was going to give him peace during his final days, but he wasn’t ready for it yet.
The pain had eased somewhat when he felt a hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes. Mercedes.
“You dropped your cigar on the floor,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Shall I call the nurse?”
“Not for a while.”
She used a damp cloth to wipe the perspiration from his face. The cloth felt good.
“Light the cigar.”
She did so, put it in his hand. He managed one tiny puff.
“You talked to Hector?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He was surprised. He didn’t know it would be so soon.”
“That was your impression?”
“Yes.”
“And the tobacco deal with the Americans? What did Hector say when you told him about it?”
“Just listened.”
“The birthday party, Maximo came?”
“Yes. Brought a box of French chocolates and his wife, who wore a Paris frock.”
Fidel’s lips twisted. He could imagine what the other people at the party thought of that. Maximo could charm foreign bankers and squeeze a peso until it squealed, but he was no politician.
“Did you warn Hector about Alejo?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He made light of it.”
Fidel thought about that. Remembered the cigar and took another puff.
“He thinks the threat will be the generals,” he said finally, “but it won’t. The generals don’t know it, but the troops will follow Hector. Alejo Vargas is his most dangerous opponent, and if Hector Sedano doesn’t understand that, they will bury him a few days after they bury me.”
“Admiral, next weekend when we’re in the Virgin Islands, what say we put the barge in the water and go water-skiing?”
The person asking the question was the admiral’s aide, a young lieutenant who flew an F/A-18 on her last cruise. Her boyfriend was still in one of the Hornet squadrons; the last time Jake Grafton approved the barge adventure, the boyfriend was invited to go along.
Now Jake sighed. “I’m not sure where we’re going to. be next weekend, Beth.” He had no intention of getting very far from Guantánamo Bay while those warheads were still in that warehouse, but of course he couldn’t say that. “Check with ops, Commander Tarkington.”
“Yes, sir,” Beth said, trying to hide her disappointment.
The new Chief of Staff, Captain Gil Pascal, Toad Tarkington, and the admiral had put their heads together, carefully listed the forces available should an emergency arise, and drafted a contingency plan. “Nothing’s happened in all these years,” Jake told them, “but Washington must have had a reason for telling us to keep an eye on the place. They must know something we don’t.”
Gil Pascal met the admiral’s gaze. He had reported to the staff just a week ago. “Sir, as I recall, the orders said to ‘monitor’ the loading of the weapons onto the container ship.”
“‘Monitor’?” muttered Jake Grafton. “What the hell does that mean? Is that some kind of New Age bureaucrat word? It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I guess my question really is, how much force are you willing to use without authorization from Washington?”
A faint smile crossed the lips of Toad Tarkington. Only a man who didn’t know the admiral would ask that question. Anyone who started shooting in Jake Grafton’s bailiwick had better be ready for a war, Toad thought. He had managed to wipe off the smile by the time the admiral answered:
“Whatever it takes to keep those warheads in American hands.”
Pascal took his time ordering his thoughts. “Shouldn’t we be talking contingencies with Washington, Admiral?”
Jake Grafton opened a top-secret message folder that lay on his desk in front of him. “I already sent a query to CNO. This is the answer.”
He passed the message to Pascal. “Monitor weapons on-load diligently, using your best judgment,” the message read, “but do not deviate from normal routine. Revealing presence of chemical and biological weapons in Cuba
The pain had eased somewhat when he felt a hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes. Mercedes.
“You dropped your cigar on the floor,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Shall I call the nurse?”
“Not for a while.”
She used a damp cloth to wipe the perspiration from his face. The cloth felt good.
“Light the cigar.”
She did so, put it in his hand. He managed one tiny puff.
“You talked to Hector?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He was surprised. He didn’t know it would be so soon.”
“That was your impression?”
“Yes.”
“And the tobacco deal with the Americans? What did Hector say when you told him about it?”
“Just listened.”
“The birthday party, Maximo came?”
“Yes. Brought a box of French chocolates and his wife, who wore a Paris frock.”
Fidel’s lips twisted. He could imagine what the other people at the party thought of that. Maximo could charm foreign bankers and squeeze a peso until it squealed, but he was no politician.
“Did you warn Hector about Alejo?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He made light of it.”
Fidel thought about that. Remembered the cigar and took another puff.
“He thinks the threat will be the generals,” he said finally, “but it won’t. The generals don’t know it, but the troops will follow Hector. Alejo Vargas is his most dangerous opponent, and if Hector Sedano doesn’t understand that, they will bury him a few days after they bury me.”
“Admiral, next weekend when we’re in the Virgin Islands, what say we put the barge in the water and go water-skiing?”
The person asking the question was the admiral’s aide, a young lieutenant who flew an F/A-18 on her last cruise. Her boyfriend was still in one of the Hornet squadrons; the last time Jake Grafton approved the barge adventure, the boyfriend was invited to go along.
Now Jake sighed. “I’m not sure where we’re going to. be next weekend, Beth.” He had no intention of getting very far from Guantánamo Bay while those warheads were still in that warehouse, but of course he couldn’t say that. “Check with ops, Commander Tarkington.”
“Yes, sir,” Beth said, trying to hide her disappointment.
The new Chief of Staff, Captain Gil Pascal, Toad Tarkington, and the admiral had put their heads together, carefully listed the forces available should an emergency arise, and drafted a contingency plan. “Nothing’s happened in all these years,” Jake told them, “but Washington must have had a reason for telling us to keep an eye on the place. They must know something we don’t.”
Gil Pascal met the admiral’s gaze. He had reported to the staff just a week ago. “Sir, as I recall, the orders said to ‘monitor’ the loading of the weapons onto the container ship.”
“‘Monitor’?” muttered Jake Grafton. “What the hell does that mean? Is that some kind of New Age bureaucrat word? It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I guess my question really is, how much force are you willing to use without authorization from Washington?”
A faint smile crossed the lips of Toad Tarkington. Only a man who didn’t know the admiral would ask that question. Anyone who started shooting in Jake Grafton’s bailiwick had better be ready for a war, Toad thought. He had managed to wipe off the smile by the time the admiral answered:
“Whatever it takes to keep those warheads in American hands.”
Pascal took his time ordering his thoughts. “Shouldn’t we be talking contingencies with Washington, Admiral?”
Jake Grafton opened a top-secret message folder that lay on his desk in front of him. “I already sent a query to CNO. This is the answer.”
He passed the message to Pascal. “Monitor weapons on-load diligently, using your best judgment,” the message read, “but do not deviate from normal routine. Revealing presence of chemical and biological weapons in Cuba
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