Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (31 page)

“What are they doing about it?”

“The governor is trying to deal with the situation.”

“Who’s the governor?”

“Some guy named Clinton. Bill Clinton. Ever hear of him?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well, things are really bad. You’ve got to get us outta here, Frank.”

Frank looked at Chris and signaled that something was wrong.

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity. “All right. We’ve got a houseful of people here, but Chris and I will get there as soon as possible.”

Frank explained the situation to Chris and asked Darlene whether she wanted to stay with her grandparents. She said yes. Once they made necessary provisions for the other relatives, Frank and Chris jumped into Frank’s car and drove to Arkansas, wondering what in the world they’d face when they arrived. The experience was more than they anticipated.

The fort was enormous, having served as a relocation center for Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s. Shabby wooden barracks were located on approximately seventy-six thousand acres of earth so
barren and parched it looked like the moon. Federal troops had been called in to maintain order. Dust and fear hung in the air.

Frank and Chris arrived just in time for a riot. Tired of being fenced in and waiting to be processed, the refugees began attacking authorities with pieces of broken sidewalk and live snakes.

Having heard that Fidel had released inmates of the prisons and mental institutions, the residents of the bordering town of Barling feared for their lives. They had armed themselves to the teeth and wanted the refugees gone.

Hooded Ku Klux Klan members demonstrated outside the front gate, proclaiming white supremacy and demanding action. Locals wielding rifles and clubs egged them on. Two guards escorted Frank and Chris into the fort. Chris’s face had turned white with fear. They hurried toward shelter. Never in his life had Frank been more aware of his light-brown skin.

Frank and Chris made their way through the angry crowd and gave the authorities the names of Carlos and José. Shortly thereafter, they were escorted to a crowded waiting area. It contained several couches and a dozen battered chairs. The room was filled to capacity.

Frank wrinkled his nose and looked at Chris. “I smell something burning,” he said. He looked out the window to see a gray plume of smoke rise to the sky. Screams suddenly filled the air. The refugees had set several buildings on fire, and hundreds of people were running from the conflagration. Flames devoured doors and window frames.

The National Guard had its work cut out, attempting to extinguish the fire and to keep the refugees from leaving the fort. Soldiers worked to protect Cubans from being shot by angry locals wishing them dead. State troopers used billy clubs and tear gas to quell the riot.

When Frank finally saw Carlos, he had several days worth of beard on his face and dark bags under his eyes. Frank hugged him for a long time and then pulled back to take a good look at him. While he had changed a lot, he was still the brother Frank remembered. Frank hugged him again before introducing him to Chris.

“Where’s Uncle José?” asked Frank.

Carlos shook his head. “He’s around here somewhere. I saw him this morning.”

“What’s the next step?” asked Frank.

“The authorities won’t release us unless we have a sponsor willing to provide for us. You have to sign forms to that effect. Once that’s settled, we have to undergo a medical examination and an interview. Things go much faster if your sponsor is an American citizen.” He exhaled. “I hope you’re a citizen, Frank.”

“I am. I became one in 1974.”

“Good.”

Frank patted Carlos on the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it all straightened out.”

“I was hoping that would be the case,” said Carlos.

Chris chimed in. “We have some good news. Frank has rented the house next door to him. You can use it until you get on your feet. You are more than welcome to stay there.”

Tears sprung to Carlos’s eyes. “I couldn’t be more grateful,” he said.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine,” said Frank.

Carlos smiled. “I sure am glad to see you, brother.”

“I’m glad to see you too,” said Frank. “And by the way, Carlos, welcome to America!”

With his stint in Russia completed, Pino desired to be stationed at the large Santa Maria base on the outskirts of Havana, the base where he had served before. But his hopes were dashed. Since the powers that be wanted to keep close tabs on him—at least for a while—they stationed him at military headquarters in Managua.

Having acquired the virtue of patience in the cane fields, Pino bided his time, devoting his energies to impressing his superiors. Although he was now a captain, it was still necessary for him to rebuild the military’s confidence in his ability to comply with official practices and procedures.

The knowledge he had acquired in Russia came in handy. His job was to train Cuban captains and commanders on Soviet weaponry— the capabilities and optimum placement of land-to-sea and air-to-air missiles, as well as technical aspects of other weapons. Slowly but surely he was regaining the trust he had squandered with his inglorious past.

Since he returned to Cuba, Pino had suffered one grave disappointment. When he heard about the Mariel boatlift, it occurred to him that Mederos might come to Cuba to claim his relatives. This would provide Pino with a convenient opportunity to exact revenge.

Having developed close connections with members of the Cuban intelligence over the years, Pino approached the officers several times to see whether they had any information regarding Frank’s arrival. But with the number of people needing to be processed in the tens of thousands, the operation was slow, cumbersome, and chaotic. Pino was relentless in his inquiries. But days passed with no word regarding Mederos.

Finally, Pino learned of his nemesis’s presence in the harbor. Records showed the names and addresses of the relatives Frank had requested to claim and the name of his boat. Pino hoped to apprehend Frank if he ever came on land for supplies. But Pino learned of Frank’s presence in the harbor several hours too late. By the time he had been given the paperwork, Frank was in the middle of the Florida Straits.

Pino was furious. He railed against the incompetent system and the lazy intelligence officials, cursing them and threatening them with retribution. But all was for naught. Once again, Frank had gotten away. Once again, he had evaded Pino’s clutches.

While Pino had not managed to have Mederos arrested, he had gained an important piece of information: his address in America. Hoping it would come in handy someday, he carefully recorded it in a small leather-bound book. Mederos may have eluded him twice, but Pino vowed it wouldn’t happen again.

Pino’s other frustration was how long it was taking him to gain re-admittance into the Communist Party. It seemed like an eternity. Pino viewed this not only as an emblem of power, but as a testament to his ability to overcome adversity.

It took some time, but thanks to his friend, Torres, Pino was finally granted his wish. On that day, Pino gazed with pride upon the red document that contained his name, picture, and credentials. The captain smiled and brought his treasure to his heart in a gesture of affection, knowing it was the key to his future military success.

Finally, after painstaking work to prove himself to the authorities, Pino was named commander of the base at Santa Maria. This was the base where all his troubles began, the base he had left in disgrace, and the base from which Mederos had escaped. It gave Pino great satisfaction to finally be in charge here, and he planned to take full advantage of the opportunity.

Pino now had considerable power. As base commander, he had seven hundred men under him, including three cannon batteries, three hundred members of the infantry, and three hundred and
fifty members of the Special Forces. He had handpicked his lieutenants, and he knew that at least one was totally loyal to him.

To the casual observer, Pino seemed rehabilitated. Unlike other commanders, he took a keen interest in the members of the Special Forces, congratulating those who performed well in exercises, those who excelled in academics, and those who exhibited political purity and revolutionary ardor.

This was not the way he behaved when he was a lieutenant, in the days before his trial, in the days when Lazo worked under his command. Although Pino’s behavior was reassuringly different, remnants of his old affect remained.

Periodically, Commander Pino invited thirty to forty soldiers to feast with him in the officers’ dining room, an invitation that was highly prized and eagerly sought. Waiters served elegantly prepared food and fine wine to the select soldiers in the beautifully appointed dining chamber. It was not only a coveted honor to eat with the commander, but an opportunity for members of the Special Forces to gain prestige in the eyes of their fellow soldiers.

Pino was exceedingly gracious, inquiring after the men’s well-being, their families, and health. He was known to say, “How about another glass of wine? Here, help yourself to one of these juicy steaks—a young man needs protein!” This was music to the ears of those soldiers lucky enough to sup with their commander.

Pino knew what he was doing. He took his time. He was in no hurry. He had formulated a plan, and now he was in the position to recruit the right man to execute it.

He had spent months—no, years—reviewing various scenarios in his mind, weighing their pros and cons, planning for contingencies, assessing the skills of the person needed for the job. He had to pin his hopes on one of these men, but which one?

Pino watched them all with a sharp eye, asking them leading questions that would shed light on their character, their risk tolerance—and most importantly—their total loyalty to him.

Eventually, Pino narrowed his list to five or six, eliminating
men lacking the requisite intelligence, determination, and ambition. He needed a soldier with a rare combination of qualities to serve his needs.

And he dare not make a bad selection.

After months of meetings, Pino identified two privates who filled the bill: Alberto Alanis and Damian Baez. Alberto was smart, loyal, and eager to please. He exuded a confidence born of his good looks and fine physique. He had a superior intellect and the added distinction of being top in his class, a real plus in Pino’s eyes. Several members of his family were active in the Communist Party, and there was no reason to suspect he would be anything but loyal to the cause.

Damian also came from a family of loyal communists, and it was no surprise that Pino found him even more engaging than Alberto. The young man was ruggedly handsome with a shock of black hair, sparkling brown eyes, and an aristocratic nose.

When Pino spoke, Damian hung on his every word, adding to the conversation in ways Pino found satisfying and insightful. Damian exhibited extraordinary patience, excellent judgment, and keen powers of concentration and observation, useful qualities under a variety of circumstances. Damian also had “the killer instinct,” a hard edge necessary to carry out his mission.

Pino was close to a decision. But he needed to be circumspect. He would approach both men carefully, feel them out, and watch for a telltale sign that would indicate the better choice.

One evening after dinner, Pino asked Alberto to join him in his office. Both men were in good spirits, having imbibed a bottle of wine between them. The commander extended his hand toward the chair. “Sit, please,” Pino said pleasantly. Alberto took a seat opposite Pino’s desk, careful not to let his spine touch the
back of the chair. His feet were planted firmly on the polishedwood floor. Even under these circumstances Alberto knew it was prudent to obey protocol.

Pino smiled amiably, as if he had not a care in the world. He studied Alberto for a moment before saying, “I’m very impressed with you, young man. You have an excellent grasp of military matters, and your dedication to your work is exemplary.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Alberto.

Pino was not a man to bestow compliments lightly. Pino cleared his throat. “As your commander, there’s something I must talk to you about.”

Alberto looked into Pino’s wolverine eyes, and a shudder surged through his body. “Yes, sir.”

Pino hesitated before speaking. “Occasionally I get a call from Managua regarding highly sensitive missions. This information comes right from the top.” Pino narrowed his eyes, studying Alberto. “If a mission like this were to arise, would you be interested?”

“As an assignment, sir?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“Good. Because it has come to my attention that the army has a mission on the drawing boards that would require the skills of someone highly intelligent, someone knowledgeable and earnest like yourself.”

Alberto looked confused. It was highly unusual for a base commander to discuss such matters with a private.

“What kind of mission?”

“Top secret—a special assignment directed at the highest levels of government.”

“Top secret?”

“A grave matter regarding national security. Do you understand?”

Alberto gulped and nodded. “I’m trying to understand, sir.” Pino watched Alberto closely. “Any questions?”

Alberto squirmed in his seat. “Could you tell me more about the mission, sir?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to disclose any details. Again, this is a highly confidential matter.”

“I understand, sir.”

“The authorities have not made a final determination on the execution of this mission. But if it is to take place, I must have a man in mind, someone I feel comfortable recommending. Due to your excellent scholastic performance and your exceptional leadership skills, you are being considered.”

“I see, sir.” Alberto shifted his body in his chair, a slight smile distending his lips.

“I understand your family are members of the Party.”

“My father and brother are both Party members.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you about the importance of loyalty.”

“No, sir. My father has lectured me on that subject my entire life. And, of course, the force has reinforced his teachings.”