Castro's Bomb (43 page)

Kraeger thought it ironic that the peaceful people were on the verge of rioting against the police and the exiles, and looked like they would be happy to use their signs to bash in the skulls of the other side.
 
The police were having a hard time keeping the two angry groups separated.

"Amazing," said Golikov.
 
"In your country you start a riot and call it a democracy. In my country, such nonsense would not be tolerated.
 
A few years in a gulag would teach them the error of their ways."

"I thought the peaceniks like these demented fools were helpful to you?" Kraeger said.
 

Golikov smiled.
 
"They are very helpful, but such protesters in the Soviet Union or the satellite nations would not be tolerated.
 
You know you are fools to put up with this."

Something flew through the air and landed in front of a cop who angrily looked for the thrower.
 
It was an egg and had come from the Miami exile team.
 
Kraeger was glad he had decided not to include Elena in the little group.
 
Two cops had begun to wrestle a peace demonstrator to the ground and other demonstraters were threatening to attack the cops.
 
Maybe an American gulag was a good idea, Kraeger thought.

"Are we in danger here?" Golikov asked.

"Show them your diplomatic passport.
 
That usually stops rocks and pisses off cops."

Golikov thought the idea was amusing.
 
The two men moved down the street and a block away.

"You called for this meeting," Kraeger said.
 
"So why did you want to meet this wonderful winter day?"

"To let you know what is happening in Moscow."

"Shouldn't the diplomats be talking and not us?"
 
Despite the disclaimer, Kraeger was intrigued.

Golikov shook his head.
 
"No.
 
It was decided that this should be informal, what you call back-channel.
 
Diplomats have nasty habits.
 
They are indecisive, they argue, and then they write memoirs or leak information.
 
By the way, the way you handled that Franklyn idiot was masterful."

Kraeger was shaken.
 
How the hell did the Soviets find out about that?
 
Fucking Washington does leak like a sieve.
 
Or was Golikov saying there was a leak in the CIA?
 
Damn it to hell.

"I'm so glad you approve.
 
So what's happening in Moscow that's so important?"

"Comrade Khrushchev is in trouble.
 
There are those in the Politburo who feel he has been too lenient, too generous to your president regarding the handling of Comrade Castro."

"And here I thought you people thought Castro was crazy and untrustworthy."

"He is, but that cannot be permitted to matter.
 
He is a fool but he is our fool and more important, a communist fool who is being watched by every socialist state in the world along with those we would like to become socialist.
 
In short, Comrade Kraeger, Fidel Castro cannot be allowed to fall or you may be dealing with ultra hard line Stalinists like Brezhnev and Kosygin."

"And if Khrushchev falls he gets a couple of bullets in the back of the skull and it's pronounced a suicide."

Golikov shook his head solemnly.
 
"I already told you we don't do that anymore, or at least not very often.
 
No, Comrade Khrushchev would likely be allowed to retire to a small dacha in the middle of nowhere where he would live in obscurity and fill his days by milking goats."

"I think I'd rather take the bullet," Charley said.

"Say that when the time comes, Kraeger.
 
But let's get back to Cuba.
 
You may get your base back, but Fidel will, must, remain in charge of a communist, socialist Cuba.
 
Any attempt to depose him will put assets of yours in serious jeopardy."

"Berlin?"

"I did not name anything specific.
 
However, Berlin would be in obvious peril, located as it is in the middle of East Germany and surrounded by hundreds of thousands of Soviet and East German soldiers eager to liberate it."

Kraeger took a deep breath and tried to remain outwardly calm.
 
"An assault on West Berlin by either your forces or the East Germans would mean a major military confrontation with the United States and NATO, and result in thousands of dead on each side and the possibility of a full-blown nuclear war."

Golikov nodded.
 
"There are those reactionary Stalinists who consider that an acceptable risk.
 
They think so because they do not think Kennedy will risk nuclear war over such a small matter as Fidel Castro remaining in power.
 
Punish him, humiliate him, take back your base, but you must leave him in control.
 
If American forces approach Havana, General Pliyev's Soviet forces will assist in its defense."

Behind them, crowd noises reached a crescendo.
 
The fighting had clearly escalated out of control.
 
Charley wondered if he was seeing the future as it too escalated out of control.

"We presume you have noticed an increase in our submarine activity?
 
Good.
 
Last October we sent a handful of what you call Foxtrot submarines down to Cuba and you made fools of us as we showed our weaknesses.
 
Not only did some of them not make it all the way because of mechanical problems, but you found the others and forced at least one to the surface.
 
By the way, it had nuclear torpedoes and was considering using them.
 
Fortunately, her captain had second thoughts."
 

Wow, Kraeger thought, but it did tie in with what Sokolov had said.
 
Nukes were first strike weapons to the Russkis and not weapons of desperation like they were to the U.S.

Golikov lit a cigarette.
 
"It was a humiliation and it won't happen again.
 
This time we are sending a much larger force and they will also have nuclear powered torpedoes.
 
They have orders not to use them unless either attacked or given orders directly from Moscow.
 
But the threat should be clear.
 
Even without firing shot they will raise havoc with your carrier formations and impede your invasion unless you assure us that Castro will survive in power."

"And what if Fidel is killed in action?"

"Don't let that happen," Golikov said.

A swarm of young people, the peaceniks, ran by.
 
Many were bloodied and some were helping others get away.
 
A group of Cuban exiles chased them and caught several, pummeling them badly.
 
One wild-eyed exile grabbed Charley's coat and attempted to land a punch.
 
Charley stopped that nonsense with a kick to the man's groin.
 
He screamed and fell, writhing and clutching himself.
 
Others began to circle Charley and a clearly worried Golikov.

Charley pulled out his ID and his gun.
 
"Back off.
 
I'm a cop."
 
Sullenly, the crowd moved on, looking for easier prey.
 
The man Charley kicked limped off with his hands covering his balls.
 
A few seconds later, a wave of police trotted past them. Charley waved his ID but prudently put the gun away before a DC cop noticed him and it.

"Well done," said a clearly admiring Golikov.
 
"A kick in the balls and a gun work a lot better than a diplomatic passport."

Morton and Ward got the transistor radios working quickly.
 
Romanski and Morton had been out of touch with the real world ever since the first day and listed intently to all the newscasts emanating from Florida.

"Well," Romanski said, "the invasion must really be imminent.
 
The news said that Huntley and Brinkley have reported on NBC television that the ships have sailed."

"So much for a news blackout," Andrew said sarcastically, "and so much for the integrity of the press showing discretion and keeping the invasion a secret.
 
And so much for protecting the lives of us poor guys in the trenches."

"They have their own agenda," Romanski said, "and sometimes it gets guys killed."

"That's just sad," Cathy said.
 
"Why can't they keep their mouths shut for just a little while longer?
 
There was no reason to publicize all that information about Andrew, me, and the others."

Romanski smiled tolerantly.
 
He rather liked the young woman and he'd quickly picked up on the fact that she was following Ross around like a puppy and that Ross rather liked having a puppy.
 
He liked to think it reminded him of how he and Midge behaved when they were oh so young.
 
Of course, he recalled that he was the puppy, not Midge.
 
Damn it, he missed her.

"It goes to the fact that news is now a business," Romanski said.
 
"The telecasts cost money and the networks get back their money by renting out commercial space.
 
If nobody's watching then nobody's gonna buy the commercial time.
 
Thus, they have to constantly dig up news and some of them are not above creating news if nothing much happened on that given day.
 
That's what happened to you, Cathy.
 
They had time to fill and they did it with your pretty face."

Cathy flushed.
 
"I'm not pretty."

Romanski leaned forward and grinned.
 
"I beg to differ and I think young Lieutenant Ross would disagree as well."

She was about to reply when Ward yelled and whooped.
 

"What's happening?" Romanski asked.

Ward grinned.
 
"I think Sergeant Morton has our real radio working again.
 
He's gonna try and contact Washington."

Homero Ruiz lounged against a crumbling cement wall that ran along a busy street, and concentrated on observing his world.
 
Ruiz wore the scruffy uniform of the Cuban militia, and a casual observer would have surmised that he was just another lazy private killing a morning by goofing off in the sun.

He wasn't.
 
Ruiz had been a crewman on the destroyer Wallace.
 
He'd been in the base's clinic with a mildly sprained shoulder and been left behind at Guantanamo when the ship had been bombed.
 
He'd watched in stunned disbelief as she managed to make it to sea, only to be attacked and bombed again, sinking her.
 
He'd lost a lot of good friends when the Cubans sank the Wallace, and he didn't think it ironic that he was able to call Cubans the enemy.
 
He was an American, not a Cuban and especially wasn't a follower of Castro.
 
He really didn't know all the details about the loss of his ship.
 
It didn't matter.
 
He hated Castro even more then he had before the attacks.

Ruiz had been born in Santiago some twenty years earlier, and his parents had immigrated to the United States when he was ten.
 
He’d enlisted right out of high school and, when he finished his tour of duty in the navy he would become a U.S. citizen, and just thinking of that made him very proud.
 
He would then go to college on the GI Bill.
 
He wanted to be a teacher.
 
His parents were among the lucky ones.
 
They had left Cuba before Castro came to power and had managed to take their savings with them.
 
Thus, they were now the prosperous owners of a couple of grocery stores in Miami.
 
Other relatives hadn't been so fortunate.
 
A couple of them were in Cuban prisons and others had escaped with only the shirts on their backs. Those who’d made it out were being helped by his parents, which made him even prouder of them.

Ruiz was not concerned that anyone would recognize him.
 
He'd left as a boy, but returned as a man.
 
He was dark-skinned like most Cubans, betraying Negro heritage, and spoke the local language fluently.
 
Some things are never forgotten, he concluded.
 
Ruiz found it amusing that a few faces in the civilian population did look familiar, even though he couldn't recall their names.
 
Just as well.
 
He wasn't there to make friends.

Santiago had been one of the key pieces of Castro's revolution.
 
It was called the “Heroes City” because of its citizen’s efforts supporting several revolutions, beginning with fighting the Spanish in the last century, and culminating in Castro's rise to power.

Ruiz was amused by the post-revolutionary name changes.
 
Major streets and parks had been renamed in honor of the new order.
 
Ruiz thought it was all cosmetic.
 
Giving a street in a slum a new name did not mean it was no longer a slum, or that Castro wasn't a dictator.
 
He was puzzled as to why the people seemed so happy since they still had next to nothing.
 
There had been no new construction of any significance, yet life under Castro must be better than it had been under Batista.
 
He would have to discuss this with his family when he got home.
 
He laughed to himself.
 
First, of course, he would have to get his young navy ass home.