The Prisoner of Guantanamo [antikvár]

PrologueThe American in camouflage came ashore over-night, and for hours he lay on the darkened beach as stdll as a spy, an infiltrator behind enemy lines.A three-foot iguana spotted him first, nosing into soggy pockets at the water's edge just as the eastern horizon was turning pink. The soldier didn't budge.Sunlight found him next, and as the tide receded the sand grew warm. Still he held his ground, even as a Cuban soldado named Vargas approached aiong the hill-side above the dunes, boots crunching on a coral path.For Vargas, still groggy at this hour, the morning patrol had been as uneventful as always. Downhill and to his left lay the glittering turquoise of the Caribbean3 close enough that he could hear waves hissing upon the sand3 although his view was blocked by an under-brush of scrub oak and spidery cactus. Uphill and to the right was his daily objective: a wooden watchtower on stilts, perched in the dawn like a heron waiting to strike. It was what passed for his office. Years ago, two soldiers would have been watching his approach - the overnight shift, awaíting relief. Now? budgets being trimmer, there was no staffing after dark, and the tower was empty and silent. It meant that Vargas's