Cuba (50 page)

catastrophic.

He looked again at the planat the timing, at the

units assigned.

Biological weapons. Poliomyelitis.

He could always use more people, of course. One of the

primary goals of warfightingsome people argued, the

only

goalwas to direct overwhelming force at the point

where the enemy was most vulnerable. Or as Bedford

Forrest put it, “Get there firstest with the mostest.”

Already the Cubans were digging in around silos one and

two. What if the forces he had committed couldn’t

crack those nuts?

The urge to wait for a bigger hammer had Jake

Grafton in its grip now. He felt like David

with his slingshot. Maybe he needed more Aegis

cruisers, some Patriot missile

batteries, more cruise missiles, troops,

Ospreys, airplanes.

If one of those missiles got through …

He found a handkerchief in his hip pocket and

mopped his face.

His stomach tried to turn over.

He hadn’t felt like this since Vietnam. Way

back in those happy days he had been responsible

only for his bombardier’s life and his own miserable

existence. All things considered, that load had been

relatively light.

This load …

Well, Jake Grafton, Uncle Sugar’s

been paying you good money all these years while you

‘ve been getting fat and sassy on the long

grass. It’s payback time.

In midafternoon Toad Tarkington went to the communication

spaces to call his wife, Rita Moravia, on

one of the ship-to-ship voice circuits. He had

done this a time or two before and the chief petty officer

was accommodating when the circuits were not in use for

official business. This afternoon he asked the chief for

an encrypted circuit but they were all busythe chief

handed him a clear-voice handset.

Toad called

Kearsarge

and left a message for his wife. Ten minutes

later she called him back.

“Hey, Toad-man.”

“Hey, Hot Woman.”

Tonight, he knew, she would be flying a V-22

Osprey, hauling troops to missile silo two.

“Just wanted to hear your voiceea”…Toad said, as

matterof-factly as he could. He could envision this

conversation coming over radios in ships throughout the

battle group and in Cuban monitoring stations.

He had no intention of giving away secrets nor

of entertaining kibitzers.

Rita was equally circumspect. “Got a letter from

Tyler. He wrote it with Na-Na’s help, of

course.”

“How’s Ty-Guy doing?”

“He has a girlfriend, the Goldman girl across the

street.”

“That’s my boyea”…Toad said. “A lover already. A

chip off the old brick.”

Aboard

Kearsarge

Rita was holding the handset in a death grip. She

loved life: her son, her husband, her

job, the people she worked withevery jot and comma of her

life. Oh, of course there were days when the stress and

problems threatened to overwhelm her ability to cope,

but somehow she managed. In the wee hours of the night

when she paused to evaluate, she knew that she

wouldn’t change a thing. Not one single thing.

Now she realized that Toad hadn’t spoken in

several seconds.

“I wouldn’t change a thingea”…Rita said.

“I was thinking the same thingea”…he said.

“From day one.”

“I remember the first day I saw you. Wow.”

“When we were at Whidbey, I thought you hated me.”

“And I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Thank God you finally screwed up the courage

to kiss me.”

“Wish I could nowea”…he shot back.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She wanted to tell

him how

much he had meant all these years, how grateful she

was that they shared life, and nothing came out. She put

her hand over the mouthpiece so he wouldn’t hear her

cry.

“Next time we’re together, better not wear

lipstickea”…he said.

“I never wear lipstickea”…she managed, her voice

barely under control.

“It’s a good thing, tooea”…he said, his voice

cracking.

The silence grew and grew.

“Well, I gotta goea”…Toad finally said. “They

wanna use this circuit to trade movies or

something.”

“Yeah.”

“Vaya con Dios,

baby.”

“You too, Toad-man.”

Toad found Jake Grafton hi Combat huddled

with Gil Pascal, the chief of staff. He listened

to the conversation for a moment, then realized that the admiral

was trying to assure himself that he had adequate forces

to win. Tonight!

After a bit Jake turned toward Toad.

“Let’s have your two centsea”…he said.

“If we need anything, sir, it’s a bigger

reserve. We have three V-22’s with twenty-four

marines each to go wherever they are needed. A while

ago the CO of the carrier’s marine del asked if

he and some of his people could get in on the fun.

He called

Kearsarge

and found there is one extra Osprey. It’s being

used as a backup to the first wave, but if it isn’t

needed, then it’ll be an extra.”

Gil Pascal frowned. “The carrier’s marines

haven’t been briefedea”…he pointed out.

Jake glanced at Toad and raised one eyebrow.

“Sir, I was hoping you would let me go with

themea”…Tarkington replied cheerfully. “I’m as

briefed as it’s possible to get.”…Actually, as

Ops, Tarkington wrote the plan.

“You’ve been planning to spring this on me all day,

haven’t you?”

“I could take a satellite phone, give you a

worm’s-eye

STEPHEN COONTS

view of the action, let you know if there is really a

problem.”

“Did the marine det CO approach you with this

marvelous idea, or did you approach him?”

Toad turned his eyes to the ceiling. “An officer

I know well used to say, ‘allyou know me.” his

“I think I know that guy tooea”…Jake said, and

chuckled. “Oh, all right, damn ityou can

go. Gil and I will try to hold the fort without you. If

the backup Osprey isn’t needed, you’ll be part

of the cavalry. Tell the grunts to saddle up.”

The Spanish-speaking sailor who acted as an

interpreter shook Ocho Sedano awake.

“Ochoea”…he said. “Ocho, a question has arisen. We

wish to know if you are related to Hector Sedano.”

Ocho opened his eyes and focused on the interpreter,

who appeared reasonably clear. His eyes were

better, much better. He rolled over, men sat

up in bed. He was still in sick bay aboard

Hue City.

“Welcome back to the land of the livingea”…sd the

American sailor.

“It is good to be aliveea”…Ocho whispered.

“Did you ever give up hope?”

“I suppose. I thought I would die, and was waiting

for it. But I always wanted to live.”

The sailor grinned. This was the first American he

had ever gotten to know, and he had a good grin, Ocho

thought.

“The officers want to knowea”…the sailor said, “if you

are related to Hector Sedano.”

“He is my brother.”

“I will tell them.”

Ocho nodded, then rubbed his head and stretched. He was

hungry and thirsty. A glass of water was sitting

on a rolling table beside the bed, so he drained it.

“May I have some food?”

“I will bring some.”

Ocho looked the sailor in the eyes. “I want

to go back to Cuba. I should never have left.”

“I will tell themea”…the sailor said, and left him

there.

William Henry Chance and Tommy Carmellini

argued with Toad about how many marines wearing CBW

suits should go into the warhead factory with them. “Just

Tommy and Iea”…Chance said. “The more people that are in there

the greater the chance of an accident.”

“How are you going to get your gear in there?”

“An armload at a time. It will take a little

longer, but with only two guys going in and out, this

whole evolution will be safer.”

“What if the Cuban Army shows up while you’re

working?”

“The marines can defend us until the place goes

up.”

They were in a ready room under the flight deck

dressing in a corner under the television set, which was

showing a continuous briefing by the Air

Intelligence types. Radio frequencies,

threat envelopes, timing, call signs, weather,

everything was on the tube.

Carmellini was paying close attention to the

briefers, Chance was arguing with Toad. “And I’m not

taking a rifle or hand grenades or rations or

any of that combat crap.”

“A pistol, then.”

“Got my own. Don’t want two.”

“Why are you being so obstinate, Mr. Chance?”

Chance sat down heavily in one of the ready-room

chairs.

“I guess I’ve got a bad feeling about this

commando stuffea”…he said. “Charging in decked out like

Captain America caret with rifle in hand scares

me silly. Everybody and his brother will start

shooting, and with cultures above-ground in vulnerable

containers …”…He shivered. “If we sneak in in

civilian clothes … well, that’s what I’m

used to. This military stuff frightens me.”

“You’re going to look funny walking into a dairy in

civilian clothes with flares on your shoulders if

there are Cuban troops sitting around the place

guarding the cows.”

“You’re right, I know.”…Chance shrugged.

“Gonna be an adventureea”…Tommy Carmellini

tossed in.

“You guys are big boysea”…Toad Tarkington said.

“I’m not going to nursemaid you. But this isn’t a

gamea lot of lives are at stake. If you

screw this up and we gotta go back in there later and

fix it, you guys better be dead. Don’t bother

coming back.”

Toad said it matter-of-factly, as if he were

discussing a payroll deduction. Chance suddenly

felt small.

“Okayea”…he said. “Two other guys in CBW

suits. But I’m in charge. If I go down,

Tommy is.”

“Fineea”…sd Toad Tarkington, and went to find an

encrypted telephone.

Terror wasn’t going to be enough to keep Alejo

Vargas in office. He knew that. He could put the

fear of God in the little sons of bitches and keep it

there, but to sleep nights in Fidel’s house he was

going to have to govern the country, to give a little here, a

little there, and so on. He was prepared to do thathe had

watched Fidel manipulate these people all of his

adult life.

Today he sat in his office at the Ministry

of the Interiorhe had had no time to move to the

presidential palacereceiving the members of the

Council of State, of which he was the president.

“Senor Ferrara, it is a pleasure to see you

again.”

Ferrara was short, fat, and wheezed when he moved.

He was a member of the’Council of State and the

minister of electric power. He dropped into a

chair across the desk from Vargas and wiped his forehead

with a handkerchief.

“Good day, Senor President.”

Colonel Santana handed Vargas Ferrara’s

affidavit. Vargas merely glanced at the

signature, then laid it in his top right-hand drawer

with the others. He didn’t read it because he knew

exactly what the affidavit containedan emo-

tional eyewitness account of the murder of Ratil

Castro by Hector Sedano. Vargas and

Santana had drafted the document this morning.

Before each member of the Council of State met with

Vargas, Santana presented them with an

affidavit for signature. Most intuitively

understood that signatures were mandatory, and those that

didn’t had the facts of life explained

to them. So far, all had signed.

“I appreciate your support in this matter,

Ferrara.”

“I will be frank with you, Vargas. That document

means nothing.”…He gestured toward the desk drawer.

“You may be able to crack the whip in Havana, but the

people do not support you. They want Hector Sedano

in the presidential palace.”

“They will find a place in their heart for me.”

“Fidel Castro lasted for over forty years because he

had the support of the people. The members of the National

Assembly, the Council of State, the ministers,

could not oppose him because they had no base of

support. The Department of State Security

didn’t control the population Fidel did.”

“He did not tolerate opposition, nor will I.”

Ferrara said nothing.

What was it about Ferrara? Something was in the files, but

he hadn’t looked at that file in years, and now it

was gone. “Was it your daughter?”

Ferrara’s face became a mask.

“Your daughter… something about your daughter…”

He stared into Ferrara’s eyes.

“Help me a little.”

Even Ferrara’s wheezing had stopped.

“Maybe it will come to me.”…Alejo Vargas leaned

back in his chair. “Or maybe I will forget

completely.”

Santana came in just then, handed him a sheet of

paper, and said, “The ambassador to the United

Nations received this note from the American UN

ambassador.”

“Thank you for stopping by, Senor Ferrara. I