And I want him dead before this change-of-heads thing happens.”
The Abakua was in his early forties. He was medium height, but heavily muscled, and his shirt was opened to mid-chest, revealing a pattern of ritual scars from his induction into the sect.
“You have news for me?” Rossi asked.
When the young woman had translated, the Abakua nodded, then shot back a reply in rapid Spanish.
“He says the ceremony will be tomorrow night in Cojimar,” the young woman said. “It is a village by the sea. He says the
“You tell him that’s good. You also tell him I have another job for him, and I’ll give him ten thousand U.S. dollars if he does it before this ceremony happens.”
Rossi listened to the translation and saw the Abakua’s eyes widen when the amount was mentioned. In a country where a sizable pension was fourteen dollars a month, he was being offered a fortune.
“He says he will be happy to do anything you want,” the young woman translated. There was a wildly hopeful look in her eyes, as if she were calculating some way to receive such a payment herself.
“All right,” Rossi said. “You tell him this is what I want him to do.”
When the Abakua had left, Rossi sent the young woman out of the room. Then he beckoned Mattie to him.
“This woman.” He raised his chin toward the door through which the young woman had exited. “I don’t want witnesses to this agreement we made. You take her on a little walk. Tell her you wanna take her to some cantina.” He raised a bony finger. “But she don’t come back,
Mattie let out an unhappy breath.
Rossi smirked at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you somebody else to fuck. Call Cabrera and tell him we need a new translator for this ceremony.” He gave Ippolito a cold smile. “You can tell him just what kind of translator you want.”
Mattie stared at his boss. After all these years he should have known better than to try to put one over on him. “What about the nigger?” he asked.
“When he does his job, we get rid of him, too.”
“What if he fucks it up?”
“Then we don’t have to worry about him.” He waved his arm, taking in everything-the room, the neighborhood, Cuba itself. “The kind of money I offered that Abakua bastard …” He paused to let the cold smile return. “The only way he’s gonna quit is if Devlin kills him.”
Devlin lay in bed, Adrianna nestled against his shoulder. They had just made love, slowly, tenderly, and he hoped it had helped drain away the fear she had felt throughout most of the day. He stroked her arm, thinking she was asleep, hoping to provide comfort to her dreams.
She ran her hand across his chest.
“I thought you had already dozed off,” he said.
He felt her cheek press harder against his shoulder. “Not yet. I was just thinking about everything that’s happened since we came here, and how sorry I am I dragged everyone into this.”
“You didn’t drag us in.”
It was Martinez. Devlin thought about that. It was the only thing that made sense. He knew he still didn’t have an indisputable fix on the time line. But he was getting a feel for it. He thought about Martinez’s call: Your aunt is dying, and you must come at once if you wish to see her. Then the Red Angel’s death, and the theft of her body. But when they arrived they had learned that she had actually died earlier, even before Martinez’s call. The major claimed he hadn’t known, that the hospital had failed to notify him. It was a lame tale, and it wouldn’t surprise him to learn the order of events were actually the reverse, that the major had played them just like Cabrera had-because he, too, wanted them in Cuba. But why? That was the big question, and only one thing made sense. Martinez had known Rossi was involved, and their presence would draw him out. It was all part of some elaborate game he was playing. But Devlin also knew he’d never prove it, probably never get close to the real answer. The Cuban cop hadn’t come clean on anything yet.
“If we hadn’t come … If I hadn’t been such a wimp … If I hadn’t jumped at the chance for you to come with me …”
Devlin pulled Adrianna closer. He didn’t want to tell her about his suspicions. She didn’t need the added burden of knowing her dead aunt was being used in some political game.
“We’re getting close,” he said instead. “Martinez thinks we’ll wrap it up in the next day or two. Then we can bury your aunt and get the hell out of here.”
“What about Cabrera? Ollie pulled a gun on him today. Then he handcuffed him.”
Devlin turned and enfolded her in both arms. “I don’t think Cabrera is going to be a factor when this is over. I think he’s in this thing up to his neck. And Martinez thinks so, too. Don’t forget, he’s got Cipriani under lock and key, along with one of Cabrera’s goons. So Cabrera’s gotta think the major has a shot at proving it. But even if he can’t, I think Cabrera is going to be happy to see us on a plane. He tried to get rid of us-gave it his best shot, and he loused it up. Once Martinez makes his move, I don’t think he’ll try again. He’ll just want us gone. At that point we’ll be a complication he doesn’t need.”
Adrianna was quiet, and Devlin knew she was thinking it through. “I hope you’re right,” she finally said.
So do I, Devlin thought. Because if I’m not …
19
The call came in to the Red Angel’s house shortly after ten the next morning. With Martinez’s men watching Cabrera, Ollie spent the night staking out the Capri Hotel. When Cabrera and another man arrived, he went immediately to a phone.
Fifteen minutes later Martinez was at the Red Angel’s house with two men ready to stand guard inside. As he hurried Devlin to his car, he explained that his own men had already notified him about the activity at the Capri Hotel.
They rode the service elevator to the Capri’s ninth floor, where Martinez produced a key to a room directly above the one occupied by DeForio. When they entered, Devlin found two more of Martinez’s men surrounded by high-tech surveillance equipment. The men were monitoring two TV screens attached to VCR recorders. Next to each were video cameras fitted with coaxial tubes that ran down into the floor.
Devlin shook his head. “How long have you had this setup?”
Martinez gave him a boyish grin. “It was a gift of our long-departed Russian friends. Ingenious, no? The lenses of the cameras are actually in the ceiling of the room below, and the image runs up through the tube. I believe your FBI used something similar in their famous ABSCAM investigation.”
“Cut the crap, Martinez. I mean, how long have you had this
Martinez stroked his mustache, fighting off a smile. He had known exactly what Devlin had meant. “For several days, my friend. Unfortunately, until this morning, we have learned little.” The smile came out now, and he waved one hand in a circle. “Except for Senor DeForio’s sexual habits. My men tell me they are extensive.”
Martinez pointed to one of the VCR recorders, and one of his men removed his earphones and began to rewind it.
“We will watch what has transpired so far, then we will see what is going on now.” He held one palm out, then brought the other on top of it as if slamming a lid down. “The box, my friend. It is turning into a very nice one, I think.”
Cabrera extended his hand toward the third man. “You, of course, remember our deputy minister, Herman Francisco Sauri.” He spoke in English, a signal that DeForio should do the same, both men aware that the deputy
