Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

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