Read Six Minutes To Freedom Online

Authors: John Gilstrap,Kurt Muse

Six Minutes To Freedom

Also by John Gilstrap
 
 
Nathan’s Run
At All Costs
Even Steven
Scott Free
SIX MINUTES TO FREEDOM
KURT MUSE and JOHN GILSTRAP
CITADEL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
To Anne, my beautiful bride, my sweetheart, my best friend, and simply the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met.
 
And to Joey Skinner, whose smile is sorely missed.
 
—KM
 
To Joy and Chris, who make every day exciting, every voyage worthwhile.
 
—JG
Acknowlegments
So many people believed in this project. Through their support, a bit of history that would otherwise have gone unnoticed has found a voice. Our agent, Anne Hawkins, played a big role in that, as did our friends at Citadel Press. Special thanks to Steve Zacharius, who’s been in John’s corner for a long time, and to Michaela Hamilton, whose excitementand enthusiasm are contagious to everyone.
President George H. W. Bush kept others waiting in the anteroom while he continued talking with us for nearly an hour longer than we’d scheduled. As we were discussing the military heroics that are so much a part of
Six Minutes to Freedom
, there came a moment when his eyes filled with tears and he rhetorically asked, “My God, where do we find these men?” There’s no answer, of course, but we traded theories, and the moment was as special as moments get.
The meeting with President Bush never would have happened withoutthe assistance of General Brent Scowcroft, and for that and for his valuable time, we offer thanks. Similarly, Senator Connie Mack of Florida gave generously of a morning over breakfast.
But for the intervention of Pat Barney and “Sam” Shockley, neither author would likely have ever met the other. Thanks to them, Kurt and Annie met John and Joy, and we all realized that we’d stumbled onto something special.
Thanks also to everyone whose special cooperation helped us get this story straight: Carol and David Skinner, Charlie and Peggy Muse, Kimberly Muse, Eric Muse, Robert Perry, Marcos Ostrander, Jim Ruffer,General Fred F. Woerner, Richard Dotson, Fulo Morales, Bosco Vallarino, Rita and Alex Sosa, Roderick Esquivel, J, K, L, T, P, S, and, of course, Father Frank.
Prologue
The first thing Urrutia noticed was her body. It’s the first thing every man noticed when encountering Betty Fernandez, and for years she’d played it to her advantage. It didn’t matter to her that she was married, and it apparently didn’t matter to her husband that she flaunted her shapely breasts, narrow waist, and perfect hips. She liked the attention, and maybe her husband enjoyed it, too. Perhapsthere was a vicarious thrill in having a woman that other men wanted.
Until they saw her face.
Urrutia allowed the possibility that she might be naturally attractive,but if so, the beauty lay perfectly camouflaged behind thick layersof makeup. It was as if she’d learned cosmetology in the circus, or perhaps in a mortician’s office. The cosmetics were trowled on so thickly that they had a texture of their own. Now that she was crying, the mask had started to melt, and it had become too hideous for Urrutiato look at.
He decided to speak to her breasts.
“You can’t do this to me,” Betty sobbed. “What will people think? What will they say?” They both spoke in their native Spanish language.
Urrutia tossed a quick shrug and allowed himself a smile. They sat in the opulent casino manager’s office on the fifth floor of a downtown hotel. “God only knows what they’ll
think
,” he said. “But I imagine they’ll
say
that you have a gambling problem that is out of control. They’ll say that you owe this establishment many thousands of dollars and that you steadfastly refuse to pay your debt.”
“I don’t have this kind of money,” she sobbed. “You know that. I’ve told you that.”
“But your husband does,” Urrutia said. “For him and his family, your debt is pocket change, a few boxes of cigars.”
“I can’t!” she shouted.
It was their third go-round on the same conversation, and as he’d hoped, her frustration was morphing to desperation. “Then you shouldn’t have made the bets,” he said. “The casino extended credit on the good faith that you would repay it. It is a business, Betty, not your personal amusement park.”
Urrutia allowed himself another look at her face to witness the meltdown. It was important that the next part be
her
idea, not his. When he saw the realization dawn in her muddy eyes, he looked away again.
Betty straightened her posture and rocked her shoulders back. “There has to be some way to make the debt go away,” she cooed, folding her arms to emphasize her cleavage.
The sexual advance disgusted him. He was an officer in the PanamanianDefense Forces, not some john on the street, willing to forgive real debt for services from someone who looked like a clown-painted whore. “It’s not my money,” he said, working hard to filter the disdain from his voice. “It’s not even the casino’s money. You know that.”
Of course she knew that. The casinos were indeed a business, purportedlyrun by the gambling commission, but the managers of record were in fact minority shareholders in their lucrative offerings. The lion’s share of profits flowed through circuitous routes into the pocketsof the man who could make or break anyone in Panama: General Manuel Antonio Noriega.
“Tell me, then,” Betty begged. “There has to be something. Some way that I can please you and General Noriega without disgracing my husband.”
Urrutia gave it some thought. It was almost time for him to spring his trap. “Is it true that your husband, Simon, is active in the National Civic Crusade?”
The despair in her eyes turned to panic. “Please don’t harm him,” she said.
Urrutia laughed derisively. “Do not worry,” he said. “No one fears the revolutionary fantasies of men like your husband. His words mean nothing to us.” Sedition was nothing more than navel gazing when the dissent remained confined within the Union Club. Rich and powerful men like Simon Fernandez were too comfortable in their wealth to risk it all by putting their words into action. The hearts and minds of peasantswere the real key to power, and General Noriega kept the rabble well contained.
Urrutia leaned closer to his prey, folding his arms on the polished cherry desk. “But he knows many like-minded people, does he not?”
The realization registered as horror. “I cannot spy on my husband,” she gasped.
Urrutia considered that for a moment, then sighed. “Very well, then,” he said. He stood. “You leave me no choice but to call him to collect your debt.”
“No, please.” Betty jumped to her feet and reached across the desk to stop him. “Don’t call him. I can do it. I know I can. I was wrong before.”
“No,” Urrutia said, recoiling from her reach. “You’ve made your position known. I cannot take the risk of having you—”
“He’ll never know,” Betty sobbed. The running mascara had turned her eyes black. “Please, I swear to you, I can do this. He’ll never know.”
“I cannot ask you to do something you find to be objectionable.”
Betty leaned closer still. “I know I can help you,” she said. “I hear things all the time. I can pass them along to you.”
Urrutia held her gaze for a long moment, then eased himself back into his chair. “We’re interested in
important
information, Betty. You understand that, right? The money we’re talking about here—the money that we’re willing just to wipe off the books in return for your cooperation—runs to the thousands. You can’t repay a debt like that with information that I could find later in the newspaper.”
“I understand.”
“The type of information I want is first and foremost factual. And I want it to be unique. Do you think that you can supply that to me?”
Betty nodded frantically, launching a tear onto the polished surface of the desk. “Yes, I’m sure I can. Simon talks all the time about his conversations.What sort of information are you looking for?”
Urrutia thought for a moment then shrugged. “I think we both know the kind of information that we would find useful. Do I really need to go into the details?”
Betty sat there for a long moment, clearly searching her brain for something—anything—she might know that would prove her worth as an informant. Urrutia had seen the look countless times in countless other faces, victims hoping to stave off the dislocation of another bone or to silence the screams of their loved ones. His was not a pleasant business, but it was necessary to maintain order in today’s chaotic world. It was rare in his experience to see such total capitulation after threatening to destroy something as inconsequential as dignity.
It was only a matter of time. He would wait silently, allowing her to scour her brain for some tidbit of information that would prove her value as an informant. Everyone knew something that was useful, afterall, and the first bit was always the most difficult to extract. Informationwas like water in a siphon. Once the flow started, it was merely a matter of opening the spigot.
It took less than five minutes for Betty’s lightning bolt of inspiration to strike. “I do know something,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “But first you must swear again that my husband will not be harmed.”
Urrutia renewed his promise, and as he listened, it occurred to him that this was perhaps the best $15,000 he had ever spent.

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