Read Six Minutes To Freedom Online
Authors: John Gilstrap,Kurt Muse
Six Minutes To Freedom (11 page)
Father Frank’s eyes hardened; just for an instant, but it was there to see if you were watching. “Well, I’m not. I’m here to patch up some old wounds and to tell you that things are a lot different up north these days. As I’m sure you know, political winds change direction from time to time, and for the foreseeable future, they seem to be blowing in
your
direction.”
your
direction.”
“For the foreseeable future,” Kurt said, tasting the words. “Why does that comfort me so little?”
Father Frank seemed amused. “Ah, a cynic. Well, I suppose we’ve earned that. And a little well-considered cynicism never hurt anyone. Hell, it’s probably kept a few people alive. But as an old hand at such things, I urge you to weigh the phrase ‘well considered.’ New elections bring new opportunities, and not just in the third world. It would be a mistake to confuse the priorities of the old administration in Washingtonwith those of the new.”
“That wasn’t an election, that was a rout,” Kurt snorted. “The vice president was promoted to president.”
“Don’t underestimate the title change,” Father Frank warned. “President Bush is a Texan. His view of this part of the world is a lot different from that of the Californian who preceded him. This is truly a new day. If I were you, I’d be pleased.”
“Then I’m pleased,” Kurt said. He was feeling petulant, and it showed.
“What do you want from us?” Tomás asked.
Father Frank shook his head. “It’s not a matter of wanting from you,” he said. “It’s a matter of providing
for
you.” He reached into his pants pocket and produced a standard number ten envelope thick with what could only be cash. “Here’s a couple thousand dollars,” he said, handing the envelope not to Kurt but to Tomás. “Consider it a gesture of good faith. If you need something else, I’m the man to get it for you.”
for
you.” He reached into his pants pocket and produced a standard number ten envelope thick with what could only be cash. “Here’s a couple thousand dollars,” he said, handing the envelope not to Kurt but to Tomás. “Consider it a gesture of good faith. If you need something else, I’m the man to get it for you.”
“We don’t need your money,” Kurt said, noting without comment that the envelope had been handed to the only non-American among them.
“Of course you do. You’ve got leases to pay, equipment to maintain.”He stated this plainly, as the facts he knew them to be. “Surely you’re not waiting for DelValle to change his mind.” There was that amused look again.
Kurt still wasn’t ready to buy what he was selling. “What’s the catch?”
Father Frank scowled and shook his head. “No catch.”
“There’s always a catch with you guys.”
“No, there’s
sometimes
a catch with us guys,” Father Frank corrected,“and this happens not to be one of those times.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Look. You need to forget about what happened during those former administrations, okay? There’s a new sheriff in town, and he gets to decide where there’s a catch and where there’s not. It’s not something I can prove to you before the fact. You’re either going to trust me and learn for yourself if it was worth the risk, or you won’t. At this stage, all I can do is talk.”
sometimes
a catch with us guys,” Father Frank corrected,“and this happens not to be one of those times.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Look. You need to forget about what happened during those former administrations, okay? There’s a new sheriff in town, and he gets to decide where there’s a catch and where there’s not. It’s not something I can prove to you before the fact. You’re either going to trust me and learn for yourself if it was worth the risk, or you won’t. At this stage, all I can do is talk.”
“So, what are you telling me?” Kurt pressed. “That Woerner and Chiang have both had a great change of heart just because they’ve got a new commander in chief? Or are you telling me that for all those years of planting their noses up Noriega’s ass they were just reflecting the whim of previous administrations?”
Father Frank seemed committed to avoiding the fight that Kurt was so actively trolling for. “I’m telling you that Woerner and Chiang are both irrelevant to you. They have their chain of command, and I have mine.”
“And they all come together at the top.”
“But not below the top. That’s the point.”
And it was a point that gave Kurt a moment of pause. “So you expectme to believe that neither the commander of SouthCom nor the CIA chief of station know that you’re here.”
There was that smile again. “And if they did, they’d both shit the proverbial brick.”
Kurt exchanged glances with Tomás. It still felt too good to be true. “But why?”
Father Frank cocked his head. “Come on, Kurt, you’re smarter than that.”
“Because Noriega’s going down,” Kurt breathed, finally connecting the dots.
“I’ll say it again,” Father Frank smiled. “There’s a new sheriff in town.” It was an interesting smile, too. Kurt wondered if this new contacttruly cared about the politics he was affecting, or if he merely enjoyedthe thrill of interfering with things. It wasn’t a question he could ask, because it wasn’t an answer he necessarily wanted to hear.
“We won’t take payment for what we’re doing,” Kurt said. “I will not be an employee of the Agency.”
“That’s good, because this isn’t a job interview. This is an offer to pay some expenses, and to provide ongoing assistance in the future.” With a snort of laughter, he turned to Tomás. “Is he this hard to give a gift to at Christmas?”
“We need a battery backup,” Tomás said.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you could provide for us. I need you to provide a battery backup.”
“For what?”
“Our transmitters. Every time we cycle them on, the Pineapple gets closer and closer to triangulating on them.”
Kurt picked up on the explanation. “I don’t know how much Suzanne has told you.”
“I know that the good general has brought in Cuban radio guys to look for you. That’s very high-profile, by the way. Shows you’re gettinghis goat. Congratulations.”
In spite of his desire to dislike this guy, Kurt was finding him to be quite charming. “Well, their new strategy is to wait till one of the transmissions kicks in, and then they start cutting the power grids in the city, one section at a time. When the signal dies, they know which section to start looking in.”
Father Frank raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s actually a pretty smart move coming from such a small mind.”
“Had to be the influence of the Cubans,” Kurt laughed. “Anyway, they’ve already come close enough to one of the transmitters that we can’t risk using it again. On the others, we’re sort of out of business for a while.”
Father Frank stewed on the problem for a moment. “So, you figure that with a battery backup you’ll keep transmitting no matter what happens with the power.” The smile bloomed even larger. “That’ll frustrate the hell out of him.” The smile turned to a laugh as Father Frank clapped him on the shoulder. “I like the way you think, Muse. I like the way you think. I’ll get it to you within a week. Are there any special parameters or technical details I need to know?”
Tomás recited the name and model number of the transmitter from memory, and then did it again after Father Frank had time to muster up a pen and a pad of paper.
“As for the cash,” Kurt started.
The old man waved him off before he had a chance to form the question. “Use it as you wish. I don’t care. Buy more equipment, pay off a lease, do whatever you want.”
Despite having been down a similar road with the Agency before, Kurt noted how different the road actually felt this time around. In the past, he’d always been the beggar, the runt of the litter struggling for a turn at the teat. This time, they had come to him, and the story Father Frank told seemed not only plausible, but sensible. Besides, how could you not trust a man who looked like a cross between Friar Tuck and Father Flannigan?
“All right,” Kurt said at length. “We’ll take the money and we’ll put it to good use.”
Tomás did him one better. “When we meet again, within a week, I’ll be sure to give you a receipt and a full accounting of where the money went.” Kurt nodded his approval as the offer was made.
Father Frank let go with a laugh that seemed to come from his very core. It was a hearty, throaty thing that you might expect to hear from your grandfather after a really good joke. “Oh, God,” he said, “please don’t do that. This is the CIA, for God’s sake. We’re spies. We don’t do receipts. The last thing we want anywhere in the world is a paper trail.” He laughed again as he waved and headed back down the hill. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
When the Cheshire Cat departed Alice, he left his smile behind. With Father Frank, it was the hearty laugh that stayed behind. As he watched the old spy walk toward his car, Kurt couldn’t escape the feelingthat somewhere, an office full of people would be howling at the story of the rookie spies who offered to give receipts.
10
Time for Kurt had ceased to have any meaning. He knew, certainly, that hours had passed, but for all he knew, it could have been days. The disorientation bothered him, and he cursed himself for not paying better attention, but then he realized that disorientation was probably part of a larger design. What he knew of interrogation techniquescould fill a thimble. His sources were limited to the spy novels he’d read and the movies he’d seen over the years.
Now, as he lay curled under a desk in a pitch black office in yet anotherpolice substation—following to the letter the very specific orders he’d been given—this lack of training and preparation seemed like the most elementary and yet most foolish kind of mistake. Jesus God, what had he gotten himself into?
The first glimpse of reality hit in the twenty minutes or so that Kurt sat in that pickup truck watching his parents’ apartment being ransacked.The logic train was as simple as it was disturbing: Nana and Papi would be implicated and indicted on trumped-up charges, or, as time progressed, they would be used as human bait to get Kurt to open up and tell the PDF everything that he knew. Either way, it was a horribleoutcome to consider. Papi was strong—stronger by half than any goon the PDF could throw at him—but Nana was not. She was never meant to be. Her strength lay in morality and nobility. The very thought of what they might do to her as a result of her son’s antics turned Kurt’s stomach.
Would the fact that his parents knew nothing of his operation—truly
nothing
of it—keep them from the interrogators, or would it just make their ordeal a thousand times worse as the torturers tried to extractinformation that they’d never possessed? He prayed that they’d gotten away in time. If they hadn’t, then by definition his children hadn’t, and the thought made his head swim faster and faster.
nothing
of it—keep them from the interrogators, or would it just make their ordeal a thousand times worse as the torturers tried to extractinformation that they’d never possessed? He prayed that they’d gotten away in time. If they hadn’t, then by definition his children hadn’t, and the thought made his head swim faster and faster.
No, he told himself. Don’t think like that. You’re scared right now, and fear is the breeding ground for all kinds of negative thoughts and feelings. Destructive feelings. He’d only been into this thing for a short while—whether hours or days, it still hadn’t been weeks or months. No one had hurt him. No one had threatened to hurt him, at least not in the physical sense. It was far too early to let hope drip away like that.
His family would get away. Tomás, Pablo, Antonio, Coronado, and all the others would get away. They had to. And even if they hadn’t, for the time being, Kurt had to believe that they had. He had to believe at every binary option that the preferable outcome had prevailed until proven otherwise.
Down the hall, from another room in the substation, he could hear a harsh exchange of words, and he could hear the sound of crying. The walls were too thick, or the distances long enough that he couldn’t make out the words, but he forced himself to believe that the female voice was neither his daughter nor his mother. Nor was it any of his friends’ wives. For all he knew, it was just a couple of actors playingout a scene that was designed specifically to make him think the thoughts he was thinking.
It’s not them, he told himself forcefully, and then he struggled desperatelyto find a way to justify the conclusion. It certainly didn’t sound like any voice he’d heard, but what does one really sound like when one is being tortured?
Then he got it: If it were his family or friends, the torture would be meted out in his presence, so he could watch and beg for it to stop. When the loved ones were on the brink of disfigurement or worse, the torturers would then turn to Kurt, who would willingly tell them everythingthey wanted to know, selling out everyone he knew. But since he couldn’t see them, the voices were owned by people he didn’t know.
That such fragile logic gave him comfort made him realize that captivityhad already begun to transform him into a different man.
Kimberly hated being ignored. She hated being locked into a room, and she hated being segregated from all the others with whom she obviouslyhad something in common, even if she didn’t yet know what that was.
“What’s happening?” Erik asked for the three thousandth time. “Where’s Dad? Where are Nana and Papi? What’s going to happen to us? Why can’t we be with the others?”
The questions went on and on and on, and Kimberly was running out of ways to say, “I don’t know” without losing her temper. She didn’t know
anything
. So far as she could tell,
no one
knew anything. People just talked quickly, and none of them plainly enough that she could hear what they were saying through the walls of the tiny office where they’d been stashed.
anything
. So far as she could tell,
no one
knew anything. People just talked quickly, and none of them plainly enough that she could hear what they were saying through the walls of the tiny office where they’d been stashed.
The fear that blossomed in her belly had a physical weight, a gnawing,awful sense that life had irreversibly taken a wrong turn. She found herself worrying about everything. Not just her dad and mom, but Nana, Papi, Uncle David, Aunt Carol, Joey, and all those people huddled in the front room. She worried about what tomorrow could possibly bring when she clearly could not return to the house, and she just as clearly had no other place to go.
As the fear took root, and as the sense of loneliness and separation grew deeper, she couldn’t help but wonder what she had done to be punished this way. She could tell in the attitudes of her grandparents, and in the looks in the eyes of those Panamanians out front that she had somehow been cast as the bad guy in a drama where she didn’t beginto understand the action, let alone the plot. They should be feeling
sorry
for her, for heaven’s sake. They shouldn’t be treating her as if she’d done something wrong. She was just a kid! Her father had been arrested, and now she and her little brother were all alone. Where was the sympathy? Where were the hugs? None of this made sense and none of it was fair.
sorry
for her, for heaven’s sake. They shouldn’t be treating her as if she’d done something wrong. She was just a kid! Her father had been arrested, and now she and her little brother were all alone. Where was the sympathy? Where were the hugs? None of this made sense and none of it was fair.
She looked over to her little brother as he asked his latest set of questions, and she held out her arm for him to snuggle against her. The fact that he didn’t even hesitate spoke volumes about just how much the world had changed in the last few hours. At twelve, Erik’s job—and he did it well—was to bug his big sister. While he loved being with Kimberly, and his need for her attention was insatiable, he hadn’t yet discovered an avenue of expression that didn’t involve perpetual annoyance.Certainly, it was not like him to show affection or to take a hug, but for right now that seemed to be what was most important to him.
It frightened Kimberly to think that for the foreseeable future, with only three years separating them, she had assumed the role of being the mother, while Erik seemed to grow even younger as he shrank away from the fear.
When she thought about it, actually, it kind of pissed her off. Now, besides all the other burdens of the evening, she had to swallow her own fear so she could put on a face of calm detachment that would keep Erik’s own panic from entering the stratosphere.
Oh, God, Daddy, what did you do?
Kimberly watched as the clock on the wall buzzed its way past six o’clock in the morning. She tried to imagine where the time had gone, even as she wondered how it could possibly be less than a week since the time when she was studying for something as mundane as a biologyexam.
Another stab of fear jolted through her belly. She was going to get a zero on the exam!
Before she had a chance to wrap her mind around that, the door to their office-prison opened, revealing a handsome American with the physical demeanor of a soldier, but the haircut and the clothes of a collegekid.
“Time to go,” he announced.
Kimberly and Erik stood together. “Go where?” Kimberly asked.
“Just follow me, please.” He wasn’t the same soldier who had led them to the room in the first place, but clearly he’d been trained by the same boss. Kimberly marveled at how efficiently and effectively these people could make an order sound like a request.
She wanted to resist. She wanted to dig in her heels and demand that somebody start coughing up answers before she did anything. Then again, she wanted to be at home in her own bed, but that wasn’t going to happen, either.
Keeping a hand on Erik’s shoulder, she followed the soldier out of the office, through the now-empty main room, and finally to another office where Nana and Papi sat with Carol, David, and Joey in the company of several serious-looking strangers.
“... can’t stay here,” a major said to the rest of the family as the door opened. “It’s going on oh-six-thirty. In an hour, this place is goingto be swarming with employees, Americans and Panamanians alike, and you just flat-out can’t be here.”
Kimberly didn’t like the gravity in the major’s voice, and from the look in Papi’s face, he didn’t much like it, either. But somehow, the arrivalof the kids in the room seemed to decide whatever issue was beingdebated. All eyes turned to greet them, and again, they all showed some mixture of empathy and discomfort.
The major stood and offered a forced, institutional smile. “You must be Kimberly and Erik,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Major Mansfield.We’ve actually met, although you might not remember. Your grandmother and I have worked together. It’s very nice to see you again.”
“Where’s my father?” Erik asked. “What’s happening to us?”
“Your father will be fine,” the major said dismissively. “Right now, we need to get you to a safe place.”
“Are we in danger?” Kimberly asked.
Major Mansfield dodged the question. “You’ll be perfectly safe, so long as you do what I tell you, okay? I know you have a lot of questions,and if I had answers, I swear to God I’d share them with you. But that’s not where we are. What we need is to get you out of here and nestled into someplace comfortable—someplace where you can get some food and rest—and then we’ll start on the next big steps. Is that okay with you?”
Erik and Kimberly exchanged glances. Neither of them had a clue what the major was talking about, but from the way the question was structured, it was obvious that there was a right and a wrong answer. They nodded in unison.
“Good,” Mansfield said. He looked to the others. “We’ll let the Muse children go first, okay?” Again, the “okay” at the end of the sentencewas clearly a bit of verbal decoration. If someone had said “hell no,” it wouldn’t have mattered.
With the concession of the extended family assumed, Mansfield went on, “I want you to follow Ski here”—he nodded to the soldier with the long hair—“out to the car that’s waiting outside. I want you to move quickly without running, and I want you to slouch down low in the seats once you’re there, and stay down low until your driver says it’s okay to sit up again. When you get to the place where you’re going,we’re going to do exactly the opposite. We’re going to open your doors for you—don’t open them yourselves, okay?—and when Ski tells you it’s okay, then I want you to walk quickly without running to the door that will be open for you.” When he finished, Mansfield had an expectant look on his face, like a fellow who had just told a couple of kids about the plan to get ice cream after school. “Is that okay with you?”
“Where are you taking us?” Kimberly asked.
“You’ll be with your grandparents,” Mansfield said. Apparently, he hadn’t heard the question.
“No, what I asked was—”
“Kimberly.” Papi said her name with a finality that told her it was time to stop talking.
Just like that, the decision was made. Whatever was happening was either so awful or so secret that the people who worked in the Provost Marshal’s office had to be kept in the dark. Kimberly still didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she knew that none of it was good.
She started to ask if Carol and David and the rest of the family were coming along as well, but opted not to. She didn’t recognize the Papi that she was seeing now. She was confused. Ski was standing at the door. It was time to start the rest of her life.
The drive to the safe house was a quick one, just five, maybe seven minutes. That’s what they called it, too—a safe house—as if they were in the midst of some witness protection program or something. From where she sat, hunched down in the back of the car—they only drove Toyotas, it seemed—she couldn’t tell exactly where they’d ended up, but just from the traffic patterns and the brevity of the trip, she figured it had to still be on post at Clayton somewhere.
“Okay,” Ski said, slinging his arm over the back of the seat so he could look at them. “Remember what Major Mansfield told you. Walk quickly, but no running. Keep your eyes forward and just keep walkingtoward the back door, the one that’s open. Got it?”
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