The State Security compound, known as the Villa Marista, takes up ten square blocks of a modest residential neighborhood in the city’s Sevillano district. Even from the street it appears ominous, the exterior as forbidding as the notorious prison known to be housed within its grounds. A high wall, topped with razor wire, circles the entire area. Watchtowers stand at the corners, each manned by armed guards. There are television cameras mounted every fifty feet capable of following any vehicle or person moving along the perimeter.
The interior is visible through the heavily guarded gate that serves as the compound’s sole entrance. Beyond the gate a wide, grass-covered parade ground precedes a row of cinderblock buildings. The buildings are painted a flat, dull green, and uniformed guards armed with automatic weapons protect each. It is not a friendly place, nor is it intended to be. It gives off both an aura of power and one of dread, a place that few enter willingly, and where those who leave do so only when permitted.
Cabrera’s office was stark and decidedly military, and when they entered, Devlin and Adrianna were offered equally plain and uncomfortable chairs. Cabrera sat behind a metal desk. He was dressed in uniform, his tunic adorned with numerous ribbons, and aside from the colonel, himself, the only other decorative touch was a large personally inscribed photograph of Fidel in battle fatigues and field cap.
Devlin took in the room, noting its sense of sparse isolation. Martinez had been asked to wait in the outer office. The major had seemed unconcerned, and Devlin had not objected. Both men recognized it as a time-honored police technique. Strip away any hope of assistance, and leave the subjects of interrogation feeling helpless and alone. The only question now was whether Cabrera would play good cop or bad cop.
“I believe another person has joined you in Havana,” Cabrera began. “A detective named Oliver Pitts?”
“That’s right, he came in last night,” Devlin said.
“I assume he is here to help you … make your own inquiries?”
Devlin forced a smile. “Would that be a problem?” he asked.
Cabrera returned the smile. “Yes. I am afraid it would be a serious problem. As I told you when you first arrived, a very thorough investigation is being conducted.”
“We have no doubt about that, Colonel.” Devlin decided to fall back on the cover story he and Martinez had worked out. “Actually, Detective Pitts brought me some papers from work that required my attention. He decided to combine that with a small vacation.”
Cabrera nodded. “And where is he now?”
“We dropped him off at Major Martinez’s office on the way here. He wanted to see a Cuban police station and the major was kind enough to oblige.” Devlin gave Cabrera another smile. “Sort of a busman’s holiday, as we say in the States. After that, I believe he plans to do some shopping.”
Pitts was actually reading through the reports on Maria Mendez’s death and disappearance. Placing those documents in foreign hands was a direct violation of Cuban law, and Martinez had assured them that Cabrera would be aware of that illegality before the day ended.
But he would not act on it, Martinez had said. Not officially, at least. The situation was politically awkward, and to move openly against a member of the Red Angel’s family-no matter how indirectly-might prove dangerous. Even for the head of the secret police.
Devlin decided to push that point now, to put Cabrera on the defensive.
“I was wondering if we could see your reports on the automobile accident, Ms. Mendez’s death, and the subsequent theft of her body.”
Cabrera rocked back in his chair. “I am afraid that is not permitted.” He came forward and folded his hands. “I assure you all steps are being taken. I can tell you that several individuals are being questioned, and I believe it is only a matter of time before we learn the reasons behind this unfortunate act.”
Adrianna leaned forward, drawing the colonel’s eye. Except for an initial greeting, Cabrera had ignored her, preferring to direct his questions to a fellow male, a fellow cop, and Devlin could see from her body language that the colonel’s little game had hit all the wrong buttons.
“Can you tell me why neither my aunt’s death nor the theft of her body has been reported in the newspapers?” There was an angry edge in her voice and it seemed to surprise the colonel. He obviously wasn’t accustomed to being challenged in his own office.
Cabrera raised his folded hands in front of his face. “You must understand that things are done differently in Cuba,” he began. “We are not required to release information about investigations that are being conducted. We consider such a practice unwise, since it would interfere with our efforts, and also give assistance to those who have committed the crime.” His eyes hardened. “We also do not allow foreigners to conduct their own investigations. I want you to be very clear about that.”
Devlin saw Adrianna’s back stiffen. “Colonel, you really surprise me.”
Again, Cabrera seemed taken aback. “And why is that, Senorita Mendez?”
Adrianna held his eyes. “My aunt was a respected, perhaps even an honored member of your government.”
“That is very true-”
Adrianna didn’t allow him to finish. “But so far, not only have you refused to give me any meaningful information about her death or the theft of her body, but now you seem to be telling me-perhaps even warning me-not to inquire into how these things happened.”
Cabrera held out both hands, as if warding off her words. “Senorita, please allow me to give all assurances-”
Again, Adrianna cut him off. “No, Colonel, let me assure you of a few things. First, that I intend to find out what happened to my aunt. Next, that I intend to see that her body is recovered. And, finally, that I intend to give her a decent burial.” She continued to stare Cabrera down, but allowed her voice to soften. “One more thing, Colonel. I sincerely doubt that any responsible member of your government will object to these rather small intentions. So if you refuse to help me, be assured that I will find someone in your government who will.”
Cabrera’s face reddened, and Devlin could see him fighting for control. “You will have whatever assistance I can give you,” he snapped. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for you at this moment.”
Adrianna stood, still holding his eyes. “Then I assume we are free to go.”
“Of course,” Cabrera said.
As Adrianna headed for the door, Devlin stood and nodded to the colonel. “Nice to see you again, Colonel,” he said.
Martinez threw back his head and laughed as Devlin told him about the interview. They had just driven through the gate and were headed back to his office to collect Pitts.
“Senorita Mendez, you must pardon me, but I think you may have-how do you say it? — pissed the colonel off.” He began to laugh again.
A hint of concern came to Adrianna’s eyes, then disappeared. “Since he already tried to have us killed, that doesn’t seem like much of a problem.” She glanced out the rear window, expecting to see white-clad Abakua trailing behind them. “Are we still being followed?”
“No,” Martinez said. “Not once this morning. I imagine the colonel is wondering what has happened to his Abakua.”
“And what has happened to them?” Devlin asked.
“They are like Detective Pitts,” Martinez said. “They are taking a small holiday.”
Robert Cipriani entered Cabrera’s office from a small adjoining room. A bug in the colonel’s desk had allowed him to listen to the interview with Devlin and Adrianna.
“Tough lady,” he said as he took the same chair Devlin had occupied. “And, unless there’s been some change in plans, I thought she was supposed to be a dead lady.”
“There is no change,” Cabrera snapped. “Just an unexpected delay.”
“The Abakua screwed up?”
“My Abakua have disappeared. But there are other Abakua. By tonight, Senorita Mendez and her friends will be dead.”
Cipriani nodded. “I think that’s wise. There’s a great deal of money involved, and as I said, I don’t think our friends will appreciate problems this late in the game.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve dealt with those gentlemen. They’re not known for their tolerance.”
Cabrera picked up an envelope from his desk and tossed it to Cipriani. “Since you are so concerned, I have decided to let you supervise the matter yourself. There is an airline ticket inside. It is for Santiago de Cuba, which, according to my informants at Cubana Airlines, is where our friends are now headed.” He smiled at the surprise on Cipriani’s face. “One of my men will go with you, of course, and some other Abakua friends will meet you in Santiago. You will return here, my friend. Whether or not you also return to your cell will depend on how well you do this little job.”
“Wait a minute, Colonel. Killing people is not my line.”
Cabrera stared at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “I understand your reluctance. You prefer to take people’s lives with a pen and a checkbook, not a knife or a gun. But do not fear. You will have only to supervise. Besides, there is another gentleman arriving in Santiago today, and since other matters will keep me in Havana, I would like you to represent me with him. It is a person you know well.”
“And who’s that?” Cipriani asked.
“An old friend of yours. The old man who has caused these problems. Giovanni Rossi. He is here both on a matter of health and on a matter of business. He will be staying in a villa in the mountains near Cobre.”
“And what do you want me to do with Rossi?” Cipriani asked.
Cabrera smiled again. “Allay his fears, my friend. Just as I will allay the fears of his associate, who arrives in Havana this evening.”