The Atlas Murders (34 page)

After some time, he didn’t
know how long, he kissed her one more time and reluctantly left to go back to
his lonely bunk. He traced his way back and when he got to the Plaza he knew
his way from there. The streets were darker now; there was no lighting in any
of the houses. He heard voices coming his way and stood inside a doorway. A
group of men, maybe five in total, were frog marching a terrified individual. 
His clothes were torn and they subjected him to the occasional blow from a
short cudgel. Henry ran the rest of the way back and was never so glad to see
the old ship since when he first joined her. Gary wasn’t on board so he locked
the cabin door, took out the slip of paper with Alicia’s address on it: seventeen,
top apartment, Compostela. He would remember the house if ever he saw it again.
It was beautifully decorated in old Spanish style with balconies and had a
unique cornice surround with small cherubs now chipped and faded but no doubt,
once very ornate and stylishly colonial. He tried to sleep but lay restless
thinking of what the following day might hold for him. Yes he thought, tomorrow
is another day. eventually, he fell asleep.

 Henry was up and ready at
seven to serve the dining saloon for breakfast. There was no sign of Gary and
he was becoming a little worried. Then he heard the door open and there
appeared the lad no worse looking for his night ashore.

“At least you’re safe and
well,” said Henry, fixing his black tie in place.

 “Yeah, I’ll tell you later.”

 He was hurriedly undressing
to change into his work uniform. Henry went to the pantry and served breakfast.
He listened to the talk among the officers about their time ashore. A junior
engineer was accosted by a group of Cuban youths and when they realized he was
from a ship they let him go unmolested.

 The captain listening to the
chatter gave his serious opinion, “they were probably looking for people who
served in the police and army. You know that Castro’s forces are near at hand
and the Batista government is defeated. It may not be safe around the streets
of Havana for a while until some law and order is restored. If you young men do
decide to go ashore, go in company of twos and threes, and don’t wear your
uniforms or you could be mistaken for a member of the government forces. Try
and take identification if you have any, like a letter addressed to the ship.”

 The chief officer walked
briskly in and said a cheery good morning to all at his table, especially the
captain, who he wished a happy new year.

 “Yes, it’s the first day of
1959,” said the chief engineer with a tone of resignation.

Henry moved swiftly back and
forth to the pantry keeping the service fast and brisk. He surprised himself on
how good a waiter he had become. His thoughts were all the time on Alicia and
would she deliver his letter and return with a reply.

Over breakfast Gary was
relating his adventures ashore to Henry and the second cook when he was
interrupted by the menacing Tukola. He stood at the end of their table, his
good eye staring and the other a filigree of white and green puss. His bare
torso rippled with muscle as he towered over the seated men. He banged the
table and the plates lifted and the cutlery rattled.

“Be very careful ashore it is
very dangerous here, especially for you,”
he snarled, glaring at Henry.

Henry grabbed his fork and
spoke with non-restrained venom.

“If I meet you ashore you
have no idea how dangerous it’ll be for you.”

He stood up quickly pushing
back his chair and held the fork in his outstretched hand pointing it at
Tukola’s chest.

“You get out of here before
you give me an excuse to use this.”

Tukola spat on the floor,
turned and walked out.

 The chief cook came in when
he heard the raised voices. “What’s happening?” The second cook told him about
Tukola.

 “The news about the ordinary
seaman has just come in from the radio room. He passed away this morning
without gaining consciousness. The poor kid.”

The second cook stood up from
the table.

 “You know why that bastard
was acting up, he knows now the ordinary seaman can’t say who pushed him.” Henry
was philosophical in his tone.

The chief cook rubbed his
hands in his white apron, “That evil bastard will come to a bad end; he’ll
never see the rest of this trip out.”

 Deep in thought, Henry took
his mug of tea and left the room. The feeling against Tukola is running high;
if he stays on board he’ll be thrown over the side as sure as hell before we
reach home. He surely knows this. I wonder if he’ll jump ship here if he’s not
arrested, which now doesn’t look likely.

Gary caught up with him in
the alleyway. “That was some show, he hates us. You especially Henry. He
wouldn’t think twice about stabbing us or killing us whatever way he could.”

“You better believe it and
watch your every step. Carry that knife especially when ashore, or get a better
one in some shop when you’re next in town.”

 “Yes, I’m going to get
myself a good knife with a proper sheath.”

 The ship’s agent was on
board for lunch and the news he had filtered down the ranks. The top ranking
officials in the Batista government were fleeing the country. Batista had
resigned and handed over power to one of his relatives. He had fled to the
Dominican Republic earlier that morning. There was unrest and mobs were looting
some of the big shops. The police were gone and law and order was non-existent.
He told the captain that in the interests of safety for his crew to advise them
to stay on board until some semblance of law returned.

Henry wondered as four o’clock
approached how safe was it to venture ashore. He said nothing to Gary but after
doing the smoko, he headed off at three thirty. The streets were quiet and a
glorious sun shone on people chatting in their doorways and walking the streets
as normal. Who could believe there was a revolution going on here? He sat on
the carved stone seat in the Plaza. The weather was pleasantly warm. Alicia
appeared across the paved plaza standing, looking over to where he was sitting;
a more beautiful sight he had never seen. She walked across the tiled plaza,
her smile could cause a riot or invoke sainthood, he thought. She moved with
the grace of a gazelle, her curvature perfect. Henry stood to meet her and had
to use all of his restraints to refrain from holding and kissing her. As she
held his hand, he felt like a child when a mother holds a hand and guides you
to someplace nice and comforting.

“We sit here, Henry. You get
back ship ok?”

 “Yes Alicia.”

He wanted to keep saying her
name; to his ears it sounded so melodic and so sexy.

 “I have your letter. I have
to wait long time for them to give me this for you.”

She handed him an official
letter with the British Embassy’s stamp on it.

“Thank you Alicia, do you
mind if I read it?”

 “You read Henry, not letter
from girl, I would be jealous!”

 Henry laughed, “how you
could think of that you beautiful vixen.”

 “What is a vixen?”

 He turned to her and tipped
her lovely nose with his finger, “a beautiful furry animal that is very
clever.”

“I like you very much Henry.”

 He opened the envelope and
read the hand-written reply from the Ambassador himself. In it he apologized
for not being able to assist him in such a serious and criminal situation. He sympathized
with him for his great loss and had already been briefed from Whitehall about
the ship and the murders on board. The letter stated that Batista had resigned
and fled the country, leaving behind lawlessness and chaos and all our active
agents have been ordered to leave the country. He wished him the best of
British luck, and ordered him on peril of contravening the Official Secrets
Act, to burn the correspondence.

 He tucked the letter into
his back pocket and checked the time. It was coming up to quarter to five and
he had to be back on duty at five. Alicia pre-empted him with a smile.

“You have go back to ship
now, but later I see you here, what time?”

 “I will meet you at eight o’clock,
here by the seat.”

 She kissed him lightly on
the lips her breath was sweet and languorous, her voice slightly husky.

“Good bye my dear Henry.”

 He looked back and the last
sight of her; she was sitting on the stone seat gazing up at the cathedral.

The captain had gotten a
reply from the Ambassador without a mention of Henry’s involvement in the case.
The situation was outlined on the same lines and the Ambassador hoped they
would have no more trouble before they reached the UK. He also apologized for
not being of more assistance to him.

Henry got to the lavatory
with just enough time to dispose of the letter before he went on duty. He
burned the letter and flushed it down the lavatory bowl. He was going to have
to keep closer tabs on Tukola; if he did decide to jump ship that would
probably be the last they would ever see of him again. There were a thousand
places on the Caribbean Islands a fugitive could work and hide himself.

He got himself dressed for
shore, remembering to pack his knife. Gary left with the second cook and Henry
waited along the foredeck out of sight of would-be shore goers, and watched the
lads ignoring the warnings of the captain and heading up town. It was nearly
dark, he looked at his watch; it was ten minutes to eight! He was devastated;
it meant he couldn’t keep his appointment with Alicia now even if he ran all
the way. He stepped out of the accommodation and stood at the top of the
gangway, dressed in charcoal flannel slacks and gray shirt, his dark clothing
made him inconspicuous in the fading light. He looked around searching the quay
for any sign of life, there was none. He walked silently down onto the quay
stopping and looking around like a prowling leopard. The bastard, thought Henry,
is suspecting someone to follow him he’s the prey now, but could easily turn
hunter. He felt a nervous churning in his stomach as he spotted Tukola leaving
the ship. Moving into the shadows, Henry waited until Tukola had passed him
before trailing him from safe distance. Tukola was walking briskly about fifty
yards ahead, just visible in the darkened street. Tukola didn’t go near the
Plaza, instead he headed to the Prado, and the lights were on in this area. He
stood on this beautiful walk lined by trees and seemed to be looking for some
direction. Two young girls came up and spoke to him. They were dressed in short
skirts and were flaunting their sex liberally. He turned without even
acknowledging their presence and walked on down towards the Malecon. There were
shots fired down a side street. Henry kept on his trail. He saw a gang of
youths carrying boxes and others with clothes having looted shops farther back
up the Prado. Tukola turned onto the seafront and crossed over to the sea wall,
Henry kept to the side where the houses were and hoped he wouldn’t be seen.
There were lots of American cars, huge Buicks and Cadillac, driving up and down
the seafront road. Many were full of youths who had obviously stolen them; they
had the radios on full volume and were leaning out the windows shouting and
cheering: “Viva Castro.”

 Further along the road the
lights were out and darkness pervaded. It was an area of faded Spanish colonial
buildings where people stood on balconies talking and youths roamed round
corners in gangs, some had guns and others had captives they were dragging
along. Henry could still see Tukola outlined against the Caribbean sky, walking
slowly, occasionally stopping to look around. He carried on walking, glancing
across the road from time to time as if looking for someplace he knew. The tall
and imposing edifice of The Hotel Nacional loomed ahead. The hotel must have
had its own generators because most of the windows were illuminated. There were
a cluster of high rise buildings in the area – mostly other hotels.

Tukola crossed the road, so Henry
stood back in the shadows as he was now only about twenty yards behind him.
Tukola was barely visible as he merged into a dark recess where he stood
watching as people were leaving the hotels, being chauffeured away in their
extravagant American cars. He then walked on past the Hotel Nacional and
stopped in the parking area of the Hotel Capri, standing in the dark under a
grove of palm trees. There were people coming out carrying bags and suitcases -
the exodus was in full swing. Then the lights went out and the whole area was
thrown into darkness. A woman came running out of the back entrance of the
hotel and went to a white Cadillac coupe near to where Tukola was standing. She
was fumbling in the dark with the keys trying to open the door. She had an attaché
case which she dropped. Then a big heavy man broke away from the gang he was
with and came running over and struck her across the face, knocking her to the
ground.

“You fucking thieving bitch.”

He pulled out a hand gun and
pointed it at her, a car swung round and the headlights blinded him.

 “Don’t kill me,” she
screamed.

 Tukola pounced like a panther;
the knife slit the big Cuban’s throat, almost severing his head as blood shot
out over the woman lying on the ground. He pulled her to her feet and picked up
the case. Then he took the gun out of the hand of the twitching body and tucked
it into his waistband and ran after the woman who was heading for the cover of
some trees. Henry stayed in the shadows, not sure which way to move. Two men
came running over to the car and saw their fellow gang member lying in a pool
of his own blood. A third walking slowly, caught up with them at the car and
stood looking at the lifeless body.