Red Angel

Firme. The palero‘s face was expressionless, except for a fading glint of hatred in his eyes.

Devlin turned to Martinez. “He’s dead.”

Martinez nodded, and Devlin turned back to look at Cabrera’s lips, waiting for a blue tinge to appear. Nothing happened.

“It wasn’t cyanide,” he said. “Maybe curare.” He turned to Martinez. “What’s your guess, Major?”

“I make no guess,” Martinez said. “Many would say it was magic.”

“You think if I opened Cabrera’s shirt, I’d find a small puncture wound near his heart?” He inclined his head toward Plante Firme. “Maybe from a needle embedded in his rattle?”

“I would not know,” Martinez said. “I do know that it would offend the palero if you were to do so. I must insist that you do not offend him.”

Devlin turned away from the body. Plante Firme took his arm and spoke. The words sounded urgent.

“The palero says you will be in great danger when you leave this house. He asks that you take great care.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we should listen.” Martinez went to the door and snapped out an order to his two men, and they immediately ran toward the rear of the house. Devlin heard a door open as the men headed into the rear yard.

Martinez glanced quickly at Devlin and Pitts. “To the front door,” he said. “With caution.”

All three had their weapons drawn as Martinez reached for the knob of the front door. He eased it back, then moved quickly across the open frame. The move drew immediate fire, only a second too late. Martinez flattened against the wall and shouted out a command. From each side of the house steady bursts of automatic-weapon fire erupted as the major’s men fired toward the street. Martinez leaned out and emptied the clip of his automatic.

Pitts swung into the door frame, crouched low, his weapon out in front. Devlin spun in behind, slightly higher, his own pistol leveled at the street. They fired, then jumped back. Another burst of automatic-rifle fire came from the sides of the house. There was no return fire.

Pitts jumped back into the door frame, ready to fire again. Devlin followed.

“Shit,” Pitts said. “It’s over, and I didn’t get off one clean fucking shot.”

Devlin pulled him back from the door. “Wait for Martinez’s boys to confirm the kills,” he ordered.

A few minutes later words were shouted in Spanish, and Martinez stepped out onto the front stairs, followed by Devlin and Pitts.

They eased their way to the street, weapons held down along their legs. Three men lay scattered on the roadway, two near one car, the third sprawled next to another. A fourth man was slumped against the steering wheel of the second car. Martinez’s men stood to each side of the cars, their weapons pointed toward the ground.

“Dead?” Devlin asked.

Martinez nodded.

“Cabrera’s people?” It was Pitts this time.

“No, I do not think so,” Martinez said. He glanced at Devlin. “I think Senor Rossi has not yet given up on his plans for you.”

Plante Firme stepped past them. He had followed them from the house unnoticed. He used his staff to turn one of the bodies, then reached down and tore open the man’s shirt, revealing a series of ritual scars.

“Abakua,” he said.

“Hey, we owe you,” Pitts said. He turned to Martinez. “The old boy must have seen them when he came in.”

“You discount magic?” Martinez said.

“Hey, magic is fine,” Pitts said. “As long as these scumbags are dead.”

Martinez turned to Devlin. “I detect skepticism in your detective,” he said. “I wonder what he would think if I told him that Plante Firme has been in this house since before we arrived. Or that he was kept in a room at the rear of the house on my orders.”

“Are you shitting me?” Pitts said.

Martinez smiled at both men. “No, my friends. I am not sheeting you. Even so, it seems the palero still knew about the Abakua. It is curious, no?”

Devlin pushed it aside. It was more than he wanted to deal with. “There’s something else that’s curious,” he said.

Martinez’s eyes glittered. “And what is that?”

“When you were grilling Cabrera, you said something in Spanish. It seemed to change everything. He was like a whipped dog after that. Now, I only caught a few words. Presentar was one. Then jefe, and tecnico and investigacion. What did you tell him, Martinez?”

The major stroked his mustache. “Your Spanish, it is improving,” he said. He looked down and studied the toe of his shoe. “It is quite simple,” he said. “I merely introduced myself to the colonel.”

“As what?” Devlin asked.

“As jefe de Departamento Tecnico de Investigacion. Chief of the secret police.” He offered Devlin a small bow. “General Arnaldo Martinez, at your orders, my friend.”

“I thought you said Cabrera held that job.”

Martinez shrugged. “A small lie, I am afraid. What the politicians would call a matter of convenience.”

21

You’re a sneak, General.”

Martinez smiled at Adrianna. “Yes, I am afraid it is so. Your beloved aunt has told me this many times in the past.”

“So now it’s Cojimar, is it?” Devlin asked.

They were seated in the kitchen of the Red Angel’s house, drinking strong Cuban coffee. Martinez studied his cup for a minute, then looked up at Adrianna.

“It is Cojimar,” he said. “But I must ask that the senorita does not accompany us.”

Adrianna started to object. Martinez held up a hand.

“Please,” he said. “There are good reasons that I ask this.”

“Tell me your reasons.” Adrianna’s voice was cold and hard and unhappy.

“First is the nganga,” Martinez said. “We will be finding the remains of the body it holds, and this is not something I wish to inflict on you. Next is the question of the Abakua who attacked us outside Cabrera’s home. I cannot be certain all were killed. It is possible there are others who we did not see. So I must insist that you remain here under the watch of my men. To do otherwise would be foolish, both to the memory of your beloved aunt and to your safety.”

“He’s right,” Devlin said.

Adrianna turned on him, eyes sharp, voice snappish. “But it’s okay for you and Ollie. For the two big guys.”

“Let’s just say it’s important for me. I want to be there when Rossi gets his.”

Adrianna turned away. “And they talk about Spanish machismo. Christ.”

Devlin took her hand, but she pulled it away.

“The general has the final say. I’ll go along with whatever he decides,” Devlin said. “I won’t like it if he says you can go, but I won’t try to change your mind.”

Adrianna’s eyes locked on Martinez. “Well?”

Martinez rolled his eyes. “Madre de Dios.” He looked at Devlin. “May Lenin forgive me.”

Devlin laughed. “That’s all right. She has that effect on everybody. You mess with her, you pay.”

Martinez drew a heavy breath. “A compromise,” he said. “You will come with us, but you will wait at a