Dawn came after what seemed an eternity, and they carefully opened the containers. They felt like kids at Christmas. The contents of the first one made them grin. It was a two-way radio, along with a hand generator. Code books, spare parts, and instructions came with it. Another package contained medications and soap. Water purification tablets were a welcome addition. They'd all suffered from diarrhea from drinking bad water. Others were filled with rations that would last a couple of weeks if they were careful.
"I guess we can skip the iguana," Andrew teased. Cathy stuck her tongue out at him. She had a cute tongue.
They all grinned again when they found one box filled with toilet paper. They were virtually out of the good stuff and were planning on using soft leaves and rags cleaned off in local water and re-used. Cathy was confronting the same situation with her period. She had enough for this time, but what if they were still in Cuba a month from now? Her grandmother had used rags which she’d washed and used again. She shuddered. She had seen them drying on the line at grandma's house and thought it uncivilized. Would it come to that? Would they be forced to reuse rags as both toilet tissue and sanitary napkins?
Last was a package addressed to "Sister Catherine" from "Father Malone." Puzzled, she opened it. There was a note. "I discussed your situation with a nice lady named Elena and she suggested I include these."
Cathy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Kotex.
Kraeger once again waited by the Lincoln Memorial. He wondered why spies thought this was such a great place to make a contact. Certainly it was easy to hide in the large numbers of people milling around, but it also made surveillance by the other side so easy. Maybe they should meet in a desert.
He recognized Georgi Golikov from a photo provided by the CIA. The Russian was of average height and build, excellently forgettable, which was good for an intelligence operative. Golikov nodded and held out his hand. They shook as if they were two business people who knew each other or old friends. None of the tourists milling about saw anything out of the ordinary. Charley wondered whether Golikov was KGB or the intelligence chief operating out of the Washington embassy, or both. He sure as hell wasn't the cultural attache any more than he was the tooth fairy.
Golikov looked over Kraeger's shoulder and quickly identified the two agents who had accompanied the American. For his part, Kraeger did the same, easily spotting the poorly dressed Russians who'd accompanied Golikov and were pretending to admire Honest Abe.
"Mr. Kraeger, my congratulations on escaping from the delights of the people's paradise of Cuba. And please accept my further congratulations on getting to Comrade Sokolov before we could. When you're done with him, we have some interesting questions we'd like to ask him."
I bet you do, Kraeger thought. "I don't think that's very likely. He's said he's interested in running a gas station in Tulsa."
Golikov blinked in surprise then realized it was a joke. Sort of. The steppes of Oklahoma sounded like a great place for Sokolov to spend the rest of his wretched life. "You are right, of course, and, unless you or he does something incredibly stupid, we will never see him again. Since he has nothing more to tell you that you don't already know or will soon find out, our interest in him is waning rapidly. Contrary to your movies and your spy books, we are not interested in useless vengeance. I hope he enjoys running that gas station, or perhaps cleaning dog shit in a pet shop. Perhaps he'll manage to set fire to himself at that gas station, eh?"
Sure, Kraeger thought. They'd just love to get him back if for no other reason than to put the traditional two bullets in the back of his skull as a way of telling others not to even think of defecting. "Comrade Golikov, I would enjoy knowing that General Pliyev has recovered all those nuclear warheads."
"What nuclear warheads?" Golikov said in clearly feigned astonishment. "The Soviet Union would never admit to having tactical nuclear warheads in Cuba, especially after our agreement to withdraw our strategic nuclear weapons. It would make no sense whatsoever to have such little horrors in Cuba where they might be lost and recovered either by a madman, Castro, or his lunatic assistant, Guevara."
Charley nodded and Golikov shrugged. Each man knew that the conversation was being recorded by the other side and neither wanted to say anything that would be incriminatory. In Golikov's case, incriminatory comments might get him shot.
"I am glad to hear it, but why then would Sokolov tell such a terrible lie?"
Golikov looked around. "Perhaps he's delusional."
Enough, Kraeger thought. "Then let's be hypothetical. Let's pretend you did have tactical nukes in Cuba and let's pretend that Castro or one of his henchmen stole a handful of them. What might your country's response be?"
Golikov nodded solemnly and glared. "Our anger and our fury at being betrayed, much less having several of our soldiers killed in the taking of them, which would certainly have happened in such a hypothetical event, would know no bounds. We would move heaven and earth to recover those weapons."
"If such a raid were to have occurred, how many do you think such hypothetical bandits would get?"
"No more than four. At two kilotons each, more than enough to cause of great deal of mischief, isn't it?"
Mischief? That isn't quite the word, Kraeger thought. "Of course, Comrade Golikov, it never happened and you don't believe in heaven in the first place, is that fair?"
"Very."
"Do you think Comrade Fidel understands that using nuclear weapons against us would provoke a nuclear response from us that might incinerate Cuba, turning him and Che into large cigar ashes?"
Golikov now looked nervous. "Again hypothetically, he is likely not to believe that or, if he is indeed becoming mad, might not care. My people would care very much, of course."
"Just curious, but how would that color any future relations between your country and Castro's Cuba? Hypothetically speaking, of course."
Golikov smiled grimly. "Any nuclear military actions by Cuba, or even a threat of such actions, would require a thorough reassessment of our position vis a vis any relations with a leader we cannot trust and who may be mad."
Kraeger grinned inwardly. The Soviets were thoroughly pissed off. He wondered how this might be used to America's advantage.
Chapter Twelve
Lt. Colonel Ted Romanski and Master Sergeant Wiley Morton threw themselves on the ground. The small plane had zoomed past them only a few feet above the trees and their heads. Coming at them in the dark had compounded their shock. Flying low and fast had the plane long gone before they could begin to react.
"You okay, colonel?" Morton said. He picked himself up and brushed off dirt and twigs.
"I am, master sergeant, although I am now five years older and a lot grayer than I was a few moments ago. At least I don't have to change my underwear."
Morton chuckled. "That was close for me, too, sir. How's your leg holding up?"
Romanski had begun walking while using a tree limb as a crutch. "So far, so good. Now, did you happen to see whose plane that was, or anything else that might be useful? Damn, that was a surprise."
"I couldn't pick out any markings. There might not have been any, but I think it was likely one of ours."
"Why so? It could have been Cuban. It would make sense to use small planes to ferry around important people, messages, and other things wouldn't it? A small plane flying low would be pretty safe from our planes. Our hotshot fighter pilots think it's beneath their dignity to hit a little target like that. Hell, they wouldn't even get a little red star to put on their plane to show they made a kill."