Havana Harvest (26 page)

“That's exactly what I'm saying.” Casas was shaking his head, unwilling to believe what he was about to say. “And he doesn't know, so he couldn't have told you, and you're probably not guarding him closely enough.”

“You mean because Fidel's or Raul's assassins could get to him—”

“And Oscar and I would be dead men.”

“And Fidel and Raul would get off scot-free.”

“Yes.”

Lonsdale seized his opportunity. “But not if you come to the States with me.”

Casas looked stunned. “I would never do that!”

“Why not?”

“I could never live with myself thinking I've saved my neck and abandoned my family.”

“But you wouldn't.” Lonsdale made himself sound as persuasive as he could, but within, he felt unconvinced. “You could present what you know to the world and explain how you made Fernandez flee to alert the United States of what was going on.”

“No good, not even with Fernandez corroborating what I was saying.” Casas shook his head. “People would simply say Fernandez and I were either in the pay of the United States or guilty as hell.”

“And De la Fuente?”

“What about him?”

“Would he not be sufficient to corroborate?” As soon as Lonsdale had uttered the phrase he knew his cause was lost.

“Whether Oscar corroborated what I said would make no diffierence,” Casas said softly. “Don't you see, Roberto, I've painted myself into a corner. Fidel would put Oscar on trial, Oscar would take all the blame, and he would be shot. Fernandez and I would come off as the cowardly drug dealers who ran for their lives, abandoning their coconspirators to certain death.”

“They would have to get to them first.”

“I'm sure that would not be difficult.”

“There is another ‘unless.’ ” Lonsdale made himself sound optimistic and smiled at Casas, trying to convey hope. “Suppose we enrolled both you and Fernandez in our witness protection program. You could disappear and start afresh with new identities.”

“Now there's a stupid idea if I ever heard one,” Casas retorted, sounding disgusted. “I don't know about Fernandez, but I wouldn't want to find myself in a position of never again being able to see my mother, my two daughters, and my friends—assuming I'd have any left after all this.” He shook his head sadly. “No, Roberto. Without intending to, I've dealt Fidel a winning hand, and all because I didn't watch my back.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is…what's bothering me is that I have begun to suspect the worst.” He was having difficulty saying what he had to say. “I have begun to suspect that this entire drug operation is a private-enterprise deal, cooked up between De la Fuente and Raul, or De la Fuente and his father-in-law, or maybe De la Fuente alone.”

“You mean for their personal enrichment?”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

“Yet involving a number of people in the MININT and the army.”

“All of whom are following orders convinced they are working for Department Z on a legitimate highly secret, government-authorized smuggling operation, designed to break the U.S. embargo and to generate much-needed hard currency, while at the same time undermining the morale of the people of the U.S.”

“With drugs.”

“Yes, with drugs, habit-forming drugs, the use of which kills directly and indirectly.” Casas stared straight ahead, not daring to look at Lonsdale. “Just think of all those infected needles spreading AIDS.” He shuddered.

“Let me understand this, Patricio.” Lonsdale said quickly, choosing his words very carefully. “You have begun to suspect that, without Fidel's or the government's knowledge, Oscar alone or Oscar and Raul are smuggling drugs for proft, using the facilities of the Cuban Army and the Ministry of the Interior.”

Casas nodded without looking at Lonsdale. “Yes, that's it in a nutshell.”

“Let's get to basics, Patricio.” Lonsdale needed to get to the core of Casas's knowledge. “Who first approached you about the drug operation and when?”

“Oscar, in Africa, about a year and a half ago.”

“In Africa?”

“Yes, Angola.” Casas thought for a bit. “You see, we were conducting these foreign exchange operations on behalf of the Ministry of the Interior's Department Z, and Oscar was in charge in Africa.”

“What kind of operations?”

“Ivory and gold coins. Diamonds also. Oscar handled the diamonds, but needed help with the ivory and the coins, first to find them, then to collect them, and, most importantly, to sell them for hard currency, preferably dollars. He needed a reliable partner with army connections and a diplomatic passport. I filled the bill.”

“So you worked for Oscar, your troops gathering the ivory and coins, and you, yourself, transporting the stuff?”

“That's right. For about six months before he started talking about drugs.”

Lonsdale held up his hand. “Wait. Who set up the banking arrangements?”

“Oscar.”

“With the BCCI?”

“Yes, with the BCCI in Luanda.”

“And in Montreal?”

“The Luanda BCCI manager.”

“What about the Cayman Islands? Who set up the account there?”

“The Colombians did at Fernandez's request. But the account was controlled by him and me jointly. As you know, it was just a transfer account. As soon as the money came in from Colombia it would be transferred to Panama into a Department Z account.”

“And the drugs?”

“I guess Oscar set that up. I've known Oscar since the days of the fighting in the Sierra Maestra.” Casas let out a bitter little laugh, “I trusted him implicitly as an old comrade in arms. Oscar knew that I knew how to follow orders.”

“And did he give the order?”

“He did, indeed. In Havana, at a special meeting in his office, in the Ministry of the Interior's building on Calle 23, convened for that purpose.”

“Is that where Department Z now operates from?”

“No, not quite.” Casas's hand had begun to hurt again. “Oscar is an organizational genius. He compartmentalized Department Z to maximize security. Headquarters were at his own office in the Ministry of the Interior, where he set policy, but each of the department's subdepartments had its own separate place.”

“In the same building?”

“No. Spread around Havana in various buildings.”

Lonsdale was impressed. “And who ran the money?”

“You mean who had final authority over its disposal?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not sure at all about that.”

“Did any other official, higher in grade than you or Oscar, ever discuss the drug operation with you?”

“Only once. Raul, in the presence of Fernandez.”

“In detail?”

“No, only in general terms.” Casas was sweating; he recognized how exposed, how precarious his position was, and how lame he sounded. Lonsdale, on the other hand, felt that the general had been naive to say the least, or perhaps, he hadn't wanted to know what was going on so as to be able to claim, when the day of reckoning came, that he was just following orders. Why then the change of heart now?

“Let's get back to the money. Who has ultimate control of it?”

“I don't know.”

“Well then, we have a way out for you from this mess.”

“We do? How?”

“Simple. Let's find out who has final control over the money.”

Casas whipped around to face Lonsdale. “That's the reason why I can't go with you to Washington. Only I, working from the inside, can find out who manipulates the money. If it is the government, I'll get proof and let you have it. If it is by private persons, then I'll go public with the information in Cuba.”

“Why?”

“Because, under this scenario, the principles of the Revolution would not have been betrayed by the government, only by some high-up individuals.”

“For their own personal benefit.”

“As you say, for their own personal benefit.”

Lonsdale thought for a while. Then he said softly, “In any event, Patricio, whatever the answers to your questions turn out to be, we must work together. You must allow me to help you. You cannot succeed alone.”

“I agree!” Casas answered without hesitation. “Now explain how you propose to go about helping me.”

“Fair deal.” Lonsdale was all business. “Before I tell you what we'll do I want you to realize that we're about to undertake something that will be very dangerous for both of us.” He parked the car alongside the Hyatt Hotel and began to brief Casas in detail about how to keep in touch and how to flee if that became a necessary option. When they parted almost an hour later Casas asked for his weapon back. Lonsdale obliged without delay and apologized for having hurt him. He then grabbed his bag from the trunk of the Cuban's car and went over to the group of limousine drivers huddled in front of the Hyatt Casino to find one willing to drive him to Vienna.

Sunday Evening
Budapest, Hungary

General Casas extracted his hand from the sling gingerly and tried to use it. Although his broken fingers were throbbing, the pain was manageable. He attempted to shift gears and found that if he used a combination of the palm of his hand with his thumb, index, and middle fingers, he could get by.

Not that he had much choice. He had to get to Conchita's apartment somehow.

Without Conchita Borrego, life in Budapest would have been very complicated. She allowed him to stay in her apartment, lent him her car, did his laundry, and provided him with background information he needed to be effective while doing business in Hungary's capital city.

She was a tall, exceptionally attractive woman with a beautiful face and a statuesque figure. These attributes, and the fact that she was politically reliable because of her campesino background, had earned her the job of lead dancer at the Tropicana, the Caribbean's most spectacular nightclub. Since she was also intelligent, the powersthat-be put her in charge of the little troop of nightclub performers Cuba maintained in Budapest. She had accepted the job with enthusiasm, said a tearful good-bye to her boyfriend in Havana, and off she had gone to dance for the Hungarians.

Conchita and her troupe performed in the Havana Club on St. Margaret Island, Budapest's only “respectable” nightclub, where, although human flesh was generously displayed, the emphasis was on dancing. Hungarians loved the tropical beat and the club soon became a favorite of tourists and locals alike.

Mr. Schwartz, a regular visitor to the Havana Club, had taken Casas there for dinner during one of the general's early visits to Budapest. Schwartz knew Conchita, and when she came around to say hello he had introduced her to Casas. One thing lead to another and Casas became the dancer's semi-regular boyfriend. Although he had never told her his real name, she, and all the Cubans in Budapest, knew very well who he was. But she went along with the charade and pretended that he was a civilian businessman visiting Hungary on important government business.

Their relationship had started as one of convenience based on the need for mutual protection and regular sexual encounters, which both enjoyed a great deal. Then it blossomed with the realization of how much they enjoyed each other's company. They loved dancing and music and laughed a lot when they were together.

Casas sighed, put the Lada in gear, and drove out of the Hyatt's parking lot toward Conchita's apartment near the Margaret Bridge. Tonight, he was in no mood for laughing; the man from the CIA had seen to that. He reflected on his position as he steered the car as best he could along Akademia Utca, passed the parliament buildings, and fetched up in Jaszai Mari Square. He was very much aware of being in a lose-lose situation, unlikely to succeed in his self-appointed mission. Either the Castro government was aware of what was going on, in which event, when unmasked, it would claim it had done nothing except attempt to generate much needed foreign exchange for its Department Z. That this action also weakened the moral fiber of its sworn enemy, the United States, was a bonus. Or, the whole thing was a free-enterprise deal for the personal benefit of certain individuals.

But who were these individuals? Oscar De la Fuente? Oscar's boss and father-in-law, the minister of the Interior? Or was it Raul Castro, the minister of the Revolutionary Armed Forces? Or was it all three? For sure not for the benefit and personal gain of one beleaguered, hurting, and more than slightly confused Patricio Casas.

Where did his duty lie? The answer seemed clear: to safeguard the ideals of the Revolution and, if necessary, to help topple the Castro regime if it was behind the drug scheme.

Why are you changing your attitude, Patricio
, he asked himself.
You were dead sure the government was behind the operation. Now you're ambivalent. Why?

He answered his own question.
It's that damned CIA man Roberto. He's highlighted the lack of proof. And what little proof there was, I've unwittingly destroyed by sending Fernandez over to the Americans.

He had to get to Oscar to find out if the little bastard had set this thing up for himself or for the state. “Good thinking, but how about the people who are following me around? Do they know something I don't know? And are they the ones who killed Siddiqui and Schwartz?”