Havana Harvest (51 page)

Lonsdale felt the bump as the truck rolled over the undeployed dragons' teeth. He slammed down on the release buttons to arm both barricades, the one behind him and the other further ahead. The dragon's teeth sprang up just as the third vehicle—the scout car— came barreling through the smoke at a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour and ripped the car's four tires to shreds. Out of control, the vehicle bounced off the left tunnel wall and slid to a halt on its rims less than ten meters from the truck, which, by then, had come to a stop at Lonsdale's command.

Two stun grenades, both thrown by Gal, exploded near the car as he and Lonsdale raced to check on its four occupants. Neither Casas nor De la Fuente were among them.

The guards began firing in Gal's direction. Lonsdale took them out with a short burst from his Galil then destroyed their communications equipment with a well-aimed second burst. Gal's Galil raked the engine and rendered it inoperable. The two returned to the truck where Lonsdale raised the
Barbara
by ultra-shortwave radio. The truck was too far inside the tunnel for the satellite system to work.

“Alpha this is Omega. Do you read? Over.”

“Alpha to Omega. We read you five by five. Over.”

“Omega to Alpha. I'm blind. Keep me posted. Over.”

“Roger Omega. Will keep you posted. Over and out.”

Lonsdale looked at this watch: 0711 hours.

The helicopter pilots timed their take-off to coincide with the Argentine Patrol's fifth sweep over the
Barbara.
The ship was being used by the aircraft of the Brothers to the Rescue as a central marker, a reference point.

As the squadron swept over the ship, the helicopter rose from the deck and flew toward Cuba alongside the Brothers' aircraft for ninety seconds. Lonsdale had devised this maneuver to confuse Cuban radar and “hide” the helicopter's ascent. The Brothers, not wanting to intrude too far into Cuban airspace, turned back. The helicopter dropped down to skim the waves to avoid radar detection. It barreled along at almost two hundred kilometers an hour toward Havana. Within six minutes it was over Maximo Gomez Park.

Meanwhile, in the tunnel the two-car convoy, with one car traveling slightly ahead of the other, reached the second barricade a few seconds after the dragon's teeth had deployed. The lead car's driver spotted them at the very last moment and had just enough time to slam on the brakes before the teeth tore into his front tires. The second car slammed into the barricade at full speed and skewed toward the lead car as both drivers battled for control. But the tires were gone and the rims had no purchase. The two vehicles spun around and hit the tunnel walls.

Before their occupants could recover from the impact, Teams A and B spilled from the cabs and surrounded them, weapons at the ready.

Resistance of any kind would have been futile.

Oscar De la Fuente died a scary and cruel death, especially because he was totally unprepared for it. Unlike Casas, he had no inkling that an attempt at extracting him would be made. Although he heard Gal's stun grenades explode and the burst of machine-gun fire, he ascribed the noise to the powerful backfiring of an ancient truck, not an uncommon phenomenon in Cuba. Thus he was taken by complete surprise when the car he was traveling in rolled over the dragon-teeth barrier and went out of control. He was sitting in the left back seat handcuffed to the roll bar. When the car, having hit the tunnel wall, spun around, the door on his side flew open and he was flung out. He was hanging from the roll bar trying to stabilize himself when the second car sideswiped him and crushed his head. Lonsdale, when he reached the scene, identified him.

In the other car, Casas, though badly shaken up, wasn't hurt. A member of Team B cut him loose with the pliers he had brought along for that purpose and Gal bundled him into the back seat of Cab A. An armed Israeli got in on each side of him and Gal jumped into the front seat beside the Cuban driver.

The five remaining Cubans dropped their gear and, clad in workmen's clothing, piled into Cab B. Lonsdale deactivated dragons teeth barrier Number Two and Cab B left for Old Havana where its occupants would melt into the crowd.

At 0716 hours Lonsdale sprinted back to the truck. “Drive to just this side of the tunnel entrance and stop. Be prepared to fight if necessary.” He handed the driver a helmet and a loaded Galil assault rifle, then climbed back into the rear of the truck and sat down in front of the computer.

A minute later, the system, forty yards from the entrance, reacquired the satellite signal. Picture 4 filled the screen, showing the helicopter from the
Barbara
landing in the middle of the football field in Maximo Gomez Park. Cab A, having rounded the Maximo Gomez monument, was approaching from the south. Out of nowhere, a military jeep carrying four armed soldiers appeared, racing in the opposite direction. Lonsdale guessed they were the advance guard of the military, alerted to the rescue operation by one of the ambushed guards in the tunnel.

The men in the jeep spotted Cab A full of armed men on the other side of the waist-high road divider and opened fire. The cabdriver, mortally wounded, lost control of his vehicle, which sped past the firing soldiers, slammed into the road divider, and overturned.

“Go, go, go,” Lonsdale screamed at his driver. “Round the monument and drive toward the
Malecon.”
The screen now showed that someone in Cab A was returning the soldiers' fire, three of whom were crouched behind their jeep; the fourth lay motionless in front of the vehicle. Lonsdale continued to watch. The firing from the taxi was increasing in volume. More than one weapon was in action.

The maintenance truck was approaching the soldiers rapidly and Lonsdale's driver looked back at him questioningly.

“When you get within a hundred feet of the jeep, stop and turn the truck around.” While the driver did so Lonsdale slammed a grenade into his launcher on the Galil. As soon as he acquired a clear line of fire he stood up and, leaning against the wall of the truck, took careful aim. He fired when the jeep was within fifty feet of him, just as one of the soldiers, who must have heard the truck approaching, swung around and squeezed off a burst of submachine gun fire that mercifully missed.

Lonsdale's grenade hit the jeep's fuel tank, which exploded, blowing the soldiers away. Lonsdale vaulted the road-divider and raced over to Cab A to help Gal, Casas and the two Israelis crawl out of the overturned car. They were shaken, but otherwise unhurt, except for Casas who had a nasty gash across his forehead from broken glass. The driver was dead.

At 0720 hours, Lonsdale yelled, “Everybody into the truck,” and pointed at the maintenance vehicle, which, by then, had caught up with them. They clambered on board fast and the driver floored the accelerator. The truck sped toward the soccer field.

They had almost reached the field when the dialogue box began to clatter. “ALERT, ALERT, ALERT. Bandit helicopter approaching from the east at 200 mph. ETA 90 seconds.”

Lonsdale turned to Gal. “We'll stop the truck. You guys make a run for it. I'll cover the rear.” Gal began to protest, but Lonsdale's shout cut him off. “That's an order.” Then he yelled through the window “Stop now!” The driver slammed on the brakes, Casas, Gal, and the Israelis jumped out and began to sprint toward the waiting helicopter about a hundred yards away, rotors spinning.

“Stand by,” Lonsdale commanded the driver and loaded another grenade into his launcher. On his screen he could see the military chopper coming up fast. He armed his weapon, released the safety, and threw himself flat on the floor of the truck. “Go, go, go,” he yelled above the din of the approaching rotors. The truck shot forward like a scared jackrabbit as the rocket the copter pilot had just fired slammed into the road and exploded harmlessly where the truck had been a few moments before.

“Stop the truck,” Lonsdale bellowed and the driver brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. The pilot fought to break away, but it was too late. The chopper was almost on top of the vehicle.

Lonsdale fired his grenade at the chopper almost at point blank range through the truck's open back door then emptied a clip of ammunition into the craft's body for good measure.

The helicopter exploded. Pieces of it slammed into the front of the truck, killing the driver instantly. Lonsdale was hurled through the back door. The ammunition in the truck blew up and deafened him as he lay, face down, on the roadway. Then something hit him in the thigh. The pain was so intense that he lost consciousness.

At 0721 hours, Gal, Casas, and the two Israelis scrambled on board
the Barbara's
helicopter, which took off just as the maintenance truck blew sky-high. Gal, leaning out of the rising craft as far as he dared, caught a glimpse of a motionless figure lying in the debris, seemingly pinned to the asphalt by a giant spear.

Wednesday, January 3
Somewhere in Havana, Cuba

Lonsdale was delirious. He believed he was snorkeling in the Caribbean, but it was kind of strange. He was swimming on his back and the snorkel tube was sticking straight up in front of his nose. He saw the shark coming and tried to get away, but the water was shallow and he couldn'st use his arms because the sand was holding them down and the shark bit into his thigh and it wouldn't let go and it was hurting very much, so much so that he screamed.

He awoke to find himself strapped to a hospital bed, intravenous dripping into his right arm, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, and a submachine-gun-toting Cuban Army Captain standing guard over him.

When he saw that his charge was awake, the Captain pressed the bell beside Lonsdale's bed, and a doctor appeared, his green fatigues covered by a white smock.

“Habla Vd. Español?
Do you speak Spanish?” he asked.

Lonsdale nodded.

“You must be very thirsty.”

Lonsdale nodded again.

“And you have a splitting headache.”

Lonsdale nodded a third time and tried to speak, but couldn't. The mask on his face was too tight.

“We'll take the mask off in a minute and give you water and some painkillers.” Lonsdale nodded again. They must have given him sodium pentothal.

The doctor turned to the captain and said something Lonsdale couldn't hear. The captain left, but returned within minutes with a major who waited while the doctor removed the mask and adjusted Lonsdale's pillow.

“My name is Arasosa Galetti,” the major said. “I work for Cuban Military Intelligence and I wish to ask you some questions. Do you understand Spanish?” He sat down in the chair provided by the Captain.

“Yes I do, Major,” replied Lonsdale, “but before going on could you please give me some water and something for my headache.”

The major was unsympathetic. “I'm afraid that'll have to wait until after we've finished.”

“You have me in your power, major.” Lonsdale was matter of fact. “And you can deny me comfort and medication, but it will lead you nowhere.” He licked his lips. “What happened this morning is on TV all over the world as we speak. Your government may choose or not to admit that you have captured me, but one thing is for certain. Oscar De la Fuente is dead and you'll have one hell-of-a-time explaining his demise without my help.”

The major was unperturbed. “I think you're being unrealistic. Somehow I feel that, just now, you need our help more than we yours. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we can minister to your physical needs. May I suggest that you start cooperating?” His tone was not that of a friend.

Although his head was splitting and his thigh aflame with pain, Lonsdale managed a grin. He had just discovered two things. First, other than a damaged left thigh, he was in one piece give or take a few abrasions, and second, the major very much needed his help, in spite of his protestations to the contrary. “I would love to, and I will.” Lonsdale made himself sound like reasonableness personified, “but not with you.”

“Not with me what?” Arasosa Galetti was mystified. His prisoner was half-crazed with pain and dying of thirst, yet not cooperating. The interrogation was not going the way he wanted it to, and he was in a hurry.

“What I mean is that I am prepared to cooperate and answer all reasonable questions, but I will give my answers to only one man in Cuba, and that man—and I mean no disrespect to your person—is not you, Major.”

“Who then?”

“The minister of the Revolutionary Armed Forces.”

The major stood up. “I think I had better come back later, after you have had time to reflect on the precariousness of your position.”

Lonsdale, gathering all the strength he could muster, addressed the officer in his best parade-ground voice. “I think not, major, and for two reasons. One, unless you let me speak with Raul Castro immediately you might find yourself demoted a rank or two. This is not important. What is important is that you will have caused irreparable harm to La Patria, the Party, and Fidel Castro for which you will be court-martialed and probably cashiered from the army.”

“You're talking rubbish. You're making empty threats.” The Major made to leave.

Lonsdale was fading fast. He had to give his adversary something to work with, or lose the initiative. “Tell Raul that the Fat Man sent me, and see what he says.”

It was all Lonsdale could do not to lose consciousness before Arasosa Galetti left the room.