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Word of Carlos’s death had traveled from the radio shack to the men stationed around the clearing. Men all around the clearing stood silently as the helicopter slowly traveled over the clearing so those below could pay their respects. Hundreds of men stood with their hats off and their hands over their hearts as we passed overhead on our way back to the village.
Brady set the helicopter down in front of the church and four of us carried Carlos’s body inside. Word slowly worked its way thru the village. Suddenly Francisco was standing in front of me.
“Rick, what has happened to my brother?” the man asked with a quavering voice. “I have just gotten word that he’s dead.”
“We were having a meeting at the radio shack. A sniper took his shot from the next ridge over. He never had a chance Francisco,” I said as I looked the grieving brother in the eyes.
“Do we know who did this? Are we going to hunt the man down?” Francisco asked tearfully.
“It’s already done. The sniper was a man by the name of Cortisone. Patch killed him a couple of hours ago.”
“I have heard of him. He was supposed to be the very best,” Francisco informed me.
“You’re going to have to take extra precautions Francisco. I think they are targeting you and Carlos specifically.”
“What of Juan? Did Carlos have a talk with you recently about him? He told me that he was going to.”
I nodded my head. “He told me that he thought he was going to die and asked me to make sure Juan was taken care of. I was with Carlos when he died. His last thoughts were of Juan, I promised Carlos that I would raise him as my own Francisco. Do you have a problem with that?” I asked the grieving brother quietly.
Francisco shook his head. “No Rick, we talked of it and I agreed with Carlos that it was best for Juan to leave Cuba. They may be hunting him also Rick because of who his father was.”
“Once we are able to bury his father I’m going to get him out of here so nothing can happen to him,” I informed the uncle.
“PAPAAAA, PAPAAAA,” was the mournful scream from down the street. Juan had just heard of his father’s death.
I turned to the bawling eleven year old as he stumbled down the street towards the church.
“PAPAAAA,” was the heart wrenching scream of sorrow. Juan was stumbling blindly forward, unable to see thru the tears that filled his eyes.
I ran out into the street and scooped him up in my arms and hugged him to me burying his head into my shoulder. “Juan, I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered into his ear.
“Rick, let me go! I want to see him, let me go!” Juan said as he struggled in my grasp.
“Juan, you don’t want to see him now. Let them get him prepared for his burial first.”
Juan was beside himself in his grief. “What is going to happen to me now? Papa told me everything was going to be alright. He lied to me,” Juan wailed in his despair.
Francisco came and put his hand on the back of Juan’s head. “Juan, your father, Rick and I spoke in recent days of what was to happen to you if anything happened to your father. It was decided that you would leave Cuba and live with Rick and Karen. It will give you the best chance for happiness and a future.”
The last thing Juan wanted to hear about was leaving Cuba and his parent’s graves behind. “I can decide for myself, I want to stay here.”
“You are too young to make those decisions for yourself Juan. We must decide what is best for you.”
Juan’s whole world was crashing down around him. I don’t know what I would have done if the same thing would have happened to me. At least I would have had Chris to share it with. Juan didn’t have any brothers or sisters to share his grief with.
“Francisco, why don’t you take Juan back to your house for tonight? Maybe your wife and kids can help comfort him.”
“Alright Rick, you will take care of the arrangements here?” Francisco asked me.
I nodded my head, “I’ll handle it,” I said as I turned to the church. We would tell the padre we needed a fast burial because of the coming storm. I would try for early tomorrow morning. I wanted Juan out of here before the men in the fortress could make a break for it. I knew without a doubt they would try a counter offensive, using the storm as a means of escape.