The Hamlet Warning

by Leonard Sanders

  “Perhaps you’re right,” El Jefe said in the ear-ringing silence that followed. “Having the plane ready won’t hurt matters.”

  *

  Minus 03:48 Hours

  Johnson was not at the hotel. Loomis reached him at the embassy.

  “I don’t have much time to talk, Loomis,” he said. “We’re about to haul ass over here.”

  “You’re not waiting for the Marines?”

  “What marines?”

  “Haven’t you gotten the word?”

  “Sure, we’ve gotten the word: ‘Get out of that stupid country while you can.’”

  “Just personnel, or the whole factory?”

  “Personnel. And all the factory we don’t want to lose. How are things shaping up over there?”

  “I think the roofs about to fall.”

  Johnson lowered his voice. “Loomis, I don’t want to sound like an alarmist, but why don’t you get out of there before you get your balls shot off?”

  “We’re waiting word on intervention.”

  Johnson sighed into the mouthpiece. “Loomis, when loyalty becomes stupidity, it ceases to be a virtue. Come with us. Bring María Elena, if you want. We’ll worry about legalities later.”

  “You know something I don’t?”

  “Only that we’ve got a 707 waiting on the runway, and this place is going up like a roman candle at one o’clock. But of course don’t let your decision be influenced by the fact that I’ve jeopardized my career — maybe wrecked it — trying to get you out of this mess.”

  Loomis thought about the 707. And María Elena.

  The offer was tempting.

  But he would have to face his own conscience.

  “I’ve signed on for the full cruise, Johnson,” he said. “I’ve got to see it through.”

  Johnson didn’t argue. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said. “You won’t have any trouble recognizing me. I’ll be the first one on the plane.”

  *

  Minus 03:37 Hours

  Loomis found El Jefe in his office, head lowered, tears rolling down his cheeks. He handed Loomis a yellow dispatch. Johnson’s impression of events was now official: the President of the United States sent his regrets that after due consideration, the request for intervention in the Dominican Republic must be denied. However, a United States Navy task force was standing by to take whatever measures were necessary to safeguard the lives and property of United States citizens and other foreign nationals. The President begged El Jefe’s cooperation in whatever assistance the Dominican government might be able to offer …

  “The son of a bitch,” El Jefe said.

  Loomis put a hand on El Jefe’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to go,” he said.

  El Jefe sat without moving, his face expressionless. “You go ahead. Take my brother, his family. I will stay here and die as I should,” he said.

  Loomis suddenly was so angry he almost hit him. “Bullshit!” he said. “This is no time to give up!”

  El Jefe showed no signs that Loomis’s anger had reached him. “It’s all over,” he said. “I have failed.”

  “It’s a long way from being over,” Loomis said, almost shouting. “It may be just the beginning.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look ahead. If that bomb goes, the country will be in shambles. Your people will need leadership. If the bomb doesn’t go, if Ramón takes over, how long do you think he’ll last?”

  “Not long,” El Jefe agreed.

  “Accept Ramón’s offer!”

  “No,” El Jefe said, shaking his head violently. “I will not give him that satisfaction.”

  “Look at the future,” Loomis insisted. “Your brother is a theorist. He has no practical experience. He is not an administrator. And Ramón’s head is in the clouds. He’s never done anything but talk. Your generals couldn’t agree on which way is straight up. In six months the country will be begging you to come back.”

  El Jefe considered the possibility, then shook his head. “I can’t believe that,” he said.

  “They asked Juan Bosch to come back,” Loomis reminded him. “Perrin was driven out of Argentina, and they brought him back. You owe it to the country …”

  “You are right in one respect,” El Jefe said. “They would make a mess of it. The generals are inept, jealous, quarrelsome.”

  “I think either of us could write the script,” Loomis said. “And whatever you decide, however the battle goes, we will have to evacuate the palacio.”

  El Jefe studied the knuckles of his right fist for a long moment. Through the halls of the palacio Loomis could now hear the machine guns on the balconies firing toward the east and the occasional carumph of a mortar shell taking flight.

  “All right,” El Jefe said. “You have convinced me. Get word to Ramón that I accept his terms. Notify my brother. I will make a statement to the press to the effect that I am leaving for the good of the country, to prevent further bloodshed. Notify my pilot. I will go pack a few necessities.”

  Loomis hurried to a phone and dialed Ramón’s number. He heard the receiver lift at the other end, then silence.

  “This is Clay Loomis,” he said. “I was given this number by Ramón himself. I must speak with Ramón on a matter of greatest urgency.”

  “I do not know a Ramón,” a voice said. “Are you certain you are calling the correct number?”

  “Just tell Ramón that Loomis wants to talk to him.” There was a moment of hesitation, then Loomis heard the sound of the receiver being dropped on a hard surface. He held the phone impatiently for several minutes. Then he heard the scrape of the receiver as it was picked up.

  “Ramón,” a voice said over the wire.

  “Loomis here. El Jefe accepts your terms as per our discussion last night. He only asks safe conduct to his plane. He will leave the country within the hour.” Ramón chuckled. “That was last night,” he said. “At the time, I felt the odds were against me. I was ready to settle for part of the cherry. Now, things look much better. I can hear machine guns over your end of the phone.”

  Loomis tried to put as much conviction as possible into his voice. “Ramón, I know you only half-believe the bomb exists …”

  “I don’t believe at all.”

  “But you have doubts.”

  Ramón’s silence was his answer.

  “The bomb exists, Ramón,” Loomis said. “We know how the material came into this country. We have established the identity of the scientist they brought in to put it together. We’ve intercepted communications on the time of detonation. One o’clock. We only have three hours and forty-five minutes left.”

  “Then tell me who is behind it.”

  “That we still don’t know,” Loomis admitted. “But the plot is directed against the United States. We’re only peripherally involved. We’re the horrible example, so they can say to the United States, ‘Look what we did,’ with forty, fifty, maybe a hundred thousand dead. Then they can threaten the United States from a panic situation.”

  “A hundred thousand?”

  “We are told we may expect something on that order. Maybe more. Maybe many more. And you’re the only person who can stop it.”

  Ramón’s end of the line was silent almost a full minute. Loomis could hear muffled, heated argument. Ramón’s voice was hesitant when he returned to the line.

  “My men are mentally prepared for total victory,” he said. “I don’t see how I can settle for less.”

  “Ramón, damn it, there can be no victory for anyone unless we find that bomb,” Loomis shouted.

  Ramón was quiet for a moment. “Loomis, if you’re staging this, if this is a trick, I’ll see that you are paid in full.”

  “If this is a trick, the U.S. Government and a lot of other people have gone to elaborate lengths to fool me Loomis told him.”

  Ramón left the phone again, apparently covering the mouthpiece with his palm. But Loomis could hear an occasional voice raised in anger. Loomis wait
ed patiently until Ramón returned with his answer.

  “My advisers believe this is a trap. But you have convinced me. You and María Elena. I accept the ceasefire, on the basis of a coalition government as outlined by María Elena. But Loomis, it will be difficult to stop the fighting immediately.”

  “I understand that,” Loomis said.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You might pull your men back from the downtown section, to disengage, so there will be no clashes between our troops.”

  “I’m not certain that would be best, psychologically,” Ramón said. “My men fought for those positions, foot by foot. If you’re agreeable, I would much prefer to put them to work, searching. That would give them something to do, something to burn up the adrenaline flowing in their blood.”

  The suggestion made sense. Loomis found a new appreciation of Ramón’s abilities. “O.K.,” he said. “If you’ll organize your men into search teams for the sectors they hold, someone will be back to you soon with the grids of the search plan.”

  “All right. I will issue the cease-fire order now, if El Jefe will do the same.”

  “Consider it done. I hope we can stop the fighting within thirty minutes — by eleven o’clock. That will give us an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to turn the town upside down. If we don’t find it, we’ll still have thirty minutes left to evacuate the downtown section.”

  “Impossible,” Ramón said. “There’s not enough transportation …”

  “I know,” Loomis said. “But we’ll have to make the gesture.”

  *

  Minus 02:45 Hours

  El Jefe made the calls to inform the generals of the cease-fire. Loomis knew they would believe no one else. While El Jefe argued, pleaded, and cursed on the line, Loomis dialed the United States embassy and for five minutes was transferred from terrified secretary to terrified secretary until he learned that Johnson and his staff had left for the airport.

  Loomis groaned. Las Americas International Airport was twenty miles from downtown.

  Loomis dialed Pan Am and talked with a friend. A runner was sent across the field. Several minutes later Johnson came to the phone. “This better be good,” he said, breathing heavily.

  “Unpack,” Loomis told him. “We’ve got the war ended.”

  “Oh shit, Loomis. Don’t you understand anything? We’ve got our orders. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Wait for me there,” Loomis said. “I’ll be out to get you in thirty minutes. Pull your electronic gear and experts off that plane.”

  Johnson sighed to catch his breath. “Loomis, this plane leaves in fifteen minutes. It’s the last train from Boot Hill. The embassy is closed. The last of the personnel is on the way out here now. Everyone has plans for a big night stateside. I’ve wired my wife to bring the kids and meet me in Miami. I don’t see how I can ask any of these people to step off the plane.”

  “Don’t ask them. Tell them.”

  “Give it up, Loomis. We’re too late.”

  “I’ve just talked to Ramón. His men are staying in place to help. We’ll have an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”

  “Not enough.”

  “But it might be. Coon said the thing’s probably on a rooftop. While the Dominicans hunt, we can take a chopper and go right down on the deck.”

  “And get our balls shot off.”

  “The Dominicans will start the search within the hour, just as soon as they get organized. They won’t have time to cover all the downtown section. But we probably can check every rooftop from the air.”

  “Loomis, I’ve got my orders. I can’t countermand them. You know that.”

  “I also know you are given a lot of latitude in the field. This is a new situation. And we need your expert to disconnect the thing when we find it.”

  Johnson’s end of the line was silent for a moment. Loomis waited.

  “All right,” Johnson said. “I’ll call for volunteers. Coon is nutty enough to go with us. But I’m not conning anybody. I personally think you’re going to have one hell of a roman candle here in about three hours.”

  “Maybe. But consider this, Johnson. If we do find it, you may not have to worry so much about the next one.”

  “You’ve got a point there, ol’ buddy. But I can’t keep from remembering the old standing general order on what to do in case of an atomic attack.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, hell, Loomis. That one has whiskers: put your fingers in your ears, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.”

  *

  Minus 01:56 Hours

  Long experienced in revolution, the residents of the Dominican Republic usually were as sensitive to danger as alley cats. But for once their built-in radar failed them. As word of the cease-fire spread quickly from the military to civilians, the population swarmed into the streets to celebrate.

  El Jefe rode from the palacio toward exile through jubilant crowds waving Dominican flags. He sat with his brother Manuel and María Elena in the back seat of the chauffeured limousine. Loomis was perched in the jump seat, facing them. The rest of the De la Torre family had been sent to safety in the home of friends near San Cristóbal, thirty kilometers to the southwest. Manuel and María Elena were to join them there after seeing El Jefe off to exile.

  The brothers, never close, obviously were disturbed over the developments that now clearly delineated them as opponents. Loomis felt the strain between them. María Elena, studying her hands at rest on her knees, seemed unusually subdued, lost in thought.

  Loomis felt concern for her. The strain of the last few days showed. She was thinner, and the darkness around her eyes was not from eye shadow. She looked up once, met his gaze, and smiled ruefully. They’d had little time alone since her return from Ramón’s camp.

  As the car made its way slowly through the narrow streets toward the airport expressway, El Jefe kept his face averted, studying the crowds outside the window.

  “Maybe we should go ahead and make a public announcement about the bomb,” he said.

  “Washington believes panic would take a considerable toll,” Loomis told him. “They advise waiting until the last possible moment.”

  “Washington advises,” El Jefe said. “Perhaps we have listened too much to what Washington advises. The whole world is operated on what Washington thinks. And no one stops to consider that the United States can’t even run its own government properly.”

  “An announcement probably would bring the people in from the suburbs to watch,” Manuel said. “They would rationalize that one doesn’t have the opportunity to see an atomic explosion every day.”

  “Papa!” María Elena chided. “The people are not that estúpido.”

  “They may be that bored,” Manuel said. “Sometimes I think boredom contributes more to revolutions than principles.”

  El Jefe ignored the exchange. The car entered the expressway and picked up speed. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  At the airport, the car was driven straight to the plane, a Boeing 707 outfitted for presidential use. The flight plan called for a landing in Caracas, then a nonstop trip to Madrid.

  El Jefe stepped out of the car, glanced at the plane, then turned to take one last look in the direction of Santo Domingo.

  “What a beautiful day for such tragedy,” he said. “If I never return, I will always remember the Dominican Republic for its perfect days, for all the flowers and greenness. The gods must have great humor, to place such poverty and suffering in such surroundings.”

  He shook his head sadly, and Loomis saw tears welling up. “I tried so hard,” he said. “I tried to do right. I wonder where I did wrong. I suppose I shall always wonder.”

  He turned to Loomis. “I wish you would come with me,” he said. “I still need you, as a friend, if not as a protector. If you change your mind, you only have to let me know. You will always have a place with me.”

  “Thank you,” Loomis said. “I’ve never been one
to look ahead. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “In the accounting from my regime, there will be a special gift for you,” El Jefe said. “Consider it only a small gesture toward expressing my immense appreciation for all you have done.”

  Before Loomis could reply, El Jefe seized him in a warm abrazo, then turned to María Elena.

  “I will be a lonely old man, wherever I am,” El Jefe said. “Come see me.”

  “We will,” María Elena said, kissing him.

  The two brothers stood for a moment, words failing both. They shook hands solemnly and exchanged quick abrazos. El Jefe then climbed the ramp into the plane without looking back.

  Within a minute the ramp was pulled away, the engines started, and the ship began trundling along the taxi strip. Loomis, María Elena, and her father stood watching until the plane was airborne, banking toward Caracas.

  De la Torre walked back to the car. María Elena lingered for a moment. “Your job is done,” she said. “You don’t have to go back. Please, please come to San Cristóbal with us.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Loomis said.

  She put a hand on his arm. “That’s what worries me. I do know you. I’m afraid you won’t leave in time.”

  “I’ll leave,” he said. “I have a lot to live for.”

  They walked back to the car. María Elena kissed him with an intensity that took him by surprise.

  “Be careful,” she said. She turned and entered the car.

  De la Torre reached out to shake hands.

  “I don’t know what is going to happen, Loomis,” he said. “Find the bomb if you can. But don’t take undue risks. Pass the word to those concerned to make the announcement to evacuate when most feasible. We can rebuild the city from the ashes. But we must save as many people as we possibly can.”

  He closed the door. Loomis watched the car move away, gathering speed. María Elena turned once and waved through the rear window. Then the car turned a corner and passed out of view.

  Feeling in his stomach the old familiar tightness of impending combat, Loomis walked hurriedly to the helicopter pad where the crew was readying his bird for flight.