Cuba by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online

really wish to hear other people’s. “Colonel Santana will take you and your men to your hotel.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I can promise you very little, El Gato. I understand that you cannot guarantee the future, but the North Koreans must fulfill their part of our bargain. If they do, there is a chance, just a chance, that I may rule after Castro.”
    El Gato waited.
    Vargas continued: “I will not forget what you did for me, for Cuba. If the day ever comes when I am in a position to help you, feel free to ask. What I can do then will have to be decided upon that day.”
    “That is more than I hoped for,” El Gato said, genuine warmth obvious in his voice. “I thank you for that promise.”

CHAPTER THREE
    The F-14 Tomcat hung suspended in an infinite blue sky, over an infinite blue sea. Or so it seemed to Jake Grafton, who sat in the front cockpit taking it all in. Behind him Toad Tarkington was working the radar, searching the sky ahead. The air was dead calm today, so without a visual reference there was no sensation of motion. The puffy clouds on the surface of the sea seemed to be marching uniformly toward the rear of the aircraft, almost as if the sky were spinning under the airplane.
    The fighter was cruising at 31,000 feet, heading northwestward parallel with the southern coast of Cuba, about a hundred and fifty miles offshore.
    “I sure am glad you got us off the ship, sir,” Tarkington said cheerfully. “A little flying helps clean out the pipes, keeps everything in perspective.”
    “That it does,” Jake agreed, and stretched.
    He had the best job in the navy, he thought. As a battle group commander he could still fly—indeed, an occasional flight was part of the job description. Yet his flying days would soon be over: in just two months he was scheduled to turn over the command to another admiral and be on his way somewhere.
    He searched the empty sky automatically as he thought again about where the next set of orders might send him. If the people in the flag detailing office in the Pentagon had a clue, they certainly weren’t talking.
    Ah, it would all work out. The powers that be would send him another set of orders or retire him, and it really
didn’t matter much which way it went. Everyone has to move on sooner or later, so why not now?
    Maybe he should just submit his retirement papers, get on with the rest of his life.
    With his right hand he hit the emergency disconnect for the autopilot, which worked as it should.
    Without touching the throttles, Jake Grafton smoothly lifted the nose and began feeding in left stick. Nose climbing, wing dropping … rolling smoothly through the inverted position, though with only seventy degrees of heading change. The nose continued down—keep the roll in!—and the G increased as the fighter came out of the dive and back to the original heading, only 1,400 below the entry altitude. Ta-ta! There you have it—a sloppy barrel roll!
    Jake kept the stick back and started a barrel roll to the right.
    “Are you okay up there, sir?” Toad Tarkington asked anxiously.
    “You ask that of me? The world’s finest aerobatic pilot? Have you no respect?”
    “These whifferdills are not quite up to your usual world-class standards, so one wonders. Could it be illness, decrepitude, senility?”
    They were passing the inverted positon when Jake said, “Just for that, Tarkington, you can put us on the flight schedule every day so we can practice. An hour and a half of high-G maneuvers seven times a week will tech you to respect your elders.”
    “You got that right,” Toad replied, and moaned as if he were in pain as Jake lifted the Tomcat into a loop.
    “War Ace One Oh Four, this is Sea Hawk. You have traffic to the northwest, one hundred miles, heading south at about 30,000.”
    “Roger, Sea Hawk.”
    Coming down the back side of the loop, Jake turned to the northwest.

    “Admiral, I know you think I was loafing back here,” Toad said obsequiously, “but I had