I give to you several choices,” Martinez said. “I have available to me a very fast boat that can get you to Key West in a matter of hours. I believe a telephone call can also have American police waiting there when you arrive.
“Next is our own court system, a choice that will undoubtedly lead to one of the many prisons that are even less pleasant man the Villa Marista.
“Finally, you may choose to help the police in their duties, and when all is finished, you may find yourself sitting on one of the lovely beaches of Brazil.”
Robert Cipriani stared at his shoes and said nothing. He was seated in the same room where Baba Briyumbe had been questioned. Cabrera’s man, Major Cepedes, was under guard in an adjoining room. The two Abakua, who had accompanied them to the airport, were now sharing a cell with the pair arrested in Cobre after the attempt on Devlin’s life. Much to Martinez’s displeasure, the four men who had fled the shrine by car were still at large.
Cipriani looked up at the major. His eyes were devoid of any hope. “I’ve already answered your questions. I want to be returned to the Villa Marista.”
Martinez turned to Devlin and Pitts. “This is the first time in my experience that anyone has volunteered for a cell in the Villa Marista. State Security must have greatly improved the accommodations.” He spun around and brought his face within inches of Cipriani’s. “This is your last chance. If you continue to tell me you were released, under guard, so you could visit an anonymous friend, you will be held incommunicado for ten days, as our law allows. Then you will be placed on trial for conspiracy to commit murder. I suspect Colonel Cabrera will also charge you with escape, and Major Cepedes will be given a medal for achieving your capture. If you are found innocent of these charges, you will be placed on the fast boat I spoke of, and returned to the United States, where a long prison term awaits you. Now speak, or prepare yourself for everything I have told you.”
Cipriani closed his eyes. “What is it you want to know?”
Martinez rubbed his hands over his face. “The same thing I have asked you for the past hour. The names of the persons you visited in Cobre, the purpose of your visit, and whether or not you were sent there by Colonel Cabrera, as the presence of Major Cepedes would seem to indicate.”
“You’re not offering me anything but a prison cell or a death warrant,” Cipriani said.
“I am offering you a beach in a country that does not have an extradition treaty with the United States. If my information is correct, you were preparing to go to that country when you were arrested by Colonel Cabrera.”
Cipriani shook his head. “I understand they’ve also got nice cemeteries in Rio.”
“If you are afraid of Colonel Cabrera, I assure you he will present no problem for you.”
Cipriani gave him a mirthless laugh. “I’m not worried about Cabrera. If you get what you want, he’ll be too busy trying to avoid a firing squad.”
“Who are you afraid of?” It was Devlin this time. “Are we talking narcotics? Like maybe your visitor flew in from Medellin, and our poking around is screwing up some drug deal Cabrera has working?”
Cipriani shook his head. “I’ll take my chances with Cabrera. When Cepedes and I don’t show up, he’s going to start looking.” He let his eyes fall hard on Martinez. “You ready to take on State Security, Major?”
Martinez gave him a cold smile. “It would appear I already have, senor.”
They sat at a large table on the Casa Grande’s rooftop terrace. It was after midnight and a rumba band provided the rhythm for several dozen swaying hips. Devlin, Adrianna, and Pitts showed no interest in the music. Neither did the three men at the next table. They were Martinez’s men, sent to play bodyguard while the major put the finishing touches on the arrests he had made.
Adrianna stared out over the waist-high terrace wall. There, appearing almost close enough to touch, the twin spires of the cathedral hovered in the darkness, the large granite angel set between them like some avenging specter. Beyond the cathedral, even the lights of the harbor seemed ominous, as if their normally romantic glow were hiding some new and yet-to-be-revealed threat.
Adrianna turned away from the view. “I don’t like this city. It looks so small and peaceful, but it’s not.”
Pitts grinned at her. “Hey, it’s hard to like a place where witch doctors put curses on you and a bunch of ‘yoms try to slice you up with shivs.”
“Watch the racist crap,” Devlin warned.
Pitts raised his hands. “Okay, okay. A bunch of Abakua. The same group of loonies who tried to do us in with a truck in Havana.” He glanced at Adrianna and grinned again. “So how do you feel about Havana?”
Adrianna ignored him. She turned to Devlin. “Maybe we should forget everything and go home. My aunt’s dead. Let the Cubans find her and bury her. She wouldn’t want this. Not if it meant having you killed, too.”
Devlin reached out and covered her hand. “Your aunt didn’t even know me.”
“No, she didn’t. But I wrote to her, and told her how much I love you.”
Pitts raised his chin. “I hate to break up this moment we got going here, but I think I see our little major headed this way.”
They turned and watched Martinez weave his way through the dancers. As he reached the table, he placed a hand on his midsection and gave his hips a small rumba sway.
“Ah, the music is wonderful,” he said as he took an empty chair.
“You seem very jolly,” Pitts said. “Cipriani finally spill his guts? Or maybe your major from State Security?”
“I am afraid not. Senor Cipriani and Major Cepedes both remain very unhelpful. They are now on their way back to Havana by car. Under guard. My men will use back roads, so it will take them two days, but that will also make it difficult for Colonel Cabrera to find them, no?” He smiled. “It will also make them available to us if we need them. I have made arrangements for us to return to Havana tomorrow morning. We will fly to Varadero, where a car will meet us and drive us the last one hundred and forty kilometers.” He gave them his Cuban shrug. “This will also present some difficulties for the colonel.”
“Why are we going back?” Devlin asked. “I thought Plante Firme said we’d find the body here?”
Martinez nodded. “But I believe the body is being taken back to Havana by Baba Briyumbe’s disciple.”
“This Seven Thunderbolts guy?” Pitts asked.
“Yes, by Siete Rayos.”
“Why do you think that?” Adrianna asked.
“Some new information has come to me.” Martinez leaned forward and lowered his voice so it could just be heard over the music. “The men who fled the shrine-the old, sickly man and his companion, along with the two Abakua-left Santiago on a private jet, which is why my men at the airport failed to observe them. A later check of flight records showed that they arrived in Havana three hours ago.”
“Did customs get their names?” Devlin asked.
“Unfortunately, there are no customs for internal flights, so there was no report filed in Havana. I did check on the flight’s initial arrival in Cuba. It flew in yesterday with two passengers: a Senor John Smith and a Senor Matthew Jones. Both had Canadian passports that I believe to be false. One of the men required assistance getting off the aircraft, and both seemed to receive special consideration going through customs and immigration. Their entry forms indicated they were businessmen.”
“Where did they fly in from?” Devlin asked.
“From Nassau in the Bahamas,” Martinez said.
Devlin and Pitts exchanged looks, but remained silent.
Devlin decided to stick with the missing body. “What makes you think this changing-of-heads ritual hasn’t already been done?” he asked.
“I am sure that it has not,” Martinez said.
“Why?” Adrianna asked.
“Because the house in which the men stayed was being watched at all times. By either Senor Caputo or his wife. There were no visitors until Senor Cipriani arrived. And, most important, there was no nganga. In Cuba, the arrival of a nganga would not go unnoticed.”
“And you’re sure this sickly man is the reason my aunt’s body was stolen?”
Martinez nodded. “Everything points in that direction. And now everything points back to Havana. I suspect the nganga is on its way there now. And that it will arrive within days.”
“You think it’s going by car?” Adrianna asked.
Martinez smiled. “It would make strange baggage on an airline, no? Even if it were loaded on a private jet, it would not go unnoticed or unchallenged by the immigration police.”
“What about roadblocks?” Pitts asked. “Maybe you can find it before it gets to Havana.”
“I am afraid there are too many small roads, and too few people to blockade them. It is exactly why Senor Cipriani and Major Cepedes are now traveling this way.” He shook his head. “No, we must get to Havana and find this sickly man. Then the nganga holding the Red Angel’s bones will come to us.”
“We’re thinking about going home,” Adrianna said. “It’s just-”
Devlin cut her off. “No, we’re not.” He reached out and covered her hand again. “I think it might be a good idea if you went home,” he said. “But Ollie and I are going to stay.”
Adrianna stared at him. “Like hell,” she said. “If you’re staying, so am I.”
“I think it would be best if you all stayed,” Martinez said. “But not at the Inglaterra. I am presently having some of your clothing removed and taken to a location where Colonel Cabrera will not think to look.”
“Where?” Devlin asked.
Martinez smiled again, a bit coyly, Devlin thought.
“You will stay in the house of the Red Angel. Not the ancestral home her sister now occupies, but the one in Miramar, the one Fidel, himself, has given her.” The smile widened. “We will hide under Cabrera’s nose. His own house, also a gift of Fidel, is only a few blocks away.”