Cuba (23 page)

impossible. Perhaps he really believed all

that Jesuit bullshit and hi truth didn’t care

if he lived or died. Most likely that was it.

The truth was that the more you knew of life, of the

compromises one must make to get from day to day, the more

you realized the futility of it all. None of it

meant anything.

Man lived, man died, governments rose and

fell, justice was done or denied, venality was

crushed or triumphant; in the long run none of it

mattered a damn. The world spun on around the sun,

life continued to be lived….

When we perish from human memories we are no

more. We are well and truly gone, as if we had

never been.

She threw aside the cover and sat up in bed,

hugging her knees. She thought again of Fidel, and

finally let him go. She-then had only the twilight,

the room falling into darkness.

Toad Tarkington was waiting for Jake

Grafton beside the V-22 Osprey on the flight

deck of

United States.

The Osprey was a unique airplane, wim a

turbo-prop engine mounted on the end of each wing.

Just now the pilot had the engines tilted

straight up so that the 38-foot props on each

engine would function as helicopter rotor blades.

The machine could lift off vertically like a

heticopter or make a short, running takeoff.

Once airborne the pilot would gradually

transition to forward flight by tilting the engines down

into a horizontal position. Then the giant props

would function as conventional propellers, though

very large ones. The machine could also land vertically or

run on to a short landing area. A cross between a

large twin-rotor helicopter and a turbo-prop

transport, the extraordinarily versatile

Osprey had enormous lifting ability and

250-knot cruise speed, capabilities

exceeding those of any conventional helicopter.

Jake Grafton stood looking at, the plane

for a few seconds as it sat on the flight deck.

With its engines mounted on the very ends of its wingsa

position dictated by the size of the rotor bladesthe

machine could not stay airborne if one of the rotor

transmissions failed. It could fly on one engine,

however, if the drive shaft Unking the good engine to the

transmission of the distant rotor blade remained

intact.

The Osprey’s extremely complicated

systems were made even more so by the requirement that the

wings and rotors fold into a tight package so that the

plane could be stored aboard ship. The transitions

between hovering and wingborne flight were only possible

because computers assisted the pilots in flying the

plane. Complex controls, complex systemsJake

thought the machine a flying tribute to the ingenuity of the

human species.

The evening looked gorgeous. The sky was clearing,

visibility decent. The late afternoon sun shone on

a breezy, tumbling sea. Jake took a deep

bream and climbed into the plane.

He put on a regular headset so that he could

talk to the flight crew.

“”Lo, Admiral.”

“Hello, Rita. How are you?”

“Ready to rock and roll, sir. Let me know when

you’re strapped in.”

“I’m ready.”…Jake settled back and watched

Toad and the crewman strap in.

Lightly loaded, the Osprey almost leaped from the

flight deck into the stiff sea wind, which was coming

straight down the deck. Rita wasted no time

rotating the engines

forward to a horizontal position; the

craft accelerated quickly as the giant rotors

became propellers and the wings took the craft’s

weight.

An hour later Rita Moravia landed the

Osprey vertically on a pier at Guantanamo

between two light poles. The sun was down by then and the

area was lit by flood lights.

A marine lieutenant colonel stood waiting.

He had the usual close-cropped hair, a deep

tan, the requisite square jaw, and he looked as

if he spent several hours a day lifting weights.

As they walked toward him Toad muttered, just

loud enough for Jake to hear, “Another refugee from the

Mr. Universe contest. If you can’t make it in

bodybuilding, mere’s always the marines.”

“Can it, Toad.”

The lieutenant colonel saluted smartly.

“I am deploying a company around the warehouse,

Admiral. We’re taking up positions now.”

“Excellentea”…Jake Grafton said. “I

brought an aerial photo mat was taken this

afternoon”…Toad took it from a folder and passed it

over”…if you would show me where you are placing your people?”"

“Yes, sir.”…Lieutenant Colonel

Eckhardt, the landing team commander, used the

photo and a finger to show where he would put his company.

He finished with the comment, “My plan is to channel

any intruders into these two open areas formed by these

streets, then kill them there.”

“What are your alternatives?”

They discussed them, and the fact that Eckhardt

planned to divide one platoon between several empty

warehouses and use them as reserves. “I think this will

be a very realistic exercise, sirea”…the colonel

finished. “1 have even had ammunition issued to the

men, although of course they have been instructed to keep

their weapons empty.”

“Colonel Eckhardt, this is not an

exercise.”

“Sir?”

“That warehouse, warehouse nine, contains CBW

warheads. They are being loaded aboard this freighter

and die one that left the other day for transport

back to die states, where they are supposed to be

destroyed. The first ship that left carrying the damned

things has disappeared. We’re hunting for it now. I

don’t know just what in hell is going on, so I’m

putting your outfit here just in case.”

“What is the threat, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

Jake could see Eckhardt was working hard to keep his

face under control.

“If the Cubans or anybody else comes over,

under, around, or through the perimeter fence, start

shooting.”

“Yes, sirea”…Eckhardt said.

“Have your people load their weapons, Colonel. They will

defend themselves and this building. No warning

shotsshoot to kill.”

“If we are assaulted, sir, how much warning would

you expect us to have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe days, maybe hours,

maybe no warning at all.”

“The more warning I have, sir, the fewer lives I am

likely to lose.”

“I will pass that on to Washington, Colonel. When

I know something is up, you’ll hear about it seconds

later. That’s the best I can do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just so we’re on the same sheet of music,

Colonel, I want that warehouse defended until

you are relieved or the very last marine is dead.”

Eckhardt said nothing this time. Toad Tarkington’s

grim expression softened. Eckhardt could have said

something like, “Marines don’t surrenderea”…or

some other bullshit, but he didn’t. Toad was

taking a liking to the lieutenant colonel.

“Anything you need from meea”…Jake Grafton

continued, “just ask. The battle group and the base

commander will

His

supply you to the extent of our resources. The

cruiser will provide artillery supportI want

you to interface with the cruiser people in the next hour or

two, make sure you’re ready to communicate and

shoot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which brings up a point: I see that your people are

building bunkers from sandbags.”

“Yes, sir. We’re trying to fortify some

positions, create some strongpoints.”

“Get a couple of backhoes from the base people, get

someone to locate the utilities, and dig

fortifications. Jackhammer the concrete. By dawn

I want your people dug in to the eyes.”…This order might

be stretching the phrase “business as usualea”…b

comJake wasn’t worried. Freighters carrying

weapons don’t normally turn up missing.

“Yessir.”

“What are you going to do if the Cubans

send tanks through the fence?”

“Then- tanks are old Soviet T-54’s, I

believeea”…Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt said.

“We’ll channel them into these two avenuesea”…he

pointed at the aerial photo, “then kill them

cremate the crews inside the tanks.”

“Okay. When your people are dug in, dig any tank

traps that you want. You have carte blanche,

Colonel.”

“Nobody is going into that warehouse, sir.”

“Fine. We’ll keep the Cuban Navy off your

back and give you air support. The cruisers will

provide artillery. Call us if you see or hear

anything suspicious.”

Toad passed the colonel a list of radio

frequencies and they discussed communications for several

minutes.

Jake took that opportunity to wander off, to look

at the warehouse from all angles.

He was standing beside six large forklifts that were parked

near the main loading dock when Toad and Eckhardt

walked over to him. “Don’t isolate these

forklifts from the pier when you’re digging up

concreteea”…Jake advised.

“Of course not.”

“One other thingea”…Jake said. “You’d better break

out the MOPP suits and have them beside every man.”

MOPP stood for mission-oriented protective

posture, a term designed by career bureaucrats

to obfuscate the true nature of chemical and

biological warfare protection suits.

The colonel was going to say something about the suits,

then he decided to pass on it.

They talked for several minutes about the

battalion’s problems, how the colonel was

deploying it. The colonel told Jake he was

putting people on the roofs of all the warehouses.

As Jake and Toad walked back to the Osprey,

Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt turned toward

warehouse nine and “scratched his head. He didn’t

for a minute believe that building contained chemical and

biological weapons.

He frowned. A hijacked freighter? He had

been hi the Corps long enough to know how the navy

operated: this was just another readiness exercise but the

admiral didn’t have the courtesy or decency

to say so. “Let’s keep the grunts” assholes

twanging tight.”…MOPP suits, hi the heat of the

Cuban summer!

Yeah.

“Cuba must learn to live with the

elephantea”…Hector Sedano told the crowd of

schoolteachers and administrators. “Our relations

with the United States have been the determining factor

in our history and will be the key to our future. Any

Cuban government that hopes to make Me better

for the people of Cuba must come to grips with the reality of the

colossus ninety miles north.”

That was the nub of his message, pure and simple.

He was careful never to criticize Fidel Castro

or the government, knowing full well that to do so would be

the height of folly, an invitation to a prison

cell. Most of the people in this room were teachers, a few

were agents for the secret

police. Cuba was a dictatorship, a fact as

unremarkable as the island status of the nation.

Still, he was talking about the future, about a day still

to come when all things might change, a day that Cuba

would have to face someday, sometime. Everyone hi the room

understood that too, including the secret police, so

no one objected to his remarks. Hector

Sedano talked on, talking about education, jobs,

investment, opportunities, the building blocks

of the life sagas of human beings.

When he finished he sat down as the thunder of

applause rolled over him. He thought that his

audience’s reaction was not to his message, which in

truth was not that new or fresh or interesting, but to the

fact that he was a private citizen speaking aloud

on sensitive political subjects. This his

audience found most remarkable. They stood on their

feet, applauded, pressed forward to touch bun,

to give him a greeting or blessing, reached between people

to touch bis clothes, his hands, his hair.

Afterward he sat and spoke privately to a knot of

people who wanted to be with him when that someday came. He

was more open, spoke about specifics but still spoke

guardedly, careful not to speak openly against the

government or to criticize Fidel.

In his heart of hearts Hector Sedano knew that

Fidel Castro must know what he had to say, must

know his message almost as diswell as he himself did.

Everything that the government knew, Fidel knew, for

he was the government.

And still Fidel let him speak. That was the remarkable

thing, and Hector had a theory about why this might be

so. When he was a young revolutionary in jail,

Fidel had written a political tract hi

defense of the Cuban revolution that became

its manifesto. He entitled it, “History Will

Absolve Me.”…In it he defined “the p”…z “the

vast unredeemed masses, those to whom everyone

makes promises and who are deceived by all.”

Maybe, Hector thought, Fidel Castro was still