Red Angel

“They won’t find out. The travel agent told me the Cubans don’t stamp your passport. It’s their way of helping U.S. citizens beat the embargo. So there’s no record of you ever having been there.”

Devlin crossed the room, lifted her to him, and slipped his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” he said. “And you don’t have to sneak in the back way. Howie Silver made some calls. Your license from the Treasury Department and your Cuban visa will be ready tomorrow morning. Mine, too.”

“Yours?”

“You didn’t think I was going to turn you loose in Cuba all alone, did you? The place is supposed to be overrun with sexy male salsa dancers.”

Adrianna’s head fell against his chest. “Thank God,” she said. “I was terrified. I just didn’t want to tell you. All the stories I grew up with, the stories about Castro’s storm troopers, have been playing in my mind all day. And the phone calls to the hospital in Havana haven’t helped.”

“What did the hospital tell you?”

She shook her head against his chest, her long, raven-black hair swinging slightly. “When I got the first call, telling me my aunt Maria had been in a car accident, I called the hospital right away. At first they couldn’t be more helpful. Then her doctor got on the line, and suddenly everything changed. He acted like I wasn’t supposed to know. Like someone calling from the United States was somehow suspicious.”

He stroked her head. “You told me she was a respected doctor-even worked a bit for the government. That’s probably why.” He ran his hand down her back, trying to comfort her. “You know what hospitals and doctors are like when it comes to their own. They’re like cops.”

She shook her head again, then stepped back and looked up at him. Her light brown eyes were weary, and her normally smiling mouth was now tight and narrow. “It was more than that, Paul. The doctor was acting like I might find out something I wasn’t supposed to. I was sure he was lying to me.”

“What did he say about her condition?”

“He said it was grave.” She pronounced the word in Spanish-graa-VEY.

Devlin stroked her arm. “I put in a call to the American Interests Section at the Swiss embassy in Havana. The congressman Howie got to expedite the U.S. license and the Cuban visa recommended we do that. No one was available, but I left our number here. The congressman told Howie he’d make sure someone got back to us.”

“Thank God you have friends in high places,” she said. “When I called the State Department for help, the person I spoke with acted like I was crazy. He said I needed this idiotic license from Treasury, because everything involving Cuba falls under something called the Trading with the Enemy Act.” She shook her head again as if none of it made sense. “So I was transferred to the Treasury Department, something called the Office of Foreign Assets Control.”

“What did they say?”

“They told me it could take as long as six months to get a license. Apparently it’s a policy thing to try and discourage people from going there.”

“You told them it was a family emergency?”

“Paul, they couldn’t have cared less. The woman I spoke with was more concerned about throwing regulations and restrictions at me. Like, if I got a license and visa and everything, I still couldn’t spend more than a hundred dollars a day while I was there.”

Devlin grinned at her. “So, what’s the problem? You get a good hotel room, and you don’t eat. Or you can sleep on a park bench and have all the rice and beans you want. Makes sense to me.”

Adrianna leaned against him again. “I wish stupid government regulations were the only part of this that seems so wrong.” She fought back a sob, hardened herself against it. “But it’s more than that. Maybe I’m just being paranoid because I’m so upset. But somehow nothing about this seems right. The second person who called to tell me about the car accident acted so odd. When I asked who he was, all he’d say was that he was a friend. He wouldn’t even give me his name.”

“Wait a minute, what do you mean, the second person who called about the accident? There were two?”

Adrianna nodded, then seemed to think about what she had just said. “Yes, there were two calls. That is strange. I was so upset I didn’t even think about it. First this-” She stopped and rummaged around on a table until she found a piece of paper with a name on it. “This Colonel Cabrera called. He sounded very official, and said my aunt had been in a serious accident, and I should come at once if I wanted to see her. He said to call him back and he’d have me met at the airport.” She stared into his eyes and shook her head, as if trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Then, after I talked with the hospital, the second man called. He said he was a friend of my aunt’s. And he was, I’m sure of it, because he knew about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He asked if Senor Devlin was coming with me. He said he’d make hotel reservations for a double room, if you were.”

“How’d he know about me?”

“I asked him that. He said my aunt told him. And if he was a friend, she would have, Paul. I wrote to her about you all the time, and she even wrote back asking questions about your job, your daughter, everything.”

“But this guy, he wouldn’t give you his name?”

“No, he said it was unwise to do that on the telephone. He said he’d meet us at the airport. When I told him this Colonel Cabrera was sending a car, he said it would be unwise to let the colonel know when I was arriving. He said the colonel worked for State Security, and was no friend of my aunt.” She stared at him, hoping he’d say something comforting. “It is strange, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. I think we should just go, ourselves, and avoid both of these characters. At least for now.”

Something didn’t smell right, but Devlin didn’t want to say it. Not now. Not until she calmed down. He took her to their large, overstuffed sofa and drew her down next to him.

“Tell me about your aunt. All you’ve ever said was that she was a doctor who worked for the Cuban government, and that she and your dad didn’t get along.”

Adrianna looked at him as though confused by the question. Her features softened with thought, and Devlin realized, as he had so often before, how much he enjoyed looking at her. Adrianna’s nose was slightly too large; her mouth just a bit too wide; her light brown eyes too much in contrast with her raven-black hair, and all together it made her the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever known.

“There really isn’t a lot I do know about her,” she said at length. “I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. My father always refused to talk about her, and when I finally got to meet her after he died, she was always very reticent about what she did. All she really ever told me was that she was a doctor who specialized in children’s problems. I do know her government sent her to several conferences at the UN and the World Health Organization, because we’d see each other during those trips. She was here eight or nine times like that, and she always stayed a week or two, so we saw a lot of each other when she was here. But that’s really all I know about her life. That, and the fact that she hated Batista, and was a fierce supporter of Fidel Castro, and everything she thought he’d done for Cuba.”

“You must know more than that,” Devlin said.

“Paul, I don’t. After my father died, she sort of adopted me from afar. I was an adult by then-” She stopped, as if considering her own words. “I guess I never recognized it before, but all our interactions were about me-her hopes for me and my work, whatever problems there were in my life. That’s all that seemed to interest her. My life. My welfare. Everything. All of it centered around me. Whenever I asked about her, she just dismissed herself as some country doctor who took care of children. All she ever wanted to talk about was me, and my problems, my hopes, my needs. I guess you could say she was more mentor than aunt.” She closed her eyes and fought back tears. “She was wonderful, Paul. She was the first real intellectual friend I ever had. The first person who ever took me seriously.”

The call from the U.S. Interests Section in Havana came as they were completing their packing. Devlin spent twenty minutes on the phone, making notes about the arrangements that had been made and listening to a detailed explanation of what they could expect to find when they arrived.

When he replaced the receiver he stood quietly, digesting what he had been told.

“What is it, Paul?”

He shook his head, a look of mild disbelief in his eyes. “I just found out a little more about your aunt,” he