Hostage in Havana

that?”

“Might take a day or two,” MacPhail answered.

“See you tomorrow,” Alex said. Her guards waited till she was in the door before they, in turn, concluded their own very long day.

Before drifting off to sleep, Alex made a mental note. Tomorrow, she would call an old acquaintance named Sam Deal, her own expert on Central America and the black arts of espionage. Sam had been of assistance on background with previous cases. Now Sam was making an honest living, sort of, in retail security in midtown Manhattan. She knew Sam would be up for a drink, a sexy flirt, and some conversation. The value of the latter, she knew, would offset the nuisance factor of the previous two. Without doubt, Sam Deal was the most disreputable man she knew. And for that reason, he was of infinite value.

TWENTY-FIVE

Ironically, Tio Antonio always felt safe in lawless Mexico. As the Perez family bodyguard, he liked the place, the people, the family he worked for, the food, and the chicas. The truth was, he preferred Mexico to a quiet place like Belize. Oh, he could ogle the wealthy American and European women on the beaches, but even that had its limits. They were beyond his reach, after all. So now it was good to be home, keeping an eye on the Perez family while his boss was away again on assignment, this time in America.

This morning, he had escorted Senora Perez to the school, where they dropped off her children, and then to her job at the pharmaceutical company. Now, in his Mercedes, he had arrived back at the gates of the family compound in the southern suburbs of Mexico City. Time for relaxation. He could watch soccer on satellite TV until he had to pick up the children in the afternoon. He had to bring them home, and they would stay with the housekeeper, Maria, behind the locked gates until it was time to pick up Senora Perez. On most days, this job was pretty easy.

In his car, he pressed the remote and waited for the two locked gates to open. There was no movement. He tried again. Still no movement.

He muttered to himself. The electricians had been here twice in the last ten days to fix this infernal electronic gate, and once again their fix hadn’t lasted. Time to fire them. That was one thing that he didn’t like about Mexico – chronic incompetence. Manana was a popular religion, in addition to No es mi asunto - “it’s not my thing.”

He stepped out of the vehicle. No one around. Good. He went to the brick pillars that supported the steel gates, still sighing about Mexican workmanship. He blinked in the bright sunshine.

He put on a pair of sunglasses. He tried the key that would bypass the electronic system. He jiggled it. The keyhole was resistant to his touch too, which started to make him suspicious.

Then he heard the familiar crude click and a metal bolt withdrawing from a clasp. The giant latch that held the two steel doors in place had given way. Much better.

He walked to the spot where the two wide gates met. He gave them an aggressive push with his foot. With the usually noisy, rusty, aching creaks, the doors gave way and slowly opened, just the way they had so many times before. He put his shoulder to one and leaned hard, pushing it so that it swung wide. Then he pushed the other one the same way. He now had room to drive through into the Perez compound.

From somewhere nearby came the sound of bicycle tires and then a gentle skid. He turned at the same time that he heard a woman’s voice, young and sexy.

“?Senor?” a girl asked.

He turned, slightly startled. A girl on a bicycle, a pretty blonde, had stopped. She wore short shorts, a snug T-shirt, a helmet, and shades. He had seen her in the neighborhood for the past few days. She was in her early twenties and probably lived in the gated compound up the road where a lot of foreigners lived, wealthy people who worked in Mexico City for big corporations. She apparently exercised by biking around the neighborhood, always in tight black bike shorts and a red and yellow shirt. Plus the helmet. There was no way Antonio or any other male in the area could miss her. She was sexy. Some man was lucky. Or was she someone’s daughter? She had smiled at him and waved in gratitude as his car gave way to allow her a lane to ride.

But he also reminded himself that he must have been slipping. Pretty chica rubia or not, where had she come from? He hadn’t seen her this time until she had rolled to a stop. His mind processed quickly: well, did it matter where such a pretty girl had come from? Then again, people who appeared all too quietly set off alarms for him.

He pocketed the key and smiled. “Buenos dias,” he said curtly.

“Buen dia,” she chirped. She smiled back. “?Tiene aqua fria?” she asked. Cool water. That’s what she wanted. She did have an accent. Probably American. That made sense. Most of the wealthy people up the hill were American.

He stared at her in surprise. Why was she asking him about cold water? Why didn’t she just carry some of her own? On the other hand, the house was empty. If he could entice this chica into the hacienda, well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had had some extracurricular fun during the daytime hours.

She held up her water bottle, laughed, and shook it upside down to show him that it was empty. Then she shrugged and giggled, helplessly and flirtatiously. He assessed her carefully. Well, he had some cold bottled water in the car. The Perez family always kept some. They could spare some. “Momento,” he said.

He motioned with his thumb to the hacienda. Yes, she was coming onto him, he decided. The girl was probably the trophy wife of some nasty Yankee businessman who didn’t have the physical stamina to keep her happy. He had seen this before among American women in the neighborhood. They’d go on the prowl during the day, looking for a local toro to take care of them.

Well, he decided, why not? He gave her a nod. She dismounted from her bike, swinging one lithe leg over the other. She was, he noted, absolutely spectacular.

The wooden baseball bat that came from behind Antonio was aimed straight at the back of his knees. It smashed home with a sickening crack, followed by another bat that came from his right side and whacked his arm just above the elbow with an even louder crunching sound.

At the same time as Antonio bellowed in pain and groped for his pistol, the woman with the bicycle quickly charged him. From behind him, helmeted men in the uniform of the Mexico City Police swarmed. They grabbed him and hit him hard again from behind. Then they shoved him down onto the pavement. Antonio fought like a madman. Despite the searing pain in his legs, he threw his powerful elbows at the men behind him. His broken right arm pulsated with pain and flew wildly at obscene angles. But he caught one of the men in the jaw and one in the gut. He clenched his good fist, threw a backward punch at one of the men, and caught him in the center of his face. The man howled profanely and loosened his grip.

But one of the men hammered at Antonio’s right knee again with the bat and caught it dead on. Antonio screamed again and cursed even more profanely in Spanish. He groped with his left hand for the gun he carried under the left armpit of his jacket. His hand touched the weapon, but one of his assailants grabbed his wrist with both hands and forced it back and up. Another forced Antonio’s thumb backward so hard that it felt as if it were about to snap.

Then the blonde girl slipped a quick hand under his jacket and yanked his gun from him. She threw it away. Other hands were on his throat and fingers were in his eyes.

One of the intruders had a police club and seemed to enjoy using it. He walloped Tony on the left side of the collarbone, then thrust the club butt first into his groin.

On the ground, Antonio retreated into a shell, trying to protect himself. The fight was over, and he knew these people were probably here to beat him to death. He felt his hands yanked behind his back and cuffed. His mouth was hot. Salty little shards of a tooth floated on his tongue. There was no fight left in him now.

The bicycle girl knelt and leaned over him like a death angel, a hypodermic needle in her hand. Everything hurt. He could barely see, but he then managed to catch a glimpse and the sounds of something nearly surreal.

“Should I give it to him now?” the female calmly asked in English.