The leader of the patrol – who looked all of twenty-two years of age beneath the beard and grime – went through my pockets, then took the gun from my belt. He examined, nodded to his comrades and passed it around. I guess that was my contribution to the revolution.

He continued to ask me questions which I didn't understand.

“¿De dónde es usted?”

¿Cuál es su negocio con este hombre?

“¡Contestar! ¡Ahora!”

The patrol leader pointed his rifle at my head. After spending so much time pretending to be from somewhere else, I decided this might actually a good time to be Russian.

So I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“Я русский по официальным правительственным бизнес!”

“Я русский по официальным правительственным бизнес!”

“I am a Russian on official government business.”

None of the patrol spoke Russian, but knew the sound of it. Thankfully one of the rebels spoke English.

“So you are Russian? You are with us in our struggle to bring Cuba back to her people?”

“Yes comrade. The Motherland is with you, and I am with you. But right now I am looking after Soviet interests and need to deliver this American to my government.”

The soldier conferred with his patrol leader. The patrol leader relaxed his gun and signaled to his man to back away. The soldier turned to me and gestured.

“Come. We take you to El Comandante.”

The soldiers led me away through the jungle, while two stayed with the Colonel. I looked back, fearing the worst for him. The rebel soldier reassured me.

“Don't worry, he is your prisoner. He'll still be there when you get back.”

We trekked for an hour through the jungle until we came to a command post in a clearing. The patrol leader had radioed ahead, and his commanding officers had come down from the hills to meet me. I instantly recognized Ernesto Guevara from file photographs despite his beard and hirsute appearance. He conferred with the patrol leader, nodded and then beckoned me to follow him.

As we walked for a few more yards, I saw man known as 'The Bearded One' ahead of me, with the rest of his inner circle. And immediately on sight, I knew Cuba would soon be under his command. Not only did he have the stance and aura of a leader, his rugged, unwashed minimalism was going to deliver his people from the decadence that was going on below these very hills.

The Colonel, and now Castro. All I needed was Salvador Dali to emerge sipping Sangria to complete the unholy trinity.

Castro spoke.

“You are a long way from home and in a dangerous place my friend.”

I shot back a reply.

“Sometimes your mission can take you to places you never planned on being in.”

Castro thought for a minute, then signaled me to follow.

“Come. We talk how we can help each other”

We sat at the command post – Castro, Cienfuegos, Guevara. Fidel grilled me about the Soviet Union, and what the attitude to Cuba was. He had realized that he saw his revolution succeeding through the spread of others and was doing all he could to sow some more seeds through me. We sat, drank rum and smoked cigars, and he insisted I take back photographs to show my superiors that not only were he and the rebels surviving, but also thriving. I had a mini-camera concealed in a Bakelite keyring, so we snapped off a round of pictures showing the soldiers in high spirits.

I was starting to get anxious. It had been a while since I left the Colonel. Time I was getting back.

“With respect Comandante, I need to get back to my unfinished business.”

“Of course you do.”

With that, he rose then gave me a bear hug that just about squeezed the life out of me.

“See you in Habana, comrade.”

The patrol took me back through the jungle and down the hillside, where to my relief I found the two soldiers and the Colonel where I left them. They'd been true to their word, and actually given him water, so the old geezer was looking a little bit sharper than he had before.

The soldiers pointed us in the direction we had came, then disappeared again into the foliage just like they had entered.

I grabbed the Colonel and pushed him ahead of me. He was obviously feeling better because he had started to talk back.

“And where in hell's name are you taking me now?”

“Back to the shack. You need to get your pants.”

The Colonel kept on at me. I think I liked him better when he was dehydrated and discombobulated.

“Just wait 'til my friends In Havana hear about this. Wait 'til Santo and Lansky hear about this. Hell, wait 'til my friends in the US Senate hear 'bout this.”

I kept my cool as he prattled on.

"Yeah, well right now those friends of yours in Havana are looking for you to settle a few little debts, so if I were you wouldn't go knocking on their doors right now.”

“In fact, if I were you I'd be worrying how we get back to Havana from here now the Wolf Boys have gone with the truck.”

We reached the shack. I told the Colonel to go in and get his pants. He came out with his pants on all right, and with a gun held to his head.

“Oh no, you have to be kidding me.”

I couldn't believe it. It was Johnny Sincere.

“Johnny, how the bloody hell did you get here?”

“Coco may believe in demons but I don't. I figured they were someone he burned sometime in his carny past, just like he burned me years later. Like you, I found the poster and saw you at the performance. I've been following you ever since.”

He went on.

“I saw you take off into the jungle and waited for you to get back. I was about to take off when I noticed my car had a flat, so I had to put on the spare. Lucky for me I hung around.”

Johnny tightened his grip on the Colonel. I had the colonel and was maybe minutes away from finishing my mission and now this guy was capable of screwing it all up.

“Look Johnny, I don't know what sort of issues you have with him, but...”

“He knows! Tell him! Tell him how you took my dough and promised to take me on, only to dump me when Elvis came along.”

The Colonel may have have been a sleazy old fucker, but I did have to admire his balls.

“That's 'cos you had the personality of pond moss, and the voice of a tadpole, Johnny. No way I was gonna touch you, son.”

Probably not the best time for candor, I thought.

Okay, this had gone far enough. I tried to calm Johnny down, and leaned in to him.

“Johnny, my job was to find this man and report to my HQ for subsequent actions. And my guess is that they will want him executed. If that is the case, let me do it. Johnny, you seem like a good guy: This is what I do and there is no need for you to become a killer, Will you let me make the call and then let me carry out my orders?”

That seemed to get his attention.

“How are you gonna call them from way out here? We're in the middle of nowhere.”

“If you let me reach into my side pocket, I'll show you.”

I reached into my jacket lining and pulled out my ballpoint pen, which was actually a transmitter. Johnny wasn't impressed.

“Oh come on. You're fucking kidding me.”

I removed the end stopper and pulled out the ink refill, which was a micro-thin retractable antenna.

“This transmission frequency will be picked up by a relay station at Vladivostok and forwarded to Moscow. I will have an answer in seconds.”

It was proving to be all too much for Johnny.

“You're Russian? A fricken' COMMIE?”

“The hills are alive with fricken' commies, Johnny. Better keep your voice down.”

The Colonel meanwhile, had realized he was in a bad situation.

“You gonna let this heathen Ruskie take the life of a God-fearin', American tax-payer? You gonna sell me out to the commies?”

That seemed to make up Johnny's mind for him.

“You ain't paid a dollar in tax in all your life, you no good piece of shit. Okay commie, make your call.”

Thanks Colonel. I activated my transmitter and sent my message.

“Code name Winter. Identification is 'White Sand', repeat; 'White Sand'. Target has been locked in. Await further instructions. Over.”

I waited while the message buzzed around the world and pinged the relay station. It seemed like an eternity, but was in actually fact was under 30 seconds before I received a reply.

I acknowledged out loud for the benefit of my audience.

“Yes, target confirmed. Yes. Yes, I understand. I will execute your orders as directed. Winter signing off.”

I solemnly retracted my antenna and put the transmitter away. Both Johnny and The Colonel looked at me in terror. I could tell Johnny didn't want to kill the old geezer. Just wanted to scare him a little.

“They want him eliminated?”

I deadpanned the response.

“Yes. From HAVANA...”

I lunged and disarmed Johnny in one movement. He and the Colonel fell to the ground. I stood over them with Johnny's gun in my hand.

“Sorry Johnny, I guessed wrong. They want him returned to resume his activities in the US.”

Johnny was livid.

“You commie bastard! You lying commie bastard!”

“Go back to your nightclub, perform and make money here while you can Johnny Sincere. Believe me, a change is coming from these hills - and quicker than anyone thinks.”

I waved the gun at both of them and directed them down the hill towards where Johnny had parked his car.

There was no way I could go back to the hotel with the Colonel; the mob wouldn't buy the Wolf Boy story, so if he showed up back there he was as good as dead. I decided to drop Johnny back at Coco's and 'borrow' his car for a while. I told him he could pick it up at the Hotel Nacional in a couple of days. I decided to check myself and the Colonel into the Majestic Hotel across town in Viejo. I needed time to think this through.

I booked us into the one room. No way was I going to let him out of my sight until I got him back to the US.

Back to the US. I was still trying to figure out why my government wanted him returned unharmed. It went around and around my head. It didn't help that the Colonel was an incessant talker and I couldn't hear myself think.

“Yessir, Elvis and me we really shook it all up. Why before I came along and discovered that boy what was there?”

Just shut up. Just fucking shut up, I thought.

“Before Elvis burst on the scene it it was all the same. But me and that boy added a little danger, a little excitement...”

A little rebellion, a finger up to authority, so brash, fast, and sexy it could only be filmed from the waist UP. Disaffected youth finding their voice, the decline and fall of America's morals! That was it! The KGB had seen Elvis' effect on American society during the last few years and wanted the Colonel back to resume the juggernaut! Damn had I got it wrong.

So now I had to get the Colonel out of Havana past the mob and past the CIA who were obviously monitoring him too, and back to America. First things first.

“Okay Colonel, where are your travel documents right now?”

“I never had any travel documents. No passport, no nuthin'.”

Nice one Andreas. Easier to get in to Cuba with mob friends than to get out without them. I really needed to come up with something.

“What about your politician buddies? The Louisiana crowd who made you Colonel?”

“Well I kinda used up my quota of favors from with those boys.”

I was getting desperate.

“Look Colonel Tom Parker, or Andreas van Kuijk, or whatever the hell your name is. If we don't get you out of Havana you are going to end up at the bottom of the ocean at either the hands of Lansky, The Wolf Boys, Johnny Fucking Sincere, or God knows who else you have managed to piss off down here. Think! Is there anyone else you can call?”

That got though to him. And for a moment he dropped both the front and his adopted southern accent.

“Well...there's LBJ.”

“Good, now we are getting somewhere.”

OK, this may just work. Lyndon Johnson was a Texas Senator with a lot of influence. Time to put the Colonel's talent for bullshit to good use.

“Okay, get on the phone and call Johnson. Tell him you lost your passport, or were mugged, or any damn story – I don't care. Just tell him you need him to organize a welcoming committee for you at the airport, so you can bypass Immigration.”

“Well I don't know if he'll be able to...”

“Just do it and make it happen. Because I swear, if you don't, all of your pals here will be drawing straws to see who stiffs you first.”

That worked. After calling his assistant in Memphis to get LBJ's number, the Colonel placed another long distance call with the operator.

LBJ! Colonel Tom! Fine thanks and you? That's swell. I hope you and Ladybird received the personalized geetar decanters from me and Elvis. Oh you did? Great!”

Nice touch, Colonel.

“Say Lyndon, I'm in Havana and having a spot of trouble. That's right - Havana, Cuba...”

I listened as the old southern rope-a-dope, slap-on-the-back favor system played out before me. The Colonel played it well, and I understood how Andreas van Kuijk had been able to work the 'good ol' boy' network. He finished the call.

“That's fine, just fine. Thanks a million, LBJ. See you in Texas.”

The Colonel hung up the phone, and looked pretty damn pleased with himself.

“Done. We can fly into Texas. LBJ's gonna clear it with Immigration in Havana, and a couple of LBJ's boys will meet us at the other end.”

My turn to go into action. I called the airport. A flight was leaving early next morning, so I booked two seats.

“Okay Colonel we're set. 9AM tomorrow morning we head for the airport.”

It all seemed simple, but it wasn't. I hadn't told him that for sure Lansky's goons would be watching all the exits from Havana. Same with the CIA. It was one thing having LBJ's authority, but that could be overridden any time. Right there and then I had no real plan to get him on the plane, but I figured we could sit for a week and still have nothing. It was time to take a chance.

I made one more call before I turned in that night. Once again the relay station in Vladivostok was put into action as I transmitted by intentions to the KGB.

I looked a the Colonel snoring like a baby. Probably better he didn't know what might be waiting for him at the airport.

NEXT: CHAPTER V - You're Right, I'm Left, It's Gone