Hostage in Havana

tough love, had pulled her back from the abyss of suicide less than a year before. Deeply, she did not want to let him go. And yet she didn’t even know how to phrase her answer, or, for that matter, what her answer was.

“Yes,” she admitted, “I have feelings. And they’re strong feelings. But maybe they’re not the right ones just yet. Or maybe the time just isn’t right yet.”

“When will the time be right?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes, set as they were in a rugged, strong, kind face. Her instincts told her not to say anything, but to take him by the hand and kiss him.

She did not know what to say, didn’t even know what was right to feel. She could keep her feelings inside her, bury them, suppress them, but sometimes her physical desires had the pull of a runaway horse. Bubbling beneath the surface, she realized, were feelings that she was struggling to keep inside; she was afraid to fall in love because the last time she did, she had fallen hard and then everything had been taken from her.

“I don’t know,” she said. She felt as if she had muffed her response. “I mean, I do know. But I don’t know if I’m ready for another relationship yet.”

“It’s been a year,” he said. “More than a year. I understand your loss. I can’t replace Robert. We both know no one ever can, but – “

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not something that I can put a clock on. I hope you understand, Ben, because the last thing I’d want to do is lead you on or hurt you.”

She sensed his disappointment. Meanwhile, her mouth had gone dry, her heart hammered, and her knees felt weak. She was shocked but not surprised. Everything was turned on its end because a friend was suggesting that he might now become more. A couple of uneasy seconds went by and she couldn’t figure out how she could be so on top of things at work and so adrift in her personal life.

He released her hand. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I asked. It’s been driving me crazy, this attraction I have for you, unable to do anything, afraid to even say anything. At least I asked.” He paused. “I hope I didn’t wreck our friendship.”

“Of course not,” she said. She drew another breath. “I’m just not ready to pour out my emotions again. It doesn’t feel right yet.”

He nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. But then there’s something else I want to tell you about if you and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“Go ahead.”

“One reason I came to New York was not just to do those interviews but to see if, you know, maybe we could start going out. I wanted to know because, honestly, you’re the most terrific woman I’ve ever met. And I wanted to see if something would spark between us.”

“Where are you going with this, Ben?” she asked.

“I was at an interview the other day in D.C. One of the big firms. Very politically connected. And I met this woman,” he said. “Her name’s Carol. She’s smart. Like you. I guess that’s my type. She went to one of those prestigious colleges up in Boston; you know, one of those places that bankrupt you if you’re not rich.”

They shared a smile. Hers was nervous. So was his.

“She’s blonde, about five-seven. Beautiful figure. Working on her master’s degree in public affairs at Georgetown.”

“And you’re going to ask her out?” Alex said, suppressing a tinge of jealousy.

“I wanted to ask you first,” he said, almost shyly. “Before I get to know her any better, I wanted to see if there was anything that could happen between you and me. Because if I start falling for her and then realized I could have fallen for you, well, what a mess, huh?”

“Really,” Alex said. “What a mess. What about your plans to get a job in New York?”

“Carol’s moving here too,” he said. “It’s like, you know, you go on for years. You never meet anyone you’re interested in. Then suddenly, wham.”

“I can relate,” she said.

“Sometimes it’s hard to know God’s will.”

“Not sometimes. All the time,” she said.

“Well,” he said with a long exhalation, “that’s my spiel. I’m done. It’s out. Hope you don’t hate me for it.”

She shook her head and embraced him. “I never could hate you.”

They embraced again and said good night, disappearing to their separate rooms.

TWELVE

Manuel Perez sat on the shaded veranda of the Sorentino, an expensive resort in Belize. He nursed a tall glass of tropical iced tea. He was clad in a light linen suit he had bought in Italy. It was of a weight that breathed easily with both the sun and the breezes that rolled in from the western Caribbean.

He was deep in thought. The woman at his table, a guest, had just presented a business proposal. She waited patiently for his reaction.

Perez looked across the off-white sands of the beach to where his beloved wife, Nicoleta, and their daughters, all equipped with snorkeling gear, romped in the water. With them was Maria, their bilingual mother’s helper and housekeeper and the children’s tutor. Maria had, as always, accompanied them on this one-week vacation.

At the door leading to the veranda stood the man the children knew as Tio Antonio, Uncle Tony. Uncle Tony always watched Perez’s back when Perez took his family on vacation. After all, a wealthy Central American entrepreneur needed personal security in these troubled times, even a conventional importer and exporter of fresh and dried fruit. So the Chilean bodyguard seemed to be a wise precaution.

The Sorentino was located on Ambergris Caye, the largest island along the Belize Barrier Reef. Perez had chosen it for this meeting for more than one reason. Before Perez and beyond his family was the most spectacular scuba-diving paradise in the world, including the Blue Hole. Once the meeting was over with this businesswoman, Perez and his wife could dive.

Yet as much as the diving and the meeting were important, so was security. Ambergris Caye was an island accessible only to private transportation. Representatives of the Sorentino had picked up the Perez family at the airport in San Pedro and whisked them away by private car and then brought them here by private boat.

Perez turned to the woman at his table, having mulled over her proposal for almost a full two minutes without speaking. “You have to understand,” he said in English, with almost no trace of an accent, “the job you are asking me to do is difficult. I would have to enter the United States and make many preparations. While I have some excellent contacts there, the target you suggest would not be easy. The Americans have greatly tightened their borders over the last decade, as well as their ability to pursue people on their wanted lists.”

“I would think a man of your ingenuity would have no trouble getting into the United States,” the woman said.

“Getting out would be the challenge. I have many friends in the underworld in the U.S. Russian, Latino, Mafia, Irish. Political underworld as well as criminal enterprises. Word travels quickly. Presumably a massive ‘unofficial’ reward would be posted for me if my work were successful. I would be hunted worldwide.”

The woman opened her mouth, but Perez raised a polite hand to silence her.

“I also have,” he resumed pleasantly, “many ethical issues about striking targets in the U.S. I have some affinity for the Americans and do not dislike them. I have worked for Americans, as you know. I have many friends there, some who do not even know the nature of my second business, some who do. Though it may surprise you, I do have a conscience. I’m not sure that I would want to bring the attention of American authorities upon me. Right now, they may have a vague notion of who I am. I’m not so certain I would want the extra attention.” He paused again. “Worse, the job would have to be undertaken in New York City,” he said. “That would draw even more attention.” He shook his head. “None of this is good.”

“Then you’re not interested?” she asked patiently.