Drummond surveyed the landscape. Hiding places were numerous, but one just didn’t pull a thirty-year-old missile out of a warehouse and fire it. It needed a stable launch surface, just as the Russians had built when first bringing them to the island. Fueling equipment would also be required. A missile did little by itself without support. “Take your pick.”
“Any longstanding structures?” Healy wondered aloud, checking the DFS (Date First Sighted) notation of the facilities in the area.
“Other than dwellings”—Drummond joined in the search—“none.”
“I just thought that if something had been around since the time of the crisis, we could assume it might be a long-term hiding place.”
It was a possibility, but not the best one. None of the older structures could be considered secure, and Castro had demonstrated that he was conscious enough about secrecy that he was willing to employ hit men on U.S. soil. That wasn’t proven, Drummond knew, but it was a bet he’d lay money on.
“It couldn’t be at the Castillo with Vishkov,” the DDI said. “There’s very little open area inside the grounds, and the ceilings wouldn’t be high enough.”
“How high are we looking at?” Healy asked.
“The analysts back then figured a minimum of ten feet for the SS-4 on its TEL. They had to run down all kinds of rumors after the Russians pulled out, that there were still missiles left there hidden in caves and places like that. Problem was, there were no caves with the proper dimensions to hold an SS-4 or the components of it.” Drummond saw that Healy was taken aback at that. “No, there weren’t folks running around peeking in caves. It just turned out that the Agency had access to pretty complete speleological surveys of the island done before the commies took over. As for the other places, nothing panned out.”
“Do you think some of the rumors could have been a product of this missile?” The DDO kept hoping that all this affirmative talk would somehow be negated by the findings in Moscow, but he didn’t really believe it would.
“No. Don’t ask me why, ‘cause it’s just a feeling. I think Castro had this planned out pretty well, including the storage of it.”
Healy had to agree. “Then where?”
The DDI rubbed his eyes and sat down, pulling his chair forward to the desk. “Let’s see. It would need a big area, solid footings. Level, too. Access to roads, yet far enough away that casual observers would notice nothing.”
“It’s times like this that I wish we’d had more luck getting people into the upper echelons of the PCC,” Healy said. The Partido Comunista de Cuba was the singular force in Cuban politics and government, headed, of course, by Fidel Castro as first secretary. The Agency had been unable to penetrate the higher ranks of national politics in Cuba, despite assistance from exile groups and the expenditure of huge sums of money. The DGI, Cuba’s equivalent of the KGB and CIA, had been unbelievably effective in keeping the power apparatus of the PCC free from foreign influence, even that of so-called “brother countries” from the defunct East bloc.
“Well, now would be a great time to turn back the clock,” Drummond said. “S and T have that time machine finished yet?”
Healy chuckled. “Next week, I hear.”
The DDI ran his finger along the outline of the bay, trying to pick out those areas that would fit the bill. “Here.”
The DDO bent closer to the map. “Let’s see, that’s…” He paged through the data book that had accompanied the map. “Recio Machine Works. Built in ’72 by an East German company. Light and heavy machine tools — mostly high-speed lathes. Armaments, it says. Cannon barrels.” It had amazed him and many of the analysts that Cuba had never fully exploited its weapon-building capability. The barrels produced at Recio had been shipped promptly back to the East for assembly into full weapons systems. “Closed in July of ‘92. Lack of fuel.”
“I’d call that one possible.” The DDI went on, checking several other sites against the background intelligence. “Jesus, there could be ten or eleven possibles on the west side of the bay. I’m not even thinking about the eastern shore.”
“Don’t. I doubt they’d have Vishkov traveling all the way over there.”
“It’s too close to Cienfuegos,” Drummond observed, his finger touching the outline of the city of a hundred thousand. “Too many people move around that area.” His eyes fell on the old Soviet sub-support facility that was never completed because of U.S. pressure in the late seventies. It was pretty much demolished and rebuilt as housing and various small buildings, none of which would support what they were looking for. Another failed construction project. The DDI wondered if any world leader was as good at starting something and as inept at finishing.
Drummond’s attention went back to the western shore, about five miles inland and close to the marshes that spread east from the Zapata Peninsula. It was there, and it was huge. Far enough from any habitations. The people had probably been forced to move. But did it make sense? “Mike, what about the plant?”
“What…the nuclear plant?” He carefully studied the lay of the land as best one could from a flat projection. “Sure, it would work, but the rest doesn’t add up. The Russians helped build it, and they’d be the last ones Castro would want anywhere near the thing. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been there, but there’d have to be signs. Besides, construction didn’t shut down until a couple years ago.” The DDO stood back up, stretching his back and arms.
“Right. But they could have kept it going.” Drummond’ s head turned left, looking up at his counterpart. “The Chinese, remember?”
Healy’s thoughts wandered off to mull that over.
“So?”
“So why didn’t Castro take them up on it? He had them all over that proposed space-launch complex he dreamed of building out by Holguín. Why not accept their help and finish the plant? We know he could have used the power output. What was it supposed to be — four hundred megawatts off each of the four generators? That would have saved him almost a third of his oil imports! And this is something he knew he’d need. The Soviet Union was a dead dog already when he stopped construction and turned away from the Chinese. Plus, if he’d taken the assistance and proceeded, it would have come under closer IAEA scrutiny.” The International Atomic Energy Agency had approved the plans for the plant and would have begun a complete-inspection regime once it was substantially complete.
The DDO turned to the corresponding page for the Juragua Nuclear Generating Plant. “Greg, it’s a big sucker.”
“I can see that.”
Healy read further. “A hundred and twenty separate buildings — the Russians never were good at building things compact, except for crew quarters on their ships and subs.” He had thought quarters were cramped during his stint in the Navy, but not after seeing intel on Russian vessels. “Damn, the whole thing is a slab of concrete, it looks like.”
“It could launch off the TEL anywhere there.”
“Ten thousand acres.” Healy looked up from the book. “Over sixteen square miles of buildings, construction, and all kinds of places to hide something like a missile.”
The DDI looked to the northernmost part of the map. Didn’t the intel from the past day say the Cubans were retreating to the south? “Mike, I think we may be onto something here. The government forces are all backing into this relatively small part of real estate with no value other than…”
It fit. “I see. What’s there to protect? Swamp? And it damn sure ain’t an example of great defensive tactics. Our DOD liaison nearly fell off his chair when he saw the report.”
The thought of thousands of Cuban troops being ordered to defend the area in a desperate setup caused the DDI to shrink away from the map. He eased back in his chair, the DDO turning and resting against the desk, facing his colleague.