Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (34 page)

Tomás looked nonplussed. “I don’t like the sound of this. You are far too important to our operation to take a chance like that. If you get caught, it will totally blow your cover. Our people can handle this situation. You can add nothing to the operation that can’t be done by someone else.”

The lines of Lazo’s mouth turned downward. “You are forgetting one important element.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m the only one who can identify the trigger man. Besides, I trained Baez. I know his strengths and weaknesses, and how he’s likely to react in a given situation. Frank has never even seen him— he’s a sitting duck.”

“I’ll grant you that. But this is a very dangerous mission, and I don’t want to compromise it for one man’s agenda.”

Lazo’s face revealed his frustration, but his voice remained calm, rational. “Look, Tomás, in all the years I’ve worked for you, I’ve never asked a personal favor. But I’m asking for one now, not as a CIA agent, but as a person.”

“Have you and Frank corresponded over the years?”

“No, Frank knows better than that. He would never put me in danger by contacting me.”

“Of course.” Tomás thought for a minute. “You really care about this guy?”

“Frank and I bonded in the force. He is a good man, and I could never live with myself if I thought I could’ve saved his life and didn’t.”

Tomás pursed his lips. “Don’t take offense. But what guarantee do I have that you won’t stay in the States once you get there?”

Lazo smirked. “If I wanted to live in the States, then I wouldn’t be here. My entire family lives in Cuba. I have no desire to live anywhere else.”

“I understand. But getting you involved in this mission is not as easy as you may think. I have to talk to my supervisors about it. We’ll have to contact members of Alpha Sixty-six. They’re the ones who would take care of something like this. They are very independent-minded. I doubt they’ll want one of us tagging along.”

“Well, do what you have to do. But do it fast. Because my friend is in danger, and I’m going to help him—with or without your permission.”

Tomás rubbed his forehead. “Do you know when the hit will take place?”

“No. But Baez and Franco have already left base, so the operation is well underway.”

“You’re bound and determined to do this, aren’t you, Lazo?”

“Yes, sir, I am. In my eyes and in the eyes of many others, Frank is a beacon of freedom. He gave us hope. I’ll be damned if I will
allow something to happen to him. And I’m willing to risk my life to make sure it doesn’t. Pino failed once to kill Frank, and I want to make sure he fails again.”

“I hear you,” sighed Tomás. “We’ll talk again later.”

The next day Tomás asked Lazo for a full description of Frank Mederos: name, last known address, skills, and distinguishing physical characteristics.

Lazo tossed and turned for the next two nights, worried about the outcome of the mission. Deep down, he knew Tomás was right—his proposal was riddled with risk. He would be operating in a foreign country with people whose methods and procedures were unfamiliar and unpredictable.

He was jeopardizing years of dangerous espionage work for a mission of uncertain outcome. His deep understanding of Cuba’s military operations, its strengths and vulnerabilities, would be worthless on this mission. If the mission did not succeed, the consequences would be grave. He would fail Frank, Tomás, and the CIA. Not to mention himself.

But his gut told him to go to Frank’s aid. He knew emotions drive decisions more often than not, even his. This was an emotionally driven choice. But one he was willing to make. Now he was sitting outside his superior’s office awaiting orders.

When the door opened, Tomás gestured to Lazo to enter. “Sit down,” he said.

Lazo glanced out the window and took a seat. Several men were dragging pipe off a refinery truck. The sound of metal upon metal grated the air. Tomás stood and closed the window. It rattled shut.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” said Tomás. “I’m not in favor of your proposal. I think it’s foolish for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the danger posed to you and to the agency.”
He took a breath. “But I understand the personal nature of this mission, and I respect that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Against my better judgment, I’ve prevailed upon my superiors to grant you your request. Given your distinguished service to this agency, they’ve agreed. And I am willing to go along with it—just this once.”

Lazo smiled slightly. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“Now, let me fill you in on what we know so far.”

Lazo pulled his chair up to the desk while Tomás opened a folder. “I’ve put out some feelers to find out what’s happening.”

“What have you learned?”

“Pino has set up an apartment in Miami for his people.”

“Describe it.”

“It’s your basic high-rise. Small. Spartan. Two bedrooms, living room, eat-in kitchen. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would draw attention.”

“That’s their headquarters?”

“As far as we can tell, it’s where decisions are made. Lieutenant Franco and a man named Adán will work from there. Damian has either arrived or is on his way. We’re not sure. Cuban operatives named Elias and Sebastian will pick up Baez and Franco at the dock. They will take Franco and Baez to the safe house and then accompany Baez to Union City.”

“What do they know about Frank?”

“They know his address, his place of work, and his personal habits.”

“Which are?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary for an American. He owns a couple of restaurants in New Jersey. He works long hours. Dines out on Friday nights. We know which restaurants he prefers.”

“Anything else?”

“He’s a sportsman. Likes to fish and hunt.”

“For what?”

“Fishes for trout. Hunts for deer.”

“What kind of gun does he use?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Well, find out. It’s important. He’s an excellent shot.”

“It’s on the list.”

“What about Magda?”

“Magda?”

“His wife.”

“We haven’t heard about anyone named Magda. He brings a young girl to work with him sometimes. She often stays with an older couple and another woman. We figure they’re her aunt and grandparents.”

Lazo thought for a minute. “It must be his daughter.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“How do you know all this?”

“One of our guys posed as a washer repair man for their safe house in Miami. He dropped a bug. We overhear all their intelligence. It’s simple.”

Lazo shook his head. “Nothing’s ever simple in this business. We both know that.” He looked at the ceiling before his gaze returned to Tomás. “I want to be very clear about something. Franco and Baez are hard-core communists, loyal to a fault. They know Pino hates Frank with a passion, and the commander will not look kindly on them if they fail to kill him. They will eliminate anyone in their path to complete this mission. Your people need to be careful.”

“Don’t worry. Our guys from Alpha Sixty-six have faced worse. Hell, two of them fought with Fidel in the hills until they figured out what a nutcase he is. The other two worked the Bay of Pigs invasion—spent time in a Cuban jail as a reward for their efforts.”

“What do they do now?”

“They patrol Cuban waters, try to blow up military installations. Cause trouble. Sometimes they’re successful. Sometimes not.”

“Sounds like the mission’s in good hands.”

“The mission
is
in good hands.” Tomás thought for a moment,

“Listen, I hate to reiterate something you already know, but if you are apprehended by the Americans, do not mention your connection with the agency. If you do, we’ll deny knowing you. Just go to jail. We’ll take care of everything after that.”

“Understood. Do you have a weapon for me?”

“You’ll be issued a gun in case of emergency. But remember, your role is to warn Frank and to identify Damian. Nothing else. I don’t want you involved in any gunfight. I don’t want you killing anyone. Those are my orders. Do you understand?”

Lazo ignored the statement. “What kind of danger does Frank face now?”

“He’s fine. Our people are keeping close tabs on him. If anyone moves on Frank, we’ll take care of it.”

“Why haven’t they made a move yet?”

“They’re doing the same thing we are: reconnaissance. They know as much about Frank as we do. They are waiting for the proper moment. They’re being very careful.”

Lazo nodded. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“It can’t be soon enough for me.”

“I understand. Go pack your bag.”

Lazo stood with a smile and started out the door while Tomás said, “And, by the way, this shouldn’t take long. Pack lightly.”

It was late afternoon when Sebastian and Elias picked up Damian Baez and First Lieutenant Franco from a boat in Key West. Sebastian was pushing fifty and Elias had just celebrated his fortieth birthday.

When the four men arrived at the safe house in Miami, Sebastian grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, while Elias unpacked. The older man popped the tab and upended the can. He gulped the beer, wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, and reached for another. Elias shook his head. He disapproved of drinking—he thought it fogged a person’s thinking. His weakness was Coke and pie à la mode.

Finicky since birth, Elias insisted on using the top two drawers of the bureau. He arranged his toiletries in alphabetical order, labels turned out. He hung his shirts in the closet according to color, plaid to the left, striped to the right. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, something he did four times a day. He sheeted the mattress and folded the spread at the foot of his bed.

Sebastian watched him with disdain. Grunting, he threw his suitcase on the floor without bothering to open it. He figured he’d unpack as he went along. Tomorrow they would head north, so he saw no need to bother with sheets. The bare mattress would do just fine.

While Sebastian and Elias both lived in Dade County, they had never met. But they had something in common: they were of Cuban descent and had relatives living in Havana. They hated America for its invasion of that island country, and they were willing to pass information to the Cuban authorities to prevent a similar occurrence. A mutual friend, who had trained in Russia, had assigned them this case.

Sebastian and Elias spent their days working, vacationing with their families, and leading normal American lives. Sebastian’s hobby was fishing, and Elias fixed cars in his spare time. He always wore gloves when he worked. Their families had no idea of their clandestine activities.

The two men were now engaged in a mission they believed originated at the highest levels of the Cuban government. Being selected for such a job was a new experience for them, an opportunity to feel important. They were thrilled.

Damian and Franco changed their clothes for dinner. The four men drove to a small Italian place, quiet and out of the way. Sebastian ordered a large plate of baked ziti accompanied by a full loaf of bread slathered with butter. He downed several beers and chased six meat- balls around his plate with his spoon before eating them whole.

And it showed. Rolls of fat layered Sebastian’s abdomen and a double chin hung from his jaw. Puffy red bags almost obscured his eyes. The fabric of his shirt strained at the buttons. His stomach rumbled like a thunderstorm. He patted it, adjusted his belt, and expelled a loud burp.

Elias was in no better shape. Although he carried most of his weight in his shoulders and back, it was all fat. His upper arms were soft and his stomach was spongy.
These guys might be great at making bombs and doing espionage,
thought Damian.
But I hope I don’t have to depend on their strength or stamina, or I could be a dead man.

Franco leaned back in his seat and wiped his face with his napkin. “Bring us up to speed with what’s happening, Sebastian.”

“Our people in Union City have Mederos under surveillance. We know all about him.”

“Fill us in,” urged Damian.

“He works in a sandwich shop—we think he owns it due to his hours. He works from seven in the morning until ten or eleven at night.”

“He’d better own the place at the rate he’s working,” quipped Franco. He smiled at his own remark. “What else?”

“He’s a hunter—goes to the same place every Saturday during hunting season. We’re hoping he gets together with other subversives so we can kill two birds with one stone. José and Chico haven’t seen suspicious activity yet, but they’re keeping a close eye on the situation.”

A look of concern entered Franco’s eyes. “Tell them not to wait for Mederos to meet with other subversives. Our mission is to kill him and him alone. Nothing else matters.”

“But—”

Franco held up a hand. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he said in an authoritative tone. “Nothing else matters.”

Sebastian grumbled and turned to Damian. “We’ll stay at a safe house in Union City with José and Chico. José will direct the operation from there. You are to take orders from him, Private.”

Damian’s eyes turned cold. “Do not address me as Private, Sebastian. I have been promoted. From now on call me Lieutenant Baez. And for your information, I don’t take orders from anyone.”

Confused, Sebastian glanced at Franco for confirmation. Franco nodded.

“I’m terribly sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize. I thought you were a private—my mistake.”

Damian cut him short. “It’s of no consequence. You know now.”

Sebastian’s face reddened, and he turned to Franco. “I understand you will direct operations from the command center in Miami to the command center in Union City.”

“Correct.”

Sebastian glanced at Damian. “As I just said, José is in charge up north. He will follow Franco’s orders and keep him abreast of what’s happening in Union City. A man named Adán will arrive in Miami tomorrow to assist Franco.” Sebastian turned to Franco and said, “Under no circumstances are you to leave the safe house in Miami.”

“Pardon me?” said Franco. He pushed back his chair and folded his arms. “Who do you think you are? I don’t take orders from you.”