“Where?”
“Visiting. My uncle lives about eighty miles from here. Along the shore beyond Matanzas.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Yesterday. I went straight out there the day we landed,” he said.
“Instead of looking for me?” she asked.
“I looked, but I had to keep my head down too. You and I had our backup plan, and it worked.”
“Sure – and I forgot to thank you for leaving me on the beach,” she snapped.
“You left me on the boat!”
“You ordered me out!”
“And I saved your life doing it,” he said.
“My life wouldn’t have been at risk if it weren’t for you!”
“So we’re even,” he said. “And you said yourself that your head would have a hole in it if I hadn’t phoned you at just the right time in New York. You owe me.” His tone was midway between playful and deadly serious.
In the same spirit, she punched him in the shoulder. “How’s that?” she said.
“That’s great. Makes me feel like I’m back in Brooklyn.”
She shook her head, exasperated.
“Look. Are we on vacation here?” he asked.
“No, we’re
“Then you can’t blame me for doing what I came here to do, same as you’re doing what you came here to do. Now, I got an aging red uncle. I hate his politics, but he’s also flesh and blood. Flesh and blood of a generation that’s in short supply for me, so we got to do what we got to do. Okay?”
“Okay.” She paused. “You said you had
“That’s right. Salvatore’s the other one.”
“Where’s he?”
“Here in Havana. Been here for years.”
“How old is he?”
“You read the FBI report. Born in 1931. You do the math. Why are you asking if you know the answer?”
“Am I going to see him?” she asked.
“If things go smoothly.”
“There’s that phrase again.”
“There’re those questions again.”
“Do I get to talk to Uncle Salvatore?”
“If you want.”
“Will he answer me?”
“If he feels like talking.”
“You’re full of charm and evasion, aren’t you, Paul?”
“Consider it intentional and call it ‘a sense of purpose.’ Can we let it go at that? We pick up the money, I do with it as I need to, you babysit and evacuate your CIA stooge, and we all get out of here in one piece in four days if we’re lucky – or in forty years if we’re not.”
“You’re not answering my question. Why?”
“Because I don’t want to. How’s that for a game plan? I help you, you help me.”
“It’ll work,” she said.
“The guy
“Okay. But you’re still a pig. Boorish, crass, self-serving, and self-possessed.”
“Sorry you feel that way. You’re everything my wife wasn’t. I like you. Ready to travel? You and I are going to drive out to my uncle’s place. It’s on a strip of land past the tourist spots. It’s called Playa del Rio. It takes three hours, and we can stay there overnight.” He paused. “It’s a few miles from where we landed.”
“We’re going back there?”
“Not much I can do about it. We’ll go by different roads part of the way at least. You got something better to do?”
“I need fresh clothes.”
“Of course.
“Not far from here. It’s on the Calle San Martin,” she said.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Paul pulled the Jeep out onto the narrow street and executed a U-turn. He drove back to the main square and merged into the light traffic. Within five minutes, he had pulled up in front of the hotel. He leaned back in the front seat and cut the engine.
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“Thanks. I’m not going to check out, I just checked in. I’m just going to grab some things.”
“That works,” he said.
She jumped out of the Jeep and easily took the two flights of stairs. Having reunited with Paul, and having survived a passport check that afternoon, she felt better about things, about this assignment. Maybe things would work out, though a ton of questions remained.
In an open second floor hallway, out of precaution, she went to a window on the front of the building. She pushed aside the flimsy curtains. She looked down and could see the old Toyota.
Paul was standing outside it now, watching his back also, fingering an unlit cigar, and looking as if he was going to smoke it.
She watched him as he walked away from the car for a moment. Her suspicions were again aroused. Where was he going? He stopped at the pushcart of a street vendor. She watched as he bought a bag of ice, several bottles of chilled water, and a touristy straw hat that he popped onto his head. He put the water and ice in a plastic bag and walked back to the car. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked up, saw her, gave her a grin and a wave.
She waved back. She scanned the street too. Paranoia? Maybe. But no one appeared to be trailing them. She went back to her room and then to the closet. She pulled out her second and third dresses. She threw them, undergarments, and her few toiletries into her tote bag, along with her gun.
Glancing at her watch, she realized it was check-in time with the elusive Roland Violette – it was his window to phone. She checked her cell. No calls, no messages. Nothing. She bounded down the stairs.
When she arrived back on the street, Paul gave her a big smile, as an old buddy might, more than a working companion.
“You set?” he asked. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” she said.
The cigar was still in his hand, unlit. “You mind if I smoke?” he asked.
“Go for it.”
She climbed into the vehicle. He watched her, then came around to the driver’s side. He stood outside the vehicle for a moment, clipped the end of the cigar, and lit it. He took an extra moment to make sure the
“Ready to roll,” he announced.
She settled into her seat, one leg up on the dash, her skirt pulled back slightly. She pulled her new baseball cap tight, let the bill ride low over her eyes, and poked her sunglasses on her face against the glare of the setting sun. She felt wired again. Perhaps she enjoyed Paul’s company and the excitement of his presence just a little too much. But then, she realized as the car broke loose from traffic in Havana’s old town, she felt more alive than she had felt since before she had moved to New York.
