Hostage in Havana

her out of her Fin Cen office for a while – and maybe out of the city completely. How’s that for starters?”

“Brutal but understandable,” De Salvo said.

“For how long?” Alex asked. “Away from everything?”

“Until we know the threats against you have been negated,” Ramirez said.

“Are we talking years?” Alex asked, her indignation rising. “Someone takes a shot at me and misses, and it puts me out of business? Then the other side has succeeded? I don’t like it.”

“They haven’t succeeded,” De Salvo said with sudden defensiveness. “The arrests are continuing, the investigations as well, the indictments …” He paused. “Someone else will pick up your files and not miss a beat.”

“What about the Dosis?” Alex asked. “Anything new this morning?”

“Still fugitives,” De Salvo said. “We’re checking all flights to Israel as well as nontraditional venues in South America.”

“Do we know what passports they’d be traveling on?” Alex asked.

Silence around the room, which meant no.

“Alex,” De Salvo said. “You’re going to have to let go for a time. Your safety is the paramount issue now.”

“They nearly kill me and I’m supposed to let it go?” she snapped.

“No,” De Salvo said, “but you’re better off letting other people handle it.”

She turned to MacPhail, who spoke before she could. “We approach these things thirty days at a time,” he said. “We get you out of this office, hopefully this city, for a month. After that, we’ll see where we are.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“We’ve never lost anyone in our custody yet,” Ramirez said.

Alex couldn’t resist. “You nearly did last night.”

MacPhail sighed. “Look, not to separate the flea feces from the pepper, but you weren’t technically in administrative custody yet. You were in – “

“My own home and my head nearly got blown off,” she said, “because you guys were a few days behind the guy assigned to whack me! That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, gentlemen. I don’t feel myself bonding here.”

“Look, I can put Alex on protective administrative leave,” De Salvo said. “This happened one other time in my memory. That’s what we did and it worked.”

“But where do I go?” asked Alex. “I’m not sure I have faith in the system you’re presenting to me.”

“Where would you like to go?” Ramirez asked. “Within reason.”

She considered it. “What are we talking about? Short-term witness protection?” she asked. “Something ‘flyover’? Arizona? New Mexico? Grand Rapids, Michigan?”

“Something like that. There’s a lot of latitude.”

“I’m not buying into this, gentlemen,” Alex said. “Part of me says I could go underground by myself and survive just as well.” She thought of the two million dollars in the bank. “Maybe even better.”

“Than what?” MacPhail asked. “We can’t help without your cooperation.”

Silence rolled around the room like a fog. Finally, “Well, maybe you should make that trip to Cuba, after all,” De Salvo said as a joke.

“Maybe I should,” Alex answered, not as a joke.

MacPhail and Ramirez glanced at each other. “What trip?” MacPhail asked.

“One that’s not going to happen,” Alex said.

Another uneasy silence rolled around the room. Then, “If you have something good, we need to hear about it, okay?” MacPhail said. “Cuba? Can you talk about this?”

Alex glanced to De Salvo, who threw her a shrug. She looked back to MacPhail and Ramirez. “Can I talk about it?” she asked her boss.

De Salvo opened his hands and nodded.

“This goes back to a previous operation,” Alex began. “A friend of a friend has unfinished business in Cuba. Goes back many years. He’s looking for someone to go to Cuba with him. A woman.”

De Salvo looked to Alex. “Give them the back story,” he said.

She did, in a five-minute mini-clinic, running from the catastrophe in Ukraine to the most recent dinner in Brooklyn.

“How long would the trip to Fidel’s socialist paradise take?” De Salvo asked.

“Maybe a couple of weeks,” Alex said. “A month at most. That’s what Paul was talking about.”

“Paul?” MacPhail asked.

“Her quasi-organized crime guy who’s running this,” said De Salvo.

“He’s not OC himself but he knows people,” Alex answered. “We don’t have anything on him except where he was born and who his old man was.”

“Sometimes that’s enough,” MacPhail said. “But no matter. Maybe we can use this.” He paused, then asked, “You’re on a first-name basis with this guy? Good work.”

“Don’t make more of it than it is, all right?” she answered sharply.

“A trip to Cuba would get her off the New York streets for a time while we wrap up Manuel Perez,” Ramirez offered.

“Far off the streets. No one would ever look in Cuba, I got to say. On that score, it’s brilliant. And the beaches are great, I hear,” MacPhail said. “I know Canadians. And Germans. They go snorkeling and scuba diving every February. It’s cheap.”

“He means drinking and fornicating, most likely,” Ramirez said.

“Gentlemen, let’s bring it back to our immediate problems, okay?” De Salvo said. “Is this a possibility?”

“Yes, it’s a possibility for us if it works for you,” MacPhail said. “And there’s one other iron that we might be able to get in the fire. Want to hear it?”

“Go ahead,” Alex said.

“Okay, look, I hear things,” MacPhail said. “Caribbean desk. They often use freelance people in Cuba. What are you going in for? What purpose specifically?”

“My friend seems to think that a sizeable amount of money is stashed somewhere. He wants to go grab it. At least that’s what he’s telling me, though whether he’s telling me everything is another question,” Alex said. “Some of what he says doesn’t wash. But I feel he’s got credibility on the money angle.”

“Okay,” MacPhail resumed. “What are you supposed to do on this trip?”

“Pose as his wife where necessary and watch his back.”

“So he could help you on an operation in return for you helping him, correct?” MacPhail asked. “And all of this would be off the books? No one would even know … that’s what you’re saying?”

“In essence, yes,” Alex said.

“We could put her on leave,” De Salvo said. “There’d be no official record of where she is.”

MacPhail settled back. “Let me run a name past you,” he said. “Roland Violette.” The name drew blanks from Alex and her boss. “Nothing?” MacPhail asked.

They shook their heads.

“Roland Violette was a CIA employee in the 1950s and 1960s,” MacPhail said. “Turned out he was a Russian agent. He ratted out several CIA operatives in Central America to the Soviets in the ‘70s, then defected to Cuba in the ‘80s. He’s been there since.”

“So?” Alex asked.

“He’s been making noises about coming back to the U.S.,” MacPhail said. “Says he’s got a packet of Cuban intelligence goodies to bring with him. We could use someone to go in, check out the situation, and get him on a covert flight out if he’s worth it. Interested?”

Alex glanced to her boss, then back to MacPhail. “Might be,” she said.

“We’re dealing with him through the Swiss Embassy in Havana,” MacPhail said. “If you can get yourself onto the island, we can get you off … maybe seven to ten days later. Would that allow you enough time to keep your capo happy also?”

“Don’t know. I can ask.”