JET - Escape: (Volume 9) (31 page)

“It’s a remote airfield. There’s nothing there but a military encampment. But this was a civilian. One of the vendors nearby remarked on it when we questioned them. He bought a cigar.”

“That’s why you’re calling? Because a man bought a cigar in Cuba?”

“It’s our only lead. Nobody on the base will talk. We tried. Whoever their commanding officer is, they’re terrified of him, and nobody wanted to risk his wrath for any amount of money. But this cigar buyer was there when the vendor heard a plane land. Find the man with the cigar, and you’ve likely found the people you seek,” the Cuban finished, sounding annoyed at Ramón’s question.

Ramón digested the information and nodded to himself, then winced at the pain the movement caused. “I got it. Fine. When would you like to get together to hand over the weapons?”

“At the end of the day. There aren’t that many relatively new Honda sedans on the island, and that’s what our cigar buyer got out of. Once we have a list, we’ll look for someone matching his description, and there’s your first stop.”

“Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave my phone on.”

~ ~ ~

Carl, true to his word, was waiting for Jet and Matt in the downstairs lobby at nine, wearing another lightweight tropical suit, this one mustard-colored, with a blue shirt and bright yellow tie. He’d topped the ensemble with a Panama hat and carried an ebony walking stick.

“Good morning. I trust you slept comfortably?” he boomed as they came down the stairs.

“Yes, thanks. It was marvelous,” Jet assured him.

“Glad to hear it. Are you ready, or do you want to get something to eat?”

“We already had a light breakfast,” Matt said.

“Very well, then. Let’s get this over with.” He peered down at Hannah, who stood shyly by Jet’s side, holding her hand. “Ready for your modeling audition?”

Hannah blinked at him in puzzled confusion. He straightened and smiled at Jet. “Breathtaking child, really. She’ll stop hearts when she’s older. Takes after her mother in that regard.”

“Thank you. Hannah’s a wonderful little girl. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Hannah smiled, unsure of what was expected of her.

“How far to the shop?” Matt asked.

“Oh. Ten minutes. Over by the university,” Carl said, leading them outside to where his car waited.

“No driver?” Matt asked.

“Don’t worry. I’m not much of a menace during the day.”

“That’s reassuring,” Matt said doubtfully.

“Hush up, young man, and open the door for the ladies.”

The drive took twice as long due to flooding of the waterfront road and congestion on the approach from a tunnel that ran below the Rio Almendares. As they rolled to the curb in front of a brightly colored building, Matt eyed the sign.

“Yankee Pride? Not particularly subtle, is it?” he said.

“I abandoned subtlety lifetimes ago. Way overrated. Besides, the locals are enraptured by anything American. The government says they’re to hate it, but that’s worn thin over the years, and now more want an iPhone and a big-screen television than revolutionary solidarity.”

“How much of the town do you own, Carl?” Jet asked.

“Oh, just this and that, my dear, this and that. I try to keep my fingers in a number of pies. Someone must do the devil’s work, after all,” he said with another wink.

Jet offered him a dazzling white smile. She was getting used to Carl’s odd charm, a sort of cross between Santa Claus and Truman Capote that she found strangely endearing.

“Idle hands,” she agreed.

“Let’s go see if the shiftless thieves I overpay to run the place have shown up for work yet, shall we?” he said, opening the driver’s door and, without waiting for an answer, slammed it and marched to the shop entrance, toting his cane like a rifle.

The photographs were finished in fifteen minutes. Matt eyed the street out of habit as they left the studio. Urchins were kicking a battered soccer ball at the far end of the block, their thin frames and baggy shorts moving in a blur as they vied for a goal. “What now?”

Carl waved his cane at nothing in particular. “I had my expert appraise the stones, and they are as you represented. Not that I for a moment doubted your veracity. But it’s official. And may I say that they are of remarkable quality.”

“I’m glad you think so, Carl,” Matt said.

“From here I’ll leave you to wander the town; or if you like, I can drop you off at the inn. I have a meeting with Fuentes at ten, and I don’t want to be any later than usual.”

“We can walk, if you think it’s safe,” Jet said.

“During the day, no question. At night’s a different story.”

“You really believe the passports will only take forty-eight hours?” Matt asked.

“I do. Fuentes is a good lad. Rock solid, although he shares my sin: the love of money. But he can work magic, and will, for me. We have intertwined holdings, so I get special consideration. And I’ve made it very clear you’re a priority.” Carl patted his pocket, where he had the forms they’d filled out in the photo shop with their new names and ages written on it. “Victor and Alicia Campeno. And their little marvel, Ana. Oh, and if you’re in the mood, tomorrow is my weekly dinner at the best restaurant in all Cuba, with breathtaking views of the water. Another restored home in a lovely location. I’d be delighted if you’d be my guest.”

“That sounds wonderful, Carl,” Jet said.

“See if you can talk this cheapskate into buying you something suitable to wear. It’s not formal but, well, those clothes look like they’ve seen some duty.”

“I will,” Jet assured him.

“What about me?” Matt asked.

“With her on your arm, nobody will be looking at you,” Carl said. “You can wear a towel if you like.”

Everyone laughed, and Carl bid them goodbye as he returned to the car. Matt motioned to the waterfront a few blocks away and glanced at Jet.

“Up for a walk?”

“I’d follow you anywhere. But he’s probably right about finding some decent clothes.”

“Something tells me Cuba’s not going to have a lot of choices.”

“We’re only looking for one outfit. And of course, something for Hannah.”

“Perhaps we should see about having Gloria look after her during dinner? One of Carl’s affairs doesn’t sound like her kind of thing.”

“We’ll see. Lead the way, oh great white hunter.”

“I thought I was the victor.”

“That was last night. Today we’re on the hunt for something to wear.”

Chapter 56

Ramón met Mosises’ Cuban contact, Salvador, at a café in the old town at dusk, near Hemingway’s old hangout, La Bodeguita del Medio. The area was jammed with European and Canadian tourists, distinctive in their floppy Tilley hats and hiking sandals, pink sunburned skin a badge of honor in the tropical heat. They sat together at a tiny circular table, Salvador smoking, while a comely waitress with a quick smile for them both brought coffee and a snifter of rum on the side for Salvador. Ramón stuck to water, not wanting to further impair himself with additional chemicals, the pain pills more than sufficiently altering his state.

Salvador waited until the woman had set their drinks down and moved to another table before sliding an envelope to Ramón. “In there you’ll find a photograph of the man who bought the cigar, as well as a brief dossier on him. He came from nowhere and has become a colorful addition to the Havana scene. He’s rumored to be a high-level fixer.”

“Fixer?”

“In a regimented society like ours, there’s always a need for those who can get things done unofficially, who can secure forbidden fruit. He has that reputation.”

Ramón opened the envelope and peeked inside. “How do I find him?”

“He has a mansion by the water…but I checked, and it’s well guarded.”

“Is that typical here?”

“If one has sufficient financial wherewithal, it’s not unknown. He’s got a contingent of armed ex-military on his grounds, and they tend to be rather good at what they do, so I wouldn’t try to tackle him there.”

“Do you have someone watching the house?”

Salvador tossed back half the rum and washed it down with coffee. “No. It’s not practical in that neighborhood. The police patrol it very regularly, and they’re sensitive about nonresidents loitering around.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“He owns a number of businesses. Actually, a dozen that I was able to find, and probably more where he’s a silent partner. You can look for him at his known establishments.”

“That sounds like a lot of ground to cover.”

“I am happy to assist, if you’d like me to.”

“I would.”

They finished their drinks and Salvador led Ramón to his vehicle, where he opened the trunk and retrieved a green tote bag and handed it to him. “Your pistol and ammunition are in there.”

“Perfect. I’ll wait to hear from you. Time is of the essence in this matter.”

“Mosises made that very clear.”

Ramón walked back toward the main plaza, where taxis lined the block, and read the brief paragraph on the subject as he went. Carl Rodgers, ostensibly Canadian, man about town, bon vivant, entrepreneur. A list of his enterprises, which included three cafés, an art studio, two tour companies, and a handful of other miscellaneous ventures.

Not a lot to go on. But their only thread.

And Carl had bought a cigar in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Which was enough.

Tomorrow, Ramón would make a tour of as many of the man’s businesses as he could. From the picture, it wouldn’t be hard to spot him. The man was the size of a polar bear, judging from the weight on the driver’s license copy Salvador provided, and his Lincolnic beard and leonine head of platinum hair were distinctive even in the small photograph.

In the meantime, more meds and another night’s sleep would set Ramón right. He was already healing; with every hour he felt surer of himself, his limp now a mere nuisance, the pills taking the worst of the edge off the pain.

Tomorrow he’d be ready for battle. He just hoped that there would be an enemy to fight, because with every hour the trail grew colder, and he knew that eventually it would disappear altogether.

~ ~ ~

Major Fuentes stood in the doorway of his friend and sometimes lover Solana, who was in charge of the Havana passport department – a job she’d held for over a decade and which had earned her a tidy sum, working in conjunction with him. Fuentes had dropped off the photos that morning, and stopped in after hours to confirm that progress was being made.

“You’re an angel for helping with this, Solana.”

“I know. Of course, the money helps my divine intervention in the matter.”

Fuentes nodded. “We must seize opportunity when we find it.”

She smiled up at him from her desk. “Speaking of which, why are you here so late?”

“I was thinking you might want to have a daiquiri with me somewhere quiet.”

Solana eyed the pile of documents on her desk. “Can we do it some other time? I have a lot on my plate.”

“Sure. Just name a time and place. Perhaps when I pick the documents up the day after tomorrow?”

“Ah, so this is your way of reminding me I need to come in early to get them. I see. Don’t worry,
mi amor
, I want my payday as much as you. Although a daiquiri sounds…interesting. Shall we say noon, Friday, at La Floridita? I’ll bring the passports, you bring the second half of the payment, and we’ll see if we can find something to discuss other than business. I shall tell the staff I’m feeling under the weather that morning, so we’ll have the afternoon to ourselves.”

“Sounds like a date.”

She watched him walk down the corridor and out the front entrance and sighed. “Oh, Luis. What am I going to do with you?” She placed a hand on the pile of documents and eyed her ring finger, and then took up her work again, the clock behind her ticking inexorably, a reminder that time was creeping by in tiny increments that added up to a life waiting for another woman’s husband to buy her a drink.

Chapter 57

Ramón’s phone rang as he was making his way back to the hotel at the end of the next day. His entire afternoon had been a wash, Carl nowhere in evidence at any of his businesses. Ramón wasn’t looking forward to having to tell Mosises that there had been no progress, and his mood wasn’t being improved by the body aches that lingered from the accident. He fished in his pocket and dry-swallowed another pain pill, figuring it wouldn’t matter since he was just going to be in his hotel room the rest of the night.

It rang one more time before he managed to press the right button. Salvador.

“Yes?” Ramón answered.

“One of my men learned that this Carl has a standing reservation every Thursday night at La Golondrina. That’s where you’ll find him tonight.”

“La Golondrina?”

“On the water down by the Hotel Occidental Miramar.” Salvador gave him an address.

“How did you find out?”

“It’s no secret. Apparently he hosts a who’s who of Havana society there. A regular event. Imported wine, gourmet food, musicians, very hedonistic. Not at all in the spirit of austerity that the regime preaches, but then again, hypocrisy’s the national pastime.”

“What time?”

“Eight o’clock.”

Ramón checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes. “Okay, thanks. I’ll get over there and see if I can convince him to spend a few minutes with me.”

“I should caution you that in that neighborhood, you won’t be allowed to stand around. The security will be tight. These are the wealthiest people in Havana, and they don’t encourage the locals to hang out there. So you’ll need a better plan than that, or you’ll be told to move along.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Ramón flagged a passing taxi and gave him the address. The old driver grinned – it would be a good fare on a slow evening for him. Ramón fingered the butt of the pistol in his windbreaker pocket. This Carl fellow was about to have the worst night of his life.

~ ~ ~

Jet twirled with her arms outstretched and Hannah clapped her hands in delight, both giggling as Matt looked on. They’d eventually found a dress for Jet the day before, and had spent that morning converting the smallest of the diamonds, a one-and-a-half carat princess cut, into dollars at a black market jeweler Carl had introduced them to. Now, after a relaxing day lounging around the courtyard wading pool, they were preparing to meet Carl for dinner.