Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (38 page)

“It figures,” said Lazo. “These guys were recruited by someone close to Pino, probably by a contact he made in Russia. Who knows what their backgrounds are. They could be Russian trained, but I doubt it. Their behavior doesn’t support that supposition.”

“Well, I assure you they were about to take Frank out tonight,” said Curro. He turned his fork on its side and scraped a puddle of pie filling off his plate. The waitress arrived and removed his dish.

Lazo lifted his cup to sip his coffee and pulled back from it. It was still too hot. He liked his coffee warm and black. He placed his cup on its saucer and stirred the dark liquid with his spoon to cool it. He gulped it down in one go and leaned back in his chair.

“Pino and Franco must be getting desperate,” said Lazo. “Franco needs to get back to base before his absence raises suspicions. Pino is probably pressuring him to return. They’re running out of time.”

Augustin looked concerned. “It may account for what happened tonight. We were damn lucky they didn’t kill Frank.”

“We were,” added Javier.

Augustin turned to Curro, and asked, “What’s Frank doing tomorrow?”

“It’s Saturday, the day he hunts.”

“What does he hunt again?”

“Deer, with a bow and arrow.”

“No gun?”

“Not at this time of year.”

Augustin leaned forward, his eyes sharp as knives at a sudden realization. “That’s where it’s going to happen!”

Lazo raised his eyebrows. “Of course, it makes perfect sense.”

“Lazo,” said Augustin, “I want you to get up early and follow Frank. Let me know if the Cuban operatives are in the woods. If so, I’ll join you with reinforcements. There’s a phone booth in the parking lot. Use it. But don’t take any chances.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lazo. “I’ll take care of it.”

Curro and Javier stood, signaling their return to headquarters. “Are you coming, Lazo?” asked Curro.

“Not yet. I need another cup of coffee.”

“Me too,” said Augustin. He reached behind him and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. “Wanna smoke?”

Lazo shook his head and signaled for the waitress. The two men watched as she refilled their cups. A toilet flushed behind a closed door and a hand dryer switched on.

“I was wondering,” said Lazo. “How do you identify Cuban agents?”

The Alpha Sixty-six leader looked out the window at a bunch of girls getting out of a car. They were dressed in jeans, giggling, and applying lipstick.

“We don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s almost impossible. They could be anybody from the local grocer to the guy next door. They look just like you and me. They live among us, and even talk against Cuba, Fidel, and the revolution. Some of them work for the Cuban intelligence, and some work
on their own. I think this group works on its own. They are too sloppy to be in the Cuban intelligence. Either way, we have to get very lucky to find them.”

“How do they get activated?”

“We don’t know. Sometimes they remain dormant for years before they are called to perform a mission. They don’t know each other. They are activated on a case-by-case basis. They perform a mission and disappear, making it almost impossible to know who they are.”

“So, it’s unusual that you’ve identified this many Cuban operatives?”

“Highly. The fact that we’ve identified five in Union City, including a member of the Special Forces, and two more in Miami, including a first lieutenant, is a real bonanza for us.” Augustin thought for a moment while he lit another cigarette. “By the way, your friend knows he’s being watched.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was on high alert in the parking lot tonight. He sensed something was wrong.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less of him.” Lazo frowned. “How do I know the operatives won’t come after Frank when I leave, regardless of what happens tomorrow?”

Augustin exhaled a line of smoke. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve photographed all the Cuban operatives in Union City and in Florida. Their pictures are in the hands of the CIA in Miami. When the time comes, somehow, someway, the CIA will get the pictures into the hands of the appropriate person in the military command in Managua as proof of Pino’s insubordination. So you can relax.”

Augustin finished his coffee and stood. “Your friend may be in danger now, Lazo, but after tomorrow no communist will attempt to hurt Frank again. You have my word on that. From what you’ve told me of Pino, the world would be better off without him. Now let’s get home. We have a big day tomorrow.”

For several years Frank had hunted with his friend Raúl, the man who supplied him with sandwich makings for his shop. Raúl was an avid hunter, a good marksman, and Frank’s best friend.

Raúl was Frank’s only Cuban friend. When Frank first arrived in the States, he had exercised great caution not to socialize with groups of Cubans, afraid he might come into contact with spies. Cuban spies were common in north Jersey at the time. Given the events surrounding his escape, Frank couldn’t be too careful. Besides, he wanted to blend into American life, to get to know Americans, and to become one of them.

Over the course of time, Frank had come to trust Raúl. He was smart, funny, and so enthusiastic about hunting that he’d often arrive at Frank’s house long before the appointed hour, ready for black coffee and as much conversation as Frank could muster in the wee hours of the morning.

Frank hadn’t slept well the night before, having been twice awakened by nightmares. The incident in the parking lot had left him anxious and unsettled. He had a foreboding that something terrible was about to happen. He couldn’t shake his feelings of dread.

True to form, Raúl arrived at three-thirty a.m. Frank was still in bed. He banged on the door, hollering, “You have any coffee in there, Frank?”

Annoyed, Frank stumbled down the stairs to open the door. “Jesus, Raúl, Darlene and Chris are fast asleep. You’ll wake the whole damn house if you don’t keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” laughed Raúl, “You know me. I can’t help myself. I’ll
make some coffee while you change out of your pajamas. Then you can get me outta here before I rouse the sleeping beauties.”

Frank took a quick shower and dressed in his camouflage shirt and pants. He downed a cup of coffee and loaded his aluminum folding chair, his bow and arrow, and a small pair of binoculars into his Jeep Cherokee. He went back to the house and reached for his deer-dressing knife that he kept in his gun cabinet. He hesitated, eying a pistol.

Should I bring it with me just in case? What if someone’s after me? What if they follow me back to the house and harm Darlene? Or Chris?
Frank shook off the thought.
Get a grip. Darlene will be fine. Chris is taking her shopping. And nobody’s going to bother you in the woods. Besides, you’re a law-abiding citizen, and it’s illegal to carry a gun during bow season.

Frank’s attention turned to a larger, serrated knife. He usually didn’t bring it hunting with him. But something in the back of his mind prompted him to add it to his backpack.

Frank and Raúl set off for deer country, the rugged hills of Sussex County, about a mile from Routes 15 and 206 in northern New Jersey. Autumn leaves scented the air. On the way, they stopped at an all-night diner for coffee and bagels for the road. When they returned to Frank’s vehicle, the steam from the coffee fogged the windows. Frank wiped the windshield with his hand before he switched on the ignition.

Raúl was in high spirits, and the friends chatted amiably for the hour or so it took to get to their destination. When they arrived, Frank parked his vehicle on grass that was still soft and spongy from a recent rain. They unloaded their equipment around five fifteen a.m., and Frank locked the car door behind him. Wisps of clouds crossed a crescent moon.

The area where they hunted consisted of two forested hills that formed a V At the bottom of the
V
bubbled a shallow, rock-strewn creek. At the top of the far hill was an expansive meadow surrounded by forests. An old logging road skirted the trail. Raúl and Frank had hunted in the area for years and were familiar with the terrain.

The two men trudged a mile up the side of the nearest hill, walking slowly so they wouldn’t break a sweat. They didn’t want their body odor to signal their presence to the deer. Frank was happy to be outdoors and was anticipating the day ahead.

When they reached a fork in the trail, Frank and Raúl shook hands and wished each other luck. As was their custom, they promised to remain in their respective blinds until noon. That way they wouldn’t scare off the deer for each other. They went their separate ways carrying flashlights.

Dropping his bow and arrow, Frank set about building his blind. He had done it so many times, it was almost second nature to him. He gathered branches, hammered them into the soft earth, and crossed them with a thick stick for support. He added some beech limbs to help confuse the eyes of the deer. Their pear-shaped leaves created a perfect camouflage. He finished his work using small twigs, leaves, and greenery.

Frank built his blind facing north so he’d remain in the shadows when the sun rose. A fallen tree was at his back. He eased himself into the blind, settled himself in his chair, and switched off his flashlight, assuming Raúl was doing likewise in his blind. He had time to relax. He sat in thought, occasionally drifting off to sleep, as he awaited the pale glint of dawn.

At five forty-five a.m. Damian, Sebastian, José, and Elias pulled up and parked next to Frank’s Jeep. Damian was dressed for guerilla combat in camouflage shirt and pants. His face was covered in greasepaint. Sebastian, Elias, and José wore camouflage shirts and jeans, but had forgone the greasepaint. They all carried flashlights.

Damian got out of the car and began to jog up the hill. He felt invigorated, easily making the run. This was the first time in his life he had experienced crisp autumn air, and he was surprised at how refreshing it felt. He was making good time, and he assumed his companions were not far behind.

Red in the face and sweating, José, Elias, and Sebastian slowed their pace. It had been a long time since any of them had exercised.
Panting like a golden retriever, Sebastian stopped and leaned against a tree. He needed water.

Sensing no movement behind him, Damian stopped and turned around. His patience had long since been exhausted. He retraced his steps, threw Sebastian a canteen, and swore profusely.

“Damn you, what a bunch of amateurs! We’ve just begun this operation, and you can’t keep up. You’re already complaining. Next, you’ll be squabbling among yourselves. At this rate, we’ll never accomplish our mission.”

Sebastian grunted and slid his body down the trunk of the tree.

He sat in a mound of leaves. “Gimme a minute, will ya?”

“One minute, that’s it,” spat Damian.

A short while later, the men were on the move. Guessing Frank’s location, Damian told the operatives to stop at a clearing. It was still dark. He put his finger to his lips, signaling quiet.

“Turn off your flashlights and don’t smoke,” he said in a voice that was barely a whisper. “We don’t want to disclose our location.”

The men sat and waited, not knowing they were only a hundred yards from Frank’s blind.

At six a.m. Lazo, Javier, and Curro pulled into the parking lot and extinguished their engine. Seeing Frank’s and the Cuban operatives’ vehicles, they scanned the area until they saw a flash of light in the distance. The light flickered and bounced off the leaves before it winked out.

Lazo turned to Curro, excited.

“It must be the Cuban operatives. I’ll trail them while you call Augustin for reinforcements. We still have time. Nothing will happen until daybreak. Tell them to get here as soon as possible.”

“On it,” said Curro.

Lazo and Javier started up the mountain while Curro phoned Augustin from the parking lot. Curro informed Augustin that the mission was on, and that all the parties had arrived.

“Glad to hear it,” said Augustin. “Reinforcements are on their way.”

Forty-five minutes later Augustin and three members of Alpha Sixty-six arrived to join Lazo, Curro, and Javier. Lazo was happy to have such able men on his side. They climbed the hill to the vicinity of the Cuban operatives and prepared themselves for a fight.

Everyone was ready. Everyone was in place. Everyone knew something momentous was about to transpire.

Except Frank.

Frank was sitting in his blind and thinking about Chris when a sharp cramp gripped his leg. He hopped out of his blind and leaned over to massage his calf. Wincing, he walked back and forth until the pain subsided. When it did, he beheld a spectacular sunrise.

Ribbons of coral and indigo unfurled against a sky populated with red, popcorn-shaped clouds that numbered in the thousands. Tendrils of mist rose from the earth to lace the trees like a giant spider web. A flock of Canada geese honked plaintively as they winged their way across the color-drenched sky.

The budding sun turned the landscape peach. It yellowed Frank’s hands as he held them against the light. They looked like they were dressed in fairy dust. He had seen few sunrises to rival this one. It was so magical he wondered whether it presaged a special day. He returned to his blind and waited.

Soon Frank spotted his quarry—a full-grown buck with a large rack. He had almond-shaped eyes and a white-tipped tail. The morning sun dappled his back. He was almost too beautiful to kill.

Suddenly, the deer lifted his head, straightened his body and fixed his brown eyes directly on Frank. His ears stood straight up. Frank tensed as adrenaline coursed through his veins. A vulture circled overhead. It was so quiet Frank could hear his wings flap.

Frank slowly lifted his bow and arrow, drawing it up inch by inch. The buck stood stock-still, staring, its antlers pointing skyward. It was an eight-point-buck. Frank felt like they were the only two creatures in the world.

Adjusting his spine, Frank pulled back his arrow and released it.
It whistled past his ear, straight as a ruler, and hit the deer square in the neck. Frank had accomplished his goal with only one arrow. Five arrows remained in his quiver. Startled, the deer wobbled, emitted a small sound, and fell to the ground, making a soft thud as it landed on a bed of leaves.