beach about a quarter mile from his rendezvous point. He hid the motorcycle behind trees, then rummage in his backpack and pulled out the night vision goggles. Donning them, he started a slow and cautious recon to the rendezvous site, keeping to the shadows. From house to house, from tree to tree. Mosquitoes swarmed around him in a cloud, buzzing in his ears.
Finally he was near a secluded area of beach. Cupping his hand around his watch, he checked the time. He had fifteen minutes until the boat was supposed to arrive.
He settled in next to a date palm and became motionless.
The seconds ticked by. Looking out at the water, he thought he saw a small boat out on the water, but couldn’t be certain.
Something caught his attention further down the beach. Some movement of some sort. He trained the NVGs on that area, the world lit up in green and black, but filled with shadows. Nothing showed up. Maybe it had just been a bush or tree moving in the breeze.
Shifting his gaze back out to the water, he saw the boat growing closer. Yes, right on time.
Taking out a small flashlight, he aimed it toward the boat and flicked it on-off-on-off, waited ten seconds and then flashed the light three times. After a moment, a light on the boat flashed once, hesitated, then flashed three times quickly.
Derek waited in his hiding place for the boat to draw closer. He would be glad to get the hell out of Cuba, but he was totally dissatisfied with how things had gone—he had not accomplished his mission.
The boat, a Zodiac inflatable with a sound-dampened engine, approached the shore. A soft breeze tugged at the trees. Crickets chirped and other insects whined. The mosquitoes were terrible, feasting on any exposed skin. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Derek stepped out from the treeline and headed for the boat.
Suddenly spotlights lit up from three different directions, pinning Derek in its harsh glare. Voices shouted in Spanish and English: “Halt! You are under arrest! Don’t move!”
The Zodiac was still thirty or forty yards off shore.
Half a dozen uniformed men rushed toward Derek. Somebody fired a rifle at the boat. With a roar, the Zodiac spun in the waves and headed back out to sea.
Derek turned on his heels and sprinted into the trees. Bullets chewed the air around him. More shouts. The soldiers thundered after him.
For one disorienting moment, Derek wasn’t sure of where the motorcycle was. Racing through the woods, branches lashing at his face, weeds and bushes tangling his legs, he didn’t have time to stop and search. He plunged on. The soldiers were a dozen yards behind him. Once they all entered the woods they had stopped firing, probably in fear of shooting each other.
He nearly ran past the motorcycle. Skidding to a halt, he leapt onto the saddle and kicked the engine to life. He zigzagged in and out of the trees, leaning low over the handlebars, barely able to make out tree trunks. He hit a rock, nearly catapulting off the bike, but clung on.
Something tugged at his shoulder. He heard the gunshot a moment later. Heart racing, adrenaline surging, he jammed the throttle down and roared through the woods, breaking out into open road.
He took the bike up to its top speed, flying down the serpentine road at over one hundred miles per hour.
It wasn’t a solution, and he knew it. He had to get the hell off the main road.
Once he was out of the town, he slewed onto a gravel road that led into the hills. Kicking up gravel, he gunned it, taking every turn he could. The hills soon flattened out and he was running on roads sandwiched between fields of sugar cane and tobacco. He felt vaguely protected by the sugar cane, with its tall stalks. The tobacco was no good, though. He couldn’t hide there.
He had lost his pursuers. Derek pulled to the side of the road alongside a sugarcane field and touched his shoulder. The bullet had nipped at his coat, but he hadn’t been hit. He’d been extremely lucky tonight, he supposed. He
Finally he was near a secluded area of beach. Cupping his hand around his watch, he checked the time. He had fifteen minutes until the boat was supposed to arrive.
He settled in next to a date palm and became motionless.
The seconds ticked by. Looking out at the water, he thought he saw a small boat out on the water, but couldn’t be certain.
Something caught his attention further down the beach. Some movement of some sort. He trained the NVGs on that area, the world lit up in green and black, but filled with shadows. Nothing showed up. Maybe it had just been a bush or tree moving in the breeze.
Shifting his gaze back out to the water, he saw the boat growing closer. Yes, right on time.
Taking out a small flashlight, he aimed it toward the boat and flicked it on-off-on-off, waited ten seconds and then flashed the light three times. After a moment, a light on the boat flashed once, hesitated, then flashed three times quickly.
Derek waited in his hiding place for the boat to draw closer. He would be glad to get the hell out of Cuba, but he was totally dissatisfied with how things had gone—he had not accomplished his mission.
The boat, a Zodiac inflatable with a sound-dampened engine, approached the shore. A soft breeze tugged at the trees. Crickets chirped and other insects whined. The mosquitoes were terrible, feasting on any exposed skin. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Derek stepped out from the treeline and headed for the boat.
Suddenly spotlights lit up from three different directions, pinning Derek in its harsh glare. Voices shouted in Spanish and English: “Halt! You are under arrest! Don’t move!”
The Zodiac was still thirty or forty yards off shore.
Half a dozen uniformed men rushed toward Derek. Somebody fired a rifle at the boat. With a roar, the Zodiac spun in the waves and headed back out to sea.
Derek turned on his heels and sprinted into the trees. Bullets chewed the air around him. More shouts. The soldiers thundered after him.
For one disorienting moment, Derek wasn’t sure of where the motorcycle was. Racing through the woods, branches lashing at his face, weeds and bushes tangling his legs, he didn’t have time to stop and search. He plunged on. The soldiers were a dozen yards behind him. Once they all entered the woods they had stopped firing, probably in fear of shooting each other.
He nearly ran past the motorcycle. Skidding to a halt, he leapt onto the saddle and kicked the engine to life. He zigzagged in and out of the trees, leaning low over the handlebars, barely able to make out tree trunks. He hit a rock, nearly catapulting off the bike, but clung on.
Something tugged at his shoulder. He heard the gunshot a moment later. Heart racing, adrenaline surging, he jammed the throttle down and roared through the woods, breaking out into open road.
He took the bike up to its top speed, flying down the serpentine road at over one hundred miles per hour.
It wasn’t a solution, and he knew it. He had to get the hell off the main road.
Once he was out of the town, he slewed onto a gravel road that led into the hills. Kicking up gravel, he gunned it, taking every turn he could. The hills soon flattened out and he was running on roads sandwiched between fields of sugar cane and tobacco. He felt vaguely protected by the sugar cane, with its tall stalks. The tobacco was no good, though. He couldn’t hide there.
He had lost his pursuers. Derek pulled to the side of the road alongside a sugarcane field and touched his shoulder. The bullet had nipped at his coat, but he hadn’t been hit. He’d been extremely lucky tonight, he supposed. He
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