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Authors: John Gilstrap,Kurt Muse

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BOOK: Six Minutes To Freedom
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But this was a palace coup, for God’s sake, and the key players had no radios. What choice would Pablo have had
but
to use the telephone?
That’s when Kurt’s mind grasped the reality that Rod must have known from the beginning. It was he who was the vice president of the country, not his wife. It was he who must be whisked to safety. To includehis wife in the evacuation would be merely a gift, a courtesy. A wonderful bit of news. If she could not join him, then Rod would face the worst choice that patriots the world over have ever been forced to make: to stay true to his cause and principles even as his loved ones are tortured.
It was only a few miles back to the house, and as Kurt negotiated the route in the Cherokee, he tried not to think about these things, even as he grappled with the reality of what he, Tomás, and the others had been playing with all these months. You can talk about toppling a government, and you can talk about taking on a murderous dictator single-handedly, but until you see a wanted man—a man who exuded dignity and political savvy—sprawled like a bag of grain on the backseatof a car enduring fears that no man should ever face, you really don’t understand the consequences of your political actions.
At this very moment, as they had been for many weeks, the streets were filled with special listening trucks manned with Cuban audio technicians scanning the air twenty-four–seven, with the single goal of putting Kurt and his pals out of business. In the game Kurt had chosento play, the penalty for losing was a lingering, unspeakable death; not just for the individual perpetrators, but in all likelihood for their extended families as well. Just who the hell did he think he was to bring this kind of danger down on the shoulders of his family, merely in pursuit of principle? And of all the people in the country with cause to hate Noriega, who the hell was Kurt Muse, the towering blond-hairedgringo who could leave the country in an instant and cash in on his American citizenship, to be leading the fight?
He pushed these thoughts out of his mind. They didn’t matter anymore.What was done was done.
Today wasn’t about La Voz, and it wasn’t about Kurt. Today was about Rod Esquivel and the preservation of the rule of law in Panama. There’d be plenty of time to worry about all the rest later.
Unless Pablo had used the phone.
 
Without a garage to cover their actions, they had to risk detection by prying eyes as Kurt whisked the vice president of Panama into the house through the front door.
To watch Rod, who stood tall and walked with graceful dignity up the walk, you never would have known the danger he was in. If Kurt had had the power, he would have whisked the man to the door as if they were under fire. He hated being exposed like this. In El Avance, the upscale neighborhood where the Muses lived, they were surroundednot just by the successful business people one would expect, but also by senior PDF commanders whose second and third incomes from graft and outright theft allowed them to afford their mortgages. As the politics became progressively more bitter, and the protests were put down more violently, it only made sense that the PDF goons would be watching their neighbors even more closely than they’d been watchingbefore.
Finally, they were at the threshold, and as Kurt reached for his key, his heart stopped for an instant as he realized that the door was alreadyunlocked.
Is it even possible?
he thought as his mind jumped ahead to a trap having been laid in his house.
The ridiculousness of the thought became apparent as he pushed the door open and he heard Kimberly call from upstairs, “Hi, Daddy!”
Overhead, he could hear her bounding footsteps as she came from her bedroom to greet him. She was halfway down the steps when she saw Rod, and she froze. Her face was a mask of confusion.
“Hi, honey,” Kurt said. “You remember Dr. Esquivel.” Turning to their visitor, he added, “Rod, this is my daughter Kimberly.”
Esquivel smiled and offered a courteous nod. “Nice to see you again.”
Kimberly’s scowl deepened. “Hi.” To her father: “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Kurt said. He marveled at his daughter’s intuitivepowers sometimes.
“Have you heard the news about the Pine—” she cut herself off in deference to the vice president. “You’ve heard about General Noriega?”
Kurt knew that she was putting the details together in her head, and he didn’t want her to go there. “We’ve heard, but that’s nothing for you to worry about. Go on upstairs and finish your homework.”
She didn’t want to go. He could tell from her posture alone that she expected some answers.
“Please, Kimberly,” he urged one more time. “Really, everything is fine. Dr. Esquivel and I just need to discuss some things.”
Her eyes moved from her father to his guest and back again. She wanted to discuss some things, too, but she didn’t push the point. “Well,” she said, “nice seeing you, sir. Welcome to the house.”
Another courteous nod from Rod, and then Kurt ushered the man upstairs into the master sitting room and offered him a seat.
“Your daughter looks confused,” Rod said.
Inexplicably, Kurt found himself defending her. “Oh, she’ll be fine. She just—”
Rod interrupted with a flick of his hand. “I understand perfectly. It’s not every day that a young girl finds an exiled vice president takingrefuge in her house. Were I her, I think I might look a little stunned myself.”
Kurt smiled. He appreciated Rod’s understanding, even as he dreaded Kimberly’s future questions. Annie knew everything about what Kurt and the others were doing, but they deliberately kept the children on the outside of that facet of their politics. The questions raised today, though, would likely end whatever reign innocence held over his daughter.
Kurt ushered the vice president to a chair in the living room and asked, “Can I get you something?”
Rod waved off the gesture. “I don’t need you to get me anything,” he said. “But I do need you to carry something for me.”
Kurt felt his stomach tighten.
“A message,” Rod clarified. “To Jean. By now, she should be at the U.S. ambassador’s residence. I spoke to her after your initial phone call to me, and that’s where she said she was going to go.”
Kurt found himself nodding his agreement to visit the residence beforehe even had a chance to think through the consequences. For a man who had valued stealth and low profiles for so many months, he sure as hell was playing fast and loose with his profile now. He listened to the message and committed it to memory, understanding right away why it had to be delivered in person.
“Can you do that for me?” Rod asked. “Are you willing to do that for me?”
“It would be an honor, sir,” Kurt said. He found himself swelling with pride as he considered the mission that lay ahead.
“Thank you, Kurt,” the vice president said. “And while you’re on U.S. sovereign ground, there’s one more favor I’d like to ask of you.”
39
The home of U.S. Ambassador Arthur Davis quite literallyoccupied the high ground in Panama City, perched atop an area known as La Cresta—the high ground. Kurt had been here several times in the past for official receptions and the occasional cocktail party—nothing unusual for any American ex-pat in the relatively closed community of Canal Zone employees and military officials—but never before had he been so aware of the houses across the street from the elaborate security gates, where he knew for a fact that Noriega henchmencarefully noted the comings and goings of visitors. For an Americanto show up on a day as politically crazy as this one would not necessarily be cause for concern in and of itself, but this business of playing fast and loose with all of La Voz’s long-standing obsessions with anonymity were beginning to wear on Kurt.
“American citizen Kurt Muse to see Ambassador Davis, please,” he said to the young embassy guard at the guard house. “I bring a very important message.”
It wasn’t until the guard started to speak that Kurt noticed the M-16 slung on his shoulder. Clearly, security had been ramped up considerablysince President DelValle’s announcement. “I’m sorry, sir, but the residence is closed to visitors this afternoon.”
Kurt shook his head. “But it’s important,” he said, recognizing as they left his lips that these were words that the kid with the gun had heard a dozen times every day.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and try again anotherday.”
Damn. There was no other way but to spill the beans and hope that the goons across the street didn’t have state-of-the-art listening devices. “Look,” Kurt said, leaning closer through the open window, even as the guard leaned cautiously away from him. “I need to speak to
someone
in an official capacity. I have a message from Vice President Esquivel,and he asked me to deliver it personally.”
The security guard’s eyes narrowed as he considered the ridiculousnessof the claim. But there was a spark of belief buried just under the surface of his suspicion. “Pull over to the side there and wait, please.” He gestured to a parking slot off to the side of the gate that seemed designedprecisely for the purpose he described.
As Kurt moved the car, the guard made a phone call. A moment later, the guard emerged from his hut and gestured for Kurt to leave his car where it was and walk closer. He did exactly that. Off to the right, beyond the gate and ahead near the house, Kurt saw Susan Davis, the ambassador’s daughter, approaching him from the residence. The personnel gate to the side of the vehicle gate buzzed, and Kurt confirmedwith a glance back to the guard that it was all right for him to pass.
Susan Davis was the reason why Kurt and Annie had been invited to the embassy events that they had attended. In her thirties, they were more or less the same age and frequently ran into each other on the socialcircuit. As he neared, he noted an air of tiredness about her this afternoon.They were still in plain sight of any and all prying eyes from outside the compound.
“Hello, Susan,” Kurt said when they were within easy earshot of each other. “I need you to do me a favor and give me a big hug, as if I were your best friend back from a long trip.”
Sensing the need for high drama, Susan’s face broadened to a bright smile. As they embraced, Kurt whispered, “I’ve got Rod Esquivel hidingin my living room. I have a message from him for your father.”
“How nice to see you again,” she said, for the benefit of long-range microphones. “Please come on inside and have something to eat.”
“Is your father here?” Kurt said in a barely audible voice.
“Let’s go in and get something to eat,” Susan said again. Neither one of them believed that the PDF had listening equipment sharp enough to hear them, but it made no sense to take the risk when a completely shielded residence lay just a few yards ahead.
The ambassador’s residence was palatial in both size and grandeur, befitting the nation that brought Panama into the twentieth century. The last time Kurt was here, the ornate marble foyer was filled with visitors, all of them having a marvelous time. Today, on this afternoon, the tension in the house took on a physical weight.
When they were inside and the door was closed, Susan said, “My father is not here. He’s at the embassy, but I can take you there. Come with me.”
She led the way through the center of the house, through an official reception area. It was there that Kurt stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he was seeing. On the left hand side of the room, the entire DelValle family—minus the president—sat scattered among the various pieces of lush antique furniture. They spoke in hushed tones, and when they noticed the towering blond-haired gringo staring at them, all conversation stopped.
“Buenos dias,” Kurt said politely, even as his mind put the awful pieces together. President DelValle had set Rod up. The son of a bitch had already arranged for asylum for himself and his family
before
he made his speech firing Noriega. The weasely bastard finally had made his first and only decision to stand up against the man who so plainly and publicly manipulated his strings, but only after seeking safety for his own family, and without so much as a nod of warning to the rest of his administration.
Disgusted, Kurt turned away from the DelValle family and was even more startled to see Jean Esquivel huddled with her two children in the far corner of the room, frightened and clearly ostracized from the DelValle clan. “Wait a second, Susan,” he said to his escort. Before she could respond, he peeled off the prescribed path and walked over to Jean.
“Rod is safe,” he said, approaching Jean. He wrapped her hand in both of his and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
Jean nodded. “I know,” she said. “He called me from the office beforehe left. I was wondering who would endanger themselves so by coming to whisk him away. I’m sorry it had to be you, Kurt.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I won’t ask how you knew to come get him,” Jean said, opening the opportunity for an explanation.
Kurt smiled and nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“Have you endangered your family?”
His smile turned wry. “I suppose we’ll all know that in the next couple of days, won’t we?” He saw that he was making things worse for a worried wife and mother. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Rod gave me a message to funnel through Ambassador Davis to you. I guess I can give it to you myself. He—”
“He wants us to leave the country,” Jean said, finishing the thought for him. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re all here, I believe.” A mask of disgust invaded her countenance as she cast a sneering glare toward the DelValle family. “What about Rod? Did he tell you his plans?”
Kurt grew visibly uncomfortable as she asked the question. He did, in fact, know, but it was not part of the message he’d been told to deliverto Jean. Given the way they clearly loved each other, he supposed there was no harm in sharing the details with her, but still—
“That’s all right,” Jean said, letting him off the hook. “These are secretivetimes.”
Kurt felt a warm sense of relief wash over him. “Thank you, Jean. And good luck to you.” With that, there was nothing more to be said. He kissed her again on the cheek, and then it was time to go.
“Will they be safe?” Kurt asked Susan, as she resumed leading the way through the house.
The look she gave him could only come from a diplomat’s daughter,a practiced indifferent optimism.
Kurt changed the subject. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To see my father, just as you asked.” As she spoke, she led him through the kitchen to a door that could only lead to the basement.
“You keep your father in the cellar?”
Susan laughed. “Sometimes I wish. But no, we need to get you to the embassy, and I’m sure you’d prefer not to be seen while we do it.”
She led the way to an underground garage. Nothing fancy; in fact just the opposite. Built of indigenous clay bricks, the garage had the feel and dampness of a cave. And there, waiting for him, was a black Cadillac with tinted windows and an armed driver. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Joseph,” Susan said.
As if on cue, the driver seemed to come to life. He had the posture and demeanor of a soldier, with the haircut of an American college student.“This way, sir,” Joseph said, opening the back door.
Kurt climbed in and took a seat.
“I think it would be best for you to lie on the floor,” Joseph instructed.“I know the windows are tinted, but this is a tense day, and you can’t be too careful sometimes.”
Never had Kurt heard the order “Shut up and stay low” delivered with greater diplomacy.
 
The short ride to the embassy couldn’t have lasted ten minutes. Every second of it, however, was extended to its maximum extreme as Joseph obeyed every traffic ordinance. Kurt thought it was interesting that a professional such as this driver would have the very same concerns that he’d had as he was spiriting Rod away from his office.
The reception at the front gate of the embassy was one of ambivalentfree passage. Joseph didn’t even roll the window down as they passed through onto the compound itself.
“We’re on the grounds,” Joseph announced, “but I’m going to ask you to stay down for just a moment more, sir.”
Kurt understood fully. It was a point of simultaneous strength and weakness that Panamanian citizens worked side by side, shoulder to shoulder with American workers wherever the U.S. government or its prime possession—the Canal—did business. The strength was derived from the loyalty that was naturally spawned from such close working conditions, and one could only pray that that ultimately trumped the weakness born of the fact that every third worker was possibly a paid informant to Noriega.
There were no Panamanians, however, at the rear of the embassy when the Cadillac discharged its passenger. No one would report seeingKurt Muse climb out of the backseat and get hustled up to the second-floor reception area.
Joseph handed him off to a diplomatic liaison of some sort, who was overly officious in his offers of seating, food, and drink.
An hour passed.
Ambassador Davis was allegedly behind closed doors, dealing with a very important matter, and Kurt could only imagine that it had somethingto do with that coward DelValle begging for his asylum. It was only there, in the grand reception area of the embassy, that Kurt understoodthe final piece of the DelValle puzzle: that the president had fired his thuggish military commander from the safety of U.S. soil. Not only had he sought to protect his family before he took a stance but he’d also run to hide behind the American house dress before he opened his mouth.
The more Kurt thought about it, the angrier he became. He thought back to the picture of the two families in the residence: the DelValles all abuzz about their new adventure in an all-expenses-paid exile juxtaposedagainst the Esquivels, who knew that their patriarch would stay behind and stand tall against the best of what Noriega had to throw at him.
The anger settled deeper still as he realized that President DelValle was in all likelihood just yards away, on the other side of the paneled door where Ambassador Davis was allegedly working hard to alter his schedule to give Kurt an audience. Try as he might, though, the ambassadorsomehow couldn’t quite bring himself to follow through on the promise.
Twice, Kurt came
this close
to just walking out. Here he was, riskinghis life to deliver a message from the only remaining patriot in the official government of Panama, and no one could find the time to come out and hear what he had to say. Who the hell did these people think they were? Forever a loyal patriot to the United States, Kurt nonethelessremained completely baffled and unspeakably angry at the conflictingmessages that the American government gave to the people of Panama. On the one hand, the United States insisted that the nation hold free elections; yet on the other, when the results of the election showed that it was clearly stolen, as they had in 1984 when Barletta and DelValle came to power, there was the United States standing first in line to recognize the new regime.
During the drug wars of the Reagan administration, the CIA had heaped praise on General Noriega because of the information he passed about the Colombians and later the Sandinistas, even as they ignoredthe world’s worst-kept secret that the Pineapple was funneling drug money to fill his own pockets. Now, though, with the murder of Hugo Spadafora and the pressure brought to bear by a few inquisitive congressmen, Noriega was persona non grata in Washington. Caught in the middle of all the political ping-pong were the people of Panama, who by and large wanted nothing more complicated than enough money to feed their families and enough freedom to keep them from being molested by troops at every intersection.
Finally, to make it all as bad as it could be, on the day of the palace coup, Kurt was here, sitting alone and ignored. And he was getting truly pissed about it.
At long last, a middle-aged political advisor wandered into the reception area and offered her hand. “Mr. Muse,” she said, her face alight with a beaming smile. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting this long. As I’m sure you know, it’s been a busy day, and—”
BOOK: Six Minutes To Freedom
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