Stalked: The Boy Who Said No

STALKED:
The Boy Who Said No

Also by Patti Sheehy

The Boy Who Said No: An Escape to Freedom

The Boy Who Said No

Historical Fiction

Patti Sheehy

Copyright © 2014 by Patti Sheehy

FIRST EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-60809-125-6

Illustration copyright © 2013 by Emily Baar

Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing,
Longboat Key, Florida
www.oceanviewpub.com

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

This book is dedicated to my amazing husband and friend,
Robert J. Hunter. And to my whole crazy—and wonderful—
Sheehy family, especially my daughter, Patricia.

I would like to acknowledge Frank Mederos for providing the basis for this story, for his keen memory, his patience, and attention to detail. He has been central to the writing and promotion of both
The Boy Who Said No: An Escape to Freedom
and
Stalked: The Boy Who Said No,
and I owe him a great debt of gratitude. He is not only my partner, but also a dear friend. My sincere thanks go to his wife and family for their understanding of the time demands in introducing these books to the world.

My husband, Robert Hunter, made writing my books possible through his unwavering support in holding the fort, running errands, and cooking endless meals, while I slaved away at the computer. Hats off to Bob!

The success of
Stalked
depends partly on the success of
The Boy Who Said No.
Hence, I owe a debt of gratitude to Christopher Walter and the Board of Trustees of the Haddon Heights Public Library for naming
The Boy Who Said No
One Book Haddon Heights and for their work in the book’s successful launch.

Thanks to my family for their support, especially my father, William V. Sheehy Jr., and my brother, William V. Sheehy III, for their exceptional efforts in promoting
The Boy Who Said No
to their colleagues, neighbors, and friends. Their efforts exceeded all expectations, and I am truly grateful.

Civic organizations, book clubs, and individuals too numerous to mention contributed to the success of my first book by inviting Frank and me to speak to their clubs. You know who you are. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The International Thriller Writers (ITW) organization played a key role in getting
The Boy Who Said No
off to a memorable start at an honorary event that remained fresh in my mind for months.

I want to thank my amazing friends, Patty and Rich Israel; Patrick and Michelle Delaney; Barbara and Tom Gardner; Laura and Ted Todd; Rose Fitzgerald, Joyce Herrman, Carol Larro, Nancy Gulick, Lin Sweeten, Dorie Gilchrist, Carol Beahm, Maureen D’Andrea, Ellen Youseffian, Sue Comfort, Peg Carney, Ruth Griesback, Anne McAdams, the folks at the Kennedy Health System, and so many others who went out of their way for Frank and me by opening their homes to host book events.

Thanks to the crew at Oceanview Publishing: Pat and Bob Gussin, Frank Troncale, David Ivester, and Emily Baar for their continued professionalism. Kudos to Susan Hayes for superb editing and to George Foster for another dynamite cover design.

In
The Boy Who Said No: An Escape to Freedom
we follow the harrowing adventures of Frank Mederos, a member of Fidel Castro’s Special Forces, as he defects from the army, spends five months on the run from his fellow soldiers, and makes a desperate escape by boat to Key West, Florida.

When Frank arrives in America his trials are far from over. While he works to make a life for himself, sinister forces in Cuba plot his destruction. This is his story—a tale of love, loss, courage, and friendship.

Stalked: The Boy Who Said No
is based upon countless hours of interviews with Mr. Mederos. He was able to attest to the parts of the story that directly involve him. In many areas of this narrative, however, Frank knows what set events in motion and how they played out, but the details of what happened in between remain in shadow.

As a result, many scenes, descriptions, and dialogue have been written based on how Frank imagined them to have occurred knowing the characters, time frame, and history. Liberties were taken in creating material that Frank could only surmise, given the outcome of events. The experiences of Frank’s former commanding officer, Pino, in the cane fields and in the Soviet Union as well as the interactions among the Cuban operatives are fictionalized.

Nonetheless, the skeleton of this story—Frank’s attempted recruitment by the CIA, his relationship with Magda and Chris, his life as an immigrant, and his encounter with his friend Lazo and the Cuban operatives in the hills of north Jersey—are true. Thus,
Stalked: The Boy Who Said No
is called a true-life novel.

The names of some characters have been changed to protect the privacy of family members and those still residing in Cuba.

No friendship is an accident.
—O’Henry,
Heart of the West

Stalked:
The Boy Who Said No

Lieutenant Pino picked up the phone. The forty-year-old Cuban military officer had one message for Commander Martinez, one sentence that would change the course of his life. He didn’t bother to identify himself when the commander answered.

“It’s over,” he said. “The son of a bitch has escaped.”

“Jesus Christ. When?”

“Just now!”

“How?”

“The American Coast Guard picked him up. We intercepted the radio transmission.”

“Christ almighty, this is all I need!”

The lieutenant took an audible breath, but did not respond.

“I want you back at base, pronto, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’d better have one hell of an explanation for this.” The phone went dead. Pino lifted his chin as if he were preparing for a fight and signaled to his driver to start the engine.

Lieutenant Pino arrived at base at four p.m. Sensing his mood, his driver remained silent during the trip, regarding the lieutenant cautiously in the rearview mirror. The lieutenant seemed agitated, his hands fisted, his mouth twitching uncharacteristically. Thick blue veins throbbed at his temples, looking as if they were about to explode. He appeared shell-shocked and bone-tired.

The driver pulled into base and opened the door of the Russian-made jeep. Pino stepped out of the vehicle and straightened his back. He glanced at his watch, then at his driver. His eyes were hard as cement.

The base was unusually busy with men scurrying in different directions in frenzied activity. They saluted smartly when they saw the lieutenant, but Pino detected a trace of fear in their eyes. He found this unsettling. He knew it was going to be a long, trying day.

Before the lieutenant walked three feet, he was told to report to Commander Martinez’s office. He tightened his shoulders and hastened down the hallway.

The commander stood against the open window, red-faced, nostrils flaring. Pino sucked in his breath. He had seen that expression on the commander’s face before, and it never preceded anything good. Martinez stabbed Pino with his eyes, turned, and lowered his chin. A thin layer of fat settled above his collar.

“Shut the door, Lieutenant,” he barked. The older man’s eyes were flinty, his lips starched.

Pino turned slowly to close the door, hoping to buy a little time to think. He pivoted to face his commanding officer.

“So, we have a situation,” Martinez said curtly.

Pino blinked, dreading this conversation. “A situation?” he countered. It was an instinctive reaction. He knew full well what the commander meant. He also knew this meeting would involve no fiery tango, no point-counterpoint. He could offer no real defense. He had gambled and lost. Now, there would be hell to pay.

“What situation?” mocked the commander. “You told me an hour ago that Mederos has escaped—picked up by the American Coast Guard. I’d call that a situation. Wouldn’t you, Lieutenant?”

Pino bit his bottom lip, not wanting to respond. He hesitated a moment and looked at the ceiling. He needed a drink—a double scotch. Finally, he nodded and said in a strangled voice, “Yes, sir.”

“Can’t hear you, Lieutenant. Speak up!”

“Yes, sir.”

Martinez shook his head in exasperation. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Pino straightened his spine as his stomach dropped away. “Couldn’t be helped, sir. We did everything possible to bring the worm in.”

Pino’s commanding officer looked incredulous, as if he were still trying to process what had happened. The air in the room grew as still as that preceding a tornado. Pino looked at the commander, and an image of a Cuban boa flashed before his eyes, its body coiled, its jaws unhinged to consume its prey. Like the rodents it attacked, Pino felt he was about to be asphyxiated, eaten alive.

“Everything possible, Lieutenant? Everything possible?” The commander paused, trying to quell the roar in his ears. “I’ll tell you what was possible,” he spat. “It was possible that we followed procedure in this situation. It was possible that we notified the police, the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR), the goddamn militia. It was possible that they would’ve posted Mederos’s picture on every window and on every telephone pole in this goddamn city, in the goddamn country if necessary.” He shook his head.

“It was possible that Mederos would’ve been arrested the day he defected.” The commander’s voice climbed an octave as he
concluded his monologue. “It was possible that this whole damn fiasco could’ve been avoided, and Mederos would rot away in some rat-ridden jail.” He hesitated a moment, giving his words gravitas. “For your information, Lieutenant, that’s what was possible.”

The commander exhaled loudly, eyes blazing. Pino stiffened. He felt like all the oxygen had been siphoned from the room, and he was gasping for breath. Only he wasn’t. “But
you!
You, with your stubbornness, your willfulness, your know-it-all attitude, you made all of that
impossible!’

Pino squeezed his lips together and lifted his chin, but said nothing. The room seemed suddenly hollow, devoid of power on both of their parts. The clip of boots hitting pavement drifted through the open window. The sun cast a puddle of yellow on the linoleum floor.

When the commander spoke again, his voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. “You and your damn arrogance will cost us plenty, Lieutenant. Both of us. Do you understand?”

Pino bit the inside of his cheek and returned the commander’s glare. He felt a tickle at the back of his throat but resisted the urge to cough.
Bile,
he thought. The two men stood in silence.

“Make no mistake about it,” said Martinez. “We’re through with this little game of yours. Your so-called state of emergency at this base is officially over.” He scoured the lieutenant’s eyes. “I am in charge now. And, as your commanding officer, I’m placing you under house arrest.”

Pino blanched. His body grew rigid, fear cramping his stomach. Small beads of perspiration dewed his hairline.

“I’ve notified the administrator at headquarters in Managua, and a delegation is on its way to deal with the issue,” said Martinez. “They will arrive first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, you are confined to base. You will not leave, you will not go home, you will not go anywhere until further notice. You know the drill. Am I making myself clear?”

Pino nodded. He opened his mouth to speak and then thought
better of it. The commander looked like he would brook no argument. Still, he felt he had to defend himself. Finally, he said, “How could you do this to me? You know how loyal I’ve been to the Party.”