Protect & Survive Miami: End of Watch

[wolverinethad]

Prologue
October 28, 1983
Miami, Florida

Detective Jan Klima stared out in into the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

This city is going mad on this shit.

Growing up in Omaha, he'd been descended from one of the myriad ethnicities that came to that city at the turn of the century to find work in Omaha's burgeoning meatpacking industry. A graduate of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, followed by Officer Candidate School, Klima mercifully escaped the hellhole that was the Vietnam War, instead serving as a field-grade officer in the 68th Armor Regiment of the 8th Infantry Division. After serving his five-year term, Klima chose to leave the Army, not because he hated it, but because of the woman he'd met on leave in Miami, Rosa García. Rosa and Jan had fallen for each other instantly one night in 1976, the dark-skinned college student at the University of Miami dancing inside one of the discos and the lean, blond Army officer who just happened to bump into her while getting a drink there. That connection was so strong that Jan decided by the next morning to not stay on in the Army, and pursued a job with the Miami Police Department.

As a retired military officer, Klima was able to bypass the lower ranks and was hired as a detective-cadet. His instincts for danger saved the lives of several civilians one night, when he glanced at a nearby liquor store on his way home and immediately recognized something was amiss. For years, Klima was never able to articulate what told him to stop, but in doing so, he broke up an armed robbery by double-tapping the two robbers in the head with his Smith & Wesson Model 25-5 revolver. He made the local news, and the front page of the Miami Herald in a profile the following Sunday. Klima's superiors saw that he was born for this, and he went from trainee to Detective Second Rank.

But that was all in the past.

Now he stood on a beach, having just found two Cubans, face down, hands tied, with most of their heads missing from what were clearly gunshots at point-blank range. Like many of the other bodies he'd found this way in recent months, they were tied to the drug war raging in the back alleys and abandoned warehouses of the glitzy city. Cocaine was everywhere, and while the bankers and the rockstars were snorting it in their high-rises, Klima was cleaning up the mess it was causing.

Nine victims in two weeks. Nine executed men, Cubans all. Who would want to be part of this madness? Was the money worth dying like this?

Klima put out his cigarette in the sand and walked back to his Dodge Diplomat unmarked police car. As he got inside and pulled out onto Bayshore Drive, he turned on the radio to catch the 7:30 news bulletin on WNWS 790.

"Good morning, Miami. Our top story this morning is trouble in Berlin. A shootout took place across Checkpoint Charlie last night between West German police and East German soldiers. There were several dead and multiple casualties after the thirty-minute exchange of gunfire started by..."

Oh, no. Oh no no no. This is how we always feared it would start.

"...spokesman for President Reagan said that the exchange of gunfire stemmed from East German border guards trying to contain protests by the Berlin Wall and firing wildly, striking two West Germans, and provoking the melee. The spokesman went on to say that they hoped no further bloodshed would take place, and called on the Soviet government to pull back from any further confrontation."

Klima shook his head and continued towards headquarters. He had a job to do. He just prayed the world wouldn't blow up when he was doing it.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 1
October 31, 1983
Miami, Florida

"Troubled times
Caught between confusions and pain, pain, pain
Distant eyes
Promises we made were in vain
In vain, vain"

In a warehouse tucked away in the shadow of the Palmetto Expressway, business was being transacted. Crates were opened, and false bottoms were removed to reveal tightly wrapped plastic packets filled with white powder. Cocaína, they called it in all of the Spanish speaking nations south of the United States. Here, it was coke, cocaine, blow, snow, and a host of other nicknames. It didn't matter to the man in the black button down shirt and white pants. All that mattered was that he brought it in, and people bought it from him in droves.

The packets were cut open, mixed with baking soda to leaven it out and stretch the supply, and then resealed in small vials and baggies, handed out to the myriad blacks, Cubans, Mexicans, and, in a few cases, well-connected whites, who delivered only to the cream of the crop in this city. They, in turn, flocked out to their corners, abandoned houses, vans, wherever they could keep away from the prying eyes of the Miami cops, the Drug Enforcement Agency, the FBI, and anyone else who had an interest in removing this source of profit for the hustlers. At least some of the cops could be paid off. The DEA and FBI agents that used to be so pliable just a few years ago had been rotated out, with fresh young men on the scene, filled with patriotic duty. Every time an approach was made, to the disgust of the man in black and white, they followed the advice of that frigid woman in the White House and said no.

After some hours, the vans pulled away, and silence descended upon the warehouse. The man walked to his "working" car, a ten-year old Dodge Challenger, and pulled out of a loading dock door, driving into the gathering gloom. He loved his fancy cars, the Ferrari and the Porsche and the Mercedes-Benz, but in this neighborhood, such a car would draw attention, and not drawing attention kept the man alive, happy, and profitable.

*****

Klima walked into his house in Coral Gables after a long day. Thankfully, no more dead bodies had turned up, but he had a caseload a mile high, and unsurprisingly, too many of his victims weren't in any files. The FBI had only begun using computers to search fingerprint files a couple of years ago, but the system was not as reliable as one would hope, especially since photocopying wasn't all that old either. Klima hoped Xerox and IBM could figure out a better way soon, but in the meantime, he had scant leads and a lot of frustration piling up.

At least he had Rosa, and his young daughter, Adriana, four years old. Rosa had gotten a degree in architecture, and spent her days working on a drafting table and sometimes at night on the dining room table. The job was flexible, though, allowing her to come home whenever she needed to tend to Adriana, and she could bring home her work when she did such things. It was a nice job for Klima's beautiful wife, now 28 years old. He was proud of his wife, proud of himself...except for one thing.

If only I could bring 8th Infantry here. We'd have every last one of these druggies ferreted out within a month. Fucking drugs. Almost ruined the Army, now it's killing our cities, and I can't seem to put a dent in it.

Klima locked up his gun inside a nightstand drawer that he'd made for that purpose, then took off his clothes and stepped in the shower.

Why the hell did I move to this humid place? Oh, yeah, my hot wife. Klima smiled at that thought, basking in the lukewarm water he liked after the heat that categorized the average Miami day. He emerged from his bathroom to smell roasted pork. God, I married a great woman.

Klima pulled on a polo shirt and some shorts, walking out of the bedroom to hear the shrieks of Adriana as she chased around her puppy. He walked into the kitchen, kissing his wife on the neck as she cooked dinner. "Hi, baby," Rosa said. "Any progress today?" "No, honey," Klima said. "It's like I'm chasing a ghost. There's no trail. No fingerprints. We can't ID the victims, so I don't know how the hell to figure out who to ask. Someone has to screw up eventually, I just wish they'd hurry up and do so."

"Jan, you said these are all Cubans, right? Our community is tight. We all escaped the same place for the same reasons. Too many of us don't trust outsiders because we've been burned. My father will tell you: white men from CIA came in, promised we could overthrow Castro, and then left a couple thousand Cubans to the whims of Castro. My father's generation has passed on this distrust of outsiders to many of their children. You need a Cuban to partner with, babe."

Klima pondered that. It made sense. Memories ran deep in Hialeah, he knew. Whenever he went to visit his in-laws, people looked at him a little longer.

"I think you're right, Rosa. I'll ask the lieutenant for help tomorrow."

"You know, sweetie, there's one thing you can relax about."

"What's that?"

"Dan Rather said on the news a little while ago that the Soviets are removing their tanks from East Berlin. I know how worried you were the other day. Now, let's go eat. We've got to take Adriana trick or treating still."

 

[wolverinethad]

I think the Miami area would at least be hit with three warheads: one over downtown Miami, one over the Port of Miami, and one over Homestead AFB south of the city. The blast over the Port of Miami essentially flattens most, if not all, of Miami Beach.

Homestead would be a ground burst. Runways would be usable if it weren't.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 2
November 7, 1983
Hialeah, Miami, Florida

Detective Klima pulled into the parking lot of the small Cuban restaurant. The lieutenant had taken Jan's suggestion that he get a Cuban partner to help with the Cuban murders, so Senior Patrol Officer Luis Cárdenas was removed from his posting in the Liberty City neighborhood and sent downtown to Homicide. The pairing would be "for the duration of the investigation." Cárdenas, for his part, silently hoped he'd get a promotion if they succeeded in breaking the drug ring behind the murders.

On the patio, a number of older men were sipping coffee and playing dominos, the same scene that was repeated endless times throughout Hialeah/Little Havana. Salsa music came from a small transistor radio on one of the tables. Walking inside, Klima and Cárdenas went to speak with the owner, who'd fled Cuba in his early twenties when his father died in the aftermath of Batista's fall. Jorgé Pérez was now in his mid-forties, running this restaurant, talking with everyone who came through, and listening closely. He was talented at these things, and together with his wife, who ran the kitchen, he'd become successful at being a restaurant owner and at knowing everything that happened in his neighborhood.

"Que bolá, Jorgé!" Cárdenas exclaimed as he approached the counter. The two men bear-hugged. "Luis, papo, your arms are starting to look like that wrestler in Rocky III, what's his name," Pérez said. Cárdenas smiled. "You mean Thunderlips, or Hulk Hogan."

"Yeah! That's the guy! You could take him, brother."

"Jorgé, I hit the gym, what can I say, better than you." Cárdenas playfully backhanded Pérez's growing belly. "He's got about ten inches on me, though, I think I'd be in trouble if we fought. Anyway, that's not why we came."

The owner motioned them to the corner of the counter, and busied himself pouring coffee for the two men and himself. He leaned in close. "Those perros that got themselves killed, yes, I know. They're all playing a dangerous game, getting involved with this basura. I can't tell you who's in charge of it, other than a few whispers I've heard. He's a very smart, angry man. Some of the other old-timers who stop in have seen him. Drives around in some flashy cars, always wearing sharp clothes. They call him El Caracortada."

Klima asked, "What does El Caracortada mean?"

Pérez said, almost with a hint of menace, "The Scarface."

Klima blinked. "That was a nickname for Al Capone. Capone was a lot bigger deal, though, everyone knew him. This guy seems like he's a ghost."

Pérez nodded. "Some people around here compare him to Capone, but he also has a large scar above his left eyebrow. Rumor has it he took a beating when he was starting out three years ago. Those same rumors said that he got ahold of the man who beat him a year later and fed him to the crocodiles off Key Largo."

"Jesus!" Cárdenas replied. "What kind of puto is this guy?"

"I don't know, papo, and I don't want to know. Go ask Miguel out on the patio. He's heard some things about this guy, too. I suspect one of his nephews works for The Scarface. Whenever he talks about him, it's always in a low voice. You boys need to be careful, and Luis, teach your gringo partner how to dress around here. He doesn't fit in." Pérez finished his coffee. "I need to get going. Talk to Miguel, see if he'll say anything, and then buy some new clothes, lo tengo?" The officers shook his hand and left.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Klima asked.

*****

El Caracortada was sitting in a chair on his balcony, enjoying the sun, smoking a large Cuban cigar. He'd been in a Cuban jail when he was freed to be a Marielito, one of many that Castro sent to cause his American adversaries trouble. His boat was lucky. It had evaded the Coast Guard and landed in Coconut Grove, where the passengers were spirited to Little Havana in a van. To the generation that fled Castro twenty years prior, these were heroes deserving of help. The man got a job working in a cigar shop, rolling cigars expertly. It was about six months after he landed in Florida that a flashy man came in the shop to purchase some cigars. The flashy man had moved marijuana for over a decade, amassing substantial sums of cash, and he saw potential in the young man behind the counter. He took him under his wing, taught him the drug trade, how to bribe the local cops, everything. After a year, the young man broke away to ply his skills in the hot drug: cocaine.

Miami was teeming with people who loved the rush of the white powder. Poor blacks, rich whites, teenagers, athletes, rock stars, actors and actresses. Nobody could get enough, and the market was cutthroat. It was early on that the young man was indeed beaten by a competitor, and how he first earned the name El Caracortada. A month later, that competitor had become a meal for the fearsome crocodiles that roamed South Florida, and The Scarface took over his business.

Now, he had a large home in Bal Harbour, and he built the balcony so he could look out to the ocean, the way he came here to America. It was calming, and he needed calm. His volcanic temper was well known to his subordinates and the dealers he supplied. Those who crossed him, well, they ended up brutally dead. His loyalty to those who were loyal was just as well known. The best workers got bonuses. He looked out for their families. He was like a feudal lord of old, ruling over his stretch of land, meting out rewards and punishments as he saw fit.

In the background, the news break began on his radio. "It's 2:00 pm, and it's time for the news this hour. Mayor Ferré held a news conference just a couple of hours ago, and he addressed the spate of murders in the city.

'I want to assure residents of the city that these murders are being vigorously investigated by the Miami Police Department and their fine detectives. We believe what we're seeing is nothing more than turf wars over drugs, and we are determined to bring it to an end. Every last one of these dealers will be caught, and we will convict them.'

The Mayor announced that Miami PD will be hiring more officers to increase patrols in the neighborhoods of the city, and vows to make significant progress by the start of next summer.

Meanwhile, in international news, talks resumed in Geneva between negotiators from the United States and the Soviet Union over the deployment of intermediate range..."

He clicked off the radio. I rule this town, he thought. The politicians think they control it, but I control the people behind them. That's power. I'll always find more dealers. They can't stop people from their greed, their vice, their ambition. These fools can't stop me.

He finished his cigar and closed his eyes for a nap. What good was power if you didn't take time to enjoy it?

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 3
November 12, 1983
Miami, Florida

"Good morning, Miami. Let's have a look at the news. President Reagan landed in Seoul today, condemning North Korean oppression of its peoples and its constant threats aimed at South Korea, as this year marks thirty years since the end of the Korean War. Also today, presidential envoy Donald Rumsfeld, the former defense secretary, left for the Middle East. Rumsfeld replaces Philip Habib, the longtime diplomat, and is expected to visit nearly every country in the region. His itinerary has been kept secret, says the White House, for his safety, as multiple nations in the region are at war.

At home, the Miami police department arrested a number of Cubans yesterday, charging them with the manufacture and distribution of cocaine. The spokesman for the chief of police says that several kilos of the designer drug were seized in the arrest, along with approximately $75,000 in cash and multiple AK-47s."

Klima could hardly believe it. Having a Cuban with him, asking questions, telling him who they should talk to...it was working. He'd been such a star his whole life that he wasn't used to it, but the ex-Army officer's training helped immensely. Young officers aren't taught to have egos, and Klima was keeping his in check [Sidebar: it's an unintentional pun, but I'm proud of it anyway]. They'd made a huge bust yesterday. A pile of coke, guns, cash. It was a victory, and after months of chasing a ghost, Miami's homicide division now had potential leads. There was very few people in Miami who could provide that much cocaine, and if one of these guys talked, Klima and Cárdenas would be able to grab the next rung on the ladder, and maybe find who El Caracortada was.

*****

What he was, at the moment, was furious.

"Those stupid fools! How did they get caught?! Tell me, Antonio! HOW DID THEY GET CAUGHT?!" Antonio found himself slammed up against a wall with a very angry Cuban in his face. He could smell the cigar on his breath, see the scar on his face. He'd seen it happen to others, but now he was against the wall, and for the first time, he feared for his life. He knew how angry his boss could be. They'd been friends as young boys in Cuba, and in Little Havana, they'd been reunited after years of not seeing each other. Some things hadn't changed. Manny had always been....angry.

"Manny, esé, I don't know. We can replace it. It hurts, yeah, but it wasn't everything. They don't have me. They don't have you. They got some dumb perros that probably bragged to one too many people. You know this place. Everybody talks. This is why we have to keep the operation tight. I know you want to help our own kind, man, but not everyone is smart like you. If we get too big, we'll get caught too," Antonio said.

Manny let his friend go, then picked up one of the ashtrays in his office and hurled it at the wall, smashing it to pieces. He sat down in his chair, opened his desk drawer, and pulled out a small bag and a razor blade. He poured the contents on the desktop, diced it up with the razor, and then took a cut straw and snorted the two rows he'd just cut.

So now he's doing his own product. No wonder he flipped out on me.

Antonio left the room. He was going to find out who talked, and if Manny kept going the way he was going....the operation would have a new boss soon.

*****

On a quieter note, a number of officials had slipped into Miami via Homestead Air Force Base. A detachment from FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, along with Governor Bob Graham and his National Guard adjutant, received a briefing on base about the current world situation, and then drove into the city to inspect shelters and plans for protecting key personnel. The National Hurricane Center had recently moved out of the Ungar Building at the University of Miami, but some of its staff, since hurricane season was over, were now working shifts in the shelter underneath the building. Built during the 1960s after the Cuban Missile Crisis, it contained gear to measure wind and fallout patterns, as well as enough food and water to last 30 days. While it was not particularly deep, it was made of very strong reinforced concrete, and an escape tunnel was dug that ran to the nearby Gifford Arboretum, so in the event of a building collapse, the occupants could theoretically leave the bunker through that route.

Another such shelter sat under City Hall in Miami, but to Graham, it seemed absolutely foolish to even have built one there. City Hall sat on the edge of the Atlantic, and a nuclear blast would cause a tsunami that would flood the coastlines and easily devastate this prewar building, drowning the occupants inside. Other shelters underneath city buildings only confirmed Graham's assessment. If a war came, the city was not prepared. He adjourned to a conference room to meet with the mayor and the head of emergency preparedness, informing them that he was going to activate an engineering battalion from the Florida National Guard to help build a better shelter further inshore. The men would work in civilian clothes so as to avoid attention, but the plan was to create a survivable shelter so Miami would be able to have a semblance of functioning government after a war.

Graham prayed there wouldn't be a war. He doubted anyone here would live if there was.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 4
November 20, 1983
Miami Beach, Florida

How could anyone get tired of this?

It was a beautiful 80 degree day, and Rosa had decided that her husband needed relaxation, so they were at the beach, watching the waves crash in. Klima was laying back with his aviators on, soaking in the sun, while Rosa and Adriana built a sand castle together. They'd brought a small radio with them, which was playing old jazz songs, making for a peaceful Sunday afternoon by the ocean.

Completely unbeknownst to Jan Klima, his target was walking mere yards from him along the waves, smoking a cigar and talking with a man who was overdressed for the location. El Caracortada was having an animated conversation with his lawyer, Paul Rosenstein. Rosenstein had on a suit that would have fit in five years ago, but had gone out of style, not to mention...he was wearing a suit on the beach. Rosenstein never quite fit in where he was, but for all of the social ability he lacked, he compensated for by being a cunning attorney, and he'd used piles of paperwork and shell companies to keep Manny's cocaine profits nice and legal. Manny even reported and paid taxes (less than his actual income, of course, but enough to look good to the IRS). Rosenstein had successfully persuaded the ambitious drug lord that with Reagan in office, the tax rate on top earners was low enough to be worth paying, since it would remove an avenue of investigation.

Now, however, the current argument was about the Cubans who'd been arrested. One of them had talked, and Rosenstein's efforts to be assigned as the man's attorney had been rebuffed. Miami PD was keeping their informant in protective custody, and Antonio had been unable to find out for his boss where the man was. There was a rumor that he'd get immunity for what he told, and he could tell a lot. The Cuban knew the location of the warehouse, he knew some of the other dealers, and he certainly knew Manny Rivera, El Caracortada. Rivera wanted this man dead, and Antonio had been striking out, so now here he was, badgering Rosenstein as to what could be done to discover how much information had been given.

As they walked the beach, they passed in front of Klima's field of view. Rivera glanced over, right at Klima and his family, as he walked by. Klima looked right in his eyes and got a chill. They were cold eyes, ruthless. Weeks later, Klima would have reason to wish he'd known who it was then. So much could've been prevented, but that was in a world as yet unseen to both men, and so Klima went back to his book, and Rivera kept walking with Rosenstein.

Adriana ran over to her daddy for hugs, excitedly telling him about the sandcastle her and Mommy had built. Rosa came up and gave Jan a kiss, and then looked at him. "Honey, is everything okay?" she asked. "Yeah, babe, everything's fine. Just...that man that was walking by," he replied. She glanced at the two men walking away. "Do you know one of them, Jan?" "No, I don't think so. I don't know what it is. No big deal." Jan smiled. "Let's get some ice cream and go home."

*****

Meanwhile, around the nation, the notices had gone out. Extended call-ups and training were taking place for the Reserves and the National Guard, in preparation for the potential outbreak of war. Men were receiving phone calls at home ordering them to report in, causing much grumbling amongst them and their families. For many in Florida, this meant a fairly long drive to their reporting bases. In Tampa, the 53rd Infantry Brigade was being formed up. In Orlando, it was the 164th Air Defense Artillery Brigade (an important tasking, given the proximity of Cuba to Florida), and in Miami, the 227th Field Artillery Brigade was called up. The Air National Guard pilots and crew reported to the regular bases they flew out of: Tyndall AFB in Panama City, Jacksonville International Airport (also Jacksonville Air National Guard Base), and Homestead AFB west of Miami. Commanders were called to the State Arsenal in St. Augustine to receive a briefing on the threat level and on how long this alert status would remain for the Guardsmen. One of these commanders was Klima's immediate superior, who was a Lt. Colonel in the Guard. This was the second event that would take place this day which would disrupt a future as yet unseen.

*****

Antonio had finished up his work. He hated this part of his job, but it was necessary. Usually, anyways.

He looked at the broken body tied to the chair and felt shame. The man had clearly not known anything, but because he'd been associated with the arrested Cubans, he was suspect. The interrogation had gone on for hours inside this house and yielded nothing except for a lot of muffled screams and a decent amount of blood towards the end. He thought about disposing of the body, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Much easier to slip away through the back door and walk to the next block where he'd parked his car. The body would be found soon enough, and it'd be chalked up to the same things that all the others were these days around Little Havana.

These stupid Americans. They've had their little War on Drugs for decades now, in one form or another, and it doesn't stop. People like to get fucked up. You would think after Prohibition they would've figured out that it was pointless, but clearly they didn't get it. Arrogant bastards, always thinking they were so exceptional and could fix anything if they just threw enough money after it.

Antonio found his red '71 Pontiac GTO, fired up the engine, and drove out of the neighborhood. He was home and in the shower when Miguel came home and found his nephew dead.

*****

Hours later, Klima and Cárdenas were called to the house on NW 23rd PL. They hadn't bothered to dress up, so they were both in casual clothes when they arrived, drawing a few snickers from the uniforms at the scene. They walked into the house, turned left into the living room, and...

"Madre de dios!" Luis exclaimed. "What the hell did they do to this guy?"

The coroner was on the scene. "Well, he had multiple fingers fractured, he'd been punched, looks like shocked with an electric cattle prod, and Lord knows what else. This went on for a couple hours, I'd estimate. Whoever did this was pumping him for information and failed, so that's when they finished it. Right there, perfect cut of the jugular." Klima and Cárdenas decided to start looking around, seeing if there was anything left behind, but it was clean, except for the blood. When they tried to speak to Miguel, though, he cursed them, blaming Cárdenas for the death of his nephew, and refused to answer any questions. What had been a good day for the young detective had ended, again, on the sourest of notes. Only the sounds of "In the Air Tonight" broke the silence as the partners drove through the dark streets back to headquarters after leaving Little Havana.

"Hey, Luis," Klima said. "Yeah, buddy?" replied Cárdenas.

"Luis, we're gonna get this motherfucker if it's the last thing I do on this Earth."

 

[wolverinethad]

November 28, 1983
Tallahassee, Florida
State Capitol

The jamming city increases its hum, and those
Terrible words continue to come
Through brass music of government, hear those
Guns tattoo a roll on the drums

No one mentions the neighbouring war
No one knows what their fighting is for
We are tired of the tune, "you must not relent"

Bob Graham thanked God that the Legislature was in committee season, as he was able to hold the emergency preparatory meetings with key legislators without calling a special session, which would've drawn more attention than anyone wanted. Graham wanted to stay as cool and levelheaded as possible, while being ready for the worst.

This current meeting featured the legislative leadership. Speaker H. Lee Moffitt, Speaker pro tempore Steve Pajcic, House Republican leader Ron Richmond, Senate president Curtis Peterson, Senate president pro tempore Jack Gordon, Republican Senate leader Clark Maxwell, and Republican Senate leader pro tempore Toni Jennings. Democrats dominated the legislature, and Graham was sending a message to his own team by inviting the Republicans: this isn't political.

"Good afternoon, everyone. The reason I have you here today is the current world situation, which as you know is tenuous at best. I've spent the past couple of weeks since the Berlin incident touring our shelters around the state, and I have to say, I'm not thrilled." Graham looked around the room. "We likely do not have the time to build shelters, so we have to make the best of what we have. I propose the following steps. First, if war breaks out, the Legislature will move to Gainesville with the Lieutenant Governor. Everything I've learned from the Air Force briefing I've received says that Gainesville is not on any Soviet target list, nor is there any military institution close to it. The University of Florida is there, with a law school, so all the records we need to conduct business are available. I will stay here in Tallahassee with the attorney general, the director of civil defense, the chief financial officer, and the secretary of state. Other state officials will deploy to smaller, untargeted cities to help with potential relief issues should the worst happen. Those cities are: Sarasota, Fort Myers, Naples, Fort Pierce, West Palm Beach, and St. Augustine."

The governor took a drink of water. The room was dead quiet. He continued. "Secondly, if and when war breaks out, I will declare a state of emergency. While I intend to consult with you as much as possible, I need the authority to act as I see fit, so I am asking you to vote to expand the emergency powers of the office, with a sunset of six months from the outbreak of war. If need be, you can vote to extend that authority beyond that term. I do not want these powers if I do not need them, and I tell you, I am praying every night that I do not need these powers. Third, and finally, I'm asking for a special appropriation to purchase additional medical and food supplies to stockpile around the state. We will need, if nuclear weapons are used, a literal tons of iodine, pain medications, insulin for diabetics, food, water, etc. We can produce a lot of canned fruit here in-state, and I recommend we do that as part of this plan."

"Now, I am cringing at asking, but I must. Any questions?"

The room erupted.

*****

Meanwhile, in Miami, Detective Jan Klima was fuming. His boss was gone, called up to the National Guard, and replacing him was a real hardass, Captain Paul Grimes. Grimes seemed to be dissatisfied with everything Klima and Cárdenas had come up with, or rather, hadn't come up with. The captain didn't seem to care that these drug operations were cropping up faster than Miami PD could keep up with them. In fact, he oddly seemed to discount the influence of drugs in the murder of Miguel, at least from it being the result of an organization. Grimes had ventured the theory that a coked-up addict had committed the crime, which both Jan and Luis found ludicrous, but he was their superior, and so they were investigating that angle.

Currently, this meant rousting all sorts of homeless men and stopping into clinics where the addicts got their treatment. To say the effort had been fruitless was an understatement. Not a single man or woman they'd met had recognized Miguel, and more than half were incoherent when they spoke. Klima was reminded of how bad the Army had been, in the shadow of Vietnam, and yet none of those soldiers were in the shape these addicts were. What is the allure of something that does this to you?

"We're getting nowhere, partner." Cárdenas broke the silence. Klima turned to him. "Is there anyone you know who might talk to us, people close to Miguel?" Cárdenas shook his head. "No, man, ain't nobody talking now. Miguel's death has scared the shit out of everyone in the neighborhood. I don't know what to do next." Klima sat there, thinking, trying to come up with an idea that would break through this latest logjam. After a few minutes, he sighed. "Well, I don't know what hardass Grimes will say about this, but I think we need to start doing some stakeouts. We need to watch some dealers in the target area, and then see where they go. I'm going to ask for additional resources, but are you okay with the likelihood that you and I get stuck with this?" Cárdenas grimaced. "This is going to cut into my workout time a lot, isn't it?" Klima looked at Luis with an odd expression on his face. "Buddy, you just hit the gym this morning. How many times a day do you go?"

Cárdenas grinned now. "Ain't nobody said my nighttime workouts involved a gym now, did they?"

*****

A workout was exactly what Manny Rivera was getting right now. He had a beautiful blonde girlfriend, Amber, who he charmed at Club Manhattan by the University of Miami, but she was at her job right now, so Manny took the opportunity to indulge in someone else. Today, it was a dark-haired woman of French descent named Brigitte, whom he'd met the night before at The Mutiny Hotel's exclusive club. It was the sort of place that one wouldn't find a loyal girlfriend, but you were almost guaranteed to get laid. After having lunch on his patio, they'd both indulged in a snort of his pure cocaine before moving to the bedroom, going at it for nearly an hour. Finally, Ei Caracortada finished, rolled over, and lit a cigarette, passing it to this stunning woman, before lighting another for himself. They laid in the silence, sun shining in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Rivera smiled to himself. He really had it made. If no more problems cropped up, he would dominate the cocaine trade in this town within a year. He was already struggling to keep up with demand, especially since he paid close attention to quality, not skimping badly when it was mixed with inert powder, making sure his customers got a high they would kill to keep going. He was able to charge better prices with a reputation established, padding his bank account while Rosenstein looked for new ways to invest the extra cash. Manny realized he owed Antonio an apology for how he'd treated him a few weeks ago. Antonio was his hermano, and he'd taken care of a glaring loose end in Miguel. Manny hated to kill fellow Cubans, but Miguel liked to talk too much, and while pride isn't a bad thing, it is when the wrong ears come upon it. How else could the other three Cubans have been caught? They were still trying to find the Snitch, but he'd been moved around a lot, and Manny's sources inside Miami's police department had not gotten a single bit of useful information.

Rivera sat up. He needed to get to work. He playfully smacked Brigitte's ass, gave her some cash as a thank-you, and kissed her goodbye. Dressing in black button-down and black pants, he headed out the door. Rivera was feeling good, so out came the Ferrari, and off he raced through the streets, headed for Rosenstein's office. They needed to come up with a plan for potential criminal charges, since killing the Snitch didn't look like it was going to pan out. Too bad, Manny thought. Life is so much easier when you can end someone else's to fix your problems.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 6
Miami, Florida
December 26, 1983

This is a special report from NBC News. Now, from our Washington bureau, Chris Wallace.

"Good afternoon, this is Chris Wallace in Washington with breaking news. In East Germany today, protests have broken out again across the nation, with running battles in streets between young protestors and East German soldiers. General Secretary Erich Honecker has declared martial law and has asked the Soviet Union to send assistance to put down what he termed as a "fascist uprising intent on bringing back a Nazi Germany." President Reagan's spokesman Larry Speakes said that the East German claims are laughable on their face, and that this is an excuse to circumvent the agreements made in late October to pull back reinforcements of the Berlin garrisons. For more on this now we take you to Jack Reynolds at the Pentagon. Jack?"

Jan had been playing with his daughter and the new toys she'd gotten for Christmas, including the Cabbage Patch Dolls that he'd gotten first thing in the morning at a Toys 'R' Us after coming off stakeout. Adriana had decided to move on to her Speak & Spell, and to partially drown out the creepy robotic voice, he'd turned on the TV. During a commercial in the Aloha Bowl, he'd flipped channels on the remote control for his new 25" console (a gift from Rosa) and hit NBC just in time for the special report. Wallace's report quickly set off alarms in Klima's head. The young detective walked back to the bedroom, where his wife was reclining on the bed, reading the novel that had been one of the gifts Jan bought her.

"Rosa, we need to talk, right now, baby."

Mrs. Klima put her book down and looked at her husband quizzically. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asked. "Listen, there's a special report on NBC right now. East Germany has exploded in violence, apparently, and the Soviets are moving forces back in. I've got a bad feeling that they aren't going to back down this time, and I think we need to prepare," Jan replied. "Jan, prepare for what? A war? How can we prepare for that? You know what will happen if they start shooting at each other," Rosa said.

"Yes, babe, I know, but I don't think it'll happen right away. Nobody wants the worst to happen. But we do need to prepare a plan, so if things start going badly, we can get out of town," Jan told her. "And honestly, if it goes real badly, they might reactivate me in the Army. I am still in the Ready Reserve, and World War III would be as good a reason as any. Hell, you know my boss has already been activated in the FNG." Rosa's face was a mixture of anger and sadness at that last remark. "Jan Edvard Klima, you will not leave me alone if a nuclear war breaks out! We either live together or die together, but I can't and I won't do this alone!" Rosa's yelling caused Adriana to walk into the bedroom and ask why Mommy was crying, which cut off the discussion. For now, anyway.

*****

Tallahassee, Florida
State Capitol
8:07 pm

Governor Bob Graham had seen the news, too. There was little mistaking what had happened as anything less than a serious escalation of already heavy tensions, and the legislature was set to vote on his emergency powers bill in just over a week's time, as they were convening early this year. Graham knew the vote would be close, and he was trying to stay calm, because every day lost might be critical. He had some powers, though, and he called the Agriculture Commissioner, Doyle Conner, and directed him to initiate what Graham had called SKYLIGHT: erection of greenhouses at fruit farms in rural parts of the state. The farmers would be given ample amounts of seed and soil to grow vegetables, with the cover story that Florida was looking to see if food production could be increased by the state, in light of famines around the world. It appealed to the Christian hearts of the farmers, and nobody could consider the inexpensive outlay of frames and plexiglass to be a government boondoggle. Conner had been commissioner for 22 years already, and if he was behind a project, there wasn't a farmer in the state who would speak against it.

*****

Miami Industrial District
11:03 pm

In his warehouse, Manny Rivera was overseeing his latest shipment of cocaine. He had not seen the news, and didn't know how upcoming events would shut off his flow of drugs and money. All he knew, as his underlings cut the powder and packed it into plastic, was that he was on top of the world. El Caracortado was a multi-millionaire now, with a beautiful house, fast cars, and fast women. With the help of his informant inside Miami PD, he could soon rid himself of his talkative Cuban problem, too. He'd found out the schedule that they used to move the informant. The next move was scheduled for December 29. Rivera and Antonio were already planning how they'd do it. Plan A was to use a doorman at the hotel the informant was being moved from. Rivera owned a chunk of the hotel, and had placed a couple of his men on staff, where they could listen for useful information. Plan B was an ambush on the street, ramming the unmarked cop car that the informant's police guards were using. The final option, if all else failed, was to send a hit squad, led by Antonio, to the hotel where the cops were taking the informant. Rivera had acquired silenced submachine guns and a new weapon, flashbang grenades, from his supplier in Panama. Both the SMG's and the grenades were courtesy of a pockmarked colonel in that nation who ran guns, drugs, and the security forces. He and Rivera both lacked nothing in the machismo department, and enjoyed cigars and good whiskey together whenever Rivera traveled there to negotiate new lines of supply. So, if it came down to it, Antonio and his men would hose down the pigs and their squealer with enough bullets to ensure nothing would survive.

Manny lit one of the Cubans his Panamanian friend had given him. Tonight was a good night. In 72 hours, life would be even better.

 

[wolverinethad]

@Chipperback, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Your AP report in Land of Flatwater stated F-16's engaged the Cubans from NAS Key West. F-16's were a USAF platform only, and would've flown out of Homestead. Since Key West was established in more than one P&S timeline as the originating base, I'm going to change what planes were flown, as I did some digging and found one of the squadrons who would've been flying out of there during that time period, especially in an emergency. VA-12 had just come back from deployment, and was beginning transition from F-4 Phantoms to F-14 Tomcats. NAS Key West was a primary location for these sorts of transitions, so I'm going to place VA-12 there with their Phantoms and the (few) Tomcats they received by this point.

Hopefully everyone is okay with this, but I do want it to be accurate as I cover this crucial turning point.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 7
December 29, 1983
Naval Air Station Key West, Florida

Ever since the rioting flared up again in East Germany, the fighter pilots of NAS Key West had been on high alert. If something was going to happen, Key West would be amongst the first to notice, since Castro and friends were not that far across the Florida Straits. The base commander had been flying a standing CAP (Combat Air Patrol) 24/7 for the last two days, with four fighters up at a time to patrol the waters. Crew rest times were already getting stretched, but the base commander couldn't afford to let his guard down. Unfortunately, he was about to be proven right this morning.

The pilots of VA-12 were in transition. Deployed for the better part of the last two decades in F-4 Phantoms, they had come back from Lebanon two months ago after the USS Coral Sea's deployment was done, and were just beginning to transition to F-14 Tomcats. However, the growing emergency meant that instead of getting to learn the F-14's better, over half of them were flying their Phantoms on these patrols. If war came, they'd be fighting it from capable, but aging, Phantoms instead of gleaming new Tomcats fresh from McDonnell-Douglas. They were almost two months in to their transition this morning, for a timeline that was supposed to take 10-12 months to complete. It wasn't an ideal situation, but neither was a simmering threat of war.

The current four pilots in the air were Lieutenant Commander Brad Winters, Lieutenant (j.g.) Greg Cooper, Lieutenant Jamie Evans, and Lieutenant (j.g.) Tim Jennings. Winters was squad leader for this patrol. An E-2C Hawkeye was flying an AWACS mission higher up in the clouds, providing command and control for the four Phantoms below. They were armed to the teeth with 4 AIM-7 Sparrows (medium range) and 4 AIM-9 Sidewinders (short range) on each plane, giving them ample firepower to deal with any incoming threat, and they had just come across one as they were headed west in their racetrack pattern.

"Clincher Lead, Clincher Lead, this is Jupiter," the E-2's radar officer called out. "You have multiple bogeys at your nine o'clock, headed north-northeast. Repeat, bogeys at your nine, headed north-northeast." "Roger that, Jupiter," Winters said. "Clincher flight, this is Lead, let's turn back to 25 degrees, headed north-northeast. Eyes sharp, someone's paying us a visit, and they didn't have the courtesy to call ahead." The Phantoms banked hard to the left, swinging back around and headed north towards Miami. At Homestead Air Force Base, klaxons were sounding and the ready team was running to their F-16's, ready to take station above southeast Florida, giving cover over land while the Phantoms engaged over the water.

A few minutes later, the Phantom pilots saw the outlines of their targets. Four Cuban MiG-23s and a larger plane.....no, it couldn't be, Evans thought. Evans punched his afterburner and shot ahead of Jennings. As he closed, he could make out the tail clear as day. "Clincher Lead, Clincher Lead, this is Clincher Two. Those MiG's are escorting a Bear. Repeat, the MiG's are escorting a Tango-Ultra Nine Five, do you copy?" Evans asked. "Copy, Clincher Two. I'm going to give them a chance to think better about this," Winters replied. The lieutenant commander switched frequencies. "MiG flight, this is the United States Navy. You are in American territorial waters. Repeat, you are in American territorial waters. Do you copy?" No reply from the MiGs. Winters pushed his mic button again. "MiG flight, you are in United States waters. Please turn to 135 degrees and we will escort you back to international waters. Repeat, turn to 135 degrees and we will escort you to international waters."

The MiGs kept their silence, but started maneuvering about while keeping cover on the Tu-95 Bear bomber. Now all four pilots could see the Cuban markings, but they knew that Bear was Soviet. Cuba didn't own any Bears. The Soviets didn't want Castro getting any ideas. Winters was getting angry, but the naval Phantom didn't have a Vulcan cannon like its USAF counterparts to fire warning shots. Winters cued his microphone one more time. "Cuban aircraft, this is the United States Navy. Turn to 135 degrees and accept escort to international waters or we will shoot you down!" The MiGs began evasive maneuvers while the Bear started training its rear gun around. "Clincher flight, this is Jupiter, you are weapons free. Repeat, you are weapons free," said the combat officer on the Hawkeye as Winters began to pursue a MiG-23.

The battle lasted only a couple of minutes, as the four Phantoms shot down two Cuban fighters, while Winters went after the Bear. As he closed in, the rear gunner fired a burst at Winters' Phantom, which just missed his left engine, and Winters triggered off a Sidewinder that hit one of the Bear's inboard engines. "Sidewinder means I don't have to say sorry, you Red bastard," Winters whispered to himself. The damaged plane decided it was time to get out of this battle, and the pilot radioed the remaining MiGs to escort him back to Cuba. He was losing fuel fairly fast, and they'd all be floating in the Straits if they weren't quick about it. Seeing the MiGs break off, Jupiter directed the Phantoms to break off and hold station. Jennings was just about to fire when the order to disengage came. He toggled his mic. "Sir, what the hell just happened? Are we at war?" Jennings asked. Winters took a deep breath. "Maybe not now, but I don't think it's far off. They didn't just want to test our defenses. They were provoking a response, and we had to give it to them. Washington's gonna be pissed."

*****

Klima and Cárdenas had hit it off well over the past few weeks, and as they drove in their unmarked car en route to check out a potential location for drug processing, well, they were trying to stay loose. "Beat itttttt, just beat ittttt, no one wants to be defeeeeated. Showin' how funky strong is your fight, it doesn't matter who's wrong or who's right, just beat it, beat it, beat it." The two cops were singing along to one of Michael Jackson's big hits from the Thriller album, and as Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo kicked in, Klima played air guitar as Cárdenas drove, laughing at his partner. He'd thought him stiff when they first met, but lots of long nights on stakeout get men to open up to each other, and the two were fast becoming friends. Unfortunately, life intruded on their fun.

"We interrupt this music for a special bulletin. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bo Walker here in the WCKO studios. The governor of Florida has ordered all beaches closed from Key West to West Palm Beach. I repeat, the governor of Florida has ordered all beaches closed from Key West to West Palm Beach. Anyone on the beaches must evacuate immediately, again, anyone on the beaches must evacuate immediately. All residents living on a beach or shoreline are recommended to take shelter. We hope to learn more about this order shortly, in the meantime, we are going to simulcast our AM news partner WNWS 790. This is Bo Walker, and now, here is newsradio WNWS 790."

Klima turned the radio off and the police radio back on. Orders were rapidly going out to all officers. Cárdenas put on the gumball red light and hit the switch to activate the siren as he hung a hard left and drove across the bridge to Miami Beach. People were already streaming off the beach. The hotels were at their busiest in years, with all the Nebraska fans in town for the big Orange Bowl showdown with Miami's trash-talking Hurricanes. Klima and Cárdenas parked the car and got out, running towards the beach to start checking for stragglers. "Hey, Luis, man, this don't look good right now. Something's up," said Klima, as they swept the shoreline. "No shit, hermano, I don't know what's up, but I don't like the looks of this," Cárdenas replied. Suddenly, two F-16s screamed overhead at low level, causing both officers to hit the sand. "Holy shit!" screamed Cárdenas. Jan looked up from the sand. "Luis, it's our guys, at least. F-16s. Jesus, man, what is going on out here?"

The officers brushed the sand off, and continued sweeping. The beach was empty now. If anyone had been defying the order, the F-16s had quickly changed their minds. It was a ghost town now. Jan and Luis started walking up to a hotel, and went inside to see if there was any explanation for this. Looking left as they came in the door, Klima saw two families, one white, one black, hugging their children. The black mother was saying, "...was very worried. You can't just run off by yourself!" Her child replied, "But I left a note on the nighttable..." Klima shook his head as he walked past, thanking God his family didn't live by a beach. Adriana and Rosa were probably safe. Inside the hotel's restaurant, the TV at the bar was on. Tom Brokaw's face was on screen, and a small crowd was gathered.

"We're just learning of a major incident in South Florida. The governor of that state has closed all beaches from Key West up to West Palm Beach, and there are reports of fighter aircraft over the skies of Miami. We're trying to..[Brokaw is handed a piece of paper]..we have a report from the Associated Press. There is, or has been, this is unsure, an aerial battle somewhere off the shores of the Florida Keys. Witnesses reported hearing multiple fighter jets, and several apparent explosions over the Florida Straits. Our Pentagon correspondent Jack Reynolds and our White House correspondent Chris Wallace are both working to confirm this story, as is our local Miami affiliate. Let's turn now to John Chancellor for more detail as to what this situation may be about. John?"

Cárdenas looked at his partner. "Fuck, man, are we at war?" Klima swallowed hard. He noticed his hands were shaking ever so slightly. "Luis, I don't know. I just don't know. I think I need to call my wife and make sure she's okay."

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 8
December 30, 1983
Police Headquarters
Miami, Florida

Chief of Police Ken Harms called an all-hands meeting with officers the day after Miami's coastline turned into a high-tech shooting gallery. "Men, we've been asked by the Orange Bowl committee and the city whether we can protect the game. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna let some Commie bastards ruin our Hurricanes from winning the national championship. I've assured the committee, the city, and Coach Schnellenberger that we can and we will keep the game safe. I've been told that the President is going to have fighter jets patrolling over the stadium, but it's on us to keep an eye on the crowd, and make sure no one tries to smuggle in a gun or a bomb. We're going to put all non-emergency cases on hold for a couple of days, as we need detectives to help with security. Patrolmen will be performing searches at the gates and walking K-9 dogs in the concourses. Detectives, you will be placed at perches around the stadium to be eyes from above and below on the field. This is going to use a lot of manpower, but sorry, no hazard pay, fellas." Harms chuckled as he walked away from the podium.

Jan Klima was pumped. Even though the assignment was deadly serious, he was going to be at the Orange Bowl to watch his Cornhuskers try to win their first national title since he was a student and old Bob Devaney was coaching the team. He couldn't wait to tease Rosa about it later that night. There had been jokes for weeks ever since the matchup was announced. Whenever Rosa tried to score points on him, Jan would simply say, "1951." That was the last time Miami had beaten Nebraska, but Klima was nervous. This was a really good Miami team that'd picked up the pieces from an opening loss and had a defense giving up under ten points a game. There weren't many standouts on the team, but they were a machine when put together. Could his Huskers and their trifecta of excellence pull out a win?

*****

Manny Rivera had a sense of how the wind was blowing, and he didn't like it. If there was going to be war, his supply was going to be in serious jeopardy. Furthermore, what had gone on yesterday showed that his house was probably in serious jeopardy too. If surviving a Cuban prison had taught him anything, it was that survival came first. Manny knew what it was like to be in misery, and while he had no intention of going back there, he also had no intention of having a stray bomb or missile land in his house. He packed his most important items and clothes, and hired a car carrier to take his vehicles to a storage unit in Little Havana. He kept the Challenger. There was going to be a lot of work to do, and he wanted that beast of a car available to him. With all this accomplished, Rivera put everything in his trunk, and took off for the Miami Biltmore. He was going to rent a suite overlooking the golf course until the shooting died down. It wasn't his lavish house, but the Biltmore was legendary for its opulence and devotion to its clientele. Manny smiled to himself. Everything would be okay. He might even make a few new customers there.

*****

Governor's Office
Capitol Hill
Tallahassee, Florida

It was clear from where the governor's office was located that the legislature had intended to show its supremacy in the "checks and balances" game. Bob Graham was seated in his private office, located inside the state capitol building. Around his conference table were the directors of communications, civil defense, budget, legislative affairs, health, law enforcement, and the head of the state Guard. Graham was very uptight about what had happened yesterday, yet felt slightly relieved that the Cubans had done something stupid. It made his emergency powers bill more likely to pass now.

"Okay, everyone. Let's assume that war breaks out within the next week or two. Are we ready yet?" Graham surveyed the room as he asked the question. Several faces looked down. Not a good sign.

"Governor," said the director of civil defense, "we are unable in most parts of the state to dig deep bunkers. The best we can do is reinforce structures and make them as airtight as possible. We've done some mapping of expected targets and fallout, and it looks like we'll be okay in this portion of the state. The Panhandle will be in bad shape, but nothing like the center of the state or the Miami coast and the Keys. We can pretty much write off the state south of Naples on the west side and south of Port St. Lucie on the east side. We need to try and stockpile food supplies in that area, because unless we've got some old steamers, we can't move anything from up here down there with how much fallout there's going to be across the center of the state. Look at the map here."

"As you see, if we don't quickly start stockpiling food, medical supplies, etc for those cities down there, then we can write off up to two-thirds of our population. Furthermore, there's a Guard armory down there that we need to make sure is secured tightly. God knows how many ex-Klan guys live out in the boonies and would love to get their hands on military hardware. General?"

Major General Robert Ensslin, adjutant general for the Florida National Guard, had been running on little sleep for two months now. Ever since the first Berlin crisis in October, followed by the large scale callups, Ensslin was getting his units activated and ready for God knows what may come. He's alternately worried about protecting the state and what units might get sent to Europe if war comes. No one envies him or his job these days.

"Thankfully, I was able to convince Weinberger's military aide, General Powell, that we need to minimize call-ups to Europe should war break out because we've got Cuba 90 miles away. Powell says Weinberger will only take who is necessary should REFORGER kick off. In the meantime, Homestead is going to help us with the CAP over the Orange Bowl, and we've got USS Coral Sea coming back down from Norfolk to extend our range from the coast. The pilots at Key West who've gotten their new F-14s will rejoin the carrier offshore of Naples so we can watch the western approach from the Gulf. That's the good news."

Ensslin looked down now. "The bad news is that we face a serious threat to our supply lines and maintaining order. We possess zero seagoing capability, and if the target list is accurate, we're going to have units and citizens cut off from each other. With yesterday's little stunt by the Cubans, everyone is starting to panic buy, and it's going to make stockpiling difficult, especially since every last person down here owns a gun and is buying up ammunition left and right. I hate to say it, but we need bullets, we need gas and diesel, and we need to get together some sort of shipping capability to move supplies. It's a short hop down the coastline, sure, but there's going to be a lot of fallout over the east side of the state, so we're going to have to move stuff through the Gulf, and then drive it cross-state. That's going to take a lot of fuel. Do we have it?"

The budget director spoke now. "General, I don't have the funding without an emergency bill passed by the Legislature. Oil is spiking right now, too, so that's hurting how much we can buy. According to my oil & gas people, Chevron's refinery in Pascagoula, Mississippi is our best chance to get a heavy amount of oil quickly, but with so much demand, we'll probably have to pay a premium to, say, buy a day's worth of production."

Graham looked at his legislative affairs director. "Are we going to get this emergency bill through? And can we get an amendment to it for a budget increase to pay for what we need to stock up?" The director looked at the others around the table. "If you had asked 48 hours ago, I would've said it's a crapshoot, but now that the Cubans decided to play John Wayne off the coast, I think we'll get whatever we want. If we don't end up in a war, though, we're going to have to find a way to pass new legislation to cover the shortfall, likely meaning large budget cuts. That won't go over well."

The governor sighed. "Large budget cuts are the best we can hope for right now. I'll be glad to deal with that if war doesn't happen. So, get me this bill passed this evening so we can get to work."

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 9
January 2, 1984
The Orange Bowl
Miami, FL

Detective Klima was both ecstatic and irritated. Ecstatic to be in the Orange Bowl on the biggest night for Nebraska in nearly 15 years, irritated that he wouldn't be able to see too much of the game because of his assignment. Oh, and to make it all worse for him, his wife and his father-in-law were here, watching together from their seats. That brought jealousy and fear into the equation. Jealousy that she'd get to watch the game throughout and he couldn't, afraid because what if Soviet bombers showed up tonight? To that end, the USAF, USN, and FANG all had fighters in the air in substantial numbers, and the Goodyear blimp received Air Force One level protection leading up to the game, with MPs guarding it and intel troops giving it a full inspection before it took off for the game. USAF security was on the blimp with its civilian pilots, and an Army helicopter pilot was on board as well in case the pilots were poisoned or bought off somehow. There had never been heavier security for a sporting event, and the Super Bowl three weeks later would have just as much security, being in Tampa.

There was one saving grace for Klima: at least his plainclothes attire for the night didn't require him to wear a Hurricanes cap or shirt. He never would have lived it down from his wife.

Klima's assigned area had him walking a beat, so to say, between four sections of the stadium, while at times sitting on steps and scanning with binoculars. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and jeans with deck shoes, looking to all the world like just another fan. The problem was he had to look at the crowd, look for anyone out of place. For a football fan like Jan, it was going to be the purest form of torture.

As the game started, the feeling of torture got worse. Miami's offense was kicking ass and taking names. That young quarterback Kosar was pinpoint, running the pro-style offense with laser accuracy. Medium range passes, slants, outs, hitches, Kosar was on fire. Before Nebraska knew it, they were down 17-0, and Miami's defense wasn't allowing the Cornhusker offense to breathe. For a team that had scored at will all season long, this was not what they were used to. Klima's scans of the crowd showed nothing but delirious Hurricanes fans, and glum Big Red supporters in from his home state. God, a bomb would almost be welcome to slow these guys down.

Soon before halftime, things turned around. Tom Osborne reached deep into his bag of tricks and pulled out a "fumbleroosky," where the quarterback fakes a fumble on what is really a designed play. The burly offensive lineman, Dean Steinkuhler (predicted to be a first-round pick in the NFL Draft), picked it up and ran it for a touchdown. Jan started to pump his fist, then remembered why he was here. Inside his head, though, he was waving a red towel and yelling. The next series, Turner Gill took off on an electrifying 40-yard run, leading to a goal line score a few plays later. Klima was starting to smile. Maybe we'll win this thing after all, and I can give Rosa crap about it for the next week.

Klima returned to walking the crowd as halftime came, and fans started strolling the concourse, headed for restrooms and concessions. Klima was about to turn for another lap when he bumped into someone smaller. He looked down and saw a small black kid, holding hands with a cute freckled redheaded girl. "Hey, little man, sorry I bumped into you....hey, I saw you at the hotel the other day after the beaches got closed. You kids doing ok?" asked Klima. The black kid nodded. "Yes, we're okay. It's my fault, I should've been paying attention. I know you're working, so I don't want to distract you." The detective was taken aback. "Working? Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Well, you've been walking around, you have nothing in your hands, and you're not wearing a Miami shirt. Are you a cop or a soldier?" the kid inquired. "Young man, you are really smart. Yes, I'm a Miami detective, but don't say anything loudly. We're just trying to keep all of you safe so you can enjoy the game," Klima said. "That's okay," the girl piped up, "Nebraska's gonna come back and beat your Hurricanes!" Jan smiled and crouched down from his 6'3" height. "I got a secret for you guys. I'm from Nebraska. Went to South Omaha High, then went to school at Lincoln when Coach Devaney won the 1971 championship. Went into the Army afterwards, then ended up here. It's killing me that I can't root for Big Red tonight." The redheaded girl giggled. "It's okay, when we win the game, then you can cheer and no one can stop you, because the game will be over and you'll be done working!" Klima smiled again. "I like your style. What's your names?" The black kid replied, "I'm Chip, and this is Jill, and we're from Omaha too."

"Well, Chip, Jill, I hope you enjoy the game and the rest of your time in Miami. Here's a high-five for Big Red." The detective slapped both their hands, and watched as they walked away. That was really nice. I hope those kids never have a scare like the other day again.

*****

The third quarter saw Miami rush back out to a big lead. Nebraska could only muster a field goal against two touchdowns by Miami, and it was 31-17 after three. Klima was dejected, but still carrying on with his job. He definitely felt like the only explosion was going to be Miami fans after another 15 minutes of gameplay. Nebraska's first possession of the fourth quarter saw Mike Rozier, Mr. 2,148 yards rushing, Mr. Heisman Trophy winner, go down with a bad leg injury. The red-clad fans throughout the Orange Bowl were grim-faced. Klima decided to walk the concourse again, unable to bring himself to watch. Yet, as Klima paced a nearly-empty corridor, he heard a roar, and walked back to a section entrance to see Jeff Smith, Rozier's backup, plow into the endzone. An extra point later, and the game was 31-24.

Holy crap we might do this.

During a commercial break, scores from the other bowl games were projected on the endzone scoreboards. A roar went up when the Rose Bowl score showed UCLA firmly having beaten Illinois, a one-loss team going in. Another roar for the Sugar Bowl score, with Auburn, a close challenger to Nebraska, having only won 9-7. Number 2 Texas had lost in the Cotton Bowl earlier, so the stakes were truly high here. Either team, with a win, could be, would be, the national champions. Everyone in this stadium had forgotten about Soviets and Cubans and fighter planes in the sky. Football had returned to the forefront of America's minds, especially these tens of thousands of fans in the Orange Bowl who'd been chased off a beach days before.

Miami's offense had stalled now. A field goal by Miami went wide left, and Nebraska had the ball now, with a few minutes to play. Klima had forgotten about scanning the crowd. He was watching now, firmly engaged in the game. Turner Gill dropped back to pass, Miami rushing in, Gill scrambled and fired a dart to Irving Fryar, another likely first-round pick, taking Nebraska into Miami territory. Now it was the Big Red Wave that was roaring, and Hurricanes fans looking concerned. Miami's defense wasn't tops in the nation because they were slackers. They scrapped, clawed, and generally made it extremely hard for Nebraska to keep moving upfield.

4th and 8 now, Miami 22-yard line. Nebraska was either going to get a first down and maybe tie the game, or Miami would take down the most dominant offense in college football history. Gill lined up under center, took the snap, faked a quick slant, and dashed to the right. Gill was quick, and the linebackers were hurrying after him. The safety flew up, and as he wrapped his arms around Gill, the quarterback pitched it to Jeff Smith, who had a big opening down the right sideline. Smith picked up blocks from Fryar and Ricky Simmons, running in for the touchdown. Every Nebraska fan in the stadium was screaming their lungs out, and now everyone wondered: did Nebraska play for the tie, for safety, with the chance of losing the national title, or go for it all, a two-point conversion with little chance of succeeding and a large chance of failure.

Tom Osborne trusted his quarterback. He loved him like a son. He waved him back to the huddle.

Up at the top of a section of the Orange Bowl, a Miami detective, born and raised in Omaha, held his breath. Seated rows below, two twelve-year-old children screamed their lungs out while holding hands and praying at the same time. Miami fans everywhere stood up and made as much noise as possible to distract Nebraska, hoping to cause a false start. Turner Gill might've been the calmest person on the field. Nebraska broke huddle. Gill got the snap, faked a handoff, rolled right, looked for an open receiver. Miami had the receivers locked down. Gill pump-faked, got a defensive end to jump up, then took off for the pylon. He broke an ankle tackle, stutter-stepped a second defender out of the way, and dived for the end zone, extending the ball over the line. Nebraska had the lead, 32-31, and Klima was pumping his fist, standing behind everyone.

Several plays later, Kosar threw a high arcing pass towards the endzone, where he had a one-on-one matchup. Just as it looked Miami might win on this incredible pass, Neil Harris, the Nebraska cornerback, leaped up and picked it off. The game was over. Nebraska had won, and Detective Jan Klima high-fived every Nebraska fan he could find.

Rosa should've known better. Nobody beats Big Red.

_____________________________________________________

A special thank-you to @Chipperback for writing about this game, and giving me the details to work with to merge with End of Watch.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 10
January 3, 1984
Miami Police Headquarters
Miami, Florida

"Hey, Klima! I saw you last night! You must've jarred your brain when you hit the deck last week, cause you done lost your mind running around high-fiving all them CORN-huskers." One of the other homicide detectives was razzing Jan this morning, but it was all in good fun. The detective giving him crap was a Florida State graduate, with no love for the Hurricanes. Luis Cárdenas, on the other hand, wasn't so happy.

"Goddammit, Jan, we had to dive into sand because of a fighter jet battle, and now your hick-ass state had to all pile down here and cost us the national title, in our town? Oh, and you know damn well that was pass interference on that last throw by Kosar!" He was half-smiling as he said it, but the kid who'd watched Andy Gustafson's dominant late 50's teams and then suffered for a long time before Lou Saban and Schnellenberger raised the program back to its former heights was crushed by the one-point defeat. "Luis, we got lucky, man. No way we should have won that game. We played like crap most of the night. Don't worry, y'all will be back next year," Klima replied.

Before the banter could continue, the tone of the Emergency Broadcast System began coming through a radio in the corner. Everyone's head snapped around, staring at the desk holding it. One of the detectives turned up the volume. "This is an emergency message from the office of the governor of Florida. All beaches are closed until further notice in southern Florida from Naples to Fort Lauderdale, including the Keys. Repeat, all beaches are closed until further notice in southern Florida from Naples to Fort Lauderdale, including the Keys. There is military activity taking place off the coast, and the beaches may not be safe. In the Miami metropolitan area, the Rickenbacker Causeway, MacArthur Causeway, Interstate-195 bridge, and Venetian Way are closed to all vehicles except for official city, county, and state personnel. Residents will be allowed to return home after showing identification, but once home, cannot leave until this emergency is lifted. We repeat, the Rickenbacker Causeway, MacArthur Causeway, Interstate-195 bridge, and Venetian Way are closed to all vehicles except for official city, county, and state personnel. Residents will be allowed to return home after showing identification, but once home, cannot leave until this emergency is lifted. This concludes our emergency broadcast. Stay tuned to this radio frequency for updates."

The detectives all looked at each other. Nobody said a word. Then another radio crackled to life.

"Detective Klima, this is dispatch. You are needed at the Newport Beach Hotel, 16701 Collins Ave. Please copy." "This is Klima, I copy. On my way." Jan grabbed Luis, and out the door they went, their minds wondering what "military activity" was happening to cause this many things to close.

*****

At the hotel, a reminder of the old days of Miami, now turning to slow decay, Klima and Cárdenas walked into the lobby to find crime scene tape and a very tall, irate state's attorney. "Gentlemen, I hope you can explain to me how our star witness in pursuing these drug traffickers, one my office has moved around repeatedly at great cost to keep him safe, ended up with his brains on the opposing wall of his room, and his detail missing," she said. Detective Klima was used to looking down at people at his 6'3" height, but this woman was eyeball to eyeball with him, and Klima knew how tough she was. She'd gone into the worst neighborhoods after the riots in 1980 and taken all manner of questions (and abuse). Officer Cárdenas, on the other hand, was definitely unused to be looked down at, literally, by a woman, but at 5'8", he was giving up a half-foot, and her glare made even his machismo wither.

"Ma'am, we were not responsible for his detail, and there's very few people we discussed this case with. One is my normal boss, Lieutenant Rodriguez, who's serving with the National Guard and has since soon after the bust. The other is our current boss, Captain Grimes, as well as a couple of guys in vice. We've been pursuing the homicides, mainly, trying to find out how and why these guys are getting whacked. If someone talked, it certainly wasn't us. Can you tell us what happened?" asked Klima, as plainly as possible.

The SA pulled out her notepad. "The hotel called an hour or so ago, said they'd heard some noises, perhaps someone yelling. No one answered the phone in the room, nor a knock on the door, so a patrol squad came. They opened the room and found our witness, strapped in a chair with duct tape, and a large hole in his head. The officers found his wallet, called the name in, and, per my instructions, I was called by a dispatcher, which is why I'm here. Having seen this mess for myself, I then had you called, since this is your case. I have to tell you, this guy had been a minor gold mine, and now that he's dead, we need to investigate the names he gave us. The only reason I hadn't done more is because my team was digging through bank, land, and tax records, and I didn't want to alert the targets. Clearly they found out anyway, so now it's time to put the heat on."

"What would you like us to do, ma'am?" Cárdenas asked.

"First of all, I'm going to speak with Chief Harms and have you report directly to me until this investigation is concluded. I'm also going to have a team investigate everyone else that's touched this information, and find out who leaked what. I am really pissed off this man is dead, and his detail being missing means somebody told them to disappear. Not too many people can make that happen. I want these drug-dealing bastards off my streets. Here's the first name for you: Antonio García. He's supposedly the enforcer for one of the Cuban drug lords. If that's true, there's a good chance a lot of your victims were killed by this man. I know it's a common name, but we ran it by INS, and one entered the country with the Marielitos that is believed to have served time in a Cuban prison. He's probably your best bet."

"How come us? If you're having everyone investigated by IA, why are we being chosen for this?" Klima asked. "It's simple, Detective. I know you're clean. I know your partner here is clean, too, because I've had him checked out since you began stakeouts together," the SA said. Cárdenas blinked hard at that. "Oh, don't feel so bad, Officer, I've been playing at this game a lot longer than you have, and I know how to get answers. So, go get me some answers for what happened here." The SA turned and walked away.

"Jan, who was that? She looks like she could break rocks with her hands. I ain't used to be looked down at," Luis asked. Jan chuckled. "That, my friend, is Janet Reno."

 

[wolverinethad]

So, I originally had written that Klima went to West Point, but then had him saying he went to Nebraska in Chapter 9. After thinking it over, I'm sticking with the latter, and have changed the Prologue to reflect as such. Klima went to UN-Lincoln, served in ROTC, and went down to Ft. Benning for OCS, followed by a stint at Ft. Knox's Armor School prior to being deployed in Germany in 1972. Sorry to anyone reading if the changes are jarring, but I've decided this works best for the story.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 11
January 8, 1984
Tallahassee, Florida
Governor's Office

Governor Bob Graham was sitting at his desk, with the head of civil defense and Major General Ensslin. They were discussing the Cuban incursions and the progress of supply purchasing when Graham's chief of staff came in. "Mary, what is it..," Graham began to ask, but Mary just blew right past him and turned on the TV in the corner.

"Good morning, this is David Brinkley in Washington, D.C. We've just received the text of a speech given in Moscow by General Secretary of the Communist Party Yuri Andropov. Andropov has reportedly been ill for months now, and in his appearance, our correspondent in Moscow, Bob Zelnick, noted the General Secretary looked pale and unsteady. The text of the speech was not long, and we will read it to you now.

"Comrades of the Supreme Soviet, we are gathered today so I may discuss with you a grave and gathering threat in Europe. The imperialist West has for months been stirring up trouble inside the borders of our fraternal socialist comrades in the German Democratic Republic. In October, when the brave border guards of the German Democratic Republic were provoked by the hooligans in West Berlin, lives were unfortunately lost on both sides of the border. To ensure nobody could accuse the Soviet Union of provocation, we withdrew our soldiers from Berlin. Now, comrades, we see that the West did not honor our peaceful intentions, but instead chose to spit in our eye, and further stir up trouble amongst the young, impressionable comrades of the German Democratic Republic. This forced us to come to the aid of our allies.

The recent situation in East Germany makes our aims stridently clear. Fascism and anti-social mores must be met with the strongest stand in defense of socialism against the capitalist dis-creditors and their home base, which is West Berlin. We must have a solution to the Berlin problem. As long as the situation exists in Berlin, we will continue to deal with unrest, fascist activity and possible even neo-Nazi tendencies. The Soviet Union cannot stand by and watch a fellow socialist bulwark descend into chaos. This has been further proven by the reckless assault upon our peaceful Cuban allies, escorted by one of our aircraft, who were fired upon by the imperialist American pilots of Florida. These actions demonstrate the cowboy nature of their President. Well, Mr. President, I say to you that this is not the cinema, and the Soviet Union will not be your Indians!

Accordingly, if the West wants peace, it will have to make the first move this time. The Soviet Union and its fraternal socialist allies will not be embarrassed again by the duplicitous nature of the imperialists. We call upon NATO to withdraw its Berlin forces, and when they do, we shall do the same, and we can negotiate the status of Berlin as a free city, open to all. If the West means what they say about peace, then they shall have the opportunity to prove it. I thank you for the opportunity to speak to you, comrades, and I serve the Soviet Union!"

That is the words of Soviet General Secretary Yuri Andropov. I have with me now a specialist in Soviet affairs from Georgetown University..."

General Ensslin turned off the television. "Governor, I think we are rapidly running out of time. I want a full call-up of the Florida Guard, indefinite length of term, and once they are equipped, I want to initiate the preplanned disposition of forces. We need to have the ability to secure the state if the balloon goes up." "Excuse me, General, the balloon?" the governor asked. "Governor, that's a term we have for the initiation of hostilities, either ground or nuclear," explained Ensslin. "Either way, old Yuri just gave a chest pounding speech right there, and the problem is, we can't stop what's happening on their side of the wire. That's their own people rebelling against all the oppression of this regime. If they really think we're inciting these riots, then there will be war, and nothing we do can stop it."

The governor and the civil defense director both looked as pale as Andropov after he said that.

*****

Hialeah, Florida

Jan and Luis were currently involved in a dangerous pursuit: looking for Antonio García. So many people had said they had no idea who he was, but given the reactions of some of them, they clearly knew and didn't want to say anything. After four days of this, the two men were ready to call it quits when they got a lucky break. They were getting a cup of coffee from a donut shop when they saw a familiar face. Luis noticed first and elbowed Jan. "Look over there, hermano. That guy look like someone you know?" Klima stared from behind his Ray-Bans. "Damn, Luis, that's Captain Grimes. What the hell is he doing out here?" he wondered. Luis grabbed his partner and pulled him around a corner. He got out their binoculars and got a closer look. "You know, he's walking kind of funny. What do you think?" Cárdenas asked. He handed over the binoculars to Klima. Jan peered at their Captain, seemingly meandering through this neighborhood...."He's checking for a tail. He's doing what they taught us in OCS, when you're infantry, make sure you aren't being followed. Grimes is doing the same. We need to follow him."

Luis knew the area far better than Jan, so he started picking a path through alleys and using buildings and trees as cover. They were able to make their way ahead of their temporary boss and crouched behind some shrubs. Klima pulled out his Minox and pushed it into the shrub he hid behind, getting a view of Grimes without being seen. They snapped a few photos, then watched again. The captain finally stopped and sat down on a bus bench. He looked at the sign, then checked his watch. Luis kept an eye on their six while they waited. Their patience was soon rewarded. As Grimes leaned back on the bench, a figure showed up and sat down next to him. The man had a Hurricanes ballcap on with aviators, obscuring his face well. He reached into his pocket, pulling out cigarettes, offering one to Grimes. As the figure did so, he slipped a folded wad of cash with the lighter to Grimes, who lit the cigarette while palming the money, which he slipped into his pocket. Klima had the camera snapping as fast as he could now. The cartridge ran out, and he quickly crouched to load a new set of film into the camera, praying it didn't get exposed by the bright sunlight as he did so.

As soon as he completed it, Grimes got up and walked away. The other figure waited a couple of minutes, then began walking the way Grimes had originally come. The two detectives (Cárdenas had gotten a temporary promotion courtesy of Reno's intercession with Chief Harms, contingent upon passing the detective's exam at the end of this case) split up, tracking the mysterious figure. After getting a block down, Luis and Jan used a quick hand signal to go for the bust. Klima came charging out of an alleyway, running right at the mystery man, who immediately took off across the street into the other alley....where Luis was waiting and hit him with a perfect tackle, just like he'd been taught by his coach at Miami Senior High School. The man wasn't that small, but Luis' bodybuilding made him a particularly stiff tackler, and their prey had the wind driven out of him by the hit. He was quickly handcuffed, and turned over, whereupon Klima pulled off the sunglasses and hat.

"Well, looky here. I think we just found ourselves one Antonio García, Luis." García spit in the dirt. "I'm not gonna tell you pigs shit. You don't scare me! I've met bitches in Havana tougher than you, Wonder Bread." Klima smirked at that. "Well, little man, that's wonderful. I'm glad Havana has such tough women there. Unfortunately, you're in Miami, and we're not playing nice anymore. In fact, you're not even headed to the station first. Luis, you up for a boat ride?"

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 12
January 8, 1984
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

Klima and Cárdenas had driven to a marina near Dodge Island, where they could park the car right by the docks and hop into one of the powerboats maintained by the City of Miami and Dade County for undercover operations. Nobody was even paying attention as the boat roared to life and sped out of the South Channel into open water east of Key Biscayne. Klima was at the wheel of the 1982 Chris Craft Stinger 260SL, and Cárdenas sat behind him watching García. As they passed out of sight from Key Biscayne, Klima opened up the bag and pulled out the items he'd stopped to pick up along the way: two bags of cow's blood from a butcher shop. Klima slowed the boat down, opened one of the bags, and started turning in a lazy circle, pouring the blood out. García was staring at Klima, wondering what he was doing. Then Klima headed south some, and repeated his action with the second bag.

At this point, García's curiosity couldn't take it anymore. "What the fuck are you doing, you stupid gringo? Why are you pouring that shit in the water?" Klima turned back to the hitman. "Oh, just hang tight, you'll see soon enough," he replied. Klima then started doing racetrack patterns over the two areas he'd dumped the blood, and a few minutes later, he got his wish. Headed towards the southern area that he'd dumped the pig's blood was a fin slicing through the water. Klima turned the wheel, taking the boat back in that direction slowly...

*****

Grimes was back in the office, sorting through his messages. He looked up, and noticed that Detectives Klima and Cárdenas were missing. This was the third day in a row he hadn't seen them in the office. The temperamental captain stormed over to the squad admin, who shrugged and said that they were on assignment for the chief. She was used to cranky men like Grimes after twenty years on the job and wasn't afraid of him. Her lack of fear just made him angrier, and he stormed back to his office, slamming the door on his way in. Picking up the phone, Grimes called upstairs to the chief's office. He got routed to Harms' deputy chief, who refused to give Grimes any information, other than they were on special assignment at the direction of Chief Harms and nobody was to be given information as to what. Grimes was not so stupid as to forget he was a mere captain talking to a man who was four ranks higher than him, so he politely thanked the deputy chief for his time and hung up.

The captain pulled out a Marlboro and lit it. Those bastards better hope when their assignment is over that I'm not still here. Then another thought hit him. What if they're involved in investigating the murder of the witness? Grimes had told Antonio that it would be foolish to kill the witness. Better to kidnap him after subduing the officers, giving the impression that he'd escaped. Murder created more questions than answers, and brought unwanted attention. Those damn Cubans. All machismo, coldhearted at business, but emotional beyond reason if someone crossed them. All those bodies since last fall. Grimes knew Klima had been investigating those, knew he'd gotten a Cuban partner to crack through, which he had...until the murder of the Cuban who'd talked.

Grimes had been at this well over 20 years. He should've been at least a major by now, but his abrasive attitude wore on his superiors, and he looked destined to top out as captain, not even a commander. His sour outlook on the world and treatment of others had cast a cloud over a solid record of police work. He had kids headed for college now, no prospects of moving up, and a captain's salary just wasn't enough to pay for "The U," Gainesville, or Tallahassee. The bitterness at topping out midrank, combined with the money pressures, made him an ideal candidate for recruitment. One of Rivera's civilian informants had pegged the captain as a worthwhile mark, and so Rivera had the informant (a higher-level city official) reach out towards the captain. The informant had taken Grimes out for a drink, and after a couple of rounds, which included listening to Grimes bemoan his state in life, set the hook. Grimes bit. He was asked for information from time to time that wouldn't hurt any cases (or so Grimes reasoned, since nobody knew who Rivera was), and after a year, he was on solid ground. He stayed out later many nights, telling his wife he was working overtime to save extra money for the kids' tuition, and banking the hefty amounts that Rivera paid him, depositing large payments over several weeks so no flags were raised. His wife was proud of him, taking extra care of him at night and on weekends because he was, to her knowledge, working hard for their children.

A couple of months ago, when Rivera, through García, had asked for the information about the informant, Grimes balked. He felt it would blow his cover, and told Rivera so. As the Cuban remained in custody longer, Manny Rivera grew angrier, and finally decided to put Captain Grimes in his place. Antonio met with the captain, handing over an envelope with color 4x6's showing Grimes taking an envelope of cash from Antonio during a meeting some months back. Manny always kept insurance, and after seeing the pictures, Grimes folded. He'd given up the information, and done everything short of begging that they not kill the Cuban witness. Rivera clearly didn't care what Grimes thought.

He'll care if they catch me or that prick hitman of his.

*****

Klima was stunned at how quickly Antonio García had folded. Jan and Luis had grabbed him and held his head towards the water, where he could clearly see the circling fin, drawn by the blood in the water. For a man hardened by prison and murder, the thought of being eaten by a shark in the middle of the ocean was still a bridge too far, and he started talking. Klima moved out of the way of the shark, driving a short distance away from the circling fin, and then stopped the boat. Luis pulled out a tape recorder, speaking into it that anything said on the tape would not be used for prosecution. Klima repeated those words into it, and turned it towards García. They started asking questions, first about Grimes, and then about how the operation worked. After a time, Antonio started becoming uncooperative, leading Klima to grab him by the shirt and throw him in the water. García screamed and begged for mercy, promising he wouldn't hold back anything. The detectives pulled him back in the boat and continued the interrogation. It was nearly dark by the time they'd gotten all of their questions answered, and Klima turned the running lights on and headed back towards Key Biscayne. Tying Antonio's handcuffs to a rigging behind them, Jan motioned Luis up front.

"Luis, what should we do now?" Klima asked, looking out at the ocean. Cárdenas was surprised by the question. "What do you mean, what now? We take him in, book him, and have him charged." Klima nodded slowly. "That's the book, right? But we already broke the rules, and this guy might be more dangerous than alive. Even if he's totally truthful with us, this Manny Rivera guy will have him whacked too, right? If he disappears, though, Rivera and Captain Grimes will be in the dark about it. Nobody saw us with him, right? Nobody puts us in the boat with him. He could just go poof, like David Copperfield did with the Statue of Liberty last year," Jan explained, shocking Luis. He'd never heard his partner talk this way.

"Are you serious, hermano? What's wrong with you? Do you really mean that?" Cárdenas asked. Klima stared right back at him. "What do you think?"

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 13
January 8, 1984
Sands Key, Florida

Detective Klima brought the boat to a stop against an old pier. Sands Key alternately was part of the Biscayne National Park and the city of "Islandia," except the city was never built on this section of the Keys. So, in short, nobody really bothered to come here.

"Get up," Jan said, roughly grabbing Antonio García by his arm, pulling him onto shore. "Start walking," Klima ordered, and García began walking inland. After a couple of minutes, Jan ordered him to stop. They were near a treeline. It had long grown dark, and the only light on the island came from a lantern that Luis was holding up. The product of Omaha, Nebraska had a voice as cold as an ice storm. "Antonio García, by your own admission, you have committed a dozen murders, potentially more. As an officer of the United States Army, I hereby find you guilty under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, an action permissible when the offense or the confession is at sea. Do you have anything to say?" Klima glared at the hitman, who had summoned his last bit of dignity to not break down in tears or beg. "Manny's gonna kill you and fuck your woman, Wonder Bread! You think you can get away with this?" Antonio asked. Detective Jan Klima, formerly Captain Jan Klima of the United States Army, looked down at Antonio from his full 6'3" height. "Of course I can. No one's going to know you're dead." He whipped out a Beretta Cheetah (which was not his police-issued firearm) and fired a shot right between García's eyes. The best friend of Manny Rivera slumped to the ground.

"Jesucristo!" Luis Cárdenas was in shock. Of all the things he'd thought would happen once they got here, he just didn't expect Klima would do such a thing. "Jan....what the fuck? What the fuck are you doing? Look, hermano, I can't be a part of this anymore. I don't know what just happened, but I can't do this. That's not what we signed up for, man," Cárdenas said. He was almost shaking as the words came out. Klima turned and looked at his partner. "Listen, this isn't something I did lightly, okay, but you know this man is a menace. We can't trust our boss, because he's on the take from whomever Rivera is, and we watched this scumbag pay him off earlier. We have a confessed murderer in our possession, but just about zero usable evidence in a court of law. Oh, lest I forget, we might be in a damned shooting war down here pretty quickly the way Castro and friends are behaving. So, you know what? I sentenced him to the death he deserved, and it'll even work in our favor, because it should flush Rivera out now without his gofer to do his bidding. If war breaks out, we can't afford to have men like Antonio García and Manny Rivera running loose. We're running out of time, Luis, and we have to bring this Rivera bastard down, quickly."

Klima sighed, and continued. "Look, if you want to quit, I understand, but Janet Reno isn't going to let you walk away without telling her why, and if you tell her about this, you and I both go down, and Manny Rivera walks free, building an empire, while God knows what happens to Florida. I swore an oath to this country to defend it from all threats, foreign and domestic, and Manny Rivera is a threat. I won't kill him out of hand, oh, no, I'll make sure his ass ends up in a courtroom, on trial, with all his sins exposed. But to get him there, we needed Antonio here to disappear, and now, so he has." Klima walked back to the boat. Luis followed him, got in, and Jan turned and headed north, back towards the marina. It was a very quiet ride.

*****

When Klima got home, it was late. His daughter was already asleep, but Rosa was sitting up, watching TV. She turned it off when she saw him walk in, and they went in the kitchen while she heated up leftovers. She saw the fatigue on his face. "Bad day, honey?" she inquired. "Yeah, really bad day," Jan replied. "I hate coming home late, I hate how screwed up this case is. I hate what drugs have done to people. And there's so much bad involved that I don't even know what is the worst part....check that, I can tell you, but you cannot repeat this." Rosa nodded at Jan. "Luis and I....we were doing surveillance, and Captain Grimes showed up, but not where we were. We caught him meeting with a known criminal. The guy gave the Captain an envelope full of cash. So, I can't even go to him for help or advice, even though he's such a hardass that I usually wouldn't. Now there's going to be an IA investigation once we take the photos to the State's Attorney in the morning...it's just ugly. It's all ugly." Klima sighed and put his head down on the table.

Rosa rubbed his shoulders. "Honey, I have faith in you. I know you're going to close this out. You're smart, you work hard, and Luis is a good partner. You guys got this, and you've got the backing of the chief, you said, right? Hang in there." Klima nodded as Rosa turned back to the stove. She didn't believe in using microwaves if she didn't have to. He picked up the Miami News, the evening paper he got delivered at home, because the Herald was delivered to the office every morning. The headline at the top was, "Andropov speaks to Supreme Soviet; demands NATO withdraw from Berlin."

There's going to be a war. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon.

Rosa brought his food to the table, along with wine for both of them. She saw him intently reading the story. "Jan, don't get worked up, this has happened before. There wasn't war then, and there won't be one now," she said, trying to reassure him. He put the paper down and took her hand. "Rosa, I think you're wrong this time. Last time there wasn't riots throughout East Germany, riots they are blaming specifically on us. There wasn't the enlarged NATO forces in the city like there are now. There also wasn't a Maggie Thatcher and Ronald Reagan leading the West. They're stubborn as a pair of mules, and Andropov is an old KGB guy. This is the worst possible combination I can imagine. Just watch, there's going to be a full activation of all National Guard forces tomorrow, and that means we're going to be even thinner at work, too, right in the middle of a drug war." He downed his glass of wine and poured another before beginning to eat his dinner.

I need to get things ready, find a good place for Rosa to bunker down with Adriana. Food needs to be stockpiled. I'm going to go buy lots of canned goods tomorrow and jugs of water. Plastic tarp. Duct tape. I need to call her dad too. He has to go with her and protect her. He's got his rifle.

Rosa saw his eyes go out of focus, knew he was deep in thought, so she decided to pick up the paper and read herself.

God, please, don't let Jan be right.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 14
January 15, 1984
Miami, Florida

"Good morning, Miami, it's 8 o'clock on a foggy Sunday. Scattered showers expected later on after the noon hour, then clearing by sunset, with a high of 73 degrees and just a few light breezes. Now, let's have a look at the news.

In Poland, an uneasy silence hangs over the nation after the mass demonstrations about 36 hours ago, protesting the Soviet crackdown in East Germany. The Polish security forces fired tear gas and rubber bullets into the crowd, killing an estimated 50 people. Over 600 Solidarity trade union members were arrested in the aftermath, and Pentagon sources state that they expect martial law to be reimposed in that nation once more. Poland has been wracked by protests and strikes for four years now, and any reimposition of martial law would be the second time in three years that would have happened.

Meanwhile, in Washington, rumors are flying that President Reagan is going to send Secretary of State George Shultz to Geneva, Switzerland, to meet with his counterpart, Andrei Gromyko, the Foreign Secretary of the USSR. With tensions having been rising for months now, including the Cuban air battle off the shore of Miami Beach, this is seen as a hope that further escalation, or even war, can be prevented.

In Tampa, preparations are continuing for this year's Super Bowl...."

El Caracortada was up early at the Biltmore. He had been working non-stop the past two weeks, as the threat of war had driven demand sky-high. His customer base was buying more cocaine at once, probably afraid they'd run out before the missiles flew. Manny smirked at that thought. Dumb bastards, he thought, nobody is stupid enough to launch nuclear missiles. Who wants to rule a wasteland? He looked over at his girlfriend, curled up naked under the sheets. She'd been the only pleasure he'd had time for lately. No time to chase other women or party in one of Miami's clubs, no time for drinks in rooftop bars. Business was booming, and Rivera wanted to stash as much away as possible. If war did break out, his supply would definitely get cut off for a time, until adjustments could be made.

He had a different problem at the moment, though, and that's why he was up this morning. He kissed Amber goodbye, and headed out. The Mercedes was his choice of cars this morning, given the thick fog. No sense dying in a crash when business was doing this well. He made the turns by heart despite it being a new route, and soon was in Little Havana. Manny unlocked the door to Antonio's house. He wasn't answering his phone, hadn't come to Manny's suite, hadn't been seen by any of El Caracortada's lieutenants. "Antonio! Wake up! We gotta talk!" Silence. Manny searched the whole house, and found nothing. The car was parked in the carport. No sign of having packed.

"Where the fuck are you, Antonio?!"

Manny Rivera slammed the door and locked it. He needed to find Grimes. If the cops picked Antonio up and that arrogant prick of a captain hadn't called, he would soon find out the price of disloyalty. If Antonio took a deal, though, Manny would give him a one-way ticket to the Everglades and the alligators. Either way, someone was going to pay by the end of the day...

*****

Tallahassee, Florida
Governor's Office

Bob Graham was working on Sunday again. This crisis atmosphere was keeping him from his church at a time when he needed it most, he thought to himself. Instead of his pastor's calm words, he was getting an intelligence briefing from a CIA officer. British intelligence had been told by their agent-in-place, London KGB rezident Oleg Gordievsky, that a number of KGB/Spetznaz teams were being infiltrated into NATO nations to launch sabotage and terror attacks if war was imminent. MI-6 chief Sir Colin Figures had immediately reached out to Casey, French DGSE Director Admiral Pierre Lacoste, and West Germany's Bundesnachrichtendienst (Federal Intelligence Service) President Eberhard Blum. The intelligence chiefs all moved to locate the teams. While the United States was the biggest threat to the Soviets in a war, the other intel leaders all believed they were least at risk, because any infiltration of American soil would require air travel, whereas the European nations could be infiltrated by land. President Reagan had been briefed on Friday by CIA Director William Casey, and was alarmed enough by what he heard to order Casey to dispatch briefers to every governor in the nation, immediately.

This was why Graham was at work, again, on a Sunday morning. Florida was one of the most target-rich states in the nation, and Graham was starting to worry where he'd find the resources. Much of the Guard was activated, and a full activation would cause additional disruption to the state's economy. Tourism was already down since the Cuba incident, and if it wasn't for the Super Bowl, there'd be almost nobody visiting the state. Graham had just been told the day before by the president of Walt Disney World that if tensions didn't ease soon, they'd have to lay off workers. The economy had only started bouncing back late last year from the "Reagan recession" of 1982, and if Disney started laying off workers, it would cascade into other areas. A full Guard activation was the last thing Graham needed.

And yet.

If he didn't, and a KGB team blew up an airport or shot up an important target, it'd be his fault. Ultimately, he had no choice. Governor Bob Graham opened the folder on his desk and signed a declaration fully activating the Florida Army National Guard and Air National Guard.

*****

Jan Klima was having brunch with his in-laws, thinking about how to have the conversation with his father-in-law. Yes, Carlos, I need you to take your daughter and granddaughter across the state with lots of canned food, jugs of water, and guns. How the hell do you have that talk with your father-in-law, especially when there was no guarantee that you'd be alive to reunite with them? Rosa was eagerly talking away with her parents, somewhat masking Jan's silence. When they finished eating, Carlos motioned for Jan to join him on the patio. Jan's father-in-law loved to sit outside with cigars on the weekend, a habit that the detective had picked up mainly to placate the father of his wife.

"I'm just going to be direct with you, Jan. I think you're worried about something, but I'm not sure what. Is something happening at work? Are things okay with you and Rosa?" Carlos asked. Klima looked down and took a deep breath. "Yeah, Carlos, we're okay. Work has been....difficult lately. I did something that I'm not proud of in service of a greater good, but that's not even my biggest concern." Jan paused before moving on. "I'm concerned there's going to be a war soon, and you know as much as I do that if it blows up like that, there's going to be nukes flying. I don't know how to protect my family, because I'm a cop and I have to stay at my post, or if it gets really awful, I might get called up from the Ready Reserve. I mean, what the hell do I do?"

Carlos took a long drag on his cigar, puffing out a perfect ring. "Jan, that stunt Castro pulled a couple weeks ago was really stupid, and he's not stupid. That bearded vendejo chased me out of my homeland. He went from living in the jungle to ruling the nation and hasn't let go since. He didn't do that on his own. The Russians must've put him up to sending those planes," he concluded. Jan pondered that for a little while. "If you're right, then the question isn't if, but when, we get attacked. They wouldn't do something like that unless they meant it," Klima said. "Listen, Carlos, if things go bad, you need to take Rosa and Adriana and head west. I've already gone to Walmart and bought two weeks worth of canned goods and jugs of water. Rosa thought I was crazy to buy that much, but I don't think I've even got enough. If it comes down to it, take them, take your rifle, and drive out to Naples or Ft. Myers. I figure with my boss in the Guard, I'll get warning before things kick off, or maybe even through work."

"You know I will. It's good that you've thought this out, kid. You're smart, and I'm glad Rosa married you, Jan. Just stay safe out there. The girls need you."

 

[wolverinethad]

Good morning, all,

Since I got back from vacation, it's been a really busy, strange few weeks, and I just have not had the mental space to write anything good. I take pride in writing well, and I don't want to give a half-assed effort, so I'd rather go weeks without writing, especially when I'm busy, so I can give people quality work. With that said, I'm writing at least one chapter today, hopefully two, and I appreciate everyone's patience.

 

[wolverinethad]

Chapter 15
January 18, 1984
Over the Gulf of Mexico

Manny Rivera was returning from another trip to Panama to visit the Colonel, having decided to make an....investment with the extra cash he was turning the past three weeks. He'd rented a private plane for this, a Learjet 35, so he could avoid making a run through the Gulf of Mexico. There were too many military ships on patrol, too much chance for a Cuban in a boat to be pulled aside and jailed. A plane, though, from Panama to the United States would not draw attention, could fly over land for the most part, and was going to and from an allied nation.

Rivera had made a pay phone call two days to a number the Colonel had given him a year ago. A few prearranged codes had been created, and new ones handed over each time that the two had met, so the same phrases wouldn't be picked up on. There were codes for arms, cocaine and marijuana. Rivera had made a calculation, though, that the world was going to change soon, and he'd slightly broken code, speaking in Spanish that he wanted gold coins. When he'd arrived at Torrijos International Airport, he was directed to the Colonel's hangar, where a veritable cornucopia of arms awaited, along with a larger than normal order of cocaine and a package of gold coins. Rivera was using a substantial portion of his cash reserves for this purchase, banking on selling the cocaine fast, and wanting to be armed and ready for whatever came next. He was also scouting out locations where he could move to if things turned sour.

The Colonel's arms caches were incredible. Manny grinned as he shopped the crates like a woman inside Bloomingdale's at the jewelry counter. There were FN FAL rifles, M16s; M60, FN MAG, and RPK machine guns, M203 grenade launchers, RPG-7's; Uzi and MP5 submachine guns. Manny felt like it was Christmas. He asked to be able to test fire some of the weapons, so the Colonel snapped his fingers, pointing at some of the infantrymen to take one of each weapon Manny had chosen, and they drove to a firing range nearby. Manny decided he wanted to shoot an RPG first, a choice that made the Colonel grin. Rivera was given some quick instructions on how to load and fire it, and then he walked over to the assigned position, lined up his target, and fired. The recoil knocked him backwards and he fell on his ass, to the laughter of the soldiers and the Colonel. Manny took it well, getting up, brushing himself off, and cracking a joke about how he hadn't been thrown back like that since he'd had sex with a black woman. More laughter ensued.

Rivera took the time to ask questions, realizing he needed to know these things, so he could teach his men how to use the weapons. Within 90 minutes, he'd gotten a good feel for the weapons, and made his selections. He took a dozen FAL's and M16s, five Uzis, two each of the M60, MAG, and RPK (each one having their own plusses and minuses that Manny felt would be useful), two M203s, and four RPG launchers. All of these came with enough ammunition to get him through a small war. By the time they'd loaded up his Lear, the midsize plane was nearly at its allowable weight limit to fly. The pilots he'd hired were used to this sort of mission. They were ex-CIA, who'd flown missions in Vietnam and Laos, and upon returning to America, had been discarded by the agency in the Turner era. Jimmy Carter had torn down the CIA after the Church Committee was done with it, and the disgruntled, barely surviving men had become mercenaries for all sorts of unsavory characters. In Rivera, they saw someone who was smart and paid well, so they had no issues working for him, despite a training and upbringing that had taught them that Cubans were the Commie enemy. Rivera wasn't a Communist and hated the Castro regime for its imprisonment of him, so that made him a "freedom fighter" in a twisted way to these men. Besides, from what friends had told them, the Agency was running drugs into the inner cities to pay for Nicaragua, so what made El Caracortada any different than the government? At least he was loyal to those who served him well. While Rivera shopped, the Colonel had arranged for food, beverages, and two very beautiful women to take care of the pilots. The perks of working for Manny Rivera were pretty great, thought the ex-Agency men, as they winged their way back to Florida.

*****

The two detectives were at work, trying to track down Rivera. They had no idea that he was returning from Panama, but they'd gotten a few clues about him. One was his house, which, as they noted upon arriving, was empty. It looked like no one had been there for a while. They didn't have a search warrant, and Klima didn't care. He picked the lock, and Cárdenas followed him inside. Jan put his hand on the inside of a bookshelf, and noted the dust. He's bugged out for sure. Klima holstered his weapon, but left the strap undone, just in case. He signaled to Luis, and they began carefully looking through the house. One thing that stuck out was the opulence. Gold statues, Hispanic artwork, a remotely controlled hot tub, and a fair amount of flashy clothes. In the bedroom, they noticed a sliding mirror in an interesting spot, plus a mirror above the four-post bed in a canopy. Cárdenas slid the mirror in the wall open and found something unusual...

"Hey, Jan, look at this!" Klima came over and saw that Luis had found a Betacam. He popped out the cassette after fumbling around looking for the eject button for a minute, and then put it into the video cassette player attached to the TV in the bedroom. A number of movies were stacked next to it. After Klima hit play, though, a different sort of film came up. Jan and Luis gaped at the television for a minute, staring in disbelief. There was their target, having sex with two women on his bed! Cárdenas cracked, "Man, this is better than a porno flick. I should take this home with me." Klima chuckled at his grinning partner. "I thought you were Mr. Smooth, always bringing a lady home. Dry spell lately?" The Cuban shot back, "I'd have more time for the ladies if you weren't keeping me out at all hours trying to find this motherfucker!" "Come on, Luis, you can't call him that. Clearly he's not fucking any mothers here," Jan said, pointing at the TV screen. Both men laughed, the absurdity of the moment hitting them. Klima forwarded the tape back to its starting position, hit stop, and replaced it in the camera. They had a better feel for Rivera now, had gotten a better look at him. There was no chance of ID'ing the women. The picture quality wasn't detailed enough, nor were their faces in it long enough, which was disappointing. They had a Polaroid in the car, but in this case, it would've been wasted effort.

Further searching of the house found no drugs or weapons. Rivera was definitely spending his days elsewhere. Klima walked outside onto the balcony and looked out at the water....and then it hit him. "Luis!"

Cárdenas ran out. "Did you find something, man?" "No, bro, it just hit me. I bet Rivera bugged outta here right after that little fight over the water happened. I mean, look at how close this is to the beach. We should check the hotels more inland, see if he checked in anywhere. He probably rented a suite, given his taste for the good life, so that should narrow it down even further. Let's take the picture we have and show it, along with Antonio's. He might've even helped Manny check in," Jan said. The detectives went back in, locked up, and left the house. They had a potential lead, and maybe they could tighten the net around Miami's most wanted man.

*****

Bob Graham was in his office, working late again. The reports he'd been getting kept pointing in the wrong direction. The Finns were evacuating the greater Helsinki area of civilians. The British Parliament passed the Emergency Powers Act of 1984, the first use of such extreme measures since 1939 and the kickoff of World War II. Cuba was laying low, but the Soviets had sortied submarines off their coast. If any of them had nukes, Florida would be hit before a siren could even go off. It was the Cuban Missile Crisis again on a far larger scale, with far deadlier weapons. As Graham continued to review planning operations, the TV was on in the background.

"Good evening, I'm Dan Rather, reporting live from Geneva, Switzerland tonight, where Secretary of State George Shultz is scheduled to meet in hours with Soviet Foreign Secretary Andrey Gromyko, in a bid to defuse tensions that have been building steadily since September 1, the day the Soviets shot down Korean Airlines flight 007. A recent skirmish between Cuban and American air forces have further escalated matters, as has the repression of East German protestors. The atmosphere in this picturesque city is one of nervousness. It has been nearly 22 years since the world was this close to war, and the two men who will gather here are perhaps the only ones who can stop it.

Meanwhile, in Washington today, Vice President George Bush touched upon matters of a different sort while speaking to reporters in his West Wing office. Let's have a listen.

'You know, I want to say something about this MTV. I hear that they are playing that 99 Balloons song every hour as some sort of antiwar protest, and I want them to know that we are not trying to start a war. I've fought in war, and it is nothing I want the young men and women of this generation to experience. The fact that they think they are conducting some sort of protest against this administration by playing a music video is foolish. If they really want to protest something, maybe they should protest the repression being conducted against the young people of Poland and East Germany, who wish they had the ability and the right to watch a channel like MTV. If they can't see the difference between us and the Communist bloc, maybe they should go to Europe and have a look for themselves.'

Graham muttered, "All this and George is talking about MTV. The apocalypse really is coming."

The governor went back to reviewing the next document. The title said it all: Firestorms -- A Guide to Use of Firefighting Personnel After the Detonation of Nuclear Weapons.