Cuba (17 page)

The flight attendant brought the glass of wine and

he sipped it, then put his head back in the seat and

closed his eyes. Ah, yes,

He had a new identity hi his wallet: an

Argentine passport, driver’s license and

identity papers, a birth certificate, several

valid credit cards, a bank account and a real

address in Buenos Aires, all in the name of

Eduardo Jos6 Lopez, a nice common surname.

This identity had been constructed years before and

serviced regularly so that he might move money

around the globe when drug smugglers sought

to pay Fidel Castro. Becoming the good Senor

Lopez would be as easy as presenting the passport

when checking into a hotel.

He had the papers for two other identities in a

safe deposit box in Lausanne, across the lake

from Geneva.

Maxlmo Sedano fingered the bank transfer cards

one more time, then reclined his seat.

How does it feel to be rich? Damned good, thank

you very much,

Lord, it was tempting. Just walk away with the money as

Senor Lopez, and poof! disappear into thin air.

And yet, the gold was there for the taking. His plans were

made, his allies ready… all he had to do was

find the gold and get it out of the country.

He reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and savored

the feeling of being rich.

* * *

Dona Sedano was sitting on her porch, inhaling the

gentle aroma of the tropical flowers that grew around

her porch in profusion and watching the breeze stir the

petals, when she saw Hector walking down the

road. He turned in at her gate and came up

to the porch.

After he kissed her he sat on the top

step, leaned back so he could see her face.

“Why aren’t you in school, teaching”…”…she asked.

He made a gesture, looked away to the north,

toward the sea.

There was nothing out that way but a few treetops waving

in the wind, with puffy clouds floating overhead.

He turned back to look into her face, reached for

her hand. “Ocho went on a boat.two nights

ago. They were trying to reach the Florida Keys.”

“Did they make it?”

“I don’t know. If they make it we won’t hear

for days. Weeks perhaps. If they don’t reach

Florida we may never hear.”

Dona Maria leaned forward and touched her son’s

hair. Then she put her twisted hands back in her

lap.

‘Thank you for telling me.”

“Ocho should have told you.”

“Good-byes can be difficult.”

“I suppose.”

“You are the brightest of my sons, the one with the most

promise. Why didn’t you go to America,

Hector? You had plenty of chances. Why did you

stay hi this hopeless place?”

“Cuba is my home.”…He gestured

helplessly. “This is the work God has given me

to do.”

Dona Maria gently massaged her hands. Rubbing

them seemed to ease the pain sometimes.

“I might as well tell you the rest of

itea”…Hector said. “Ocho got a girl

pregnant. He went on the boat with the

girl and her father. The father wants Ocho to play

baseball in America.”

“Pregnant?”

“Ocho told me, made me promise not to tell.

He did not confess to me as a priest but as a

brother, so I am exercising an older brother’s

prerogativeI am breaking that promise.”

She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment.

“If God is with them, they may make it across the

Straitsea”…Hector said. “There is always that

hope.”

Tears ran down her cheeks.

It was at that moment that Dona Maria saw the human

condition more clearly than she ever had before. She and

Hector were two very mortal people trapped

by circumstance, by fate, between two vast eternities.

The past was gone, lost to them. The people they loved who were

dead were gone like smoke, and they had only

memories of them. The future was … well, the

future was unknowable, hidden in the haze. Here there was

only the present, this moment, these two mortal people with

their memories of all that had been.

Hector stroked his mother’s hair, kissed her

tears, then went down the walk to the road. When he

looked back his mother was still sitting where he had left

her, looking north toward the sea.

Ocho was probably dead, Hector realized,

another victim of the Cuban condition.

When, O Lard, when will it stop? How many more people must

drown in the sea? How many more lives must be blighted

and ruined by the lack of opportunity here? How many more

lives must be sacrificed on the altar of

political ambition?

As he walked toward the village bus stop, he

lifted his hands and roared his rage, an angry shout

mat was lost in the cathedral of the sky.

The pain was there, definitely there, but it wasn’t

cutting at him, doubling him over. Fidel Castro

made them get him up, had them put him in a chair

behind his desk. He wanted the flag to his right

Mercedes and the nurse helped him into his green

fatigue shirt.

He was perspiring then, gritting his teeth

to get through this.

“Do you know what you want to say”…”…Mercedes

asked.

“I think so.”

The camera crew was fiddling with the lights, arranging

power cords.

“I want to say something to you, right nowea”…she

whispered, “while you are sharp and not heavily

sedated.”

His eyes went to her.

“I love you, Fidel. With all my heart.”

“And I you, woman. Would that we had more time.”

“Ah, time, what a whore she is. We had each

other, and mat was enough.”

He bit his lip, reached for her hand. “If only

we had met years ago, before”

He winced again. “Better start the tapeea”…he

said. “I haven’t much time.”…He straightened,

gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles

turned white.

With the lights on, Fidel Castro looked

straight into the camera, and spoke: “Citizens of

Cuba, I speak to you today for the last time. I am

fatally ill and my days on this earth will soon be

over. Before I leave you, however, I wish

to spend a few minutes telling you of my dream for

Cuba, my dream of what our nation can become in the

years ahead….”

The door opened and Alejo Vargas walked hi.

Behind him was Colonel Pablo Santana.

“Well, well,

Senor Presidente. I

heard you were making a speech to the video cameras this

afternoon. Do not mind us; please continue. We will

remain silent spectators, out

of die sight of the camera, two loyal Cubans

representing millions of others.”

“I did not invite you here, Vargas.”"…’True, you

did not,

Senor Presidente.

But things seem to be slipping away from you these

daysimportant things. The world will not stop turning on

its axis while you lie in bed taking drugs.”

“Get out! This is my office.”

Alejo Vargas settled into a chair. He turned

to the camera crew. ‘Turn that thing off. The lights

too. Then you may take a short break. We will

call you when we want you to return.”

The extinguishment of the television lights made the

room seem very dark.

Colonel Santana escorted the technicians”

from the room and closed the door behind them. He stood

with his back against the door, his arms crossed.

“If you are pushing the button near your knee

to summon the security staff, you are wasting your

timeea”…Vargas said. “Members of my staff have

replaced them.”

“Say what you want, then get outea”…Castro said.

Vargas got out a cigarette, lit it, taking his

time. “I am wondering about Maximo Sedano. The

night before last he was here, you signed something for him,

he left this morning on a plane to Madrid, with a

continuation on to Zurich. What was that all about?”

Fidel said nothing. Mercedes noticed that he was

perspiring again.

“I am in no rushea”…Vargas said. “I have all the

time in the world.”

Fidel ground his teeth. “He went to move

funds. On a matter of interest to the Finance

Ministry.”

“The question is, where will the funds end up when their

electronic journey is over? Tell me that,

please.”

“In the government’s accounts in the Bank of

Cuba, in Havana.”

“I ask this question because the man who was here last

night did not see you check the account numbers in

any book or ledger. You have the account numbers

memorized?”

“No.”

“So in reality you don’t know where Maximo

Sedano will wire the money?”

“He is a trustworthy man. Loyal. I cannot

be everywhere, see everything, and must trust people. I have

trusted people all my Me.”

“How much money are we talking about,

Senor PresidenteThat

“I don’t know.”

“Millions?”

“Yes.”

“Tens of millions?”

“Yes.”

“Dios mio,

our Maximo must be a saint! I wouldn’t trust my

own mother with that kind of money.”

“I wouldn’t trust your mother with a drunken

sailorea”…Mercedes said. “Not if he had two

centavos in his pocket.”…She handed some pills

to Castro, who glanced down at them.

“Water, pleaseea”…he whispered. He

put the pills on the desk in front of him.

Vargas continued: “If we ever see the face of

Maximo Sedano again,

Senor Presidente,

you have me to thank. I am having one of my men meet

the finance minister in Zurich. We will try to convince

Maximo to do his duty to his country.”

Mercedes handed Fidel a glass of water. He

picked up several of the pills, put them in his mouth,

then swallowed some water. Then he put the last

pill in his mouth and took another swig.

Vargas was a moral nihilist, Castro thought,

a man who believed in nothing. There were certainly

plenty of those. He had known what Vargas was for many

years and had used nun anyway because he was good at his

job, which

STEPHEN COONTS

was a miserable one.

We entrusted it to a swine so that we need not dirty

our hands.

Another mistake.

“I need restea”…he said, and tried to rise.

“Noea”…Vargas said fiercely. He leaned on the

desk with both hands, lowered his face near Fidel.

“You still have a statement to make before the

cameras.”

“Nothing for you.”

“You think you have nothing to lose, do you not? You think,

Alejo could kill me, but what is that? He merely

speeds up the inevitable.”

Fidel looked Vargas square in the eye. “I

should have killed you years and years agoea”…he said. He

took his hands from the arms of his chair and wrapped them

around his stomach.

“There is no regret as bitter as the murder you

didn’t commit. How true that is! But you didn’t

kill me because you needed me, Fidel,. needed me

to ferret out your enemies, find who was whispering against

you and bring you then* names. Help you shut their mouths,

cut out the rot without killing the tree.

“Kill me? Without me how would you have kept your

wretched subjects loyal? Who would have kept these

miserable

guajiros

starving on this sandy rock in the sea’s middle from

cutting the flesh from your bones? Who would have provided

the muscle to keep you in office when the Russians

abandoned you and nothing went right? When everything you touched

backfired?

“Kill me?

Ha!

That would have been like killing yourself.

“Now I have come for mine. Not centavos, like in the

past. I want what is mine for keeping you in power

all these years, for keeping the peasants from slicing

your throat when in truth that was precisely what you

deserved. You are a miserable failure, Fidel,

as a man and as a servant of Cuba. And you are

going to die a revered old manGod,

what a joke! Hailed as the Cuban Washington

for the next ten centuries….”

Vargas sneered.

“Now still have the power of life or death, Fidel. I

think you will make your statement in front of the camera.

You will name me, Alejo Vargas, your loyal,

trusted minister of interior as your successor; you will

plead with all loyal Cubans everywhere

to recognize the wisdom of your choice.”

Sweat ran in rivulets from Fidel’s face,

dripped from his beard. His voice came out a hoarse

whisper. “Forty years” service to my country, and

you expect me to hand Cuba over to you? To rape

tilde for your profit? Not on your life.”

“Don’t be a fool. You have nothing to bargain with.”

“Kill me. See what you gamea”…Fidel

said, his voice barely audible.

“You’ll die soon enough, never fear. But before you do

Colonel Santana will butcher Mercedes on this

table while you watch.”

“Have you no honor?”

“Don’t talk to me of honor. You have told so many

lies you can’t remember ever telling the truth. You have

profaned the Church, denied God, sent loyal