They turned and saw Martinez in the doorway.
“What part is wrong?” Devlin asked.
Martinez smiled at him. “Later, my friend. I promise you. Later you will have all the answers you need. But first, I must do something else. I must go to Cabrera’s house and conduct my interrogation. There are some answers I need, before I can provide answers for you. Are you interested in accompanying me?”
“You bet your ass I am,” Devlin said.
Juan Domingo Argudin was becoming frustrated. Everywhere the American went he was surrounded by Cuban police. His men had followed the gringo to this neighborhood where all the big shots lived, only to find police surrounding the house he had entered.
The police seemed unusually alert, so Argudin decided to be cautious. He stationed his men at both ends of the block, far enough away to avoid suspicion, but positioned so at least one car could follow the American when he left again. His own car was a block and a half away, just close enough to detect any activity at the house. He knew an attack here was impossible. There were simply too many police. He also knew the American would not stay here indefinitely. When he left, they would follow, and sooner or later there would be fewer police. Then, he thought, they would have their chance, and the American would die. Then, finally, his pockets would be filled with ten thousand American dollars.
Martinez left his men behind to guard Adrianna when he escorted Devlin and Pitts to his waiting Chevrolet. He drove the four blocks to Cabrera’s house with the pedal pressed to the floor, the engine of the ancient Chevrolet whining like an angry cat. He was a madman on a mission, Devlin thought.
He turned to Pitts. “You think the major might be anxious to get this done?”
“I dunno,” Pitts said. He leaned over the rear seat. “You anxious, Major? You warming up your rubber hose?”
“It is a pleasure I have been looking forward to for many months,” Martinez said.
“Could cause a bit of a scandal, couldn’t it?” Pitts asked. “I mean two top guys mobbed up like this? A little government plan to let the wiseguys open a casino? A little side deal on narcotics?” Pitts tried to catch Martinez’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He wanted to give him an evil grin.
Martinez stared straight ahead. “It is possible, of course. It is also possible it will never be known here in Cuba.” He glanced at Devlin, a small smile playing on his lips. “It is different here, you see. Trials need only be public when it serves a greater purpose. Some matters that involve our government officials and our military can be handled more discreetly. It is a question of the nation’s morale.”
Devlin laughed. “That’s a great line, Martinez. I suppose you’ll want to swear us to secrecy.”
“But of course, my friend. That is exactly my hope. You may disagree, of course, in which case I am sure the government will decide that a public trial is necessary. But then you will all have to remain here as witnesses for the state. And these trials can take a very long time. There is also an additional problem. As you know, you have broken many laws in my country, which I am willing to overlook. But if others begin to investigate, this may not be possible-”
“Enough. Enough,” Devlin said. “I don’t care how you handle this. I just want to wrap this thing up, bury what’s left of Adrianna’s aunt, and get the hell out of here.”
Martinez stared straight ahead again, and Devlin thought the Cuban major was trying not to laugh.
“Ah, I hope I have not given a poor impression of my country,” he said. “The office of tourism would be very upset if that were the case. I am sure they would like you to remain and enjoy the many pleasures we have to offer.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they would,” Devlin said. “But I think I’ll get back to New York. People only try to kill me there about once a year.”
Martinez pulled his car to a stop in front of Cabrera’s house. Two of his men were waiting outside. He spoke to them briefly, then sent them away.
“No witnesses?” Pitts asked.
Martinez raised his eyebrows, feigning offense. “You are too suspicious, my friend. There are other men inside. I have sent these men to Guanabacoa, to make sure our forces are adequate to watch Senor Rossi.”
“Hey, that’s just what I thought you were doing,” Pitts said. He turned to Devlin. “Isn’t that what you thought, Inspector?”
“What I think is that we should get this thing over with.” He took Martinez by the arm. “But if you’re going to rough Cabrera up, do it when we’re not around. All I want is some answers, and whatever’s left of this woman’s body. Okay, Major?”
Martinez nodded. “It is understood. I promise you will have what you want. I also promise that you will not see my men and me touch even a hair on the colonel’s head.”
When they reached the front door, Devlin noticed that the mojo, or whatever it was, no longer hung from Cabrera’s door. He asked Martinez what had happened to it.
“It had to be removed,” Martinez said. “It was a very potent Palo Monte curse. Even my own men would not dare enter such a cursed house.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Pitts said.
Martinez let out a long, tired breath. “No, my friend. I do not joke. Perhaps, before you leave Cuba, you will understand.”
They followed Martinez across the foyer and into a well-appointed living room. A young man stood next to a paneled door with a Russian assault rifle cradled in his arms. He was dressed in civilian clothes, but immediately snapped to attention as the major approached. Martinez spoke to him briefly, then turned to Devlin and Pitts.
“The colonel is in his study, contemplating his fate. Another of my men is watching him do this. I think we should join them and help the colonel understand exactly what his fate is.”
“Let’s do it,” Devlin said.
Martinez spoke to the guard in Spanish. Devlin couldn’t understand what was being said, but it seemed he was giving the guard detailed instructions. Then he opened the door. A second guard, also armed with an assault rifle, stood just inside. Martinez issued another set of instructions, and the second guard joined the first outside.
Cabrera was seated in a leather chair. He glared at the major, then launched into a diatribe in Spanish.
Martinez held up his hand. When he spoke his voice seemed unnaturally calm.
“You will speak in English, Colonel. As a courtesy to our American guests.”
Again, Cabrera rattled off harsh words in Spanish.
Martinez let out an exasperated breath. “I have assured these men that you will not be harmed in their presence. So you have a choice, Colonel. You may speak English now, or we will leave this room and send in the two men outside, who will convince you of the wisdom of following my orders. Then we will return, and you will speak English. Which do you prefer?”
“You dare to threaten me?” Cabrera spoke the words in English.
“That is very good, Colonel,” Martinez said. “And yes, I do dare to threaten you. As of this moment you are relieved of your duties. You may consider yourself under arrest, and whatever authority you enjoyed under the revolution is suspended indefinitely.”
Cabrera snapped out in Spanish.
“English, Colonel.” Martinez inclined his head toward the door, indicating his men outside. “I will not warn you again.”
“I said you have no right to suspend my authority,” Cabrera snapped.
Martinez walked to Cabrera’s desk and perched himself on its edge. “That is an argument you can make at a later date, Colonel. For the present, you will simply answer my questions, or you will suffer the consequences.”
“What crimes are you charging me with?”
Cabrera’s face was red with anger, and Devlin realized he was not frightened. The man had a lot of power, and he knew it, and Devlin wondered if what Martinez had on him would be enough, or if the major was overplaying his hand. This wasn’t the United States. It was a country that operated under a different set of rules, and Devlin had no idea what those rules were.
