Chapter 15: The Cuba Assignment

“So, what does our President do for fun when he’s bored? Wearing headphones, listening to tapes collected from all over? Maybe the Watergate break-in really was connected to the President, huh.”

Schmidt said with a smile, adding some sugar to his coffee.

“But that lead will definitely be killed. The moment we handed our report to the section chief, headquarters sent word that it was a misunderstanding, a technical test from the CIA office, telling us to drop it and get on with our work.”

“A classic ending,” Chris said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Knowing you, you’ll probably keep digging on your own.”

“Hmm, why not? Isn’t it fun to peel away the layers of truth?”

“What a degenerate. Don’t drag others into it. Ash, ignore him.”

“Hey, you two have been going back and forth for so long, I couldn’t get a word in.” Ash complained, looking around, hoping the clerk would hurry up with the Pepsi.

“Fine, let me ask you something relevant. Who do you support in next year’s presidential election?”

“Nixon.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Because he likes Pepsi.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“What a rash answer.”

“What else? I don’t understand politics.” Ash rolled her eyes, glanced out the window, and saw the clerk sprinting back, hoping the Pepsi would arrive soon.

“Oh, by the way, Chris said you helped cover up my identity issue, so can I vote?” Ash looked past the clerk, then turned to Schmidt.

“Yes,” Schmidt nodded. “But whether your vote counts depends on whether Pennsylvania, as a swing state, leans red or blue. If it leans blue, your vote won’t count. If you had come back a year earlier, our successfully re-elected President would probably have sent you a Pepsi for being such a cute little thing.”

As if on cue, the clerk arrived with the Pepsi, along with a bowl of sago, a slice of tiramisu, and a few cream puffs.

Ash opened the can and said, “A drink would’ve been enough. No need for all this.”

“Desserts aren’t exclusive to girls. King Louis XIV loved sweets, and many famous pastry chefs were men.”

“Uh… you’re right.” Ash nodded, agreeing with Schmidt, then downed half the can in one go, popped a cream puff into her mouth, and ended with an ungraceful burp.

She reached for another puff.

Watching her with amusement, Schmidt smiled and leaned toward Chris. “She’s quite endearing, innocent and pure.”

“Mm.”

“Her mental state and experiences are heartbreaking.”

“Mm.”

“The people near your place might be from CIDO. Of course, we all know what that really is, right?”

“Mm.” Chris nodded.

Though Ash’s focus was on the Pepsi and tiramisu, the answer was best kept unspoken. He feared she might slip away in the night to avoid burdening him. After all, they were brothers, and he didn’t want to lose her again.

“Direct, or another department?”

“Direct, possibly also with DHS involvement.”

Congressional Information Dispatch Office, CIDO for short, nominally handled the routing of “sensitive but non-classified” communications between the states and the federal government, the President, and Congress.

But Chris had been privy to hidden matters on his first day at his new job, including IPIC.

The Institute for Paranormal Investigation and Control operated under the President, subject to congressional oversight, with CIDO as its public cover.

Strictly speaking, IPIC was the top authority for all paranormal-related departments nationwide. Chris’s own unit, for instance, answered to IPIC for every operation.

“If that’s the case, our cover won’t hold.”

“Don’t be pessimistic. Maybe it’s just a routine 3C check? Were you followed when you came here?”

“No, only surveillance on the house and communications. It dropped off once the car left the neighborhood.”

“Oh, then the situation’s manageable. If DHS is involved, you’ll probably be fine for a while.”

“Mm… take it step by step. Does this involve you? You said you were transferred to operations?”

“Yes, Overseas Special Operations. Don’t worry, it was set weeks ago. They need someone big to take charge.”

“Oh, which group? Vietnam, or…” Schmidt cut in, “Cuba.”

He set down his empty coffee cup, propped his head on one hand, and looked at Ash, who had perked up at the word “Cuba.”

“It seems Miss Ash is also sensitive.”

“Obviously. With nuclear war on the table, who could forget?” Ash said, recalling those sleepless nights at Chris’s place, glued to the TV and radio. She’d even hoarded bottle caps just in case.

‘Ugh, those bottle caps are long gone…’

“Besides that, does Miss Ash know anything else?”

“Hmm… let me think.” Ash picked up a knife and fork, cutting the tiramisu into pieces. “Revolution, cigars, sugarcane… and Castro, the one they can’t kill no matter what.” She spoke while thinking of a little tune that popped into her head.

“Yes, Castro. There’s my assignment: to organize another assassination attempt.” Schmidt turned to Chris. “Anything to say?”

“No.” Chris shook his head and took a quiet sip.

“It probably won’t succeed.” Ash took a delicate bite of the soft tiramisu, savoring the sweetness and vanilla, then said, “He’ll live forever.”

“Mm,” Schmidt agreed. “But even the worst-case failure is better than hunting Che Guevara in the Latin American jungle. Oh, Miss Ash, with your experience, how would you propose we do it? Ideally with creativity and something fresh.” He spoke gently, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Let me think… You could dig a few pits, line them with sharpened bamboo stakes, cover them with grass, and wait for Castro to walk over.”

“Interesting idea. Something from your Vietnam days?”

“Schmidt.”

“Sorry… But we could refine it. Set it for when Castro inspects his sugarcane fields.” Schmidt picked up Chris’s Dr. Pepper and took a few gulps.

“Anyway, back to the original topic. I’ve scoured all the classified units under the Department of Defense but haven’t found that ‘Rainbow’ you mentioned. That said, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Some things are above my clearance. Can you give me more detail? I need more to go on.”

“Schmidt!”

“Chris, I get it, you’re protective of her. But if we can pin down which project it is, you’d have more leverage, whether it’s staying in Pennsylvania or fleeing abroad. Either way. Still, I’d suggest you leave as soon as the observation period ends, before anything else goes sideways.”

Chris was silent, regretting bringing Ash along.

“I can…” After a thoughtful pause, she nodded. Ash finished the last bite of tiramisu, recalling the memory in detail, and slowly unfolded the information she’d left out before.

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