Valdes wasn't the only one trembling. I was beginning to react to it, standing there waiting in the dark, listening to the crunch of twigs, the whisper of moving branches, hearing the bear-heavy sounds of a man who was stalking me, the man intent on killing me… beginning to feel panic alarms in all the motor response areas of a very, very tired nervous system.
I had to control the natural instinct to breathe too fast and shallowly. Had to consciously tell myself that fear is meaningless; fear is a handy warning system, nothing more. Repeated words in my head-stay calm, be patient-as I waited, listening to the small noises that marked his progression, getting closcr to me, closer. Just one man. I was pretty sure it was just one man.
I'd moved down the bluff to the funnel-mouth of the ravine-the natural exit place for someone following us. Was crouched on one knee behind the buttress of a rain forest giant that had somehow escaped the chainsaw. I was now closer to the harbor; near enough to see panels of water through the trees, a few glittering boat lights out there. If the man walked past me, he'd be backlighted; I'd be able to see his silhouette.
Then what?
That was the question: Then what…
I'd felt around on the ground until I found a couple of chunks of limestone rock and a hefty piece of tree limb. Caveman weaponry against a man with a rifle… or who was probably smart enough, well trained enough, to have switched to a handgun for this kind of close quarters, lights-out work. Probably some sort of nine-millimeter semi… or maybe a shotgun.
I pictured him standing there, his back to me; pictured me stepping out to nail him… imagined what the bullet would feel like when he immediately turned and shot me.
Stay calm… be patient.
No… a better idea would be to let him walk right past; let him bolt toward the noise that Valdes and the boy would soon make when they reached the water. Give it a few minutes-the whole time, I'd be moving in the opposite direction-then yell at him, let him know where I was, the guy he really wanted, then continue the chase, one on one. Valdes and the boy would make it safely to the Santeria compound while I… while I spent the next few days running for my life, trying to find a way out of Cuba…
That was a better solution?
Christ!
He was very close now. So close that I could hear the sound his steps made in the spongy rain forest loam. There was a pattern to his movement: Step, step… step, step… step, step… pause to listen…
When he paused, I could hear his breathing… the soft phewing sound of someone who is exhaling through his mouth, trying to be very quiet. Couldn't have been more than ten, fifteen feet from me. Pictured him, the way he would look: crouched low, weapon pivoting back and forth in synch with the movement of his eyes. Probably wearing some sort of tactical clothing, full cammo with face black; some gung-ho stud who loved the whole uniform, who loved what he was doing.
I had to fight the bizarre urge to just stand up, introduce myself and say, "Hey, let's talk this thing over." Say, "All that stuff they told you? All that stuff they taught you? None of it is… rational."
Nor was it valid. His position, my position were both the senseless pantomime of a vanished death dance; a pointless ceremony that was still embraced by a political theater of the absurd. For a thousand millennia we sharpened sticks or rocks into weapons and we stalked and we hunted and we killed because that is what the strongest and the fittest of us did. Those who were incapable did not contribute to the chromosomal mandate because they did not survive. It is what the genetic memory of a thousand millennia told us to do, what it still tells us to do.
Necessity plays no role. If the drive is strong enough, necessity can be invented. It is the predicament of our nature that is the imperative, not the nature of our predicament. It is deep within us and it is a hunger; a hunger that feeds on meat and feeds on fear and feeds on tribal differences, social, sexual, or visual. Political leaders who want to survive pander to the drive. Political exigencies are the ideal excuse.
But what it always comes down to is young men carrying something in theh hands, doing what we have always done, doing it well and with passion, because that is what we are…
Yet, I did not call out; attempted nothing as civilized as attempting to introduce myself. Instead, I balled myself tighter against the planked root of the tree, aware that, along with his weapon of choice, it was also possible that he was equipped with a night optics system. I couldn't see him, but he might be able to see me.
We have come so far…
Which is why I crouched low, eyes wide, like some animal frozen in the headlights of a speeding car. I waited. I listened. His movements created a palpable energy wave that seemed to push ahead of him… seeped through the darkness like a kind of gas and soon enveloped me. He was that close…
Through the grain of the tree I felt the slightest of vibrations
… a thud-the butt of a weapon accidentally hitting it?
Yes…
He had found my tree; was standing next to it but on the opposite side.
Did he know where I was? He had to know…
Moving only my fingertips, I touched the club… then dismissed it. Felt until I found the rocks, touched them one by one, then gripped the smallest of them-about the size of an orange. Transferred that to my left hand, then took a slightly larger rock in my right. Held it with a three-fingered grip, like a softball.
I had to do something. I had to act. If I waited for him to attack, I was lost. He'd step away from the tree and shoot me. No muss, no fuss. No contest. I had to attack first. To surprise him was my only chance…
So why wouldn't my legs work? Why couldn't I move?
I heard another small thunk. Yes, he was on the other side of the tree. Probably leaning against it now, letting me sweat it out.
Then I heard something else: a distant voice… then the sound of splashing, like someone running through water.
Valdes and Santiago had reached the harbor; were giving up their position for no other reason than I had told them to do it.
So now my stalker would reassess. He would decide that he'd miscalculated; that we already had made it to the water, and he would sprint toward the sound to catch us…
But my stalker did not sprint. He did not move. He waited… and I knew that he was waiting for me. I had to move now or die.
I took a deep breath, released it silently. Took another… then I was moving without waiting to think it out… didn't have to think about it because I knew what to do, just as I've always known what to do, because it's in me, that instinct. The rock in my left hand, I tossed several feet out into the darkness. I waited until it hit, drawing his attention, and I was already moving the opposite way… arm back, hand cocked behind my ear… and I threw the rock as hard as I could, chest high, at a dark place on the tree's buttress where I knew he had to be. I was already rolling when the rock hit-waHAP-and came to my feet, crouched low, expecting to hear gunfire or the groan of a man in pain.
Instead I heard an echoing rain forest silence… water dripping, cicadas droning; the squawk of an outraged bird. Then… from behind me… a voice: "Good move, Ford. Wrong tree."
A man's voice speaking English. A voice that was familiar but that I did not immediately place.
I turned slowly, very slowly, and looked into the jungled void. No one there; the voice seemed to originate from darkness. In the pause that followed, I heard, thunk. Then heard it again: thunk. The noise that I had convinced myself was the sound of a rifle butt banging the tree.
"Palm nuts," the voice said. "Sounds like wood against wood, doesn't it? Same little trick you tried with the rock."
He left the obvious unspoken: I'd fallen for it, he hadn't.
It was Lenny Geis, the voice. Lenny Geis, the Canadian businessman, die cheerful tour guide, the man with the fiancee back home, the man who was troubled by prostitutes and loneliness, who had been vouched for by bellboys at the Havana Libre, the man who was none of the things he'd seemed to be, who had fooled me twice and was now going to shoot me.
I said, "You're a hell of an actor, Lenny. Or whatever your real name is."
Heard the voice say, "It's like one of those things, those Americanisms, they taught us up there at the training school. The one outside Montreal? The line that goes, 'It takes one to know one.' "
A beam of white light blinked on, blinding me. I used my hands to shield my eyes. The way the light panned across me, very steady, I realized it was one of those mini halogen flashlights that can be mounted beneath the barrel of some weapon. A semiauto pistol, perhaps, or an automatic rifle. What would Geis, a Russian, prefer? Same as everyone else, probably. A Beretta or the superior Sig Sauer-like the one I kept wrapped in oilcloth back in Dinkin's Bay and hadn't used since my last trip to Mariel.
Ludicrous that I should be standing there so calmly, the light now sighted on my chest, speculating on the specifics of hardware.
There was a rustling in the bushes. The flashlight nodded, coming closer. I could now see Geis. He was vaguely illuminated by light reflecting off vines and elephant ear leaves. His face was black. Cammo paint…? No. I watched him reach and strip a black balaclava off his head. Could see his rust-colored hair, one eye wide, looking at me over the sights of a short automatic rifle.
An H amp;K MP5?
Some ultimate high-tech weapon. Modern times…
Geis said, "So… the question is: Should I or shouldn't I?" Reflective; didn't seemed to be enjoying it, but didn't seem troubled by it either.
My legs felt weak, watery… but a surprising calm had come into my mind. I wondered clinically: In times of extreme fear, does the brain produce some kind of pheromone that acts as a natural sedative?
I said, "Before you do anything, there's something you need to believe-Dewey's just a friend of mine. She's not connected with this
… business in any way. You make sure she gets back to the States safely, there's some money in it for you."
I was surprised when he answered, "Considering who she's with, yeah, she's going to need a helping hand."
What the hell did that mean?
He stopped now, ten yards or more away, a careful professional distance, the beam of the light once again locked onto my chest.
"You'll see that she gets out of Cuba?"
"Sure. Nice gal. Way too classy for these Cuban goat killers."
"I've got your word on that?"
Taken aback, he didn't reply for a moment. "My word! Anybody else asked me that, I'd laugh in their face. But for you-yeah, you bet. You've got my word."
Even holding a gun on me, Geis had an ingratiating genuineness. I could hear him on the street saying, "Us Anglos, we've got to stick together." It was phony, all phony; a learned skill, but even knowing that it was an act, I still wanted to trust him. What choice did I have?
I took a deep breath, my whole body rigid; closed my eyes, expecting him to shoot. After several long seconds, I said, "If you're going to do it, do it."
Small burst of laughter. "You sound eager."
I opened my eyes. He had moved a pace or two closer. Was wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, nothing military except the night optics scope hanging on a lanyard around his neck. Or maybe an infrared thermal scope.
He'd known where I was the entire time.
I said, "It's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"
"Is that a recommendation… or the voice of experience?"
"It's an evaluation. You missed me on the road, you caught me here. So finish the job."
"Missed you on the road?" It seemed to amuse him- why? And why was he still talking? "I'm curious about something, Ford. You don't want to answer, fine. But what I'm wondering is, say you were in my position. Would you do it? Right now I'm talking about. Would you shoot?"
"No."
"You seem pretty sure."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because I wouldn't. Because I grew up."
"Ah…" Like he didn't believe me. "What about ten, fifteen years ago?"
"I think… I think we both know the answer to that. It's what this whole thing's about, isn't it?"
"Aledia Malinovsky, Nikolai Alekseev-those names ring a bell?"
I nodded. One woman, one man. The woman had been a horrible surprise.
"So you are the guy."
He didn't know already?
"You're holding the weapon. You want to ask something, ask."
"I'm asking if you regret it. What you did. That's what it sounds like you're telling me."
I was tempted to go along with him; tell him what he wanted to hear. Maybe he'd spare me. Take me in and have them put me in some hellhole prison… in which case maybe I could get word to Juan Rivera, have him ask Pilar to intercede. Would she do it? Did Pilar still care enough?
But no. I'd dealt with the memory of that one night far too long to diminish it all with a lie. I said, "I regret the… necessity of it."
"Which means you'd do it again."
"Yes."
"The night the sailboat exploded. The whole thing- that's what you're telling me."
The forty-two-foot Peregrine, built in Cuba to be sailed among a thousand other Freedom Flotilla boats across the Florida Straits, then anchored in a major U.S. port. The Soviet GRU's absurd and desperate solution to Star Wars: a test boat equipped with a leaded keel, a radio-detonated nuclear explosive therein, and more to follow if the Peregrine made it through undiscovered.
Supposedly. I never learned if it was true. I never would.
I said, "Yes. I'd do it again. That's what I'm telling you."
The laughter again as the flashlight beam swung to the ground, then found the tree where I'd been hiding. There was a deep yellow gash in it where the rock had hit. Geis said, "See there, more misinformation. Fidel told me that you couldn't throw; that you're a shitty baseball player."
"He remembers that?"
Geis said, "Anything that hurts his ego, the old fool remembers," then fired the weapon twice into the tree- paRAP-RAP. He waited for the screams of startled birds to fade before he said, "There. Far as anyone listening's concerned? You're dead."
I was shaking again, the pheromone calm, whatever it was, shocked out of me. "But why? Why?"
Geis was moving past me; touched me on the shoulder- I was to follow. "If you'd stood there whining about how guilty you felt, about how they made you do it, just following orders-all that bullshit-then, yeah, no problem. The tree lives, you don't. I've got no… patience with people who make excuses. It's like showing disrespect for what we do." He was working his way down the hill toward Mariel Harbor. I stood there dumbly, listening. "Know something else, Ford? You're right. Sooner or later, we all grow up. Nikolai was an idiot, and Aledia Malinovsky, Jesus, what an obnoxious pain in the ass she was. I almost popped her myself once. Red Six, the four of us left, we got drunk one night and actually wrote you a note. Started out, 'Dear Imperialist Brother-Thanks for taking that bitch off our hands.' Like a joke, you know. But we meant it."
I was still in shock. "Castro sent you after me because of that goddamn baseball game?"
Geis stopped. "He hinted he wouldn't mind if I got the chance. But I set my own agenda, which means you're like zero priority. I didn't even know you were in the car until you started with the tactical turns. Your rental, but I knew Santoya had it. I thought, hey, wait a minute-that's got to be Ford. Adolfo Santoya do a J-turn? Kind of a shitty, amateur kind of J-turn, but Santoya wouldn't have even tried it. He was so bad behind the wheel, the party assigned him a driver."
I almost asked, "Adolfo?" but then I thought: Valdes. "Santoya was the mark?"
"What the hell you think? Where's the profit in taking you down? To get Adolfo, I'd've done it, but I didn't want to. Not until I'd had a chance to have this conversation. Let's face it, in our line of work it's hard to find people to talk to." Geis turned. "You coming or aren't you?"
"Wait a minute. He's got a little boy with him."
Geis's silence said, So…?
"You expect me to tag along and watch you kill them both? I'm not going to do that."
He took a couple of steps up the hill, close to me. "You're not going to just tag along, you're going to help me. You spent some time with that group, maybe you picked up some information I don't have."
"I don't know anything."
"When I sounded you out in the street in Old Havana, that's when you didn't know anything. By now, a guy like you, you're bound to have collected a little bit of information. You've been trained, remember? And you're going to tell me."
I said, "Nope. I won't do that."
"Yes, you will. Know why? Adolfo's planning to assassinate my boss. That's why. Him and that Santeria idiot, Taino. They even try it, Dewey, your buddy Tomlinson, anyone within a couple of miles, they're going to be executed. Like maybe three days jail time, just so the guards can have some fun, then put up against a wall. Your pretty little Dewey. You want to see that happen?"
"Kill Castro!"
Geis put his hand on my shoulder and started me down the hill. "The moment Rita found a way to sneak in here, I knew it. Trouble is, I can't get my idiot boss to believe me. Know why? Because he's become a fucking goat killer, no smarter than the rest of them."