She wanted a political solution. She simply believed in the people, and the desperate need to ease their suffering.”
Martinez paused and smiled. “An idealist, eh? Like so many young people everywhere.”
He took a sip of his coffee and glanced again at the young women at the bar. Devlin thought he was perhaps wishing idealism would find its way to them.
“But there were others, students who realized that idealistic goals were impossible as long as Batista lived. They formed a plan to kill him. They believed the peasants in the countryside would rise up once he was dead.
“The plan involved an assault on the Presidential Palace in March of 1957, where Batista would be assassinated. But the students knew that many of them would be killed or wounded in the attack. They needed secret hospitals where the wounded could be taken, where the secret police who would be hunting them would not think to look. Maria was one of the young doctors they went to for help.
“It was foolishness, of course. The students were untrained and poorly armed. The attack failed, and the police easily followed the wounded back to their secret hospitals.”
“And Maria?” Devlin asked.
“She was arrested, of course. She had refused to leave the dying student she was trying to save.” Martinez closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them they were filled with a deep sadness.
“She was tortured, asked to give the names of others who had escaped. When she refused, she was turned over to her guards. She was raped so many times that her organs were badly damaged. She was never able to have children because of this.” He paused again, his entire face now marked by the sadness of his eyes. “Perhaps that is why she chose to work with children. Perhaps that is why your lovely Adrianna became so important in her life.”
Martinez seemed to push the speculation aside. He lit another cigarette and finished his coffee.
“She was saved by her father. It took several months, and many bribes, but she was finally released from prison. By that time Fidel’s second invasion in Oriente Province was well under way, and his troops had established bases in the Sierra Maestra Mountains.
“Maria joined him there, not only as a doctor, but fighting at his side. She became a fierce warrior, it is said, leading other men and women into battle against Batista’s troops. She had come to understand, you see, that brutality such as Batista’s could only be fought with guns.”
A wan smile came to Martinez’s lips. “Of course, the revolution succeeded. And when Fidel entered Havana in 1959, Maria was with him. She, like Che Guevara, was one of the great heroes. And like Guevara, who was also a physician, she knew that the health of the people-especially its children-was the first task the revolution had to address.
“It is said that she and Guevara went to Fidel and convinced him of this need. He put her in charge. Guevara was needed elsewhere in the government. And so it fell to Maria Mendez to bring health to the people.”
“That sounds like quite a job,” Devlin said.
“Even more than you think.” Martinez spread his arms, as if taking in the entire room, perhaps the entire country. “Cuba is a difficult place. Even more difficult in 1959.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You recall that I asked Senorita Mendez if she was familiar with our Cuban-African religions?” He waited while Devlin nodded. “Well, in Cuba, even today, the people will consult the priests of these religions about their illnesses. Some will even go to a priest first, to see if they really need a doctor. And even the more sophisticated people-those who believe in the powers of
Martinez seemed to fight back a smile, as if he were enjoying the look of surprise on Devlin’s face.
He nodded vigorously. “Yes, it is so. These beliefs are very widespread. They are at every level of our society. And among the poor and less educated they are even more strongly held.” He raised his hands, indicating futility. “So from the start, as you can imagine, Maria Mendez had this obstacle to overcome. But she was not only an intelligent woman, she was also a wise one. She formed very strong alliances with these priests. And she seduced them into helping her. And it worked, you see. Within a few years all the children of our island had been inoculated against the great diseases that had always killed so many of our people. All pregnant women were receiving prenatal care, and the doors to the hospitals-once closed to everyone but the rich-were now flooded by people seeking care. And today everyone receives this care. Today Cuba has more than sixty thousand doctors serving the people, all of it her doing. And it has the lowest infant mortality rate in Latin America-the same rate they have in France and Italy and Israel.” He raised his hands, then let them fall back to the table. “So now, perhaps, you can see why the people love her, why they think of her as their Angel Rojo. Their Red Angel.”
Devlin was about to reply, when he noticed Martinez’s eyes snap toward the entrance of the bar. He turned and found a tall, uniformed officer approaching their table. When he reached them, Martinez was already standing.
“Colonel Cabrera, I am at your orders,” Martinez said.
A small smirk formed on the colonel’s lips. He was tall and angular, with a carefully trimmed beard as black as his eyes. His tan uniform was crisply starched, as though it had just come off a hanger. “You address me in English now, Major?” There was a cutting edge to the words.
“In deference to our guest. Colonel.”
Devlin noticed that Martinez’s eyes were hard, almost defiant. They remained that way as he turned abruptly and extended a hand toward Devlin.
“Colonel Antonio Cabrera, may I introduce Senor Paul Devlin of the United States. He is here-”
“I know why he is here,” Cabrera said, cutting him off.
Devlin stood and offered his hand. “Everyone seems to know who I am. Are the Cuban police always this well informed?”
Cabrera inclined his head, as if accepting an undeserved compliment. “Had I known you were arriving today, I would have met you at the airport, senor. Unfortunately, I was not informed until you had checked into this hotel.” His gaze hardened on Martinez. “Obviously, the major’s information was superior to mine.” The colonel’s features softened. “I was hoping to offer my condolences to Senorita Mendez.”
“I’m afraid she’s asleep,” Devlin said. “The news about her aunt’s death, and the theft of the body, came as quite a shock.”
Cabrera nodded. “Understandable, of course.” He had put as much sympathy in his words as possible. Yet his demeanor showed none of it. He remained erect and formal and intimidating, as if those were things he could never quite shed.
“Has there been any progress in the investigation?” Devlin asked. “Anything I could pass on to her?”
Cabrera shot Martinez a look. Devlin could not tell if it was a warning to remain silent, or simply because their dislike was mutual.
“I’m afraid there is not much I can tell you. We believe enemies of the revolution stole the body. The plan may even have come from Miami. There are Cubans there, as you know, who are always seeking ways to undermine the government. It is why the matter has been turned over to State Security.”
“You have suspects?”
“Yes. That I can tell you. There are suspects presently under investigation.”
Devlin nodded. He had used the same line of bullshit more times than he cared to remember. If this were New York, it would mean the investigation had hit a brick wall.
“Then I expect we’ll have a body to bury shortly,” Devlin said.
“It is our hope, senor.” Cabrera let his eyes fall hard on Devlin. “You plan to remain, then?”
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” Devlin said. “I don’t believe Senorita Mendez will want to leave with her aunt’s body still missing.”
Cabrera seemed to grow another inch or two. “Then I would like you both to come to my headquarters tomorrow to discuss certain matters.”
“When?”
“Would late afternoon be convenient?”
“I’m sure we’ll make it convenient,” Devlin said. “How do we get there?”
