The half-moon sat above the sea, sending out a rippling beam of liquid gold. Water lapped gently against the shore no more than twenty yards from the road. Adrianna stared out the open car window and thought about the violence they had just witnessed and the soft, peaceful scene that lay before her now. It was as though the sea needed to exert calm, she thought, to bring everything back, to let everyone find their lives again.
She reached out and took Devlin’s hand. “How’s your arm?” she asked. “Does it hurt much?”
“It’s fine.” He glanced at the freshly bandaged wound, then smiled at her. “Knives,” he said. “Whenever I get myself into something, there always seems to be somebody with a knife.”
“You’re going to look like a quilt if you don’t retire,” she said.
He grunted in reply, not wanting to deal with her unspoken question. “Are you okay?” he asked. “That wasn’t very easy for you back there.”
Martinez’s car passed over a narrow, steel bridge that spanned a small, tidal river. Children played near the road on the other side. Most looked ten, maybe twelve, a few younger. The smaller ones were probably little brothers and sisters, Adrianna thought. It was eleven at night, and they all still wore bathing suits.
They were in Guanabo now, the small seaside village where, years ago, her grandfather had taken his family to enjoy the sea. She wondered if her father and her two aunts had been like these children, laughing and playing late into the night.
“Those children are still out, still playing,” Adrianna said, now avoiding his question. “It’s as if they don’t want to give up the day.”
Devlin squeezed her hand. He thought he understood what was going through her mind, what she was feeling. He realized that talking about it wouldn’t help her. Not now. They could do that later when she was ready.
He looked at Pitts and Martinez in the front seat. Ollie had his head back and seemed to be dozing. Martinez drove, glancing occasionally at the houses they passed.
“Tell me about this place,” Devlin said. “Ever since we found out who you really are, your skills as a tour guide have fallen off.”
“You are right,” Martinez said. “My intention was to instruct you about my country.” He paused. “And to distract you at times.” He briefly took his hands from the wheel, holding them up in a “what can I say?” gesture. “But I found I also enjoyed it. Perhaps I have discovered a new vocation for my retirement years.”
Pitts grunted, letting them know he was awake and listening. “Hey, that tour-guide business might work, Martinez. You and your boys could keep even better tabs on the tourists.”
Martinez laughed. “You misunderstand the duties of the secret police, my friend. We do not watch foreign visitors. There are others who have that duty. We watch the people who watch the foreigners. And we watch the other police and the government officials who might be serving their own interests instead of the revolution’s. It is not unlike your own government and police agencies, I think. They all have their divisions of internal affairs, no?”
Pitts sat up in his seat as if someone had goosed him. “Jesus, Martinez. Don’t say that. Don’t tell me I’ve been working with the goddamn Cuban shooflies.” He turned to Devlin. “Holy shit, you can’t tell anybody about this, Inspector. God, I’ll be ruined, anybody finds out.”
Devlin waved him off. “Tell me about this place, Martinez.”
Martinez put his arm out the window and pointed toward the houses they were passing. They were like beach houses in many seaside communities back in the States, almost all uniformly small, somewhat battered, and well worn by the sea.
“Guanabo has always been a place of escape. In the days before the revolution it was only the oligarchy who could do this. They would flee the pressures of Havana with their families and come here to rest and enjoy the pleasures of the ocean.
“When the new government took power, many of the houses were given to the people of the region. None were taken by the leaders of the revolution. It was something that was not done in those years.” He cocked his head to one side, in what Devlin thought of as a gesture of regret. “Our ideals were more pure then,” he added.
“And later?” Devlin asked.
“Later those attitudes changed. But mostly among those who held high posts below the leaders.” He glanced back at Adrianna. “Of course there were those like your aunt, who kept houses that had been in their families for years. In her case, I know for a fact, it was more an act of sentiment, a way of remembering her family and what their life together had been like.”
“So some of these beach houses belong to the big shots,” Devlin said.
“Yes, some.”
Devlin thought he detected a note of bitterness in his voice. “You are a purist, aren’t you, Martinez?” he said.
“Yes, I am afraid you are right. There is little I would not do to preserve our revolution, or at least the good I believe it has done. But at times it seems a losing battle.”
“But you still fight it,” Adrianna said.
“Si. Yes, still I fight.” He glanced back again. “Your aunt often called me the Cuban Don Quixote. I am afraid, at times, she was right.”
“But she was the same,” Adrianna said. “Everything I’ve ever heard about her says so. You told me she even argued with Castro.”
“Yes. Yes.” He laughed. “But if I had called her Dona Quixote, she would have chased me down the street.”
Adrianna looked toward the sea, her mind filled with her aunt. “I wish I could have seen her here. Here in Cuba. In her real element.”
Martinez said nothing. He slowed the car. “Up ahead, on that small rise of beach, overlooking the sea. That is the house.”
Adrianna stared out the window. The house was small and neat, with a cluster of coconut palms off to one side, the fronds swaying now in the soft breeze that came off the water. There was a porch that appeared to encircle the entire house, and as their car drew closer, she could see beach chairs placed about it, all of them arranged to face the sea.
There were lights on inside the house, and Adrianna saw shadows on the porch she thought were men. “Do you have people here?” she asked.
Devlin had been lost in his own thoughts, his weariness, and the pain that throbbed in his arm. Now his eyes snapped toward the house. He could see them, too, at least three men, posted well apart. Guards watching every approach.
“How long have you had them here?” he asked.
Martinez ignored him. He picked up his handheld radio. “Let me give a warning that it is only us,” he said.
He spoke rapidly as he pulled the car into the sandy drive that cut into the front yard, then stepped out quickly as one of his men approached. Devlin noticed the man was carrying an Ingram M-10 submachine gun, fitted with a sionic suppressor. It was a small weapon, easily concealed, only ten inches long with the wire stock collapsed, but still capable of repelling a large force, spitting out seven hundred.45-caliber rounds per minute, the suppressor assuring that each round was no louder than a book lightly slapping against a table.
Devlin climbed out of the car, followed by Adrianna and Pitts. He nodded at the weapon. “Pretty heavy firepower, Martinez. And it won’t even wake up the neighbors.”
He could see a faint smile play across the man’s lips as he turned and started toward the house. “Come,” Martinez said. “It is time to finish our little adventure.”
They climbed the front stairs. Another of Martinez’s men opened the front door, then stepped aside to allow Adrianna to enter first. The others followed her into the house, then watched as she seemed to stagger, then come to an abrupt stop.
Across the room, a woman sat in a chair. She was in her early to mid sixties, and her right arm and shoulder were wrapped in heavy bandages.
Adrianna let out a gasp, then raced to her. She fell at the woman’s feet, and Devlin could hear her voice, broken by sobs, begin a rapid, stuttering, disbelief-filled series of questions. The woman cupped the back of her head with one hand and pulled her against her breast and began to whisper soothingly against her cheek.
“Dr. Maria Mendez,” Devlin said.
Martinez nodded. He was fighting off another smile. “Si, my friend. You are about to meet our beloved Red Angel.” He looked up, eyes twinkling. “When did you realize?”
“Not until I saw your men outside. Then it finally clicked. It was just too much firepower to guard a letter locked in a hidden safe.” He shook his head. “You’re a weasel, Martinez. You had me right up to the last minute. I knew something was phony all along, but I never suspected this.”
Martinez let out a soft laugh. “What is this weasel you are calling me?”
“It’s a sneaky, devious animal. It means you are a royal son of a bitch, Major-or General, or whatever the hell you are.”
Martinez clapped Devlin lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, that is a weasel. Yes, I am all those things. But only when necessary. And this time I assure you it was very necessary to be such a weasel. I could not risk Cabrera finding out that his assassination attempt failed. Even the police officers who came upon the scene were transferred to duties outside the city to make sure the truth would not get back to him.”
“So there was an attempt on her life. That part was real.”
“Oh yes. And it came close to success. The Abakua forced her car from the road, and it burst into flames when it crashed. Fortunately, our Red Angel was thrown from the car. She was found later, still unconscious, when officers stumbled on the scene before the Abakua could finish the task Cabrera had given them.”
“And the body?”
“A friend of our Red Angel. And a most fortuitous event. Except for the fact this woman was killed.” He made an obligatory gesture of regret. “You see, this woman was close to our Red Angel in age and size, and she had no family of her own who might raise questions. Also her body was so badly burned, she could easily be mistaken for the owner of the car.
“When my men realized who the other, unconscious woman was, I was called to the scene, and when I learned the Abakua were involved, I knew it had to be Cabrera’s work, and I immediately ordered the deception.”
“So she’s been hidden here all the time.”
“Yes.”
“Did she know what you were doing? The way you were using her niece?”
Martinez looked horrified. “Oh no. Never.” He glanced across the room. “But I suspect she is learning this now, and that soon I will pay for my sins.”
Devlin turned to the two women. Adrianna was looking at him, tears glistening on her cheeks. He went to them, and knelt before the older woman.
“It’s my aunt,” Adrianna said, barely able to speak the words.
“I know. Martinez just told me what happened.” He reached out and lightly touched the woman’s unbandaged hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said. “Very unexpected.”
Maria Mendez’s eyes glittered with pleasure. “I, too, am pleased,” she said. “I have heard much about you, but only in letters.” She looked down at his bandaged arm. “I see the intolerable Martinez has put you through much these past days. He is a scoundrel.”
She looked past Devlin, and forced her eyes to harden, but Devlin could tell it was done with effort.
“You will pay for this, Martinez,” she snapped. “Even generals are not immune to my wrath.”
Martinez came across the room, drawing a heavy breath as he approached. “Ah, my beloved Red Angel. It was a necessary pragmatism, only intended to keep you safe.”
Maria Mendez held his eyes in an unrelenting stare. “I have remained safe for sixty-four years without your help. I am sure I could have survived these few days as well. Even in the mountains, with Batista hunting me, I survived. And all of it, when you were sitting on your mother’s knee.” She wagged a finger at him. “You think you must protect me, Arnaldo? You think you are so powerful just because the revolution has made you a general? I think it is time you had a lesson, and learned about my powers.”
“Get him,” Pitts said from behind them. “The man’s a shoofly.”
Martinez ignored him. He raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “I assure you, I have great respect for your powers. We have been friends for many years, and I have watched in fascination as you have tormented members of our government.” He stepped closer, a small smile starting to form. “But I am confident my actions to guarantee your safety will be approved at the highest levels. You are a treasure to our country, Maria.”
Maria Mendez rolled her eyes. She turned to Adrianna. “Listen to this man. He is the father of all scoundrels.”
“But a devoted scoundrel,” Martinez said. “Both to you and to the revolution.”
Maria Mendez reached out and pulled Adrianna to her again. “At least he was not able to kill you all,” she said. “If I had known of his insane plan, I never would have allowed it.”
She glanced past Adrianna’s shoulder. Martinez was still standing before her, and Devlin thought he saw a small smile begin to form on her lips. “Thank you for your protection, Arnaldo. Even if it was unnecessary and overdone.” She paused a moment. “And what have you done with Cabrera?”
Martinez inclined his head to one side. “I am afraid he is no longer with us.”
A cold glint came to Maria Mendez’s eyes, and Devlin realized he was not watching some helpless old woman.
“And that thief Sauri?” she asked.
“He is under house arrest,” Martinez said. “We also have in custody Senor Cipriani, Senor DeForio, and the manoso Rossi, who had hoped to make use of your body.” He raised a finger. “Which reminds me. There is a certain service I believe you can perform for Senor Devlin. If you will permit me, I will arrange it for tomorrow morning.”
“Is this another of your scoundrel’s tricks?” the old woman asked.
“But of course,” Martinez said. “But it is one I think you will enjoy.”
An hour later they were seated in a semicircle about Maria Mendez, listening as she explained how she had learned of the plan to bring gambling to the Isle of Youth.
“I was told of this plan by Manuel Pineiro, who once ran our intelligence service. He was very concerned, and believed something very wrong, perhaps even corrupt, was happening.” She shook her head. “But he was retired for many years, and no longer had strong contacts in the Ministry of Interior. He said they just brushed his concerns aside.” Her eyes hardened. “And then, of course, he was killed. In an ‘automobile accident.’” She shook her head. “I did not even suspect he had been murdered. So I went to Sauri, who I knew, and expressed my opposition.”
“What did he do?” Adrianna asked.
“At first he tried to bribe me,” she said, laughing. “He said the government would add a condition to the plan-a demand that the foreign developers build and endow a children’s hospital on the Isla de la Juventud.” She held up one hand like a traffic cop. “This made me suspicious. Sauri had always opposed all my efforts to draw money away from the revolution’s grand projects.” She waved her hand in a broad circle. “And to use that money for our deteriorating health programs.” She wagged a finger. “Now, suddenly, the health needs of the people were important, and he wanted to include them in his plan. It was a miracle. And it smelled like old fish. That is when I went to Martinez and told him he must investigate.”
“And that,” Martinez added, “was when I learned that Cabrera’s men had put our Red Angel under strict surveillance.”
“And then you started to tumble to the rest of their plans,” Devlin said.
“Yes,” Martinez said. “But before I had adequate proof, they moved against her.” He nodded toward Maria Mendez, momentary relief flooding his eyes. Then it was gone as he hardened himself against any display of sentiment. “The rest, of course, you know,” he added.
One of Martinez’s men entered the house and came to him. After a whispered conversation, Martinez excused himself and left.
Adrianna reached out and took her aunt’s hand. “Have you known Martinez a long time?” she asked.
The old woman laughed. “For a hundred years,” she said.
“And you trust him?”
Maria squeezed her niece’s hand. “Completely.” She rolled her eyes. “He is a scoundrel, of course. But it is his job to be a scoundrel.” Her face became tender as she spoke about her friend. “And it is a thankless job. Of this there is no question. The secrecy of who he is, and what he does, denies him any recognition from the people, or even from his family and his friends. To those who know him personally, he is simply a police administrator who has risen so high and no more-a very modest success in life. For a proud man like Martinez, this is difficult, I think.”
Their heads turned as the door of the cottage opened. Martinez stood holding the door back, his eyes filled with mischief. Adrianna let out a gasp as a second man entered.
Fidel Castro walked slowly across the room. He was dressed in his trademark fatigues, free of any decorations or distinctions of rank. His gray-streaked beard hung to mid-chest, and his gait reflected his seventy-three years. He was a tall man, easily six-three, and he had the bearing of a man used to deferential treatment.
Devlin and Pitts stood as he approached, but Castro ignored them. He went straight to Maria Mendez and began speaking to her in Spanish.
The old woman immediately cut him off. “Speak in English, Fidel. I have guests who do not understand our language.”
Castro stiffened at the rebuke, then shook his head as if it were an indignity he should have expected.
“You know my English is bad,” he said. “Why do you make me do this?”
“It is a courtesy,” Maria snapped. “It is also my wish in my home.”
Castro raised his hands and let them fall back. “I come to tell you I am happy you are safe, and you treat me this way.” He looked down at Adrianna. “This is your niece?” he asked.
“My niece, Adrianna.”
Fidel reached down and took her hand, then bent and kissed it. Devlin detected a slight flush come to Adrianna’s cheeks.
“Your aunt torments her oldest friends,” Castro said. He gave Adrianna a sly wink. “But we all still love her … in spite of herself.”
“You do not love me enough to get me the medical supplies I need.”
Castro raised his hand-in exasperation this time. “You no longer work for the government. You resigned in protest. How can I get you anything?”
“Of course I resigned,” Maria snapped back. “You had abandoned the people’s needs. Something was needed to bring you to your senses.” She turned to Adrianna. “And do you know what he did? He had the government announce that I retired. Not that I resigned in protest, that I retired.”
Castro waved his hand in the air. “Let me announce that you have unretired.”
“Never.”
Castro shook his head. “I will find a way to get you the medicines and equipment you need. I do not know how, but I will find it somewhere.”
Maria stared at him for several long seconds. “And prostitution? Will you see to it that this disgusting practice that puts our young women on the streets-a practice you have permitted to return to our country-will you see to it that this is ended?”
Castro looked at the ceiling. “I will do everything in my power to see that the laws banning it are enforced,” he said.
Maria Mendez gave a firm nod of her head. “If you do these things, I will think about returning to my post,” she said.
Castro raised his hands, then let them fall back to his side in a surprising gesture of helplessness. “Torturer,” he said. He looked at the others as if seeking support. “She was this way even in the mountains when we fought Batista. Never a word of respect. Only arguments.”
Maria snorted, but said nothing.
With effort, Castro knelt before her. He took her hand. “You are a stubborn old woman,” he said.
“And you are a stubborn old man.”
“Si. We make a good pair,” Castro said. He placed a second hand on top of hers and stroked it gently. “I am pleased you are well. Cuba would be a poorer place without you.”
Maria reached up and stroked his beard. “Thank you for coming, Fidel.”
Castro nodded. “You will truly consider my proposal?”
“I will truly consider it.”
Again with effort, Castro pulled himself up. He nodded to Adrianna, then glanced at Devlin and Pitts. “I have heard about you two,” he said. He raised a finger and shook it, then headed for the door.
“That’s it?” Pitts said as the door closed. He stared at Martinez. “No medals? No Lycra concession? That’s it?”
“Be thankful we’re not in jail,” Devlin said. He looked down at Adrianna. There was a broad grin spread across her face.
“Fidel Castro kissed my hand,” she said.