Free Cuba by Stephen Coonts

not in the national interest. Risks of transfer have been carefully considered at the highest level. Should risk assessment change you will be informed.” The final sentence referred to the original message.
    “Five sentences?” Toad Tarkington asked when he had had his chance to read the message. “Only five sentences?”
    Reading naval messages was an art, of course. One had to consider the identity and personality of the sender, the receiver, the situation, any correspondence that had passed before … . The situation in Washington was the unknown here, Jake concluded. If the CNO had been at liberty to say more, he would have: Jake knew the CNO. The lack of guidance or illumination told Jake that the chief of naval operations wanted him to be ready for anything.
    “We’ll have to do the best we can with what we have,”
the admiral said now to Pascal and Tarkington. “I want a plan: we need someone watching at all times, a quick reaction force that can meet any initial incursion with force, a reserve force to throw into the fray to absolutely deny access, and flash messages ready to go informing Washington of what we have done.”
    Toad and Gil Pascal nodded. A plan like this with the forces that the admiral had at his disposal would be simple to construct. No surprises there.
    “There is always the possibility that we may not be able to prevent hostiles from getting to the warheads, if they choose to try. We also need a plan addressing that contingency.”
    “Surely this nightmare won’t come to pass,” Gil Pascal said. “Your assessment of the risk differs remarkedly from that of the National Security Council.”
    “I’m sure the powers that be think it quite unlikely anybody will try to prevent us from removing the weapons from Cuba, and I agree. On the other hand, they must know something they can’t share with us. If the risk were zero, they wouldn’t have sent us here with orders to monitor, whatever the hell that is. Gentlemen, I just want to be ready if indeed we win the lottery and our number comes up.”
    Toad thoughtfully put the message from Washington back into its red folder. He pursed his lips, then said thoughtfully, “One thing is for sure—something is up.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Alejo Vargas thought he had the finest office in Havana, indeed, in all of Cuba, and perhaps he did. He had the whole corner of the top floor, with lots of glass. Through the large windows one got a fine view across the rooftops of Morro Castle and the channel leading into Havana Harbor from the sea. The desk was mahogany, the chairs leather, the carpet Persian.
    William Henry Chance paused to take in the view, then nodded appreciatively. He turned, saw the old United Fruit Company safe in the corner, now standing open, and the display of gold and silver coins from the Spanish Main under glass. He paused again, ran his eye over the coins just long enough to compliment his host.
    “Very nice,” Chance said, and took the chair indicated by Alejo Vargas. At a nearby desk sat Vargas’s Chief of Staff, Colonel Pablo Santana, who nodded at Chance when he looked his way, but said nothing.
    Colonel Santana was dark, with coal black eyes and black hair combed straight back; he had some slave and Indian somewhere in his bloodline. He slit the throats and pulled the trigger for Alejo Vargas whenever those chores needed to be done.
    Chance forced himself to ignore Santana and look at his host. “I appreciate you taking the time from your busy day to see me, General,” the American said, and gave Vargas a frank, winning smile.
    Chance was tall and angular, with craggy good looks, and dressed in a light gray suit of a quality one could not
obtain in Cuba for love or money. He appeared perfectly at ease, as if he owned the building and were calling on a tenant.
    No wonder the Russians lost the race to the Americans, Vargas thought ruefully. A true Latin male, he was acutely aware of his own physical and social shortcomings, his