Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (7 page)

Carlos allowed Frank a moment to recover. “What do you think of Fidel politically?”

“Politically, he’s a disaster. The country is in a state of chaos. People are hungry. Unemployment is through the roof. Store shelves are empty. Nothing works anymore.”

Frank was working up a head of steam. He stopped talking and looked out the window. Carlos regarded him with concern. Frank thought about his mother trying to find basic ingredients for cooking: sugar, flour, meat, and beans. He remembered his father waiting in long lines to get her what she needed, only to return home angry, humiliated, and empty-handed.

He thought about the Committees for the Defense of the
Revolution, friends and neighbors spying on each other, reporting every move to the authorities. He remembered how the bureaucratic restrictions imposed on fishing had robbed his grandfather of his greatest pleasure.

Frank shook his head and said, “Fidel is the worst leader Cuba has ever had—even worse than Batista. He has single-handedly destroyed the country.”

“Your country,” clarified Carlos.

“No,
the
country,” countered Frank.

“Isn’t Cuba your country?” asked Carlos, driving home his point.

“No, Cuba
was
my country. Now, America is my country.”

Carlos nodded, studying Frank. A vague smile played at the corner of his lips. “But don’t you care about what happens to Cuba, what happens to your family, the circumstances under which they live?”

Frank bristled at the question, wondering about Carlos’s implication. He crossed his arms. “Of course I care. I worry about them all the time.”

“Of course,” Carlos repeated.

Carlos studied the ceiling for a minute, pondering something. His eyes darted back and forth in a minuet while he thought. Frank straightened his spine.

Carlos returned his gaze to Frank, and said, “Would you like to see Fidel overthrown? See someone else in power?”

“Yes, as long as that person isn’t Raúl. He’s as bad as Fidel. They’d both have to go for Cuba to recover.”

Carlos’s smile waned. “You are in a good position to help make that happen, Frank.”

Frank looked at Carlos, curious. “How so?”

Carlos’s eyes became laser focused. A minute elapsed before he spoke in a tone as somber as a funeral dirge. “I don’t want you to answer right now, Frank. Give yourself a couple of days to think about it.”

“Think about what?” Frank’s heart began to race.

Carlos knitted his brows, creating two vertical creases that sliced his forehead. “Think about working for us to help overthrow Fidel.” The agent’s lips turned upward, but his eyes did not smile. They were grave, serious. Frank wasn’t sure what he meant, but he had his suspicions.

“Help you? In what way?” Frank’s larynx betrayed him, his voice was hoarse and ragged.

“We need people on the inside to feed us information.”

“I don’t understand,” Frank replied with false calmness. A seed of panic sprouted in his gut.

“Having been a member of the Special Forces, it would be easy for you to infiltrate the Cuban army—”

For a moment Frank failed to follow Carlos’s train of thought. Then he did. He gulped a breath as his heart dropped like a block of cement. “You’re suggesting I return to Cuba?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, men like yourself often do.”

Frank felt a seismic pressure change, like a hurricane was forming in his brain. He tilted his head to the side and rolled his shoulders to relieve a muscle spasm. When he completed the circle, he looked at Carlos and said, “I’m sorry. Let me be clear. You want me to spy for the CIA?”

“Yes. I’m inviting you to work for us—for the agency.” Carlos hesitated a moment, searching Frank’s face for a sign of acceptance. But there was none to be found.

“I know what you’re thinking, Frank. You’re concerned about your safety.”

Frank scrutinized him, trying to get his mind around his proposition. He felt a sense of vertigo and a little nauseated. Being offered a job with the CIA was the last thing he had expected to happen that morning.

“You would be well protected. The agency has already infiltrated many areas of the Cuban military. Our people are excellent at what they do—they would be there for you.”

A raft of emotions competed for purchase in Frank’s throat: fear, confusion, and anxiety. He thought about his dealings with Lieutenant Pino, and crystals of perspiration erupted at his hairline. For a moment he re-experienced the fear he felt when Pino was shooting at him during his escape. He remembered hiding in a spider-infested cave. He remembered escaping his pursuers by swimming underwater and breathing through a reed.

He looked down, attempting to relieve his anxiety by examining his cuticles. Feeling chilly, he rubbed his arms with the palms of his hands. Frank’s first reaction was to reject the offer, but his thoughts were jumbled. He was fraught with emotion, so he hesitated to speak.

Carlos looked at Frank for direction. He awaited his response. Frank opened his mouth, not knowing what words would emerge. “I—”

Carlos raised his hand. “Hear me out.” His voice was graveled, like it was running small rapids.

Frank felt depleted, exhausted. “All right,” he said, exhaling.

Carlos stood, unrolled the map of Cuba and grabbed a pointer sitting on the ledge of the blackboard. A draft rattled the map against the wall. Carlos glanced at Frank before turning his attention to the image of Cuba.

“You were stationed in the center of Cuba—here,” he said. “To avoid detection we would send you to the far end of the island.” He pointed to the Sierra Maestra. “It’s hundreds of miles from your former base.”

“I’m well aware of the location,” Frank said a little too sharply.

“Several people in the Cuban command structure work for us. They’ll have your back at all times should anything go wrong.”

Frank shook his head in dismay. “What would you need me to do?” His voice sounded high and slightly shrill.

“We’d need you to feed us information regarding strategy, weapons, troop movements, matters of high importance to our national security.” Carlos waited for Frank to absorb this information, and then added, “You may be involved in disinformation activities, suggesting certain things are true that aren’t.”

Frank curled his lips inward and looked at Carlos skeptically. “I understand.”

Carlos studied him for a moment and returned to his seat as Frank worked to corral his feelings.

“I’m not saying this isn’t dangerous work. It is. But you would be well compensated.”

Frank did not respond. Carlos fingered the folder before him and shuffled some papers. The overhead lights flickered. A fly buzzed a screen in entreaty, searching for an opening, desperate for a way out. The silence lengthened before Carlos said, “Let me outline what we have to offer.” He glanced at Frank. “If you agree to join us, you will receive further details from our personnel office.”

“Fine,” said Frank, hoping his lack of enthusiasm wasn’t too obvious.

“First, we’d waive the waiting period for American citizenship. You would be granted it immediately.”

Frank nodded, eyes wide.

“You would undergo a rigorous education and training program, with special emphasis on English.”

“I could use English lessons.”

“As a government employee, you’d be entitled to our generous benefit package, including full health benefits for you and your family. If you remain with the agency, you will be enrolled in our pension program. Are you familiar with pensions, Frank?”

Frank blushed slightly. “I’m sorry, no.”

“Depending on your length of stay, the government would provide you with a very comfortable retirement income.”

Frank’s mind drifted to his father. He had no such benefit, and Frank thought about what a difference it would have made in his parents’ lives. Even though retirement was far off for Frank, the idea was appealing. He wondered whether pensions were common in America, or whether this was a unique opportunity.

Carlos turned a page in the folder. “We will provide you with a generous financial package. I won’t go into the figures right now,
but it’s enough for you to buy a car and put a down payment on a home for you and that girlfriend of yours.”

“Magda,” Frank said, surprised that Carlos hadn’t used her name.

“For you and Magda,” he corrected.

“I see,” said Frank vaguely. He was trying to sound coherent, while ignoring the heaviness gripping his chest.

“Of course, there’s room for negotiation. But joining the agency would give you a great start in this country—a real leg up.”

Frank considered for a moment. Carlos was intent on his mission. He reminded Frank a little of himself.

“I share your goals regarding the overthrow of Fidel—that goes without saying,” said Frank. “And I appreciate the offer. But this is a lot to take in.”

“I understand. But I urge you to think seriously about this, even if you decide to do it for only a year.”

“Why a year?”

“Joining the agency would help ease your transition to this country. Finding a job can be difficult for new immigrants. If they do find work, it is usually menial and low paying.”

“I imagine it is.”

“Of course, we would like to get you into the field as soon as possible, while your knowledge of Cuban military operations is still fresh. But after a year, we would reevaluate your assignment, perhaps bring you back to the States.” Carlos hesitated, smiled, and added, “Besides, a year isn’t that long, is it, Frank?”

Frank looked at Carlos, wondering how he could possibly say such a thing. He thought about months spent on the run from the army, endless nights longing for Magda, terror-filled hours on the dark, open sea.

“No,” he said slowly. “A year can be an eternity.”

Carlos looked at Frank, comprehension dawning on his face. “Of course,” he said. “A year
can
be an eternity. But the agency would use its considerable resources to make sure things go as smoothly as possible for you.”

Frank looked pensive. “What are you thinking?” asked Carlos.

“Knowing the military the way I do, I’m not sure you could protect me. Could you give me more details on how that would be done?”

“That’s classified information you would be privy to once you agree to come on board.”

“Would I be able to return home periodically?”

“We would make every effort to make that happen, but I can’t promise anything right now.”

Frank nodded. “Thank you for the offer. It’s very generous. But I’d like to think about it, if I may.”

Carlos stood. “You have a couple of days. Mull it over before we meet again. Tomorrow the army will debrief you. I’m sure you can provide them with important details regarding the force’s operation in Cuba.”

“I’m happy to oblige.”

“Good,” said Carlos, standing. “We’ll talk again on Thursday regarding you joining our team.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said, gulping his breath.

Carlos hesitated and looked Frank in the eye. “You know this conversation is strictly confidential. Do not mention it to anyone—anyone.”

“I understand, sir.”

The two men shook hands. Frank had a lot of thinking to do.

It was time to take a walk. Whenever Frank had a problem as a child, he would stroll with his grandfather through the park and they would talk. Abuelo taught Frank to look at issues from different angles, examining them like shards of glass in a kaleidoscope. He had played a great role in the development of Frank’s critical thinking.

Facing this important decision, Frank wished his grandfather were there to counsel him. For a moment, the possibility of never seeing that dear man again stung his heart.

Frank’s biggest concern was being able to provide for Magda and himself. He had no idea where or how to find a job. His only experience was in the Cuban military, and that would be of no use to him in finding employment. He wasn’t even a high school graduate.

When Fidel instituted mandatory military service for boys age fifteen and over, it robbed Frank of an opportunity for high school and college degrees, at least in Cuba. What’s more, English had never been his strong suit, and he worried about how quickly he could learn it. The agency would provide him with a job and English lessons, neatly solving both problems.

Frank tried to imagine being back in Cuba after working so long and hard to leave his country behind. He tried to imagine providing intelligence to the Americans. He tried to imagine providing disinformation to the Cuban military.

But as soon as he did, his thoughts turned to Magda. The idea of being separated from her a moment longer than necessary sapped his soul. The memory of her lips, the sound of her voice, and the softness of her skin reverberated in his brain like an echo off a fjord.

Their relationship was solid as silver. But he wondered about the timing. Was he sacrificing their future financial stability for his immediate needs and desires? Was he being selfish in wanting to be with her right away? In the long run, would a year in the agency make a difference to their lives together?

With the agency, Frank would have a direction, a position, a career. Without it, he’d start at the bottom, just another Spanish-speaking immigrant in search of a job.

That night Frank went to bed feeling anxious and restless. He tossed and turned for hours, examining the alternatives in his mind.
This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Would I be foolish to turn it down? If I joined the agency, Magda would be disappointed, but she’d support my decision. She’d wait for me. That’s not the question. The question is whether I can wait to be with her.

And then there’s the risk. Carlos says the agency would have my back, that they would protect me. But could they? Really? I have my doubts. And what would happen to Magda if I weren’t there to care for her? She has her family. But still—

Frank turned on his side and tried to empty his mind. After a while, he fell into a deep sleep. His eyes shifted beneath his lids like they were dancing under the stars. As daybreak approached, Frank heard a strange sound, a yelp that jerked him awake. It emanated from deep within his throat. He bolted upright and then fell back upon the pillow, haunted by an image that sat on the cusp of his consciousness.