Chapter 147 Chapter Twenty

Wednesday night, October 24, I got up from a bar stool on Southwest Eighth Street, grabbed my bag, and went down the street with Dix Butler to hail a cab—we Go to 6321 Riviera Blvd.The radios in all the bars on Southwest Eighth Street were broadcasting in English or Spanish the news that two Soviet ships had come within fifty miles of our blockade, which the U.S. Navy had set up around the Cuban islands. The Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday that just passed were days that I have never experienced.In Washington, various printouts circulated among key personnel in the White House, State Department, Defense Department, and Langley showing evacuation routes to underground bomb shelters in Virginia and Maryland.At JM/WAVE, we got detailed maps of the bomb shelters in South Florida, and that's when I learned that we had built a twenty-man shelter in the Everglades swamp two years ago.It was an interesting achievement, because in the swamps of the Everglades there is no land to be found above two feet of water.A rumor spread to JM/WAVE from Langley headquarters that Bobby Kennedy announced that he was not going to any bomb shelters: "If we had to retreat, then 60 million Americans would be killed, and so would the Russians. I must Stay on Walnut Hill."

When I told Dix Butler the rumor, he said, "How do you know Bobby doesn't have his own underground project in Walnut Hill?" This is also one of the "templates" that Zannit observed. People's emotions are various, like a stone is thrown into a flock of birds. It seems inappropriate for us to die so soon.When I feel angry, my chest burns like a scald, and worry is almost crying; cynicism at this time is poisonous enough to kill.Inside JM/WAVE right now, it's hard to say who's less popular, Fidel Castro, the Cuban exile, or the Kennedy brothers?Bill Harvey was convinced that Cuba was being betrayed, saying, "If we don't have some live ammunition, Khrushchev's going to have a go at Kennedy in the negotiations."

People are constantly switching between joy and depression, and the idea that they cannot control the situation gradually emerges.Miami now, soft as a powder puff, brutal as a scorpion, hangs in the air like a paradise.Everything was said and done, and no one would resist waiting, except Harvey.He was as angry as a pot of boiling water, his restrained collar was about to burst, Dix Butler had no trouble convincing JM/WAVE leaders to let him allow us to continue the mission, Harvey was in this emergency Under the circumstances, several jobs were temporarily arranged. However, he took me far away and whispered to me, "I'm not sure yet, Hubbard, if you'll be able to come back to work, but if you do, the world will go on and I just hope I To be able to have your own independent space. So you don't tell Montague that you are going to Cuba, he will contact me about you, and I will tell him that you left the United States of your own accord to complete the assignment I sent to Dix Butler mission. I won't charge you with trespassing because it's between you and me, but if you 'mistakenly' told the truth to your superiors, then you're going to take me to court. And then I'll Issuing a certificate signed by you: I voluntarily go out with Dix Butler, write the certificate and sign your name, the details may be written as follows: 'I, Herrick Hubbard, acknowledge receipt of the number 7418537 document and undertakes to follow its instructions.'”

"Have I seen document 7418537?" "I will show you now," he read aloud, "all employees of Office B and JM/WAVE are ordered to stay within ten miles of the base until the danger period is safely passed. During this period, All means of communication must remain open and accessible.” "Understood, sir." "I'm going to publish document No. 7418537 now, and it will appear on your desk in ten minutes. Please reply to me as soon as you receive it." I did receive the papers quickly and turn in my responses, and I was instantly relieved that I seemed to be completely free.Since I could be dead in two days, I could have lied to Hugh Montague again.Anyway, Savage Bilken has his own purpose in using us.We were headed to Cuba on Eugenio Martinez's ship, the Princess, with crates of flares to be distributed in rubber dinghies to one of Harvey's contacts in Cuba.In this way, the Cuban underground organization can obtain these resources and use them to light the way for the US army to invade Cuba at night.

That was all I knew about the task, and the effect on my mood was remarkable.In such a passive wait, I wondered that the plan of "pregnancy in October and childbirth in one day" did not reflect the intense pain that "delivery" should have. People who participated in this plan understand that the existence of this moment actually means Lost forever, because what they are doing now is extremely dangerous. And I am also constantly wandering in such thoughts.I remember standing in front of the full-length mirror in my apartment room, looking at the serious expression in the mirror, trying to hide all my chaotic emotions, and I saw a tall and decent young man.I have never felt so far away from myself in the mirror, and I asked myself: "Is this what stars are like?"

At one or two on Wednesday afternoon, Butler drove us to the Key Largo wharf, where we loaded a fourteen-foot inflatable black rubber boat and loaded fifteen hundred pounds of cement bricks and Sand, pretending to be loaded with equal weight of supplies and manpower, and we set off for the smaller pass.We rounded the boat through the mangrove swamp, steered the boat through the shadow of the low tide, raised the side or lowered the bottom (if necessary) until Butler was satisfied and we were back at the moorings.We loaded a whole truckload of "goods" to the temporary warehouse, and in that dark hut, we put the truck engine into a bucket half filled with water, and practiced simple repair work in the dark, that is, taking it apart and reassembling it .Years ago I had had such a long day in training on the farm, and they had brought us to a small canyon south of Norfolk with a task of similar intensity, and yet I have nothing to do with it now. I don't remember exactly what I learned at the time, and in fact I doubt whether I will remember what I learned today tomorrow.

We drove back to Miami at 5 or 6 in the afternoon, went to a bar, ordered three rum cocktails, and Butler said, "To celebrate the plantation restoration work we are about to complete, cheers!" A toast to Berlin (the subject is a bit touchy), then "Heaven!" said Butler.This sentence startled me because I was also thinking about the word in my head.Could it be that the imminence of the end of the world creates a telepathy within us?This seems like a logical question.I sighed, and after a glass of wine, I seemed to see the beautiful scenery on the sea of ​​Key Largo this afternoon-bright aqua sea, rocks falling into a rainbow of brighter aquamarine.Countless small fish shuttled in the water, "escorting" our boat through the mangrove swamp, and then disappeared into the dense swamp.

Now we're at 6312 Riviera Boulevard and we've changed our outfits -- black high-top sneakers from our closet, black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a black hood with only our eyes showing and mouth.It was hot in the anteroom, and other people's polyester suits and tropical shirts had been taken off and hung on hangers or clothes rails, and I could see why the executioner's extra pain was worth it.Dressed in black, I felt that I was no longer myself. I was more like a priest's assistant supervising the execution. At this moment, I finally saw the Intelligence Bureau clearly, and I also knew why I came here.One cannot spend one's life in a grand hall with a gentleman and never commit himself to a basement—this is only a metaphor, but I was in a state of nervous worry like everyone else, and my mind was always thinking about what had happened.Death, in fact, can be called a metaphor within a metaphor, just like the square root of the minus sign inexplicably becomes a mandala grass root, leading us to a world without any "roots".I thought again of the small fish in the mangrove swamp, escorting us around our boat before disappearing into the swampy jungle in less than two feet of water.

The interior of 6312 Riviera Boulevard is largely unfurnished, but its security is exemplary for its kind.We passed through the black-panelled living room, through an archway, and into a dining room where a mahogany dining table surrounded by four black Spanish chairs reminded me of serious Spanish bourgeois Family—the wife is depressed, the child is lonely, and the father can't hide the guilt on his face. Even though he has bought sexy black underwear for his wife, he still has to endure his wife complaining that he is stingy.If I were death's servant, a vacant room would make me imagine a sad family life like never before in history.At this moment, how far is the Russian freighter from the blockade?

Beyond the dining room is a door leading to a corridor, which is enclosed in glass and can be used as a terrace, ending at the pier.A large white fishing boat, solid as a mausoleum of marble, rose and fell with the waves.In this context, I am reminded of Giancana's late wife.Then we got on the boat, and there were ten men in black hoods sitting on bunks in the galley, only a few looking up at us.The air here was thin and foul-smelling, and the ship's heel to anchor looked unpleasant. We were still waiting on the boat, and no one was whispering under the hood.The machines in the cabin began to start, shaking under my feet with their purpose, and I also felt that I was getting closer to the goal.Up there, I heard the captain yelling orders in Spanish that sounded like a surgeon tapping on a locally anesthetized ear—we were about to sail.The light in the galley below shone through the portholes on the deck as faintly as the light in a man's home on either bank, and our engines sounded as vivid as the roar of a wild beast.

We were moving very slowly in order not to wake everyone up as much as possible.I fell asleep as the boat sailed through the narrow canals of Coral Gables to Key Biscayne.When I woke up and opened my eyes, I realized we were on the high seas, the lights of Miami were as far away as a star on the sea, and the color of the sky reminded me of the last rose entering the night.Looking right from the bow, the lights a hundred miles away were no more than half a crescent moon, as Havana was at this time.It's dark tonight, but the sky is so clear, and I think by tomorrow night, either Miami or Havana will probably be in flames - it's war, and we'll see it on land or at sea What about a scene in history? "Eugenio will lead us to stop between Cardenas and Matanzas. Three o'clock in the morning is the auspicious time for us to attack Cuba." Butler said. I nod.To be honest, I was still a little drowsy and dazed at this time, and I always felt that the god of death would not come at such a cloudy moment. "Would you like some rum?" Butler asked me. "Then I might as well go to sleep." "Man, my strings are tight, and I'll be drinking until we get back." "I have the same expectations as you." After I finished speaking, I walked into the cabin again, thinking about Butler's malicious intentions, because he made me feel that going to sleep peacefully before the battle was an undignified thing, It's an overindulgence of self.If Butler's personality wasn't so aggressive, his adrenaline wouldn't be so high. In the ship's galley, people were lying around, two on the bunks, four on the dining table, two on the galley hold, oh, now it's three lying there, because I also joined their camp.The floor was damp, but it was a fairly warm place for the scene; we had plenty of space here to stretch ourselves as everyone else crowded onto the deck.I was half asleep and half awake in the swaying of the ship, and I heard the sound of water waves beating on the shell of the ship; Full kitchen.A small ten-watt blue light bulb glowed faintly, and through the reflection of the sink I saw Cubans lift their hoods to let their sleeping selves breathe better, and then put them down again when they woke up Cover entire face.Why do they wear hoods, is it to protect their family, or to pray for the protection of magic?In this tropical sea where the warm Gulf Stream meets the North Atlantic Ocean, magic is only a small role in promoting trade. However, in the Caribbean Sea washed by spells at the southern end of the Cuban coast, the importance of magic is self-evident. Reminds me of the same scale replica we built of the Matag Bray Copper Mine in Florida's Everglades.For the past nine months, exile squads have been training there for sabotage work, as well as practicing simulated attacks.We've been very happy with every training exercise because every time we detonated the explosives we were able to win (symbolically), however we didn't manage to detonate a single one in real combat.The last time in Matajabre, eight raiders landed on the Cuban coast at midnight, but were spotted by Castro's patrols in time, and then six fighters in the death squad returned to the coast and continued to fight until their compatriots succeeded evacuate.This was the most successful thing we ever did in Mata Haburi; of course, it still ended in failure, which is shameful to say, since the death squads have never been to the enemy's shores. Now that our superiors have sent us to complete the mission, we have omitted many details of the preparations. All we need to do is meet up with the Cubans who know where to hide the flares, cooperate with them with advanced troops, and superiors Several important orders issued.Half asleep and half awake, I thought about it. Then I realized that this might be the last time I slept, or maybe one of the only nights I did.Unprecedented confusion enveloped my brain, and I was in two extremes of contradictions—both awake and drowsy. The daily experience gave me life and death at the same time, like two stories living in one host.At this moment, how I wish I could write one last letter to Kitteridge, begging her never to give up her theoretical achievements, because these achievements are profound and far-reaching, I really want to implore her!I woke up - I wasn't asleep at all, I just lay in the poetic rubble and let my thoughts wander; then I sat up and felt the firmness in my heart - I was ready Immediate action, although still need to wait a few hours.He lifted the hood, took a few deep breaths of the stale air in the kitchen, put down the hood, and walked resolutely to the deck outside. Butler was on the bridge with the captain, a man I knew—Eugenio Martinez, whom I had written to Kitteridge.He's a legend, and no one in South Florida has caused more trouble for Cuba.He's a hero, but he's also had a miserable life, and half of JM/WAVE knows that.He wanted to take his parents out of Havana, but Harvey wouldn't let him.Tonight I climbed the steps and followed the captain to feel his closeness to his family. "Tonight, someone walked by me and said, 'I'm wearing a hood so you don't know who I am, but I know you. You're Rolando.'" "I said to him: 'If you know me that well, you should know I'm Eugenio Martínez, but everyone just calls me Rolando. You for Rolando.' 'What if DGI knew Rolando was Martinez?' You see, Mister Castle..." "Call me Frank," Dix said. "Well, Frank, Frank Castle, I'll call you Frank. I heard from O'Brien that your boss, the fat man, said that my parents are still famous in Cuba. If my parents get in touch, it will definitely get attention. I think he is right because I am a Hispanic. You inherit this blood, whether it turns out good or bad, you have to admit the logic Rules, especially violent people who hate chaos so much." Martinez spoke so eloquently and impassionedly that I thought he would continue, but I was wrong, he fell silent and so did we.The power of his silence is no weaker than the power of his words.On the navigating bridge, we surge with the waves—the distant horizon is like the needle of a compass, doomed to adjust itself forever.The engine in the cabin under the bridge was running non-stop for us, and just for us.The sea breeze is loose and tight, and the gap between the tight and tight is audibly quiet. Martinez doesn't know how many nights like this are quiet and rough.His long triangular face has a typical Spanish long nose, and the black pupils embedded in the deep eye sockets have absorbed all his life experiences, showing that he is well-informed, but it can also be seen that he is This paid the due price.I even suspect that his eyes have been possessed by ghosts. I wonder if he has seen all kinds of ghosts like a zombie. Of course, it is really difficult to see so carefully at such a night when you can’t even see the shadow of the moon, so I’ll admit it obediently—at Butler’s suggestion, I had a drink with Martinez two days ago Wine, obviously, I'm still in awe of him.But, my father used to say, "I wouldn't trust any Cuban until I could lift him up and throw him out, and I'd be glad I could throw a Cuban out of a plate glass window." He also said, "Give me With a hundred people like Martinez, I can conquer the whole of Cuba." Therefore, I am very happy to be able to get on the bridge and join the heroes.At this moment I feel like I am back in my days at St Matthews, and the excitement of meeting heroes runs in my blood.I wouldn't be surprised if the sky was now ablaze with the flames of the Flaming Mountains, if that incomparable light pierced through the thick mushroom cloud and scorched our eyes.I should no longer be surprised if the territory of Havana, a hundred miles away, burst into flames like a rocket from a tower of fire.The rocking of the ship sprained my ankle, and that's when I realized we must be very close to Havana by now.Although it was dark and I couldn't see land yet, the bright communist searchlights shone anxiously down the sea about 20 miles from the coast—Cuba wasn't yet capable of launching patrol planes. The coastline was irregular, so I had to study a map carefully so I knew where to put the boat.The mangrove swamp shown on the map is a small island in the sea, and the coral reef is next to it. As long as we transfer the manpower, flares, munitions and other supplies to the boat, we can continue to travel south for a few miles on the Princess. Off to find the beach we're going to dock at.However, a patrol ship rumbled in from its hidden mangrove islands, and we had to quickly "drop in" to the nearest entrance to avoid the patrol ship's pursuit. Now we are getting closer and closer to Cuba, and we see more and more ships. In the distance, there is a US Navy warship escorting eight ships, led by a destroyer. destination—is this the isolation line?The warship passed by quietly, we did not exchange signals, and at this moment my curiosity about the whole world disappeared with the disappearance of the warship.We did have a lot to do—at the last minute we had to inflate the dinghies, check the equipment, unload the rifles from the racks, move the flares to the deck for stacking.Butler and I sat by the flare pile, pretending to be Bureau observers and honored guests.It would be ironic to measure this venture by the role we both played.I really felt the fear, and understood that fear is just a normal life feeling.The bitterness of bile rushing up my nostrils and throat made me realize that self-control is not something we are born with. Then Butler said, "You're going to be in the same boat as me." His voice was hoarse and cheerful. "it is good!" At this moment, I don't know whether I should breathe a sigh of relief or feel ashamed. He continued: "These guys are all good." "Do you know them?" "I've dealt with a few of them. If the operation goes well, it doesn't matter what I do with them; but if it doesn't go well, then you don't need to train them in advance, they give Castro It caused far more trouble than it brought us." "It sounds like you understand the truth." "I'm an 'old man' from the Bay of Pigs." "what?" "Although I didn't accept the commission justifiably, I did participate in this war." "Why didn't you tell me this before?" He just shrugged and said nothing. I don't know if Butler is telling the truth, but I think there is a possibility that he was involved in that incident.I was very angry. I thought that he, like me, set out to perform the mission as a "rookie" this time, but it was not the case.The unhappiness at this moment reminded me of the bad thing that happened between me and him one night in Berlin.Now, I just feel like a poor sacrificed clown, and the anger in my heart is palpable.But isn't anger a good alternative to fear at times like these? I spent the next thirty minutes on the Princess, trying to figure out how to use the Czech submachine gun in my hand.The magazine of this gun is an inverted arc, which can hold 30 rounds of 9mm caliber bullets. It can also be used as a miniature or fully automatic pistol. Start shooting - this gun can't be accurate after hours of practice. Small boats should be loaded and placed around the hull of the Princess, with their cargo packed in watertight cardboard boxes.After loading the goods, it was our turn. Each of the six people took a small boat. Eugenio Martínez went to the fence to say goodbye to us one by one. "Good luck!" He said softly, and there was applause from below, and I set off with high spirits as if I had been baptized. This sublime blessing encouraged us to sail calmly to the attack, the sea was rough, and we were all full of energy.Martinez said, "Go due south, straight into Cuba!" Martinez would be here to pick us up in twenty hours—that was eleven o'clock at night—and it was three o'clock in the morning.If we don't show up after twenty hours, he's going to check back every hour until dawn. A compass was mounted on the boat, and the steering wheel was mounted on the dashboard of the plywood.The boat I was on was driven by Butler. The rumble of the hull's dual exhaust system machines and the whirring of the sea wind made people think the boat was galloping. In fact, its speed was only ten knots per hour, but this speed is really slow , the waves it stirs are not too big.This is a good thing for us, because in the dark night, such a slow-moving black boat will not be easily spotted by the patrol boat. will cover us up.No one on board spoke, for the voice of a man is more dangerous than that of a machine.Listening quietly to the sound of other ships' engines, it was as weak as waves lapping on the shore, and they were slowly heading towards the assembly point.The night air was very dull, we moved forward slowly, as quietly as if hidden in a pillow, the ship was full of goods, and there was less than six inches of empty space, and the sea water poured into the ship with the shaking of the ship, we had to use scissors Half-off plastic milk jugs drained the water—we also dyed the cans black and hung them on ropes from hooks on rubber boat slats, and the drained cans bumped against each other and rattled. The shore was near, and the sand was glowing in a row of phosphorescence.Are we waiting for our own people or Castro's Self-Defense Forces?The rubber bottom of our boat had rubbed against the sand on the shore, and I and the others stood up, walked to the side of the boat, and jumped into the water a few inches deep, every muscle in my body tensed like a clenched fist.The six of us quietly towed the boat to the sand twenty feet from the shore, and hid it under a low tree whose thick foliage hung down almost to the ground, just covering the boat.In the silence of the night, a gourd fell from a tree and shattered to the ground, making a piercing sound like the hooting of an owl.There were whispers in the bushes across the beach, and someone could be heard crawling tirelessly—there was a group of people hiding in this bush.There are also various insects in other jungles, and the rustling of insects eating leaves can be heard endlessly. "Hubbard, I need you." Butler whispered. He took the cushion off his seat and stretched it out into a big black bag, and we stuck our heads in it, and Butler turned on the flashlight, and we looked at the map together.He whispered, "We're off target." "We're off target by less than 400 meters, but are we off to the west or east?" I asked, pointing to the map.According to the plan, there was a small river flowing out of the woods where we should reach the shore, but there is no trace of the river at all where we are now. "The direction of water flow is from west to east," I said. "I know, but I may be overdoing it." On our way over, I saw a small hill a few hundred yards to the west.According to the terrain line on the map, there is a river a few thousand yards to the east of the small hill. "Go east," I said. With our faces inches away from each other under this black blanket, I wanted to end this conversation quickly.But Butler kept looking at the map, as if trying to refute my point of view, and finally said: "Maybe you are right." I was able to escape the "surrounding" of this blanket. The problem now is to send someone to the east first to scout the beach, preferably also the location of the guerrillas waiting for us, or should we push the boat into the sea and the whole army set sail for the east coast again .If I were the commander, I'd send someone there first, because it's less noticeable to go it alone, and it's a good way to warn us if we get shot.But Butler's decision was the opposite of mine, and he sent men into the water, because the crowds waiting for us on the destination coast wanted to see our large force, not a single man looking for them. "There is only one military rule. If we are captured in a war, remember to destroy our munitions." Butler added. I replied: "Got it." Harvey also emphasized this point to me many times, and he even wiped his neck with his hand to show the seriousness of the matter.Before we left Miami, Harvey also gave us enough life-saving cover—we were reporters for Life magazine, who had just come to Cuba to cover a raid, and Butler was the photographer (he carried a camera), and I am a writer, and our press credentials were produced overnight by an office of JM/WAVE and handed over to us.If we got arrested, Savage Bill would contact the editor of Life magazine he knew, and the magazine would come out and rescue us.That's our cover identity, yes, two strangers from New York - Frank Castle and Robert Charles, just landed on the beach in Cuba, the only two journalists on board who came to gamble abroad a handful.This story is not 100% safe for me as I haven't had time to sort out my files yet so I don't know if the two will connect, but it's good enough, who in DGI knows the Life Magazine well What about the inside story? While helping everyone push the boat into the sea, I was still sketching out the next moment in my mind.If I do get caught, I'll tell the DGI guys that I've only been in Miami for a week and I've seen Coyote, and I'll describe what Coyote looks like to them, and they'll be sure based on the information they have Check that my information is accurate.A few minutes later, we were already more than 200 feet from the shore, trying to find the mouth of the river on the map.I feel as creative as an actor, and I get the nuances of the characters I play with great precision.My childhood story is also fictional: spent in Ellsworth, Maine, my father was a carpenter and my mother was just a housewife.I went to Ellsworth High School in high school and never formally attended school after graduation. DGI certainly wouldn't have the Ellsworth High school yearbook—the KGB might have managed to get it, but DGI certainly wouldn't. I like the fictional story that is set on me, and this is my last productive reflection in a short time.Turning a slight bend in the sand, we spotted the river, and Butler patted me on the shoulder reassuringly, and we docked.We landed again, pushed the boat under a bush and hid in the bushes again, and waited quietly, listening to the sound of growth. There is no path in the bush, only a small river flowing slowly.We sent a navigator to scout far along the river before we saw the first bend in the river, and when he returned twenty minutes later, we saw the mosquitoes.Butler gave him deworming and sent him back. We are still waiting.Our secret signal is "contrast", and the answer should be "incompetence", I listened with pricked ears. "Contrast——", should the person who said this be hoarse or murmur?However, with only mosquitoes on the way, I pulled out my own bug repellent and used it with Butler.He was very impatient to wait, so he pulled me into the big black bag to study the map again.Assuming we only missed half a mile when we first docked, the hills I estimated might have been misinterpreted by us for headlands further down the coast.Butler and I, with our heads in the black bag, our faces six inches apart, breathed nervously, discussing whether we were not following the route the map showed. I always insisted on my reasoning, and the two of us had to stay in the bag until about ten seconds later, our navigator led a few lost Cubans to find us along the small river, so, under the bushes on the bank , we greeted each other in the dark.I thought how excited everyone would be if there was a real war.The six Cubans came to meet us at the end of the river, and I was rarely so close to strangers that I didn't even see their faces clearly. The initial communication required a special translator, because I couldn't understand the dialect they spoke, so they asked the navigator to explain it to me, which really took time!After greetings, we began to discuss issues.After unloading the boat, should we walk down the river until we find a clearing to hide the boat in, or should we empty the air out of the boat and put it in the jungle until the next time we use it? Inflatable?Our scouting along the river revealed that there was no clear space upstream for a boat, so we resorted to a second strategy, packing the deflated dinghies into a bag the size of a suitcase and putting them in a hole somewhere. Now we are ready to ship the flares, which are packed in forty-pound cartons.The guides who came to meet us knew where Castro's militia would be ambushing, so they were one behind the other, with Butler, me, the four navigators on board, and six Cubans each carrying one on their shoulders.四十磅的纸箱，最后还剩下两个箱子，我们这一群人中最重的那个人把他的大刀递给他的朋友，自己两个肩膀各扛一个箱子。巴特勒也打算扛两个箱子，于是把他的武器交给了我。漆黑的夜晚，我身扛一个箱子和两把武器，与大家一起沿着河流向上走去。 我们举步维艰。水淹没了我们的膝盖，一路上不停地攀越岩石，滑倒在泥巴里溅得浑身是泥，肩上的箱子也不停地滑落，小河的某些地方水深没及腰部。也许我们走的路程还不足一英里，但感觉起来就像走过了五英里之多，耗时一个多小时。伴着痛苦的呼吸，我们终于来到了邻近河道的泥土路上，找到一片空地把箱子堆积放在那里，接应方承诺天亮之前派一辆卡车来运走全部照明弹，跟我们一起行动的人会带领我们找到那片约好的空地。等一切工作都做完，有人说我们最好返回沙滩，因为民兵经常在这条路上巡逻。 但巴特勒说：“我会在这里等着卡车到来。” 其中一个古巴人向我们解释说，如果民兵到这里巡逻发现了这些箱子，这将对当地接应方很不利。而且，这种灾难完全可以避免，因为马坦萨斯的黑帮组织或许已经筹备好军火准备开战了，我们一旦被抓，冲突就会发生，黑帮可能就要和民兵开火了，到那时候就要牺牲无辜的生命。所以现在我们还是赶快返回沙滩比较好。 巴特勒却说：“告诉这个人，任何东西都不及照明弹重要。我们一定要等到卡车来运走照明弹之后再离开。” 我向来不用解释他的话。我们等待的交通工具出现了，但来的不是一辆卡车，而是一辆又老又大的林肯轿车，在破晓时分呈现出一抹湖滨绿。 我们把十四箱泥糟糟的纸箱装在汽车的后备箱和后座上，分别盖上一条大大的毯子，年轻的司机（看起来像个学生）冲我们微微一笑，黑亮的胡子下露出一口白牙，然后就原路返回了。 现在继续留在这里已毫无意义，只好返回河流下游。我们已经在丛林里度过一天，饱受蚊子的折磨。今夜，我们就要给橡皮艇充气，而后与公主号会合了。这中间没有发生任何意外，我能感觉到巴特勒为此稍感失望。 我理解巴特勒的失望，这中间本该出现点什么的，但我们只用了不到二十分钟就回到了海滩。我不想详述这一天，但我还是要提，我们穿梭在热带丛林里，最后只得找一片空地安顿下来。我们浸润在杀虫剂之中，还妄想着能在这恶劣的环境下睡上一觉，却总是被森林里的声音惊醒。我们还听到远处海上巡逻舰的嗡嗡声，抬起头，透过树叶间密密麻麻的蜘蛛网看到空中的喷气机隆隆飞过，直升机也是不分早晚地盘旋在海岸周围。时间一分一秒过去，我们不停地在痛苦中挣扎，驱蚊剂也失去了作用，蚊子肆无忌惮地叮咬着我们，这时我才发现，与时间争先恐后真是毫无意义。 黄昏，火红的太阳渐渐向西藏到了似青似紫的云朵后面，夜幕降临时，各种昆虫也都猖狂地乱飞乱撞。巴特勒再也不想原地等待了，他命令大家带着橡皮艇转移至河口附近的沙洲。来到沙洲，我们依然躲藏在茂密的树叶下面，同时轮流给船充气，大约过了半个小时充气就完成了。然后我们把仅剩的步枪、弹药和大刀一起装到船上，此时敌军巡逻舰的大灯射过来，如果灯光再亮一点，恐怕我们就被发现了。 又过了十五分钟，我们一行就动身前往海上了。其实用不了三十分钟就可以到达会合地点，可是没有人愿意待在陆地上喂蚊子。这似乎意味着我们就要离开黑暗的古巴疆土了，它真是太“富饶”、太陌生，我们渺小得就像野兽厚厚皮脂下的一只昆虫，永远看不到野兽的头、尾巴和四肢。 船开动了，像之前一样低调慢速地行驶着。我坐在巴特勒的身旁，眼睛注视着指南针，浪潮也时不时地发出呜呜低语。尽管巴特勒从来不会倾听别人对他驾驶技术的指导，因为他本来就是一个合格的舵手，但他还是意识到了我比他更懂航海，因为在缅因州度过童年时光的缘故，我也应该比他懂，即使我并没有花太多时间与沾满鲸鱼油恶臭味的船打交道。但是，我懂航海，他也明白这一点，我们正朝着正确的方向前进，而且比预定的时间提前了三十分钟。我们还暂时看不到马丁内斯，看不到公主号，但至少我们穿过了珊瑚礁和红树林隘口，如果现在敌军的巡逻船发现我们并打算开火，那他们也不可能从附近一座暗岛的背风处迅速冲过来。 马丁内斯依然不在视线范围内，我们只好向海的更深处行进。在迈阿密时就听人说，有这样一种可能，当附近没有美国炮艇时，古巴的海岸警卫队就会无视三英里的法定距离。但是由于我们发射了五百六十磅的照明弹减轻了船体重量，所以现在我们的船舶吃水深度减小了，再加上船上双引擎的支撑，我们的小船行驶速度可以与任何一艘又旧又破的古巴船对抗。 半个小时后，我们结束了四轮航海海域作业，回到我们猜测公主号可能会出现的地方（我们也希望它能出现在那里）。这个漆黑的夜晚同样有着一片清澈的天空，唯一不同的是在遥远的东方朵朵云彩正随风飘散。 巴特勒开始质疑我的航海技术：我是不是带领大家绕了个梯形？我敢发誓我们现在所处的位置是正确的吗？ “我们就是在会合点。”我拿出所有的自信说，尽管我的信心已如一面破旗，但我知道此刻我们指望不上遥远的委员会来指导我们航行，我们唯有靠自己，所以我说服他再沿着一个正方形海域行驶一圈，这次的行驶边长为半英里。终于在十一点十五分，公主号进入了我们的视线，向我们驶来的它看上去像个大帆船。巴特勒握着我的手说：“我们迟早会成为一个团队。”公主号停了下来，我们开到旁边，登船并把橡皮艇一并拉上公主号，然后径直走到餐厅去喝咖啡。此时的感觉简直比和阿尔洛一起攀岩还要棒。 在餐厅里，巴特勒问起了隔离线，马丁内斯说：“一切都结束了，俄国的舰船已经撤离。”他把这个消息向领航员们重复了一遍，但是他们并不高兴。现在已经不需要袭击古巴了，那么我们的照明弹不管藏在什么地方都会被放坏。 然而，马丁内斯有一个更迫切的担忧——另一艘船错过了集结点，他解释道：“这就是我们来晚的原因，我们在等其他的船，现在我们得再返回去找它们。” 这是一段漫长的时间，我们以平时一半的马力向东行驶，迎面吹来像鞭打一样的海风，接着是一阵热带暴雨。走过红树林隘口，我们就看到了古巴的海岸，距离还不足法定界线的三英里。 马丁内斯说：“如果敌军在海上搜索他们，那他们应该藏身在这些隘口处。”他用他的铅笔指着航海图上的一些红树林小岛。“我认识领导这个党派的领航员，他十分熟悉这些咸水湖，水浅到卡斯特罗政府的舰船无法开进来。” “你从欧布莱恩那儿听到了些什么？”巴特勒问。 “他告诉了我关于俄罗斯人的事情。” “他说：回到迈阿密，普龙托。” "why?" “他说不管什么邪魔鬼怪都在他的掌控之中，”马丁内斯耸耸肩继续道，“他说的也许是真的，但我怎么能丢下其他人不管呢？” 巴特勒点点头，他看上去很高兴。“哈伯德，”他说，“你和我也得出去找他们。” 马丁内斯点点头。 这太鲁莽了，我们要在陌生的咸水湖里寻找古巴人，而他们可能压根就不在那儿，但是我不会反对他们，与其呆呆地忍受巴特勒作我的长官，还不如冒险返回那些水域来得容易呢。 我们已经准备好了，我们搜寻之后返程时，将会和马丁内斯在两个红树林隘口的中间点碰面（在地图上标出）。这个地方在距离古巴陆地三英里以内，对马丁内斯来说非常危险，对我们而言则简单得多。在接下来的四个小时里，他每过一个小时都会穿过那个地方，如果到了约定时间我们没有出现在那里的话，我们都会有麻烦，因为那时已经接近黎明。我们花了二十分钟在餐厅里仔细检查航海图，标记出我们将会穿过的每个隘口和暗礁。 小船上只有我和巴特勒，所以驾驶起来很顺手。依照计划我们以二十节的速度行进，除非波浪迫使我们降速，但是现在的行进速度还在我们的掌控之中。 马丁内斯为我们挑选的地区包含三平方英里范围内的五个隘口和四个珊瑚咸水湖。我们有条不紊地一点一点往浅处探索，直到水深不足六英寸，我们在黑暗中搜寻着每一个水池，在泥沙周围打转、后退，然后又上前。我们的橡胶船头被水中的树根撞弯，从树根的缠绕中抽出后又恢复原貌。船底则刮遍了每一个浅滩，我们就像洞穴中的盲人一样摸索着前进。很奇怪，我们越深入浅滩，就越感觉远离了卡斯特罗的海岸警卫队。然而我们却融入了另一个生物体系——每一个咸水湖里都有成群的昆虫向我们打招呼。我们一点点蹭过珊瑚礁，在黑暗中我看到许多岔路口，可是我厌倦了拿着手电筒在地图上不停地照啊照，因为我的视力难以适应在黑暗与“强光”之间的频频转换。我意识到自己开始喜欢巴特勒了，他虽然迫使我加入这次探险，但是很值得。这究竟有多值得！融入到这样一个满是飞虫、野生物种和海水的环境中等同于探索我内心的每一个洞穴，在那里存储着我卑微的恐惧，我们继续前行着。 这些红树林隘口很少有通道，许多入口也缩减成无法通行的沼泽，但是我们依旧期待能在这些浅水域里找到我们的人。我们期待，在每一次小小的探索深处，我们其中一人能像忧伤的鸟儿一样呼喊“完美的人”。 已经过去两小时了，天渐渐变亮，在黑暗压过黎明的最后一刻，我听到一个人声音嘶哑地回答“无与伦比”，我们发现了他！一个虚弱的声音！他躺在那儿，一只脚搁在破损小船的橡皮船底上，血迹斑斑。他在一个珊瑚礁上把这艘船锯开，漂到这条小溪里，把船拖在身后，腿受伤了。 其他人在哪儿？ 死了，他说，有的被俘获了。这儿有埋伏，所有人都遭了伏击，只有他和他的朋友逃到了船上。 他的朋友在哪儿？ died.一个巡逻队逮捕了他们，他的朋友中了一枪被打下了船，就在追捕的途中。 “胡说，”巴特勒低声对我说，“是他把那个死人扔下船好让船开得更快。” “没有一个故事像是真的。”我说。 果然不是真的。在假装处理从他靴子里流出来的血时，我用手电筒仔细观察了他的脸。他留着稀疏的络腮胡子，上嘴唇上的胡须也蓬乱生长，脸庞又瘦又枯黄——他看上去像一个你不会信任的人：另一个失败的上帝之子。 他做过什么、没有做过什么重要吗？也许其他人在岸上遭伏击时他匆匆逃离了，不管真实情况是怎样的，也不管他是否在掩饰自己的怯弱，但有一点可能是真的：其他人都死了，他确实看到一个人丢下他的同伴自顾自逃命去了。 还有一个问题：追捕他们到狭窄入口的巡逻船是否还在隘口处巡逻？ 答案很快就揭晓了，我们刚出沼泽就遇到一艘船首配有探照灯的巡逻舰在海角处巡逻并且慢慢逼近我们。 机关枪的响声真大啊，那灯光是有多耀眼！巡逻舰激起的水花一会儿流到我们左边一会儿流到右边，我们的船体也轮流向两边倾斜。我们相隔有二百码吗，还是比这更近？ 我记得当时我并不曾害怕死亡，肾上腺素在绝境下不停地释放，我极度兴奋，甚至心怀敬畏，死亡是一座雄伟的寺庙，而我就站在大门口——机关枪枪口的火花就像高压电火花一样喷射着。天空似乎在摇晃，也有可能是我们的船在摇晃？星星成了射向空中的烟火，让人眩晕。我还记得当时响起一声惊人的咆哮，巴特勒朝追捕我们的人喊叫着：“戳瞎你们的眼睛……”他时不时地站起来高举机枪，打出一个更高的火光，继而急转弯掩护自己。每一次他站起来，机关枪都会朝他的头开火，然后追捕者就消失在视线里。没有了巡逻舰激起的水花涌到我们船体两边，机枪手连攻击目标也找不到了，而巴特勒则突然来个大幅度急转弯，迅速逃离巡逻舰，我们还一度逃出了探照灯的扫射范围，并在夜色下疾驶在隘口的弯曲水道，穿过我们已在航海图上标出的珊瑚礁。来到浅滩前，巡逻艇只得绕行离开，狂怒中，它鸣响了电喇叭。汽笛声响彻整个夜空，那巨大的声音，听起来就像入侵古巴的行动终于开始了。巴特勒在狂笑中呜咽起来，“所有的警察都一样，”他说，“全世界都是如此。” 我们驶向珊瑚礁的另一边通道，开足马力，并且谋划着一条与他人会合的路线。在东面一英里的地方，我看到巡逻舰上的探照灯射向每一个咸水湖和海岸。我拍打了一下巴特勒的手臂——我们逃不掉了，巴特勒真是世界上最差劲的人！ “你个狗娘养的，你妈的真傻！”我骂道，这是我说过的最粗鲁的话语。我俩开始吵起来，但在船舷的轰鸣声下，他几乎听不到我的声音。