Storm Clouds Over Havana by Mike Marino (novel24 .txt) 📕

“Meyer, we got movement out here! On the beach heading here, five maybe six men.”

“Are they armed?” Buster busted in.

“Yeah, I think so. I can see rifles and they are in a hurry.”

All I could envision now was Murder, Inc. meets the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre with Sienna and I as the guests of dishonor. I was beginning to feel like Frank Costello when they tried to whack him in New York and he only suffered a head wound, but it was enough to make him “retire” from the mob. I had no plan, no gun, and looked like no future at this point.

Buster moved quickly. “Get these two into the car. We’ll get them down there tonight and do what we have to do. Besides, Castro is battling the Army again so their death will fit into our plans nicely now. Move!!”

As Sienna and I were rushed to the door a barrage of gunfire sprayed the building turning the veranda into Swiss cheese . Lanksy’s men and Buster returned fire to the phantoms in the dark advancing slowly but deliberately when we heard a car start up out back. It was then I noticed...Lansky had flown the coop and was heading out for the safety of mob controlled Havana. He later stated in an interview in Israel that he went for reinforcements but his tires were shot out and he had to hide in the dunes.

Buster was hit in the shoulder, I took a bullet in the arm and the large  Philco shortwave radio that dominated the corner of the room was DOA after machine gun fire inflicted serious injury to every GE tube inside.

The gunmen were now on the porch, the other Lanksy men ran out the back, while Buster and I lay wounded, not seriously, but enough so we’d have to be replaced on the pitcher’s mound. The door crashed open and the figures were shadows in the doorframe until they stepped inside into the light. “Mickey, are you alright? Pilar?” My gawd it was the second coming of St. Victoria. She had led the assault. “You are an angel from hell’s heaven,” I laughed nervously. “Man, are we glad to see you! Pilar is fine too. That was a close one!”

At that moment, stepping to the head of the assault team was a familiar New York face, Sean Donovan! Either Sean joined Castro’s rebels or Victoria was plea bargaining.

“Relax Russo. I created Pilar and Victoria knows she is Santiago’s daughter. By the way Blake says ‘good job’ Sienna got up and ran to Victoria for one of those girl crush hug moments. “Let’s get those wounds treated. Scalisi, don’t even think of moving or talking. Just shut up, for your own good.”

Victoria and Sienna worked on dressing my wound, a pass through so there wouldn’t be any bullet extraction or excavation of flesh to endure. Two of the men in the assault team took care of Busters leg wound...that did require removing a bullet and without the benefit of an anesthesia or shot of whiskey.

“I’m actually glad to see you Sean, but why are you here with the rebels. Did Castro overthrow Eisenhower?” I quipped weakly. Sean assumed an Uncle Remus stance and told us the story of the CIA briarpatch. “Buster Scalisi here went rogue sometime ago, we all know that. We also know he engineered Santiago’s murder through Batista and Lansky, but we had to prove it, and you did that for us with help from Victoria here. By the way,  Mickey, Sienna, meet Agent Peggy Anazi from our Miami Bureau.”

Surprised? I was Lincoln sitting in a box seat in the balcony watching ‘Our American Cousin’

“Anazi is Cuban American, came to the US as a child with her parents. When she expressed an interest in law enforcement as a career, we moved in and recruited her for the agency. Her mission was to make friends with and protect Sienna posing as a college student at the same university when suddenly, Santiago was killed. The ballgame was now going into extra innings. We knew it wasn’t one of our missions, as any US involvement could lead to an embarrassment of monumental proportions. We also knew Castro was friends with Santiago, as an associate, a fair associate who printed only the truth. Castro is a realist...Batista is a prick. So Victoria, as you know her was to unmask Buster who was not until this moment aware she was agency.”

Busters moans of pain verified this point. “Oh, and yes, Blake knew what the mission was all about too. Remember, he is former agency as well.”

“So, I was a fucking pawn in this along with Sienna, yes?”

“Yes, regrettably, but it was the only way to get the mission accomplished effectively. Anyway, mission accomplished and we’re pulling you three out now. New York, steaks, and the gang at Toot’s Shorr’s are ready to celebrate your sainthood. Batista is on the way out, his crimes have become known worldwide and he’s asked for asylum in America. That would look bad for us so it was denied, but we are working with a third party to get him out of Cuba. The least we can do for the asshole. Castro is scoring victory after victory so it’s inevitable ...Castro is in and we just have to deal with the winner.”

Sienna spoke next, “What about the Communists? How will your government deal with that?” Damn good question and of course Sean had a damned good answer.

“The Soviets wouldn’t dare set up shop 90 miles from US soil. It’s unthinkable. They have enough problems in Europe especially with the Czechs and Hungarians. Here it’s a nation of Desi Arnaz babaloo bongos and black magic voodoo mambo, not borscht and babushkas. The Nazi’s tried it in the war and it didn’t work. The Reds will be lucky if they let Kruschev into Disneyland!”

He had a point. Castro would come to us first. We’d turned him down now but once he’s in the driver’s seat of the ‘57 Chevy we call Cuba we’d want him to be aligned with us. Besides, the Soviets have Siberia...we have baseball and Castro loves nine innings of horsehide action….better yet...we have the Yankees!

“So are you ready to go home, you know Yanqui Go Home now?” Sean was no Lenny Bruce but he meant well.

I looked at Sienna and her eyes spoke to me. “No, we want to see this through, We’ve come this far and would hate to miss the last round of the revolt. We’d like to stay and file updates and see this thing through if you don’t mind.”

“Blake and I already figured on that. We already have stories written at Langley in your style and with your byline explaining the Batista connection with an independent businessman who planned Santiago’s killing. No US involvement,  no CIA. Castro will be cleared and you and ‘Pilar’ will be his new hero’s. Victoria has expressed the desire to remain so when the revolt is over we’ll have the official CIA birds eye view of events. Besides, she can’t just disappear or vanish. That would blow the cover story.”

“Good enough, but what about Buster here?”

“At Langley we take care of our own dirty laundry.  Let’s just leave it at that. No trial, no appeal. Houdini would be proud. Scalisi is no longer a spook...he’s a ghost!”

“Lansky?”

“Oh he was already in our hand when he got back to Havana. Omerta is their code. If he says one word about his or Buster’s involvement he knows we’ll close him down and kick him out of the country, then the FBI field agents will have a field day with him.”

“When can we leave for Santiago de Cuba.?” I inquired.

“Right now. We have a boat docked at the harbor to take you there.”

We followed the group to the docks and there it was. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was Hemingway and his boat, The Pilar! “You crazy son of a bitch!” I yelled at him as we moved double time down the dock. “I’m ready for you three. Got beer and steaks!” he yelled back in that jovial way of his.

“You crazy old man. What gives?”

“Well let’s just say I miss the old days in Spain. Hell, Cuba is the next best thing!!!”

We waved off and headed out to sea once again. Sienna and I were exhausted and fell asleep in each other’s arms on the open deck laying on potato sacks. “Good night Sienna. I love you.” I could feel her breathing gently, her warm breath caressing my face in the moonlight. “Sienna disappeared a long time ago. I am your Pilar, forever.”

I never felt so at peace as did that night. A crazy writer as a skipper heading us back into a war zone, a bullet wound that still ached, and escaping from sudden death with an assault team fighting it’s own CIA operative and the US Mafia.

Ah, Life is good….living is better!

Personal Journal Entry - Oct. 16, 1962 - Havana, Cuba

It’s been four years since Castro and the rebels entered Havana having overthrown the Batista regime. Pilar (as she prefers to be called even now) and I had remained on the island to follow the new regimes  progress and promises of reforms. Blake gave the go ahead and we kept filing news stories to  New York as follow up on the new regimes progress and promises of reforms. In effect Pilar and I were the Caribbean Desk covering the rest of the island nations in the region as well as  Central America.

When it comes to government overthrows Cuba was the sexy tits and ass floor show of revolutions proving  in on a third world island nation, when it comes to revolution...there is no business like show business. Cuba today is a most sexy and sensuous Soviet satellite. A Caribbean island paradise of carnal pleasures, where pussy and politics still go hand in hand along with the rum soaked bacchanals. It’s an outlandishly flamboyant island nation of sexy, curvaceous and long leggedy Afro-Cuban  females like my Pilar.  It was the up until four years ago a  private American play land of brothels, good times, and bad gangsters, like Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky, and Third World American hand picked hand puppet leaders, like Fulgencio Batista , who was America's Howdy Doody on a string.

Lansky and the mob made Cuba an offer it couldn't refuse in the 1950's. The rich got richer, and the poor once again, got poorer. The country was as ripe as a field of sugar cane for revolution, when cabana's would give way to Companero's and beach bums would make way for beach bombs.  With Castro it was time for the Mafioso to move over  and make room for the Marxists and Lansky to surrender to Lenin. It had been a long struggle, but on New Years Eve, 1959.....the island nation of Cuba began it's long trek on the Kremlin Red  Brick Road to take it's place 90 miles off shore to become the Soviet suppository poised to ram up the