Cathy stepped up and touched his arm. "I need to find some water," Andrew reached for his canteen and she shook her head. "No. Haven't you noticed how bad I smell? I lost it Andrew, totally, and now I need to clean up."
"You find your bag with a change of clothing?"
She looked distraught. "Not yet. I'll look again."
Ross nodded. Cullen had everything under control for the moment, although they would have to move out fairly soon. Cuban soldiers might begin snooping around once they felt it was safe.
Cathy shambled over to her foxhole and rummaged around until she found her pack. "There's a stream a little ways away and I want to wash up in it."
The water was only a hundred yards away and now filled with debris, but it was running which would help cleanse her. It might contain bugs and snakes, but it would have to do. It was imperative for her peace of mind that she get her body cleaned.
"Andrew, please leave me now and give me some privacy."
"No," he said. "I'll turn around but I'm not leaving you. And don't even think of undressing fully. If anybody shows up we might have to leave much faster than you want to. Just shuffle your clothes around and do the best you can."
She agreed and stepped into the water, letting it cover her up almost to her chin. It was cold and refreshing and helped clear her mind. She remembered that she had once thought such streams were too polluted for her to use, an idea that seemed ridiculous at this time. She eased her slacks and panties down to her ankles and scrubbed herself as best she could, using the remnants of soap from her pack. She did the same thing with her clothes, wondering if she would ever be clean again or if she would ever take anything as basic as laundry or a Laundromat for granted.
She put on her wet clothing and returned to Ross. "Andrew, how come this didn't happen to you?"
Ross laughed. "Cathy, who says it didn't. Now that you're done I'll go in and you watch out for me."
Geoffrey Franklyn looked through the peephole in his door to see who'd knocked. He didn't have a buzzer or a bell. He thought they were so tacky. A brass knocker was so much more sophisticated. He lived alone in a small house and was concerned about his vulnerability, especially since he was planning to disgrace the President of the United States.
He looked through the peephole. A very attractive and full-bosomed young blonde woman stood there, holding a large purse in front of her. She smiled at him and waved, obviously aware that he was looking at her. "What do you want?" he said.
"I'm from the New York Times and we need some clarifications on the information you've provided."
Ah, he thought. At long last something was going to happen with his once in a lifetime story. He'd begun to feel that his contact at the Times was not going to produce anything about Cuban nukes. He released the safety latch and opened the door, only to find himself flying across his living room. He landed on his back and immediately felt strong hands restraining him and a disgustingly filthy rag being stuffed in his mouth. An immensely powerful-looking man smiled wickedly.
"Open your fucking mouth and I'll cut your throat. Understand?" Franklyn nodded, wide eyed and frantic. "Wonderful. I am now going to take this shit rag out of your mouth. You try to yell and you will regret it for the rest of your life which won't be very long and will end very painfully." Frankly again nodded and the rag was removed.
"Who are you," Franklyn stammered. "I don't have much money but take it. Take it all." He could see their faces although it was obvious they were disguised. The two men wore dark wigs had false mustaches. They wore sunglasses, and the woman had a large mole on her cheek and he again noted that she had enormous breasts. The breasts were likely fake, along with the blonde wig, but that mole he'd remember. That they had gone to even such small lengths to disguise themselves was a small comfort. Perhaps they would let him live after they got whatever they wanted from him? On the other hand they wore rubber gloves which would leave no fingerprints, and that didn't bode well. He stated to shake and fought an almost overwhelming urge to urinate.
The powerfully built man took Franklyn's head in his hands. "We don't want your God damned money. What we want is for you to back off on this bullshit tale of yours about Cuban nukes."
"I won't. It has to be told."
"Too fucking bad," the man said.
The rag was stuffed back in his mouth and strong hands grasped Franklyn's testicles, squeezing and twisting. Franklyn tried to scream and tried to get away, but could do neither. He saw red in front of his eyes as the pain roared through him. He thought he would die.
"Hey," the big man said, "he really does have balls. Franklyn, you want me to stop?"
The answer was a whimper and a nod. The man let go and the rag was removed. Franklyn gasped and moaned. "Why? Who are you? Oh God, you're from the government, aren't you?"
"Why would you think that?" the second man said. "Look, asshole, we know there's an atomic bomb out there, but our employers want it to be used. We don't want you to raise a stink and get it halted."
"Employers?" Franklyn asked. "What do you mean?"
Big man spoke. "We work for some people who had major investments in Havana and were booted out by Castro. They’re afraid that Kennedy won't kick Castro out and give them a chance to get their money back. If American troops are nuked, Kennedy will have to go after Castro and wipe his ass out. When that happens, my employers can open up shop in Havana again and the world will come back to the casinos and other places for fun."
Oh God, Franklyn thought, these two are from the Mafia.
The big man saw comprehension and smiled. "Good thinking, asshole. Now you understand you are going to be a very quiet and very good boy. In fact, we are going to guarantee it."
The two men dropped Franklyn's pants to his knees. He squirmed. The woman was looking, laughing. A hypodermic appeared from the woman's very large purse. Big man jabbed it into Franklyn's thigh. In a moment, he was limp and barely conscious.
Big man turned to the woman. "Stay here. You don't have to see this."
Two small cameras, one of them a Polaroid, also came from the woman's purse which they took with them as they dragged Franklyn into his bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later, they left the bedroom. The three of them left the house and drove away, leaving Franklyn shaken and sobbing on his bed. He was beginning to regain full consciousness and control over his body, and remembered what they'd said and done. They'd told him they'd find him wherever he went if he didn't stop pushing the story. They told him the pictures they'd taken would be all over Washington within moments of his going public. They left a couple of Polaroid prints to emphasize the point.
He couldn't yet move very well, but, when he could, he would pack his clothes and go far, far away.
Charley Kraeger, Jock Soriano, and Elena Sandano parked the car in front of Elena's house. They'd driven the better part of an hour to cover the few miles. If anybody had been tailing them, they'd have noticed it.
Inside, both men took off the wigs and pulled the cotton stuffing out of their cheeks. Elena took off her blonde wig and peeled the ugly mole off her cheek. She reached inside her blouse and removed the padding that had made her so huge. All three of them laughed at the changes in their appearance, especially hers.
"I thought that went well," Soriano said. "He caved almost immediately."
"What did you do in the bedroom?" Elena asked.
Charley smiled. "Stripped him and took some pictures of him naked and doing strange things to his own body. Then we took some more with him dressed in the women's clothes and doing disgusting stuff with one of those new Barbie Dolls we'd brought in that large purse. We left a couple of the Polaroids just to let him know what will happen if he doesn't back off. And thank God he's an idiot who thought he was safe using the same pay phone to talk to the reporter. That makes it a lot easier to tap."