Castillo quietly disembarked from the Bolivar de Panama in the stifling heat that afternoon, after the formalities with Cuban authorities. He relaxed at a café on the boardwalk across from the pier and discreetly watched as a crane transferred the heavy crates into a smaller fishing vessel moored alongside. On the dock a man in a white suit was also looking as the crates were being hoisted in large nets in matter of minutes. Castillo guessed the man who was talking to the captain of the fishing boat had to be a naval intelligence operative. A few minutes after loading, the boat sailed out of the harbor bearing east past Havana. The Florida coast was now only a few hours away.
Angel Castillo had to disappear. He checked into a cheap rooming house for sailors in the narrow streets off Havana’s port section where he shaved off his beard and mustache and took a hot bath. In the tub he carefully rubbed off the false tattoo that had been painted on his forearm and cleared his skin with hard pumice until all the ink had disappeared. That transformation took less than one hour. Wearing a white linen suit he took a taxi to the Hotel Nacional de Cuba after having his hair trimmed with a part on the side to look like a swarthy American businessman. The hotel, a vast white structure with dramatic views of the Caribbean, boasted the largest gambling casino on the island. The stately marble entrance and the registration desk were overshadowed by two giant portraits of Presidents Fulgencio Batista and Franklin D. Roosevelt side by side on the back wall.
He registered under his American name: Frederick E. Vickers from San Francisco.
“Welcome to the Hotel Nacional, Señor Vickers.” Said the desk clerk.
“Are you arriving from Miami?”
“No, actually from Panama.” Answered Vickers after signing the register.
“The bell boy will escort you to your room on the second floor. Thank you very much Señor.”
It wasn’t the best room the establishment had to offer but after the cargo ship’s cabin it felt luxurious.
“My name is Miguel, Señor Vickers,” said the bright young face pushing the two suitcases on the trolley. Vickers took off his jacket and slipped him a quarter.
“If there is anything else please call me, Señor. If you need a chica … there are many beautiful chicas in Havana but in this hotel they are the best. Shall I send one up for you?”
“No, not today Miguel.”
“Maybe tomorrow, Señor?”
“I don’t think so, Miguel.”
One hour later Vickers went to the row of pay phones along the wall in the lobby. He dialed the number and let the phone ring four times. A voice answered in Spanish.
“Digame…”
“My uncle from Santa Marta told me to call.”
“Un momentito por favor.”
A second voice said in English with a strong Spanish accent.
“Go to the bar on the casino side. A girl will approach you. She’s a tall brunette wearing a red dress. Her name is Regina. Play the game, dance, then take her to your room. Make sure you tip Juan, the bartender $5.”
The bar was dark, almost empty, filled with the heavy scent of local cigars, and alcohol. Afro-Cuban jazz was playing in the background and two girls were dancing the rhumba together laughing as they swirled around. Three women in high heels and sexy dresses were having tall cocktails at the bar and smiled at Vickers as he sat in a booth. Within minutes a tall brunette in a very tight red dress with shoulder straps came over swinging her pocketbook.
“Would you like me to sit down Señor….?” she said with a heavy Spanish accent.
“Fred Vickers, call me Fred…. Please sit down.”
“I am Regina.” She answered like a true professional, shaking hands and arching her back so her breasts would seem even larger and her cleavage more inviting.
“What are you having today, Regina?”
She smiled and looked at the bartender, an oily type with a pencil thin mustache, and long sideburns.
“Champagne, of course. Juan!”
Vickers looked at her closely and guessed she couldn’t be more than 21 or 22; a gorgeous creature, with that deep olive skin typical of Central America and the Caribbean. The champagne was a bad imitation local sparkling wine since the real product had virtually disappeared because of the war in Europe. The price however remained unchanged.
“You come here every evening?”
“Only on very, very special occasions.” She smiled knowingly.
“Well this is my first visit to Havana.” Said Vickers as they clicked glasses.
“Then it is a special occasion and it must be a visit to remember. Don’t you think?”
“I certainly hope so.”
Regina got closer to Fred as the two women at the bar looked on and talked together.
“How about finishing our cocktails in your room, Fred?”
“Sure Regina but give it a few more minutes, not so fast.”
She gently nibbled at his left earlobe and whispered.
“Tell Juan you want me and slip him five dollars.”
Fred smiled and then pulled Regina toward him and kissed her hungrily. They both kept up the passionate show into the elevator and up to room 242. Once inside he turned on the radio playing the ubiquitous latin jazz and opened all the water faucets in the bathroom.
Regina handed Fred a thick envelope. Suddenly she was all business and sat in the armchair, crossing her long tapered legs.
“I believe we’re done, Fred.” She said with a genuine smile.
“Just a minute Regina, relax.”
He inspected the contents of the envelope and was satisfied that he had the genuine article.
“Regina we are done with our official business but since we are here and people have noticed us coming up it need you to wait for one more hour. For appearance’s sake you understand. Now … we can listen to the radio, order some drinks or…take advantage of the time we have together. It’s up to you.”
By then Regina was already slipping out of her red dress suddenly wearing only pearls and high heels. She came up to Fred and pressed her warm soft body right up against him.
“I have already been paid for everything, Señor Vickers. So this, as they say, is purely for pleasure.”
Regina left the hotel two hours later after a steamy afternoon with a sailor who had spent too many days out at sea.
During the next few hours he studied every detail of his instructions, then he carefully burned the papers flushing the ashes down the toilet. The most prized item was his original American passport made out to Frederick Edward Vickers with an amazing authentic renewal stamp from the American Legation in Montevideo, Uruguay dated September 8, 1940. A document specified that Mr. Vickers had “personally signed and that his signature has been authenticated by a notary public at the United States Legation…” He carefully studied each entry and exit stamp clearly indicating how since 1935 he had spent most of his time in Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay with a few side trips into Peru and Colombia. Another entry stamp showed him entering Cuba by ship from Panama City one week before. After checking out the next morning he returned to the port of Havana where he boarded a regular P&O Line ferry to Key West where he arrived three hours later. Fred Vickers entered the United States shortly before noon on August 13, 1941 and immediately bought a one way first class sleeping car ticket on the Silver Meteor from Miami to New York.
On August 14 Vickers checked into an efficiency apartment at the Croydon Hotel on East 86th Street and Madison Avenue, a quiet residential neighborhood a few blocks from the boisterous beer halls of Yorkville and far removed from the bustle of midtown Manhattan. He paid $35 in advance for one week’s lodgings in cash adding a two dollar tip to a very appreciative desk clerk.
On the following day, August 15, a truck pulled into an empty garage in Long Island City, New York. The garage had been a repair shop for trucks and automobiles and was conveniently located at the water’s edge on the East River almost directly under the 59th Street Bridge. The property was up for rent or sale with a sign to that effect stuck on the front door. Two men were on hand to unload the heavy crates labeled “engine replacement parts” from the Harvester Company in Chicago, Illinois. Just below the false surface in each crate were the 4,500 component parts of the SLC III-A, including torpedoes, mines and underwater frogman gear. The equipment was now located less than two miles from hundreds of vitally important military targets in the busiest port city in the world. By mid- summer of 1941 New York harbor had become the focal point of America’s giant Lend Lease effort to supply Great Britain and the Soviet Union in their struggle against the Axis.