This short story is a work of fiction.
Any resemblances to real persons or events
is purely coincidental.
© 2013 Jorge R. González
The meeting took place, late at night, in a secluded beach area of South Florida on May 19, 2013. At exactly 9:00 p.m. an unmarked brown truck approached a pastel green ranch-style house and parked in front. The driver remained in his seat after he had stopped. He pulled a filtered cigarette from the glove compartment, lit it, and inhaled the smoke into his dying lungs. He looked to the passenger on his right side and nodded his head up and down very slowly. He proceeded to take two small cut out letters from his shirt pocket and gave them to his friend, G L.
The passenger got out and headed for the entrance of the modern home. He reached into his right trousers pocket and pulled a single key. Slowly, he introduced it into the key hole and turned it, without making the slightest sound.
He turned around and gave the truck driver a V sign with his second and middle left fingers and entered the foyer. The Chairman had arrived at his destination. The mission preparations would be discussed here. Phase A was now in motion.
The chief sat down on a blue recliner in the living room, closed his eyes, and waited.
Exactly thirty minutes later a taxi cab arrived at the residence. The passenger paid the driver and slowly walked toward the house. Before doing anything, he looked around very carefully; he could not see or hear anyone. He knocked slightly on the front door; three short knocks, a pause, four more knocks.
The Chairman got up from his recliner, went to the door and, without opening it, intoned in a low voice: “your number.”
“3489” came the response from the outside.
The gray haired man-in-command pushed the button on the wall, and the front door opened very slowly. The visitor came in quickly, and the door automatically closed without making the slightest noise. It had been oiled the day before, according to the scripted plan.
This second arrival proceeded to sit himself at a large leather sofa. He picked up a notebook from the side table and read it intensely. The script looked good. It was achievable.
The plan called for the next man to arrive 45 minutes later, and he did arrive, on time, in a bicycle, as expected. The welcoming ritual was repeated at the front door and 6745 went inside the house very quickly.
A few minutes after midnight all twelve numbers were assembled in the big living room.
The Chairman stood up in the dark and said “Welcome to the meeting.” Pull your small flashlights, turn them on, and follow me to the dining room.
They entered the dining room. It was twice the size of the living room. An extremely large mahogany table was in the middle of the room; it was usually reserved and used for conferences. Five chairs were on one of the sides of the table, and opposite them were five more chairs. Two very tall chairs were at both head ends. The Chairman sat in one of them, the one on the left, and a tan skinned number sat immediately opposite him at the other end.
“Gentlemen, said the Chairman, we will have a small toast before we begin.” Each one stood up and picked a small goblet that was filled with red wine in front of them. “To the Fatherland!” said the Chairman. “To the Fatherland!,” the other eleven numbers replied in unison.
They sat down and each number picked up a green folder that was placed in front of them with their respective four decimals. They read for approximately 30 minutes.
“Does every one understand their assigned tasks.” The Chairman looked around the table and he saw the eleven numbers move their heads up and down slowly.
“Very well, we will now retire in pairs to our six sleeping rooms. Use your flashlights. Deep brown curtains cover every window, as you have surely noticed. The walls of the residence and the glass on the windows have been sound proofed. Nothing can be heard outside. We will rest or sleep for four hours. There are snacks in the kitchen. Be sure to use your feather slippers to get there.”
“We will begin phase B around four o' clock in the morning. Good night, gentlemen.”
“And lady,” replied one of the numbers.
It was the first time that café con leche had spoken. She was definitely one of the most ravishing female beauties that he had ever seen. He was happy that she was in the house.
“I stand corrected.” replied the Chairman, as he smiled at her.
At ten minutes to four o' clock in the morning of the twentieth day of May, the Chairman turned off the ringing alarm clock on his bedside table. He got up and tapped the arm of his room-mate, number 8677.
“It's time,” he said. “I'm ready,” came the reply from the bed.
They both left the room, turned on their small flashlights and headed for the other five bedroom doors.
One by one the numbers were alerted that, finally, the day had arrived.
The group of eleven men and one woman gathered again in the living room around the large conference table.
They did not bother to sit down. They were all looking at the Chairman.
“Gentlemen, and lady. Today is the assigned day for the execution of Luis Posada Carriles. Let us proceeded.”
They formed a single line, and slowly and silently headed for the huge garage that was attached to the residence on the right side of it.
The large brown truck was there with its large back door already opened. One by one they climbed into the truck and took seats. The number with the dying lungs was already sitting behind the wheel.
At exactly five o' clock the driver pushed the button on the remote control and the garage door slowly and silently went up. No noises. It had been oiled too.
Unbeknown to them, the Association had, two months ago, contacted the guards of The Monster of Barbados, and had conveyed to each one of them large suitcases with three million dollars in cash inside them. They would not present a problem tonight. In the USA everyone and everything had a price attached.
The group drove slowly for thirty minutes and parked in front of the house of The Monster.
The twelve men got out from the back of the truck. They were all dressed now in grey nurses uniforms and had stethoscopes dangling from their necks. One carried an army foldable stretcher.
The Chairman, as usual, headed the macabre procession. The single line headed for the back door and one of the numbers got his key chain and opened the entrance door and stuck his head inside. Total silence.
They all entered the house. The second man carried a large tranquilizer rifle. They quickly found the door. It had a green X attached to it. It had been placed there by one of the Monster's guards.
They entered silently the alcove of the Monster. The rifleman pointed to the chest of the sleeping figure in the bed and he pulled the trigger. Startled, the Monster tried to get up, and then he fell immediately to the bed. He did not know what had hit him.
The stretcher was brought into to the room, and two numbers placed Luis Posada Carriles on it and headed to the truck with the sedated body. He was placed inside the large vehicle without any problems. The neighborhood was very silent and a slight morning fog had developed. It helped their efforts. Every moving member of the group looked like grey shadows.
Before six a.m. they drove back to the house base; a block away they noticed that the garage door was going up slowly and noiselessly. They entered quickly. Phase B had successfully just concluded.
On the last day of Luis Posada Carriles life on earth, four numbers got out of the large truck quickly. After opening the door that connected the garage and the kitchen, they headed for the dining room and moved the big and heavy conference table against one of the walls.
The remaining eight numbers entered the room. Four of them carried the stretcher with the Monster on it, still totally unconscious. They placed it on the middle of the room.
From the living room, the recliner was brought in to the dining room, together with two big cartons, which they proceeded to open. They contained a variety of ropes of different lengths and thickness.
Six of the numbers proceeded to carry the sedated prisoner to the recliner. He was tied very tightly with the various ropes. When the Monster came to, he would not be able to move at all. Duct tape was placed several times around his head. It covered his mouth totally. The parrot would not be able to speak either. But he would be able to see clearly what was going on.
They all sat in front of the unconscious man. Next to six of the chairs, on the floor, were six AK-47 rifles.
“All we have to do know is wait for him to awaken from his unconscious state” said the Chairman.
As the sun started to rise around seven in the morning, there was a slight movement of the head of the Monster. He was awakening from the effects of the tranquilizer dart.
At eight thirty a.m., the Chairman got up and stood up in front of Luis Posada Carriles and said to him:
“You have been placed on trial, in absentia, on several Caribbean countries, for the actions that you and your accomplices took against defenseless civilians who were flying on a Cubana de Aviación airliner that had left Barbados.”
“You were found guilty of that crime. You have been sentenced to death by firing squad.”
Six numbers got up. In their hands were the AK-47 rifles. They stood 12 feet away from the man whose life was about to end.
They pointed their rifles toward the chest of Luis Posada Carriles.
“Ready?” asked the Chairman.
“We are.” came the reply.
“Aim, — a long pause — fire!”
The Monster slumped on the recliner. Luis Posada Carriles had paid for his crime. Justice had been carried out.
“I call upon the visitor from the Republic of Cuba to administer the coup de grace.”
Café con leche got up and slowly approached the listless body and placed the 45 caliber pistol barrel next to the right temple of Luis Posada Carriles. She paused, and then pulled the trigger.
The last shot of the young morning had been fired.
Florida, May 20, 2013