by Cuba (lit)
least acceptance by a significant percentage of the
population.
"I propose to move on two fronts. I will
send a delegate to Hector Sedano, see if
he can be enlisted to endorse me. Getting out of
prison will be an inducement, of course, but one can't
rely on anything that flimsy. I thought of naming him
as ambassador to the Vatican."
"That would be a popular moveea"...Alba thought, and
Delgado agreed.
"All my adult life I have been a student of
Fidel Castro's political wilesea"...Vargas
continued. "I learned many things from watching the master.
This may seem to you gentlemen to be heresy, but without
the United States, Castro would have lasted
only a few years in powerhad the world turned in the
usual way he would have been overthrown by a coup or
mass uprising when it became obvious that he could not
deliver on his promises. Fidel Castro
survived because he had a scapegoat: he had the
United States to blame for all our
difficulties."
"One should not say things like that publicly, but there is
much truth in that observation."
"The Yanquis never failed to play their part in
Fidel's little dramasea"...Delgado agreed, and
everyone in the room laughed, even Santana.
When his audience was again attentive, Alejo
Vargas
continued: "I propose to unite the Cuban people against
the United States one more time, and this time I shall be out
in front leading them."
Jake Grafton had dinner that evening with the commanding
officers of the units in the battle group. In
addition to the skippers of the ships, the marine landing force
commander, Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt, and the
air wing commander aboard
United States
were also there. Held in the carrier's flag wardroom,
the dinner was one of those rare official
functions when everyone relaxed enough to enjoy themselves.
Surrounded by fellow career officers, Admiral
Grafton once again felt that sense of belonging
to something bigger than the people who comprised it that had charmed
him about the service thirty years ago. The
tradition, the camaraderie, the sense of engaging in
an activity whose worth could not be measured in
dollars or years of service made the brutally
long hours, the family separations, and the demands of
service life somehow easier to endure.
He was basking in that glow when one of his aides
slipped in a side door and handed him a
top-secret flash message from Washington.
Jake put on his glasses before he took the
message from the folder.
He scanned the message, then read it again slowly.
Ballistic missiles in Cuba, biological
warheads, Castro dead comhe thanked the aide, who
left the room.
Jake read the message again very carefully as me
afterdinner conversation buzzed around him. The message
ordered him to stage commando raids on the suspected
ballistic missile sites, "as soon as
humanly possible, before the missiles can be launched
at the United States."
"Gentlemen, let us adjourn to the flag
spacesea"...Jake Grafton said, and led the commanders
from the wardroom.
When the group was together in the flag spaces, with the
door closed behind them, Jake said, "The course of
human events has catapulted us straight
into another mess. I just received this message from
Washington."...He read it
to them. When he finished, no one said anything. Jake
folded the message and returned it to the red folder.
He turned to the captains of the two Aegis-class
guidedmissile cruisers that were assigned to his
battle group:
"I want you to get underway as soon as you get
back to your ships. Take your ships through the
Windward Passage, then proceed at flank
speed to a position between the island of Cuba and the
Florida Keys that allows you to engage and destroy
any missiles fired from Cuba toward the United
States. Make every knot you can squeeze out of your
ships. Every minute counts. When you come up with an
estimated time of arrival, send it to me. We
won't lift a finger against the Cubans until both
your ships are in position."
He shook hands with the captains, and they
strode out of the room.
"The rest of us might as well get comfortable.
Looks like we are in for a long evening."
Ocho Sedano looked at it for fifteen minutes
before the thought occurred to him that he should find out what it
was. Something white, floating perhaps fifteen feet
away, slightly off to his right.
Now that the existence of the white thing had registered on
his consciousness, he made the effort to turn, to stroke
toward it.
He had been in the water all day. The sun would
soon be down and he would be alone on die sea.
After the sharks this morning there had been only Ocho
and the old man; now the fisherman no longer answered
his calls. Hadn't for several hours, in fact.
Maybe he just drifted out of hailing range, Ocho
thought. That must be it.
The sharks killed all the others, sparing only the
two men who had gone off the sinking boat first and
swam away from the group. At least he thought the
others were dead he had no way of knowing the truth of
it.
He had thought about the decision to swim away from the
sinking
Angel del Mar
all day, off and on, trying to
decide just what instinct had told him and the old man
to get away from the others. Drowning people often drag under
anyone they can reachno doubt that knowledge was a factor in the
old man's thinking, in his thinking, for he did not
want to put the respensibility for his life on
anyone but himself.
Perhaps those who were attacked by the sharks were the lucky
ones. Their ordeal was over.
Dorahad she been one of them?
Diego Coca was already dead, of course. He
died... a day or two ago... didn't he?
Jumped into the sea and swam away from the
Angel del Mar.
Ah, Diego, you ass. I hope you are burning in
hell.
He reached for the white thing, which of course skittered out
of reach. He paddled some more, reached up under it.
A milk jug. A one-gallon plastic milk
jug without a cap, floating upside down.
Apparently intact. He lifted the milky white
plastic jug from the sea, let the water drain out,
then lowered it into the water. The thing made a powerful
float.
He pulled it toward him.
Hard to hold on to, but very buoyant.
How could he hold it, use the power of its
buoyancy to keep himself afloat through the night?
Inside his shirt? He worked comthe jug down, Jried
to get it under his sh
irt. The thing escaped once, shot
out of the water. He snagged it, tried it again.
The second time he got it under his shirt. The thing
tried to push him over backward, but if he leaned
into it, he could keep his weight pretty much balanced
over it. Then he could just float, ride without effort.
As long as he could keep the open neck facing
downward, the jug would keep him up.
Ocho was celebrating his good fortune when a swell
tipped him over. He fought back upright, adjusted
the jug in the evening light.
Maybe he should just forget the jughe seemed to be working
as hard staying over it as he did treading water.
With the last rays of the sun in his face, he decided
to keep the jug, learn to ride it.
"I'm going to be rescuedea"...he said silently
to himself, "going to be rescued. I must just have
patience."
After a bit he added, "And faith in the Lord."
Ocho was a Catholic, of course, but he had never
been one to pray much. He wondered if he
should pray now. Surely God knew about the mess
he was inwhat could he conceivably tell Him that He
didn't already know?
In the twilight the water became dark. Still restless,
still rising and falling, but dark and black as the grave.
He would probably die this night. Sometime during the
night he would go to sleep and drown or a shark would
rip at him or he would just run out of will. He was oh
so very tired, a lethargy that weighed on every muscle.
Tonight,
he thought.
But I don't want to die. I want to live!
Please, God, let me live one more day. If
I am not rescued tomorrow, then let me die tomorrow
night.
That was a reasonable request. His strength would give
out by tomorrow night anyway.
The last of the light faded from the sky, and he was alone
on the face of the sea.
La Cabana Prison was an old pile of
masonry. In the hot, humid climate of Cuba
the interior was cool, a welcome respite from the
heat. Yet in the dark corridors filled with
stagnant air the odor of mold and decay seemed
almost overpowering. The iron bars and grates
and cell doors were wet with condensation and covered with
layers of rust.
During the day small windows with nearly opaque,
dirty glass admitted what light there was. At
night naked bulbs hanging where two corridors
met or an iron gate barred the way lit the
interior; and for whole stretches of corridors and
cells there was no light at all.
Hector Sedano saw the flashlight even before he
heard people coming along the corridor. One flashlight
and two
or three, maybe even four peopleit was
difficult to tell.
The flashlight led the visitors to this cell, and it
turned to pin him on the cot.
"There he is."
"I will talk to him alone."
"Yes,
Senor Presidente."
One man remained standing in the semidarkness outside
the cell after the others left. After the flashlight
Hector's eyes adjusted slowly. Now he could
see himAlejo Vargas.
Vargas lit a short cigarillo. As he struck
the match Hector closed his eyes, and
kept them closed until he smelled tobacco
smoke and heard Vargas's voice.
"Father Sedano, we meet again."
Hector thought that remark didn't deserve a
reply.
"I seem to recall a conversation we had, whattwo
or three years ago"..."...Vargas said thoughtfully. "I
told you that religion and politics don't mix."
"You even had a biblical quote ready to fire
at me, Mark twelve-seventeen. Most
unexpected."
"You didn't take my advice."
"No."
"You don't often follow advice, do you?"
"No."
"I came here tonight to see if you wish to make your
peace with Caesar and join my cabinet, perhaps as our
ambassador to the Church."
"You're the president now?"
'Temporarily, Until the election."
"Then the title will become permanent."
"I don't think anyone will want to run against me."
"Perhaps not."
"But let's take it a day at a time. Temporary
acting president Vargas asks you to serve
your country in this capacity."
"And if I say no?"
STEPHEN COONTS
"I want to sleep with a clean conscience, which is
why I came here tonight to make the offer."
"Your conscience is easily cleansed if that is all
it takes."
"It does not trouble me too much."
"A man who lives as you do, a lively conscience
would hurt worse than a bad tooth."
"So your answer is no."
"That it is."
"But at least you considered my offer, so I can sleep
knowing you chose your own fate."
"My fate is in God's hands."
"Ah, if only I had the time to discuss religion
with you, an intelligent, learned man. Time does not
allow me that luxury. Still, I have one other little thing
to discuss with you, and I caution you, this is not the time for a
yes or no answer. This thing you must think about very
carefully and give me your answer later."
Sedano scratched his head. Vargas probably
couldn't see past the glow of his cigarillo tip, so
it didn't matter much what he did.
"I want to know what Fidel did with the
gold from the pesos. I want you to tell me."
"Me? I was six years old when he melted the
gold, if he did."
"I think you know. I think Fidel told
Mercedes, and Mercedes told you. So I have come
to ask you where it is. Will you tell me?"
"She didn't tell me about gold."
"I should not have asked so quickly. I told myself I
would not do that, then I did. I apologize. I will
ask you later, when you have had time to think about the question and
all the implications."
"I can't tell you what I don't know."
"Well, think about it; that is all I ask. Of
course I will talk to Mercedes. I think she also
told you or the CIA about Fidel's Swiss
bank accounts. When Maximo went to get the money
it was not there. I would like to have been there
to see the look on Maximo's faceah, yes,
that
was a moment, my friend!"
He chuckled, then drew on the cigarillo, made
the tip glow.
"Maximo thinks the Swiss stole it; he is very
gullible. I smell the CIA. The CIA could
reach into Swiss banks as easily as you and
I breathe."
'The world is quite complex."
"Isn't it"..."...Vargas sighed. "All the strings lead
to Mercedes. She knew too much for her own good. I
think she will do the right thing. She is a loyal
patriot. With Colonel Santana asking the
questions, I have faith that she will do what is best for
Cuba."
Hector could feel the sweat beading up on his
forehead. He made sure his voice was under his
complete control before he spoke. "For Cuba?"
"For Cuba, yes. Cuba and me, our interests are
identical. I want the gold, Father, and I intend
to get it. Able you sit here rotting, you think about that."
Alejo Vargas turned and walked away, still puffing
on the cigarillo. ,
The smell of the tobacco smoke lingered in the cell for
hours. Hector fancied that he could still smell it
when daylight began shining through the window high in the
wall at the end of the corridor.
The submariners put the computer in a plastic
garbage bag to keep it dry, then put bag and
computer into a backpack that one of the sailors had for
his liberty gear. William Henry Chance put on
the backpack and the sailors adjusted the
straps.
. "You should be okay, sirea"...they said. At a nod from
the sound-powered telephone talker, Chance started up
the ladder with Tommy Carmellini right behind him. They
came out of the hatch on the submarine's deck forward
of the island. The deck wasn't much, merely wet
steel that curved away right and left into the black
ocean.
Hovering hi the darkness overhead was a helicopter the
downwash from the rotor blades made it hard
to breathe. Amid the comflashing lights and spotlights,
his eyes had a hard time adjustingChance felt almost
blind. One of the sailors on the deck put a horse
collar over his head and he went up into the chopper
first. Then Carmellini.
A strong set of hands pulled him into the chopper.
After a wave at the officers in the sail cockpit,
Carmellini used hands and feet to get over to the
canvas bench opposite the open door where Chance
had found a seat.
Forty-five minutes later the helicopter landed on
the flight deck of USS
United States.
As the rotors wound down, an officer in khakis
came to the chopper's door, and shouted,
"Mr. Chance? Mr. Carmellini?"
"Right here,"
"My name is Toad Tarkington. Will you gentlemen
come with me, pleddase? The admiral is waiting."
Tommy Carmellini felt completely out of
place, completely lost. After the submarine and the
helicopter, the strange sounds, smells, and
sensations of the huge ship underway in a night sea
seemed to max out his ability to adjust.
The compartment where Toad took the two agents was
packed with people, all talking among themselves. Still, compared
to the flight deck and the sensations of the helicopter, it