shove in the back,
the continuing pressure.
Only his raw strength saved him. Ocho turned and
swung blindly, felt his fist connect with cartilage
and bone, swung several more times before the man went
down."
Ocho collapsed from the exertion. He crawled
forward, intent on beating the man as long as
he had strength to swing his fists, but Dora was there,
sobbing, and stopped him.
"No, no, no, my Godff"...she howled. "You are
killing him!"
"He tried to shove me over."
"Oh, damn you, Ocho. If it weren't for you, we
would be safe in Cuba."
"Me?"
"You were Ms ticket out. You! This is your fault."
"And you are blameless. With the baby in your body you
risked your life."
"I am not pregnant! I have never been
pregnant! He made me tell you I was so you would
come."...And she dissolved in sobbing.
Ocho lay in the darkness trying to think, trying to see
the boat and the people as God must see them, looking down
from above. His
Fortunately rain fell occasionally, enough to fill the
bucket and let people drink. Maybe God was sending
the showers.
He was starving, though, and oh so tired.
His whole life had dissolved into nothing and was soon
to end, and he didn't care. He tried to tell
Dora that it didn't matter but he couldn't and she was
sobbing hysterically, and in truth he really
didn't care.
After another turn at the pump, Ocho came back
on deck and looked for Diego and Dora, to say
somethinghe didn't know what, but something that would make
their burdens easier to carry.
But Diego wasn't there. He wasn't in the hold
and he wasn't in the wheelhouse and he wasn't on
deck. Ocho scanned the sea, checking in all
directions, looking for a head bobbing amid the heaving
swells.
Dora was curled
in
a ball near the bow. He shook her.
"Where's Diego?"
She. had a dazed look on her face, as if she
didn't understand the words. He repeated the question several
times.
She looked around, trying to understand.
"I do not see himea"...Ocho said, trying to explain.
"Did he fall overboard?"
She stared at him with eyes that refused to focus.
Her face was vacant, blank. Finally her eyes
focused.
"He climbed the rail last night.
Jumped in the ocean."
Ocho looked again on both sides of the boat,
staggered to the port side so he could look aft past
the wheelhouse. Then he returned.
She was lying down again, curled up, her chin against a
knee.
He left her there, lay down and tried to rest.
"Who did this to you?".
Alejo Vargas asked the question of Colonel
Santana while he lay on a gurney in the
hospital emergency room being propped for
surgery. He had four bullets in him and a wicked
wound on his forehead where a bullet had ricochetted
off his skull. His jaw and one cheekbone were
severely swollen, his nose smashed, he had lost
two teeth, and he obviously had a concussion. The
pupil in his right eye was dilated and refused
to focus.
"I don't knowea"...Santana managed. He tried
to swallow, almost choked on his tongue. After gagging
several times, he seemed to relax.
"American?"
"I do not know. Nothing was said, it was dark. He was
waiting behind the door when I went in."
"One of the bullets penetrated the wall of
his chest, Ministerea"...the doctor said. "We must get
it out and stop the hemorrhaging. He needs a
transfusion and rest."
Vargas left the emergency room. The car drove
him back to the ministry and he took the elevator
to his office.
The workers had the worst of the damage cleaned up.
Still, the door to the safe was standing open and the drawers
within were empty.
The priceless files on the generals and top
government people that had taken twenty years to compile,
gonelike a storm in the night. Every sin known to man
was somewhere in one of those files: marital infidelity,
theft, rape, incest, sodomy, even murder. Those
files were the key to
his power, to his ability to make things happen anywhere
hi Cuba. And now they were gone.
Hector Sedano was his fast suspect. Of course
Hector himself was hi La Cabana, but someone could
have robbed the safe on his behalf.
And it could be one of the generals, or Admiral
Delgado. Any one of those ambitious fools.
Raul Castro? A possibility, but he discounted
it. Then the fact that he thought Raul Castro an
unlikely suspect made him
suspicious. He would have Raul checked, followed
day and night, everyone he spoke to would be
scrutinized.
Truly there was much to do. Much to do.
The electrical outage made the burglary
possible. Four towers down, two dead
saboteurs.
There was a trail out there, and some diligent
investigating would eventually lead him to the man or men
who did this crime.
Not that it would do any good. Whoever had those files would
undoubtedly destroy them immediately.
All his plans, all that work... up hi smoke.
Alejo Vargas didn't believe hi
coincidences. Whoever robbed that safe made
extensive preparations. This was no spur-of-the-moment
thingthe robbery was carefully, meticulously planned.
He looked again at the safe. Not a mark on it.
Someone had dialed the combination. He had heard that such
things were possible, but he had never seen it done.
Nor heard of it being done hi Cuba. Yesterday
he would have said there was not a man hi Cuba with that kind
of talent
And the files on the biological program were gone.
The day after the break-in at the lab.
The lab break-in wasn't Hector's stylehe
would have no reason to burgle the place, nor would
anyone else there was nothing there to steal.
Except poliomyelitis viruses. Would
Hector gain politi-
cal advantage by publicizing the biological
weapons program, proving its existence?
The Americans...
Alejo Vargas stood looking at his empty
safe, thinking about Americans.
The Americans were a possibility, he
reluctantly concluded.
He got a magnifying glass from the top drawer of
his desk, examined the door of the safe as carefully
as he could.
There were marks, scratches, several together. He could
see them. But how long had they been there? What were
they made by?
There was no one to tell him, and he decided finally that
perhaps it didn't matter. The people who opened this safe
and stole the keys to Cuba had brought down the power
grid hi central Havana. That was where the trail
began.
He spent a few seconds hi contemplation of his
revenge when he caught these men.
"Minister, here is Lieutenant G6mez, who
had the duty last night."
"You saw these men, G6mez?"
'Two men arrived just seconds after the lights went
out, sir. I saw the colonel for a few seconds
hi a flashlight beam. The driver, no."
"What did this man look like?"
"He was tall, not fat"
"His accent?"
"None that I noticed, sir."
"Come, come, Lieutenant. Was he from Cuba, from
Havana or Oriente, or did he speak
Castilian Spanish?"
"From Havana, I thought, sir. He sounded like you and
me."
"What did he say?"
"That we should start the emergency generator."
"So you did?"
"Yes, sir. Without power the alarms were disabled, we
could not talk to each other on the telephone, the
security
of-the building was compromised. My men and I went
to the basement and worked on the generator. I came
back upstairs once and reported to the colonel,
told him we were having difficulties; he
said he had faith. When we got the generator going
and went back upstairs, the colonel and his driver
and vehicle were gone."
"You had never seen this colonel before?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir."" "Would you recognize him
if you saw him again?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
No, he wouldn't, Vargas decided. If this
colonel thought there was a glimmer of a chance
Lieutenant G6mez would recognize him then
or later, he would have killed him. G6mez was
alive because he posed no threat.
Vargas dismissed G6mez and called in his
department heads to give them orders.
With no ceremony and no conversation, Mercedes
Sedano was released from the presidential palace.
A butler came to the door, suggested she pack.
The electrical power was still off. It had been off
when she awoke this morning, and she was given stale
bread and water for breakfast.
She put the clothes she wished to keep in two
shopping bags that were on the floor of the closet,
sandwiched the cassettes in between them, and took a last