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After getting eight hours of much needed sleep, Bert and Skipper spent the next day and a half lining up information on Cuba and the University of Havana. They had to rescue Dr. Roach -- and fast. If the speed with which Pak assembled the first Roacherian Effect Device was any indication there was no time to waste. If Roach had revealed the secret yet another device could be almost operational by now.

The medical information Bert turned up on Roach indicated he had a history of serious heart disease and was a diabetic who ate candy like it was one of the major food groups. His sugar consumption placed him at dire risk of slipping into a diabetic coma and the diabetes itself increased the odds of cardiac arrest.

Once again Bert proved why he'd been one of the best Green Beret Team Sergeants in his Special Forces Group. With meticulous attention to detail and computer-like speed he gathered the information vital to the success of their mission and handled all the logistics.

"Bert," Skipper said, "you never cease to amaze me. I'm glad I chose you to run the company for me."

"Don't count on that until we see whether or not this comes off," Bert said almost superstitiously, as though afraid he'd jinx the mission at hand.

Skipper recognized that Bert's reserved manner wasn't really superstition, it was really ninety-nine percent feigned. It was actually his way of staying focused on the project at hand and not getting distracted by things still in the future. It was part of the reason Bert did a better job and was more reliable than any other person Skipper had ever known.

Interrupted while feeding on the eerily phosphorescing shrimp on the surface the night birds silently scattered at the chopping sound of the approaching helicopter. Bert was in his element as he expertly guided the chopper south over the low swells of the Straits of Florida. This narrow body of water connecting the Gulf of Mexico with the Atlantic Ocean was all that separated Key West from Cuba...just a little over a hundred miles of water.

Skipper was deeply fatigued but refused to dwell on it. If he did he'd slowly succumb, defeating himself before finishing what he'd set out to do. Skipper wouldn't allow that.

Bert kept the Bell Ranger helicopter about twenty-five feet above the water to avoid being picked up on Cuban radar. The night sky was clear, lit by the soft crescent of a quarter moon and at times he could have sworn he saw Cuban patrol boats. None actually materialized.

Two miles off the coast and just east of Havana, Bert slowed his forward speed to less than ten knots and dropped to less than ten feet above the low swells. He turned to wish Skipper good luck but before he could say the words Skipper waved and pushed himself out the door. The helicopter wavered slightly in the air as it was suddenly relieved of Skipper's weight. Bert eased the craft around, saw Skipper in the water and gave him a thumbs up as he passed over and headed back to Key West.

At a rocky outcropping Skipper pulled himself up on the beach. He had been in the water more than three hours, most of it spent swimming toward shore and trying to maintain his compass heading and position according to his electronic GPS (Global Positioning System). Part of the time was spent just watching the shore to make sure he would be unobserved leaving the water. Now he had to cache his dry suit and swimming gear then get to the University of Havana where Dr. Roach was being held captive.

Skipper had to get there on foot without attracting attention. Although his clothing and disguise blended in perfectly he wished his conversational Spanish were better. Skipper was fluent enough but he would never fool a native Cuban. He was hoping to cover up his language deficiency by carrying a card printed in Spanish that said he was mute and was traveling to an appointment at the University of Havana Medical Center for an examination. He hoped this would buy him a yard or two if necessary, with a little luck.

As he moved across the fields toward the section of Havana where the University lay Skipper was charmed by the birds and the climate. He had spent a good deal of time in Jamaica and the Cayman Islands scuba diving and vacationing, and this island was as pretty as any he had seen although the political climate was very different. Off in the distance he spied some field workers and he waved. Many of them stopped and waved back.

During the day he moved along on foot and once hitched a ride with a local produce truck. When he finally sighted his destination he moved about without concern for concealment. By being bold and just wandering where he chose he didn't appear suspicious. He also gathered the information he needed to get inside and locate Dr. Roach. Late that night when the hospital was quiet he slipped inside.

Dr. Roach was critically ill. His captors had not taken his fragile health into consideration before kidnapping him and his heart was acting up severely. He had already suffered two heart attacks in the past three years yet had never stuck to a diet or exercise plan. His sugar addiction coupled with his diabetes compounded his problems. In short, while Dr. Roach was mentally brilliant, physically he was dying. The fact that he hadn't had any sugar since his captivity had been good for him, but not good enough to make up for the years of abuse to his heart.

"Please, God, let me die before I tell them" Roach prayed. Though raised a Jew he had long ago stopped practicing his faith; giving all of his waking time to his science. He had not prayed in many years and was sure he had forgotten how, but he prayed now. The stress of being kidnapped coupled with the realization that his invention had already caused terrible devastation and could bring the free world to its knees, had taken their toll.

Roach felt a crushing pain in his chest which radiated into his left arm. He couldn't get enough air and knew he was suffering another attack. This was his third -- he hoped it would be his last.

Albert C. Roach, Ph.D., didn't know where he was or who these people were who had intruded into his home and abducted him. He did know that no matter who they were he didn't want them or others like them to have his secret.

Roach could just make out a tall blond man approaching him. He reached a shaking hand out to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses but another pain racked his chest and he dropped them. Skipper bent down, picked them up and placed them on the Doctors face. Dr. Roach saw the worried expression on Skippers deeply tanned face.

"Are you Dr. Roach?" He asked in a very low voice. "I'm Skipper Mason, Doctor. Bert Johnson from Intertech sent me to help you get out of here. Are you ready to go?"

Roach was not ready to trust anyone now. "Go where? What more will you people do to me? I won't go anywhere and I won't help you. Leave me to die in peace." He tried to turn over on his side but the pain in his chest and left arm intensified. He clutched at his breast and groaned.

"Dr. Roach. You've got to believe me. I've gone though hell to find you and we've got to get you and your secret back to the US and safety. I know about your heart but do you think you can walk?" Skipper already knew it was hopeless but felt he had to give the man hope.

Roach turned back to Skipper. "No, I can't walk," He said weakly. "I'm dying I think -- I hope. My heart is finally giving up and I think I shall die here. Even if I wanted to leave now I wouldn't get to the end of the hall. Even if I knew for sure who you really are I wouldn't go - or be able to. I only wish my horrible machine could die with me." A terrific pain seized him his face and body contorted in agony.

"Okay, Dr. Roach. I understand," Skipper said gently. "I want you to know that I've found and destroyed the information stolen from Intertech and Bert Johnson has destroyed the hard copies and computer files at the company. Did you have any fail-safes built into your computer programs that would prevent them from being erased or written over? Have you told them anything here? I must know, Sir." Skipper grasped Roaches shoulders firmly but gently and peered into his face.

Dr. Roach opened his eyes and looked up at Skipper. For some reason he decided to trust this man who had come to him in his final hour.

"Bless you. No, no fail-safes. Not that I know of. And I pray to the God of Abraham that I shall not tell them anything. I should die before I ever speak of this thing again. It's a good thing this discovery of mine should die with me. Thank you for destroying it -- if indeed you have. There are no measures to prevent its being erased from the computers. If it's gone from there then young Phillip Weston is the only one left who can recreate it. Is he safe?"

"He's in hiding for now. He's safe. How bad is your heart? Are you sure you don't want to try getting out of here?" It was obvious to Skipper that Roach was dying but again he felt he had to offer him the possibility. He held his fingers to Roach's neck. The pulse was very weak and fast.

"I know I'm dying. I've had a very bad heart for a long time and I think this will be my time to go. The sooner now the better."

Skipper looked at the man. He was so small and frail. Skipper knew he was only fifty-five years old and hadn't been prepared to see a man who looked ninety. Dr. Roach had been nearly bald for the past ten years, and the little hair that remained had turned white long ago. He was only five-foot-four and weighed about 130 pounds. Most of those pounds were in his pot belly. The rest of his body was drawn and thin and he looked dehydrated. His nose was his most prominent feature, large and thin. Skipper liked him and felt a deep pang of remorse that this man would die here so far from home.

As Skipper reached out and took Dr. Roach's hand the doctor grabbed back tightly and looked deeply into Skipper's eyes, then relaxed. His eyes kept staring into Skipper's but they couldn't see him anymore. At least Dr. Roach had died believing his secret died with him. Skipper saw that belief in his eyes a moment before death came.

He closed Dr. Roach's eyes and left, he could do no more here. The guard at the door was beginning to move so Skipper helped him back to sleep before slipping out into the blue-grey pre-dawn of Havana.

Skipper hid in the tall grasses of the savanna during that next day and did his best to ignore the ants, flies, mosquitoes and other biting insects. During the daylight hours he observed several field workers and a few children nearby but none came close enough to see him or cause him any alarm. When darkness fell again he returned to the place where he had come ashore and found his gear still hidden among the rocks and piles of seaweed.

Four hours later he was bobbing on the open sea in the Straits of Florida. The beat of helicopter rotors could be heard in the distance and Skipper clicked on his emergency strobe light.

Blink. Blink. Blink. The unit clicked and flashed a high intensity white light visible for many miles on the open sea. The beat of the helicopter was getting closer but Skipper heard another sound. A boat. It sounded close but try as he might, he couldn't spot it yet. Both sounds grew louder.

Skipper recognized the Bell Ranger as the same one Bert had rented for the trip out. He was temporarily blinded by a brief spray of water kicked up in the rotor wash as the Bert maneuvered the chopper directly above him. A rope ladder hit the water several feet away and kicking hard, he hooked his arm through it.

As soon as he felt the drag on the ladder Bert began to pull skyward. Skipper struggled briefly to get his swim fins off, then climbed up into the helicopter.

"You oughta be real happy I found you before they did!" Bert yelled while pointing to a patrol boat that was steaming toward them. "Where's Dr. Roach?"

"In heaven. Heart attack. Just as I got to him," Skipper yelled back. He was watching as several flashes from the boat indicated they were drawing small arms fire. "He said you got all there was out of the computer. No tricks built in. How fast will this egg beater go?"

"Fast enough, pal." Bert tipped the nose toward Key West and throttled up. The patrol boat was rapidly left in the distance to fish Skipper's fins out of the water.