Jake shook his head. “If there is a toxin release in America, the president must be able to prove that he did everything humanly possible to prevent it. If there is a release in Cuba … well, he will need to show people around the world that he did what he could to prevent it while still eliminating the threat to the U.S. Elimination of the threat is the key here, and I hope they understand that in Washington.” He smacked the wall with his hand. “Dammit, we only get one shot at those viruses.”
“I wonder if anyone in Washington is thinking about the Bay of Pigs,” Toad mused. “That turned into a debacle because Kennedy wasn’t willing to commit enough resources.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jake Grafton said.
When the telephone rang, General Totten was on the line. “Admiral, we shall word it like this: ‘Your mission is to eliminate the threat to the United States. In completing your mission you are instructed to do everything within your power to minimize the possibility of a toxin release in Cuba. You may use any forces and weapons in your command except nuclear or CBW weapons, and you may request assistance from any command in the U.S. armed forces.’”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have that on the wire as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. I want to thank you and the president. We’ll do our best.”
“I know you will, sailor. When are you going?”
“Tomorrow night, sir. In view of all the factors involved, that is my choice.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Over Cuba the next morning the cloud cover was typical for that time of year: as the sun rose the prevailing westerly winds spawned cumulus clouds over the warming land. The longer the clouds remained over land, the higher they grew. In the area east of Havana where the Americans believed the missile silos and processing lab were located the cloud cover averaged forty or fifty percent by ten in the morning, enough to inhibit satellite and U-2 photography of the area. Infrared photography was not affected by the clouds, nor were the synthetic-aperture radar studies done by air force E-3 Sentry AWACS aircraft.
Oblivious to the intense scrutiny that the island was now getting from the Americans, General Alba conferred that morning with Alejo Vargas, then ordered troops and tanks moved into position around the silos. There were actually eight silos, but only six held operational missiles. The other two missiles had been used as sources of spare parts through the years. Had Alba and Vargas realized what was coming, they might have elected to dissipate the American military effort by garrisoning all eight silos: as it was, they didn’t think of it.
The sun had been up just two hours when two C-130 Hercules landed at the naval air station at Key West, Florida. On the civilian side of the field people stood and watched as the Hercs parked on the other side of the runway. Soon navy personnel began unloading the transports. The civilian kibitzers did not know what the pallets and canisters contained, and after a while they went on about their business. Four armed marines in combat gear took up locations where they could guard the transports.
Among other things, the transports had delivered belted 20-mm ammunition for miniguns, Hellfire missiles, flares, and 2.75-inch rockets. They also delivered tools and spare parts to work on Marine Corps AH-1W SuperCobras.
Two hours after the Hercs landed, the first two SuperCobras settled onto the military mat. By noon sixteen of the mottled green helicopters were parked in the sun.
The two-man crews didn’t leave the base, but went into an old, decrepit navy hangar nearby for briefings.
Two more C-130s wearing marine markings landed an hour or so later. They parked near the first two. As navy trucks began refueling the planes, marines disembarked and spread their gear on the ramp. They lounged around, a few walked a safe distance away and lit cigarettes, and after awhile a navy truck brought hot food.
Troops, tanks, and trucks were moving in Cuba by noon, blocking roads and creating traffic jams. By midafternoon the E-3 Sentry crews had alerted the National Security Agency, which passed the information on to USS United States. Jake Grafton went to the ship’s intelligence center to see what the computers could tell him.
After listening to the briefer, Jake Grafton muttered, “Damn.”
He went over the data, then asked, “How much combat power are they moving, and when will it be in place?”
In New York City the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations paid a call on the Cuban ambassador. After exchanging civilities, the American said bluntly, “My government has asked me to inform you that if the Cuban government releases biological toxins of any kind in the United States, for any reason, the American government will massively retaliate.”
“‘Massively retaliate’?” The Cuban’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”
“Sir, I was instructed to deliver the message, not to interpret it. Here is the statement in writing.” The American handed over a sheet of paper and took her leave.
Aboard USS Hue City, now underway precisely halfway between Cuba and Key West at ten knots, Ocho Sedano awoke in midafternoon from a deep sleep. He found that he was in a hospital bed on a small ward, with two intravenous solutions dripping into his veins. His vision was blurred, he could not focus his eyes.
The doctor on the ward noticed that he was awake and came over to check him. In a few minutes an American sailor who spoke Spanish came to interpret.
“Your eyes are sore from the salt of the water. They will get better. Can you tell us your name, señor?”
“Juan Sedano,” he whispered, because he could not talk above a whisper. “They call me El Ocho.”
“And where are you from?”
“Cuba.”
“How long were you in the sea?”
“Two days and nights, I think. I am not sure. Maybe more than that.”
The doctor put a solution into Ocho’s eyes while the questions and answers were flying back and forth. After blinking mightily Ocho thought he could see a little better. The doctor was examining Ocho’s fingertips and the calluses on his hands. Now he held up Ocho’s hand and peeled off a callus. Then he smiled. “You were very lucky.”
The translator interpreted.
“Where am I?” Ocho asked.
“Aboard Hue City, a United States Navy ship. You were rescued by a helicopter. The man who saw you in the water wants to shake your hand when you awaken. He saved your life. May I call him?”
“I would like to meet him.”
It felt very comfortable lying there, looking at the fuzzy beds and blurred people bustling about, checking him over, so different from Angel del Mar. Or floating on the sea.
Maybe he was dead. He examined that possibility but concluded it was not so. This was not a bit like the heaven he envisioned, and he was hungry. He told the interpreter of his hunger, and the man went to talk to the doctor, who had wandered off.
They brought food about the same time that Autrey James came breezing in with one of his pals, who had a camera. James was a happy fellow with a wide smile — the white teeth in a dark face were the only details that Ocho could see. James got down beside the bed and posed while the man with the camera took many pictures. Another man with a camera came, some kind of television camera, and he and James shook hands again. Several men in khaki stood behind the camera watching.
The interpreter relayed the questions from Autrey James and the television cameraman. When did you leave Cuba, What was the name of the boat, How many people were there?