windows still had original stained glass, which was not only beautiful but helped to filter the punishing tropical sun. It had been well after midnight when Jack arrived from Havana airport, so he hadn’t noticed how charming the place was. He also hadn’t noticed the armed soldiers posted at each corner of the walled-in property.
“Who lives here?” Jack asked in Spanish.
“Coronel Jimenez, of course.”
A guest of the colonel, himself. Communism suited him well, Jack thought.
Jack followed the man along a covered walkway, then upstairs to the second floor. At the end of the hall was a pair of massive wooden doors, each one carved elaborately and adorned with large brass knockers. The grand entrance seemed to trumpet the fact that someone important was waiting inside, an impression that was reinforced by the armed soldiers standing like pillars on either side of the doorway. Without a word, and with all the personality of the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace, the soldier on the left turned, knocked, and announced Jack’s arrival.
“Send him in,” came the reply. Jack recognized the voice as the colonel’s.
The soldier opened the door and escorted Jack into a spacious, dark-paneled library. With a click of his heels the soldier retreated, leaving Jack alone with the colonel, who rose, smiled pleasantly, and offered Jack a seat. The colonel seemed to have learned from their previous meeting that Jack had no interest in shaking his hand.
“Cafe?” asked the colonel.
“No, gracias.”
The colonel shifted to English, which was exactly what most Spanish speakers did as soon as they heard Jack massacre their language.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Sure. Thanks for threatening my Cuban relatives.”
The colonel offered a strained show of sympathy. “Aye, did he really do that to you? I swear, I send my men to Miami, and they become so rude. What is it about that city?”
Jack dodged the small talk. “Your messenger said you have something for me.”
“Yes, I do. I think you are going to be very pleased.”
“That’s what I used to tell my clients when their execution date got moved from Monday to Thursday.”
“You’re a very funny man,” he said, but his smile seemed insincere.
“Whattaya got, Colonel?”
The colonel picked up the phone, punched a few buttons, then spoke in very abrupt Spanish. Just seconds after he hung up, a side door opened, one that Jack hadn’t even noticed because of the way it blended into the paneled walls. Two soldiers entered, only one of them armed. The one without a gun took a seat facing the colonel, his body angled toward Jack. The armed soldier left the room.
The colonel said, “This is Private Felipe Castillo.”
Castillo nodded once toward Jack, who returned the gesture.
The colonel said, “Private Castillo is part of the surveillance team at Guantanamo Bay. He is one of many soldiers on Cuban soil whose primary responsibility is to monitor activity at the U.S. naval base. We have towers posted all along-well, I’m not going to tell you how many or where they are. Not that it’s a secret. Both sides are constantly watching each other down there.”
“Do you mean to tell me that Private Castillo saw the intruder enter my client’s house?”
“I think I’ll let Private Castillo speak for himself. He speaks no English, so I will translate for him.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Jack. “I’ll let you know if I miss something.”
“Fine.” The colonel addressed the soldier in Spanish. “Private Castillo, I’ve already explained to Mr. Swtyeck that you are part of our surveillance team at Guantanamo Bay. In general terms, explain what you do and when you do it.”
“I’m part of the third eight-hour shift. I work midnight to eight A.M.”
“So, you work both nighttime and daylight hours?”
“Yes. Mostly night, obviously. Which means I use infrared binoculars. After sunrise, I use regular binoculars.”
“What portion of the base do you watch?”
“The permanent housing section of the main base. Mainly the officers.”
The colonel said, “Private Castillo, you know why Mr. Swyteck is here, correct?
“Yes.”
“You know the nature of the charges against his client?”
“Yes, that was explained to me.”
“Do you have any information that might be of help to Mr. Swyteck’s client?
“Yes, I do.”
“Would you please tell that information to Mr. Swyteck now?”
“Yes, of course.” He drew a breath, and he seemed to be fighting a bad case of dry mouth. The colonel poured him a glass of water, and the young man’s hand shook as he drank, causing a trickle to run from the corner of his mouth. Jack didn’t take it as a sign of deception. Any soldier of his rank would have been nervous in front of the colonel.
Castillo said, “Most of my nights are uneventful, but the most unusual thing that occurred on this particular night was somewhere between five-thirty and six A.M.”
“What happened?”
“Part of the area I watch includes the housing for U.S. Marine officers. I noticed a soldier arrive at one of the houses.”
“What made this event at all memorable?”
“Because it wasn’t his house. But he walked straight in, no knock or anything.”
“Before six o’clock in the morning?”
“That’s correct.”
“What house did you see him enter?”
“The house of Captain Oscar Pintado.”
Jack’s heart was pounding. “I’m sorry. What date are you talking about?”
“The seventeenth of June.”
That was day Oscar Pintado was shot. Jack was almost afraid to ask the next question, as if testimony this good just had to unravel. “Did you see who the man was who entered the house?”
“Please,” said the colonel, “allow me to ask the questions. Your Spanish is not-”
“I think he understands me fine,” said Jack.
The colonel considered it, then acquiesced. “Fine. You may ask your questions.”
Jack was unaware of it, but he’d instinctively scooted to the edge of his seat. He didn’t want to be combative, but he did have some serious probing to do. “Did you get a good look at the man who entered the house?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Who was it?”
“Lieutenant Damont Johnson, United States Coast Guard.”
“How can you be sure it was Lieutenant Johnson?”
“Because I’ve seen him at the Pintado house many times before.”
“And how is it that you’ve seen him go to that house on so many different occasions?”
“This was my quadrant. I have a map and a chart that lists all the buildings, all the occupants.”
“So it’s part of your job to survey certain areas of the base.”
“Yes,” he said, then shrugged. “But, to be honest, everyone on the surveillance team had an eye on the Pintado house.”
“Because of who his father was?”
“No.” He smiled a little, as if embarrassed. “It was our entertainment.”
“Your entertainment?”
“Yes. We spend long hours looking at nothing. When we got bored, we would always scan over to the Pintado house and see what was going on.”
Jack watched his expression closely, searching for innuendo. “What kind of things went on there?”
“Well, like I said, I saw Mr. Johnson there many times.”
