Free Cuba by Stephen Coonts Page B

expositions.
    William Henry Chance summed up: “Minister, under the benevolent eye of a government that wants the industry to succeed, the prospects for profit are enormous. In the future the cigarette companies will grow the tobacco, process it, advertise, and sell the cigarettes. Cubans could own part of the companies, which would pay taxes and employ Cubans at a living wage. Here is a product that could be produced locally and sold worldwide. Cigarettes could be gold for Cuba in the twenty-first century.”
    Now Alejo Vargas smiled. “I like you, Señor Chance. I like your style.”
    “You can’t fool me,” Chance shot back. “You like my message.”
    “Cuba needs industries in addition to sugar.”
    “The key, General, is a stable government that will protect the industry. Let me be frank: my clients have a great deal of money to invest, but they will not do so without the clear, unequivocal prospect of a stable government that will guarantee their right to do business and earn a fair profit.”
    “Any promises or guarantees must come from the proper ministries of our government, with the consent of our president, Señor Castro,” Alejo Vargas said from the depths of his padded leather chair.
    “It is the future of Cuba I wish to discuss with you, General. I state unequivocally that my clients will not invest a dime in Cuba until such time as the American government lifts the economic embargo. Candidly, the embargo will not be lifted as long as Castro remains in office.”

    “Your candor deserves equal honesty on my part,” General Vargas said. “Castro will remain in office until he chooses to leave of his own free will or until he dies. Do not be mistaken—regardless of what drivel you hear from the exiles, Fidel Castro is universally admired, loved, revered as a great patriot by virtually everyone in Cuba. There is no opposition, no movement to remove him … none of that.”
    “It is the distant future I wish to discuss with you.”
    “Very distant,” the general said.
    “After Castro.”
    “I do not have a crystal ball, Señor Chance. I may not live so long.”
    “Nor I, sir. But very likely the cigarette industry will still be in business and looking for new opportunities to grow.”
    “Perhaps,” Alejo Vargas admitted, and cocked his head slightly. He had seen transcripts of Chance’s telephone calls to the United States and a transcript of the conversations that had taken place in his room. The man hadn’t said one word about Castro’s health nor had anyone mentioned it to him.
    Still, it was a remarkable coincidence that he was here in Havana talking about post-Castro Cuba, and Castro was dying.
    Alejo Vargas didn’t believe in coincidences. His instincts told him that William Henry Chance was not who he appeared to be. As he listened to Chance talk about-cigarette marketing and demographics in the Third World, he removed the file on Chance from his desk drawer. Holding the file in his lap where Chance could not see it, he carefully reviewed the information it contained. The photographs he could not scrutinize closely but he was willing to accept them as genuine. Mr. William Henry Chance of New York City was probably a senior partner in a large law firm—after looking once more at the file Vargas would have been shocked if he weren’t. All the right things were
in the file. At least the file collectors were thorough, if nothing else, Vargas thought. Still, Chance’s position and profession might be an elaborate cover.
    When he finished with the file Vargas returned it to the desk drawer just as Chance was summing up. The lawyer had charts and graphs. Vargas didn’t even glance at them. He studied Chance’s eyes, the way they focused, how they moved, how the muscles tensed and relaxed as he talked.
    It was possible, Vargas decided. William Henry Chance might be CIA.
    Thirty minutes later when Chance was packing his charts and graphs to leave he pulled a small package from his