Cuba by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online Page A

appeased.”
    “Assassination plots against Castro and the like?”
    “Plots that never get off the ground are harmless.
    Let them have their meetings and their thunderous
    denunciations. These people will pass from the scene soon
    enough.”
    Vargas made a gesture of irritation. He had his
    own opinions and didn’t 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 forea”…El Gato said,
    genuine warmth obvious in his voice. “I thank you
    for that promise.”
    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,
    sirea”…Tarkington said cheerfully. “A little flying
    helps clean out the pipes, keeps everything in
    perspective.”
    “That it doesea”…Jake agreed, and stretched.
    He had the best job in the navy, he thought. As a
    battle group commander he could still flyindeed, 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
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    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 in– verted position, though with
    only seventy degrees of heading change. The
    nose continued downkeep the roll inffandthe 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 ita 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 fine’st acrobatic
    pilot? Have you no respect?”
    “These whifferdills are not quite up to your usual
    worldclass 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 teach you to respect your elders.”
    “You got that rightea”…Toad replied, and moaned