24
Carcel Modelo—Modelo Prison—was as famous in Panama as Sing-Sing is in the United States as a place of misery and perpetual torment. Located in the Chorrillo section of the city, it loomed as the worst of the worst circle of hell. It was a place where people entered but never left. For the residents of Chorrillo, the dirty-beige walls and orange roof stood as grim reminders of the fate that awaited them if they stepped out of line.
High walls surrounded the sprawling compound, which itself was bordered by graveyards on two sides, and the Comandancia on a third—the headquarters for the PDF, and the site of Manuel Noriega’sexecutive offices. In the months to follow, Kurt Muse would come to see the proximity of the graves to the Comandancia as a fittingmetaphor to Noriega’s entire regime.
They drove Kurt in the back of a white pickup truck that had been fitted with a kind of paddy wagon. It was unspeakably hot, and as he drew closer to his final home, he felt a sense of defeat settling on him like a blanket. Two DENI guards accompanied him—one of them a woman, a sergeant—but they said nothing to him. He was not even shackled, and as they approached the roll-up metal door that served as the prison’s gate, he was vaguely aware that the next seconds would be his last for a decent shot at getting away. What were the chances, he wondered, of hitting these guys and bolting out of the truck? Even if he got away, what were the chances that he could run farther than a block before he was shot down with all the compassion of a picnicker smashing an ant?
The question would remain forever rhetorical. Just a few seconds after they stopped, the door rumbled up and they entered the compound.From the gate, it was a short drive to the front door of the prison itself. As they closed those last yards, Kurt looked up through the window of the paddy wagon and saw hundreds of desperate faces staring down at him. His stomach knotted as he observed the number of faces per window: six, seven, eight in some cases. How many peoplecould possibly be housed in a single cell? A physical giant by Panamanianstandards, and certainly no weakling, he still wondered if it was possible for one man to keep at bay the violence posed by so many against him?
Dignity, he told himself again. Dignity would be the last casualty, no matter what. That was his promise to himself. And to preserve it here in the opening moments of his incarceration meant sucking up the fear and being a man.
He could to this. He
had
to do this.
No more than ten seconds passed after the truck came to a stop when the back doors opened and his captors escorted him out of the daylight and into the darkness. If he’d known how long it would be before he would see the sun again, he’d have turned his face upward to absorb its rays.
Inside, the hallway was a monument to black-and-white tile. It was everywhere, a checkerboard pattern that started on the first step inside, and traveled from there into forever.
His guards led him up a short flight of stairs to an office on the left. The sign on the door identified it as the warden’s office, and the wardenas one Major Correa.
The office wasn’t much, certainly nothing close to the opulence of Madriñán’s digs in Ancon. There was a small metal desk, two chairs, a threadbare sofa, and on the wall the glowering image of General Manual Noriega.
I’m screwed
, Kurt thought. But that didn’t hurt half as much as the thought that that bastard had won.
But the victory was not complete; at least it didn’t feel that way. As he met with Correa and went through the details of in-processing, he had the sense that he was not the only person in the room who was nervous. It seemed as if they’d been expecting him, and they were not happy about it. There were several references during that brief initial meeting to his status as an American citizen and to the provisions of the Panama Canal Treaty, and for one brief moment, Kurt almost had the sense that they were trying to be nice to him, to set his mind at ease.
“Mr. Muse, if you obey the rules and do not cause trouble, we will cause no trouble for you.”
Kurt nodded but remained expressionless. If he tried to smile, it might seem as if he were mocking them. If he tried to speak, he was certain that his voice would betray his fear. He was nothing now. Nobody.His future was entirely in the hands of other people, and there was no one in the world to blame for his predicament but himself.
Good God, what had he done?
25
David Skinner had been genuinely touched by the reunionof Kimberly and Erik with their mother. Even days later, the memory of that long embrace in the airport lingered on as a fine, fond memory.
But under the circumstances, no amount of warmth could begin to trump the anger that boiled in his belly. When he thought about all that he’d left behind in Panama—Nana and Papi and the business—and when he thought that it had all been wrenched from his hands becauseJunior G-Man Kurt Muse couldn’t keep his head in the game, it was all he could do to keep from exploding.
The CIA had found them reasonable hotel accommodations here in Miami—they were staying in a Holiday Inn with all the trimmings—but the Agency reps refused to answer any questions that had anything to do with the future. How long would they be allowed to stay as guests of the U.S. government? How was he supposed to find work once they parted ways?
There was some talk among the others that the government dole would continue for some time—perhaps without end, or at least until the situation in Panama was stabilized; but that talk was all overheard gossip.The truth was, the Skinners were not accepted as equals among the other refugees. The Panamanians were already being called patriots and heroes by their government handlers. He was merely a relative, and the clear disdain he felt for Kurt’s shenanigans did nothing to ingratiate him.
For them, from where David sat, this was turning into a kind of impromptuparty with an unlimited expense account. There was talk among them of unseating Manuel Noriega in the coming elections and of a bright future for Panama. David thought that was all lovely, but for the life of him he could not understand their sense of optimism. Did none of them have business to return to? Did none of them have family who might have been jeopardized by what they’d been doing?
As his thoughts turned in these dark directions, he knew that he had to wrestle them back. He had no right, he realized, to criticize their politicalactivism. They were, after all, Panamanians, born into their nationalityas surely as David was born into his allegiance to the United Kingdom. Passions ran high when national priorities and sympathies were in play. He understood that. He respected that.
What he could neither understand nor respect was the fomenting of such passions by outsiders, by guests of a host country. It was somethingfor which he would never forgive Kurt. Who did he think he was, subjecting his extended family to this sort of strife? The Agency still was not allowing them to make phone calls and was still stressing the necessity of keeping a low profile to stay invisible in this place that was allegedly replete with Noriega informers.
Of course, despite all the pep talks and scare tactics, who was the one who chose to up and disappear from the hotel, causing a huge hullabaloo?None other than Kimberly Muse—she of the shoes and the makeup. While the rest of them were huddling in their rooms, lurking naked under the covers one at a time while their clothes were washed in the sink, there she was wandering the beach, off the hotel grounds, just like she belonged there. It was infuriating.
These last days since arriving in the United States had been a whirlwindof activity. Irrespective of the manner in which a person enters the country, an immigrant is still an immigrant, and the keepers of immigrationrecords cannot be ignored. Over the past seventy-two hours, they’d pencil whipped paperwork that took other people months to complete, and, thanks to whatever strings could be pulled by Father Frank, approvals that normally would have taken weeks or months came in just a couple of days.
And what about Father Frank? Who was this old man with all the answers? What was he really about? And if he was such a superspy, how was it that he traveled on his own name and that he’d been foolish (or addled) enough to leave his boarding pass stuffed in a seat pocket where it could be (and was) picked up by one of the refugees? They all knew his real name now, but they’d decided among themselvesto keep that a secret, perhaps as a hole card, or perhaps because it moved them one step closer to having some measure of control over their own lives.
Truth be told, there was something off-putting about the old man. David and Carol had talked about it at some length. It was the way he looked at you, the way he dismissed questions without so much as a moment’s consideration. Whatever it was, it was yet another wedge betweenthe Skinners and the rest of their party.
David weighed these thoughts as he rode the elevator down to the pool level to meet with Father Frank. He’d been summoned, and the tone in the old man’s voice had led David to believe that it was somethingserious.
David saw Father Frank from across the lobby, standing exactly where he’d promised that he would be, near the pool, but far enough away to be immune to errant splashes. David hadn’t closed half the distance when they made eye contact. The old man waved, but made no effort to close some of the gap himself.
When they were close enough, David allowed himself a smile. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning to you,” Father Frank replied, but there was no smile. No frown either; just a businesslike tabula rasa. Reaching into an inside coat pocket, he produced a thick white envelope and handed it to David. “This is for you.”
David hesitated, his stomach tumbling. “What is it?”
Father Frank answered by bouncing the envelope once in the air. “Please, take it.”
He did take it, and as soon as he felt the heft and the thickness, he knew that it was cash. He peeked inside and saw a stack of hundreds. He scowled.
“That’s five thousand dollars,” Father Frank said. “With Uncle Sam’s regards. Good luck to you. From this moment on, you’re responsiblefor your own expenses.”
It was like being slapped. “Excuse me?”
Father Frank had already started walking away.
“Hey!” David said, louder than he’d thought, and much louder than Father Frank had anticipated.
The old man turned. If it was possible, his expression had turned even more bland. He looked utterly bored.
“This is it?” David asked. “This is relocation? What am I supposed to do with five thousand dollars?”
Father Frank let the question hang as he pondered not answering it at all. “This is a free country, Mr. Skinner. You’ve got your green card, you are free to go wherever you wish whenever you wish.”
“Except home. Except to Panama.”
“No,
including
Panama, but for the foreseeable future, we recommendagainst it.”
“So, you’re just letting us all go? Just like that? You bring twenty-oddpeople away from their homes, into a foreign country, and then hand them a few dollars and you wash your hands?” This was unbelievable.The nightmare only got worse.
Finally, something changed in the old man’s expression. It was a fleeting thing, there for a second and then gone, but David saw it plainly. Father Frank started walking away again.
“Wait a second,” David said, putting it together. “It’s just us, isn’t it? It’s just my family that’s being sent away.”
Father Frank stopped again, turned to face David. “You’re not beingsent away.”
“No, we’re just being cut off.”
“If you wish.”
“I
don’t
wish. I don’t want to be here at all. And I don’t understand why we are being singled out among all these people to be dismissed after we’ve abandoned everything we have ever known.”
Father Frank inhaled deeply and scowled. Clearly, he was about to share something against his better instincts. “Mr. Skinner, it makes perfect sense, if you think about it. Please try not to take it personally. The taxpayers of America have saved your life, and that of your family.We’ve made entry into this country and assimilation into our societya thousand times easier for you than it is for any other visitor, but the fact remains that you are a citizen of neither the United States nor Panama. We have no authority to hold you and no jurisdiction to protectyou. You have performed admirably. So have your wife and your daughter. But now it’s time for you move on and go about the business of stabilizing your lives, to the degree that that is possible under the circumstances.”
David’s scowl deepened as he tried to force the words into place in his head. “We have ‘performed’? What does that mean? I didn’t know that I had a role to play. You guys were the ones who made it sound so damned important that we come here. That wasn’t my idea. Now you’re telling me—”
Suddenly it dawned on him. “Wait a second. You needed us. For the children. For Kimberly and Erik.”
The blankness returned. Father Frank gave a little shrug. “It all went much more smoothly than it might have. Dealing with kids, it’s always best to have family around. When the grandparents refused to leave, you were the natural choice. Again, we are all very grateful for your assistance. Try to keep a low profile.” He turned one more time and started walking.
This was unbelievable. The very concept of being so deliberately manipulated was larger than David could comprehend. How dare they? How dare they put so much at risk? “Wait a minute!” he called. He had more questions, a thousand of them, but at this moment in time, he couldn’t make them form into a coherent mass in his head.
It didn’t matter anyway. This time, once Father Frank started walking,he didn’t turn back.