Red Angel

minister prided himself on his fluency.

DeForio stepped forward and took Sauri’s hand. “It’s been too long, Minister. Six months at least, I think.”

Sauri extended his hands to his sides in an expression of regret. “I had hoped to get to New York earlier this year, but pressing matters here made that impossible.”

Sauri was tall and slender, in his mid-forties, with distinguished touches of gray in his jet-black hair. He was cleanshaven and would have been considered handsome except for an unusually large nose that hooked sharply at its end. He wore a lightweight business suit that had the look of foreign tailoring, and an equally expensive silk necktie, all part of the image he chose to project. As the ranking first deputy of the Ministry of the Interior, he was among the most powerful of Cuba’s younger cadre of rising politicians, and he was often touted as a reflection of the new Cuba, even as a possible future head of state.

DeForio gestured toward a side table that held an assortment of breakfast rolls, coffee, and freshly squeezed juices. “Please help yourself to any refreshments,” he said.

Sauri waved away the offer. “Perhaps coffee, later. I think it best we get down to business.”

They went to the suite’s dining table, where DeForio had already arranged a series of maps and financial projections. The maps included an overall depiction of Cuba, a second of Havana and its environs, another of the resort community of Veradaro, and a final detailed rendering of a large island off Cuba’s southern coast, the Isle of Youth.

DeForio pointed at the final map. “This of course will be our initial thrust, the Isla de la Juventud, the Isle of Youth. At present we’re planning resorts in Los Colonos and Playa Bibilagua in the north, and another at Playa Roja on the southwestern coast. There are already hotels in these locations that we can buy and then expand to suit our needs. We would like, of course, to offer gambling at these locations as soon as we begin operating.” DeForio pointed to the maps of Havana and Veradaro. “We also want the right to purchase or build hotels in both Havana and Veradaro over the next five years. These, of course, would remain free of gambling, subject to renegotiations later, when the present leaders of the revolution are no longer in power. With all those points in mind, my principals have agreed to your demand that five hundred million U.S. dollars, which is one quarter of our anticipated investment, be turned over to the government at this time, to be used in site development by government engineers, and to pay workers for the first phase of construction. It’s understood that ten percent of that amount, or fifty million, will be used to cover costs incurred by the government.” He looked up and smiled. It was a nice way to describe an official government bribe. DeForio brought his hands together. “Now, we’re prepared to transfer this good-faith money-all five hundred million-as soon as the final agreement is signed.” He pushed the financial projections across the table. “As you will see, this is one quarter of the two billion we expect to invest in Cuba, the percentage you requested to show our resolve in this matter.”

“And the percentage of profits?” Sauri asked.

“As we agreed earlier,” DeForio said. “Fifteen percent of all gambling revenues off the top, paid as a tax to the government, providing we also have use of several small keys off the island’s coast, particularly Cayo Largo to the west.”

Sauri drummed his fingers on the table. “And these cayos will be used to transport narcotics to the United States?”

DeForio looked down at the table. “That is not part of our formal plan, as you know. Let’s just say the cayos will be used to defer some of the costs of the project.”

Sauri smiled at the choice of words. The smile didn’t carry to his eyes. “This of course is a great personal danger to us.” He nodded toward Cabrera. “In the past, the government has taken a hard line with those involved in drug traffic. You recall the trial of certain military leaders in 1989, and their subsequent execution. One of those men, Alexis Lago Arocha, lived only a few houses from my own. His children were friends of my children, so it is a very vivid memory in my mind.”

DeForio’s face became solemn. “It is a danger, but one I am sure we can overcome. Nothing in the agreement reflects any questionable activities on the various keys, only the storage of construction materials.”

Sauri held up a hand. “Cayo Largo is of particular concern. It is more than one hundred kilometers to the east of Isla de la Juventud, an unlikely choice for such an activity. It is something that might be questioned.”

“It also has an existing airport, capable of handling reasonably large aircraft,” DeForio said. “We would argue that building such a facility on another key would add considerable expense to our overall plan-an expense that would be reflected in our ability to purchase other facilities in Havana and Veradaro. I think any reasonable government official will accept this. Especially if there is a strong suggestion from the Ministry of the Interior.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “After all, it’s not a lie, my friend. Even we have financial limitations.”

DeForio walked around the table so he was standing next to Sauri and Cabrera. “As you know, any other activities we engage in on these keys will not be part of our formal agreement with the government. Or any informal agreement. They will strictly involve you and Colonel Cabrera, and anyone else you choose to involve out of necessity. We will, however, compensate you both-as agreed. When the documents are signed, we are prepared to make initial payments of five million dollars to the accounts you specify. That’s five million for each of you, with the understanding that you will handle payments to others as you see fit.” He raised his hands again. “Nothing on paper, no questions asked. As far as we are concerned, it’s nothing more than a finder’s fee.”

“And future payments?” Cabrera asked.

“As agreed. A two percent royalty on all product shipped from Cuban soil.”

“And we will have men present to assure the accuracy of the count?” Cabrera asked.

“Definitely. Nothing leaves any of the keys without first passing your people. Sort of an unofficial State Security inspection.” He smiled at the two men. “I estimate your compensation at around ten million a year. For each of you.”

“Payable in installments at the time of each shipment,” Sauri added.

“To whatever foreign account you specify.” DeForio hesitated a beat. “This, of course, is contingent on your assurance that no attempt will be made to alter the present government for at least five years.”

Sauri laughed softly. “And this to assure the U.S. economic sanctions remain in place.”

DeForio nodded. “It’s the only way we can limit big-money competition for the properties we want. We don’t want to find ourselves bidding against well-financed hotel chains. We already lived through that in Vegas and Atlantic City.”

Sauri rubbed his hands together. He glanced at Cabrera. “Fidel would be amused, no? If he knew. Imagine, the Mafia keeping the revolution in power so they could eliminate capitalist competition. Of course he does not know it is the Mafia. He believes he is dealing with an unscrupulous foreign corporation operating out of the Bahamas-one that is simply trying to subvert the American embargo.” He laughed more heartily this time.

“But he has signed on to our initial plan. Resort gambling on the Isle of Youth.” DeForio intentionally formulated his words as a statement, not a question.

“Yes, yes,” Sauri said. “It was difficult to convince him, but finally he agreed. The country is in economic crisis, and the revenues this will generate could equal our present losses in sugar, which we once hoped would carry our economy through difficult times. The fact that this gambling would be limited to the Isla de la Juventud made it palatable. It spares the people of the mainland, and will not appear to be a return to the days of Batista.”

“Five years from now it may be different,” DeForio said. “At least that’s our hope.”

Sauri laughed again. “And your power then will be such that your hopes will undoubtedly become reality. But it will not matter then. In five years Fidel’s life will be closing in on eighty years. If he has not already retired, steps can then be taken.”

“That, of course, we will leave to you,” DeForio said. “By then, our investment plan will be completed, and the sanctions will no longer be a concern. In fact, it would benefit us if they were lifted.”

“Something I am sure you will arrange,” Cabrera said.

DeForio smiled. “You never know.” He raised a finger. “But we’ll always be grateful to the Comandante.” He brought the finger to his nose and tapped lightly. “Hey, who can tell? Maybe we’ll be so grateful, we’ll contribute to Fidel’s pension.” He paused for effect. “Or a little something for the monument on his grave.”