by Cuba (lit)
look around the apartment. The butler returned five
minutes later and led her out. Without
electricity the palace looked dark and grim.
She wanted desperately to be gone, to bring an end
to this phase of her life. She bit her lip to keep
herself under control.
The butler paused in an empty hallway, looked
around to ensure that there were no maids about, then
whispered, "They've arrested your brother-in-law
Hector Sedano. He is in La Cabana."
Then he took her to the door of the palace, said a
barely audible good-bye, and closed the door behind
her.
She walked past the guards and continued down the
street to the bus stop. The electrical power
seemed off everywhere, yet the streets of Havana
hustled and bustled as usual. Didn't they know
Fidel was dead?
She dared not ask.
On the bus she saw a newspaper lying on a
nearby seat and scanned the front page. The
usual stuff, nothing about Fidel.
So they had not announced his death.
She transferred to another bus, left her clothes
with a friend in a shop on the Malecon. The shop was
closed because of the lack of electricity, but Mercedes
tapped on the window until her friend came
to open the door.
Her friend was very agitated. She drew Mercedes into the
tiny dark storeroom. "I have heard they arrested
Hector. What does it mean?"
"I do not knowea"...Mercedes told her, shaking her
head.
"Hector's friends are on fireea"...sd the
shopkeeper, "and he has many, many friends. I heard
there was a riot in Mariel after he was arrested. The
newspapers have nothing on it, yet the story is on
everyone's lips. People are coming in, asking me about it,
because they know I know you."
Mercedes assured the woman she knew nothing, that
she was as mystified as everyone on the street.
She rode buses through the city to La Cabana.
The guard at the gate recognized her name and sent
a man to fetch the duty officer, a Captain
Franqui. He treated her with respect, took
her to his office, a dark cubicle near the gate,
and sent a note to the commandante. While the note was
being delivered he apologized for the lack of
electricity. "It has not been off this long in
years."
In five minutes she and Franqui were in the
commandante's office. He was a
heavy-set, balding officer who looked as if he were
frightened of his own shadow.
"I have my ordersea"...he said. "I cannot admit you.
He is to see no one."
"Fidel sent meea"...she said simply, without
inflection. "Hector is my brother-in-law."
The commandante looked as if wild horses were trying
to tear him in half. Obviously he knew of the
relationship between Mercedes and caret Fidel. The
blood drained from his florid comface as he weighed
his fear of Fidel against his fear of Vargas.
Captain Franqui understood the commandante's
dilemma. "Perhaps, if I may be so bold, sir,
it might be best if you were indisposed, at lunch
perhaps, and I acted on my own initiative in light
of the lady's impeccable credentials."
The commandante grasped at this straw. "I cannot be
everywhere or make every decision, can I?"
"No,
sit.
If you will excuse us"..."...Captain Franqui took
Mercedes's elbow and steered her expertly from the
office into the hallway.
"I myself am an admirer of Hector
Sedanoea"...Captain Franqui confided as they
walked. "He is a great patriot and a man of
God. Surely he will serve Cuba well in the
years ahead."
After several minutes of platitudes, she found
herself standing hi front of Hector's cell
in
the isolation wing. None of the other cells contained people.
Captain Franqui disappeared, leaving the two of
them alone.
"Are they listening"..."...she whispered.
"Probably notea"...he said. "The electricity is
off, and they would need it to listen."
"How long*h you been here?"
"Two days. For two days I've been sitting
alone hi this hole. No one comes to see me."
'They will admit no one. I told them Fidel had
sent me, and the commandante was afraid to refuse."
"Ah, yes, Fidel."
"He is dead."
"I am sorry, Mercedesea"...he said softly, so
softly she almost missed his words.
"It had to happen. He and I both knew it,
accepted it."
Hector sighed. "That explains my
arrest, then."
'Two days ago."
"The cancer finally, eh?"
"Poison! He poisoned himself rather than make a
tape naming Vargas as his successor."
Hector crossed himself.
"It was not a sinea"...she said, desperate to explain.
"He merely speeded things up a few days."
Hector leaned forward, let his forehead touch the
cool steel bars.
"I heard there was a riot in Mariel after you were
arrested."...Her voice was very soft, a whisper in
church.
"I did not know that."
"A fr'told me."
"Have you heard from Ocho?"
"Nothing. Is he not at home?"
"He went on a boat with some others. They were going
to America."
"I have heard nothing."
Hector sagged, fought to stay erect. He looked
so ... so different from Fidel, Mercedes thought.
He was not tall, vigorous, oozing machismo. And
yet Fidel thought Hector could lead Cuba!
She got as close to the bars as she could, and
whispered, "I need to talk to the Americans as
soon as possible. Should I see the little man you
gave the Swiss bank account numbers to? The
stadium keeper?"
"He might betray you. He talks to Vargas
too. I tried to frighten him, and may have succeeded
too well."
"Who, then?"
"Go to the American mission. Ask for the cultural
aide, I think his name is Bouchard. He is
CIA, I believe."
"Fidel signed bank transfer orders for
Maximo, who went flying off to Switzerland, just as
we thought he would. I have not heard if he got the
money."
"He will not come back if he gets itea"...Hector
said.
"Maximo would steal itea"...she agreed. "But do you think
the Americans will ever give the money back?"
"I have heard their courts are fair. I would rather try
to get the money back from them than from Maximo."
She nodded at that.
"Why do you want to talk to the Americans
now"..."...Hector asked.
She told him.
The secret police had the bodies of the two
saboteurs laid out in the basement of police
headquarters when Vargas saw them. Two
Latin-looking males who had spent many years in the
&nbs
p; United States, from the look of their dental work.
Exiles, probably.
Vargas examined their clothes, which were in a pile, and
stirred through the contents of the van. He examined the
chemical timers and C-4 shaped charges, the guns
and electrical tape, and tossed everything back on
the table.
CIA.
No doubt in bis mind.
Four extra-high-voltage towers had collapsed,
killing power to the two substations that fed central
Havana and the government office buildings located
there.
A neat and tidy operation.
And as soon as the power went off, a team of
burglars entered the Interior Ministry and robbed the
safe in his office, carrying away files that he had
spent twenty years collecting.
The Americans.
And he had not an iota of proof, nor would he ever
get any.
The burglars also stole bis laptop computer, and the
thought of its loss gave him pause. Certainly not
as valuable as the files, the laptop had many things
on it he wished the Americans did not have.
He had used the computer to derive the
trajectories for the missiles" guidance
systems, which had to be reprogram-
med when the warheads were changed, the new biological
warheads being significantly lighter than the old
nuclear ones. Still, if the Americans didn't know
about the missiles, perhaps they wouldn't pay much
attention to that file.
What the burglary showed, Alejo Vargas
concluded, was that time was short. The Americans could
move fast and decisivelyto win the game he was
going to have to move faster.
I'm ready,
he told himself.
Now is the hour.
"I am Bouchard, the cultural attache."
Mercedes Sedano smiled, shook the offered hand.
"Please sit down."...Bouchard looked
embarrassed, as if he rarely entertained
visitors in this small office, which was packed with
Cuban magazines and newspapers. Four
candles sat atop the piles. "The power is still
out," he said by way of explanation. "And the emergency
generator ran out of fuel an hour ago."
"I don't know how to begin, Doctorea"...she said.
"I am not a real doctorea"...he said
apologetically. "I am a scholar."
"My brother-in-law is Hector
Sedanoea"...she explained. "He said I should come
to you."
"My work is strictly cultural, senora. I
work for the American state department studying the
culture of Cuba. I cannot imagine how I could be
of service to you, or anybody else. I write
studies of Cuban music, literature,
drama...."
"I know nothing about die branches of the American
governmentea"...she said.
Bouchard smiled. "I know very little myselfea"...he
confided.
"You still haven't asked why I am here."
"I ask now, sefiora. What may I do for
you?"
"My brother-in-law, Hector Sedano, says
you work for the CIA. He"
Bouchard was horrified. His hands came
up, palms out.
"Senora, you have been severely misinformed. As I
have just explained, I am a scholar who"
"Yes, yes. I understand. But I have a problem that"
He clapped his hands over his ears. "No, no,
no. You have made a great mistakeea"...he said.
She sat calmly, waiting for him to lower his hands.
When he saw that she was not going to speak, he did so.
"I must show you my workea"...Bouchard said, and dug into a
drawer. He came up with a handful of paper, which he
thrust at her. "I recently completed a major
study of"
She refused to touch the paper. "Fidel Castro
is deadea"...she said.
Bouchard froze. After a few seconds he
remembered the paper in his hand and laid it on top
of the nearest pile.
"I was there when he died. We were filming a statement
to the Cuban people, a political will, if you
please."...She produced two videotapes from her
large purse and laid them on the nearest pile.
"He died before he finished his speechea"...she
explained. "Which is inconvenient and, in a larger
sense, tragic."
"I
assure
you, Sefiora Sedano, that I am a poor
scholar, mediocre hi every sense, employed here hi
Cuba because I tired of the publish-or-perish
imperative of the academic world. My work is of little
import to the United States government or anyone
else. still
do not work for the CIA.
There has been some mistake."
Mercedes maintained a polite silence until he
ran out of words, then she said, "Fidel and I
watched an American movie a few months ago,
about dinosaurs in a parkan extraordinary story and
an extraordinary film. We marveled at the
magic that could make dinosaurs so lifelike upon the
screen. It was almost as if the moviemakers had some
dinosaurs to film. Perhaps the magic had something to do
with computers. However they did it, they made something
mat had been dead a very long time come back
to life."
Bouchard didn't know what to say. Agency
regulations did not permit him to tell anyone
outside the agency who
his employer was. He twisted his hands as
he tried to decide how he should handle this woman who
refused to listen to his denials.
"Did you say something"..."...she asked.
"I don't like moviesea"...Bouchard muttered. "There
are no good actors these days."
"Perhaps not livingea"...sd Mercedes Sedano. "But you
must admit the magicians have given new life to some
dead ones. You and your friends could perform a great
service for Cuba if you would take these
videotapes to the moviemakers and let them bring
Fidel back to life. For just a little while."
Bouchard picked up the cassettes,- held them in
his hands as he examined them.
"I dissuppose the cultural attach caret might
be able to pass these things alongea"...Bouchard admitted.
"What is it you wish Fidel had lived to say?"
Mercedes nodded. She looked Bouchard straight in
the eyes and told him.
Maximo Sedano huddled in bis great padded leather
chair at the Finance Ministry staring out at the
Havana skyline. He took another sip of
rum, eased the position of his injured hand. He was
holding it pointed straight up. The doctor who
set the broken bones in bis fingers assured him
elevating the hand would help keep the
swelling down.
That pig Santana! He whipped out his pistol and
smashed it down on the fingers of Maximo's left
hand so quickly Maximo didn't even think of jerking
it away. Three broken fingers.
Then the son of a bitch laughed! And Vargas
laughed.
Vargas had whispered in his ear: "You
aren't going
to be the next president of Cuba, Maximo. You
have no allies. Delgado and Alba will obey me
to then- dying day, as you will. You have a wife and daughter
and your health. Be content with that."
He said nothing.
"Your brother Hector is in prison charged with
sedition. I suggest you meditate upon that fact."
Maximo sipped some more ram.
His fingers hurt like hell. The doctor gave him a
local anesthetic and a half dozen pills when he
set the fingers, but now the anesthetic was wearing off and the
pills weren't doing much good.
He probably shouldn't be drinking rum while taking
these pills, but what the hell. A man has to die
only once.
Where was the $53 million?
Somewhere on the other side of the black hole that was the
Swiss banking system.
Face facts, Maximo. You can kiss those bucks
good-bye. Those dollars might as well be on the
back side of the moon.
He spent some time dwelling on what might have been
he was only humanbut after a while those dreams
faded. The reality was the pain in his hand, and the fact that
he was stuck hi this Third World hellhole and would
soon be out of a job. Whatever government followed
Fidel would appoint a new finance minister.
He had no chance of succeeding Castro, and he let
go of that fantasy too. He didn't have the allies
hi high places, he wasn't well enough known, and
if he had been he would be in a cell beside Hector
this very minute.
Hector's plight didn't cause bun much
concern. He and Hector had never been close, had
never had much in common. Well, to be frank, they
loathed each other.
A pigeon landed on the ledge outside his window.
He watched it idly. It searched the ledge for
food, found none, then took eff.
Maximo watched it. The pigeon circled the
square hi front of the ministry and landed on
a statue that stood near the front door. Maximo
had never liked the statue, some Greek goddess with a
sword. Still, it gave the building a certain tone,
so he had never ordered it moved.
Statues. At least he got the goddess instead of
that
larger-than-life bust of Fidel that the Ministry of
Agriculture
He stared at the goddess. She was made of
bronze. Some kind of metal that had turned green
as the rain and sun and salt from the sea worked on it.
The bust of Fidel in front of the Ministry of
Agriculture was of course manufactured and