William Heffernan - Red Angel

“We’re getting close,” he said instead. “Martinez thinks we’ll wrap it up in the next day or two. Then we can bury your aunt and get the hell out of here.”

“What about Cabrera? Ollie pulled a gun on him today. Then he handcuffed him.”

Devlin turned and enfolded her in both arms. “I don’t think Cabrera is going to be a factor when this is over. I think he’s in this thing up to his neck. And Martinez thinks so, too. Don’t forget, he’s got Cipriani under lock and key, along with one of Cabrera’s goons. So Cabrera’s gotta think the major has a shot at proving it. But even if he can’t, I think Cabrera is going to be happy to see us on a plane. He tried to get rid of us-gave it his best shot, and he loused it up. Once Martinez makes his move, I don’t think he’ll try again. He’ll just want us gone. At that point we’ll be a complication he doesn’t need.”

Adrianna was quiet, and Devlin knew she was thinking it through. “I hope you’re right,” she finally said.

So do I, Devlin thought. Because if I’m not …

The call came in to the Red Angel’s house shortly after ten the next morning. With Martinez’s men watching Cabrera, Ollie spent the night staking out the Capri Hotel. When Cabrera and another man arrived, he went immediately to a phone.

Fifteen minutes later Martinez was at the Red Angel’s house with two men ready to stand guard inside. As he hurried Devlin to his car, he explained that his own men had already notified him about the activity at the Capri Hotel.

They rode the service elevator to the Capri’s ninth floor, where Martinez produced a key to a room directly above the one occupied by DeForio. When they entered, Devlin found two more of Martinez’s men surrounded by high-tech surveillance equipment. The men were monitoring two TV screens attached to VCR recorders. Next to each were video cameras fitted with coaxial tubes that ran down into the floor.

Devlin shook his head. “How long have you had this setup?”

Martinez gave him a boyish grin. “It was a gift of our long-departed Russian friends. Ingenious, no? The lenses of the cameras are actually in the ceiling of the room below, and the image runs up through the tube. I believe your FBI used something similar in their famous ABSCAM investigation.”

“Cut the crap, Martinez. I mean, how long have you had this here ?” He was getting a little weary of the major’s bumbling-cop routine.

Martinez stroked his mustache, fighting off a smile. He had known exactly what Devlin had meant. “For several days, my friend. Unfortunately, until this morning, we have learned little.” The smile came out now, and he waved one hand in a circle. “Except for Senor DeForio’s sexual habits. My men tell me they are extensive.”

Martinez pointed to one of the VCR recorders, and one of his men removed his earphones and began to rewind it.

“We will watch what has transpired so far, then we will see what is going on now.” He held one palm out, then brought the other on top of it as if slamming a lid down. “The box, my friend. It is turning into a very nice one, I think.”

Cabrera extended his hand toward the third man. “You, of course, remember our deputy minister, Herman Francisco Sauri.” He spoke in English, a signal that DeForio should do the same, both men aware that the deputy minister prided himself on his fluency.

DeForio stepped forward and took Sauri’s hand. “It’s been too long, Minister. Six months at least, I think.”

Sauri extended his hands to his sides in an expression of regret. “I had hoped to get to New York earlier this year, but pressing matters here made that impossible.”

Sauri was tall and slender, in his mid-forties, with distinguished touches of gray in his jet-black hair. He was cleanshaven and would have been considered handsome except for an unusually large nose that hooked sharply at its end. He wore a lightweight business suit that had the look of foreign tailoring, and an equally expensive silk necktie, all part of the image he chose to project. As the ranking first deputy of the Ministry of the Interior, he was among the most powerful of Cuba’s younger cadre of rising politicians, and he was often touted as a reflection of the new Cuba, even as a possible future head of state.

DeForio gestured toward a side table that held an assortment of breakfast rolls, coffee, and freshly squeezed juices. “Please help yourself to any refreshments,” he said.

Sauri waved away the offer. “Perhaps coffee, later. I think it best we get down to business.”

They went to the suite’s dining table, where DeForio had already arranged a series of maps and financial projections. The maps included an overall depiction of Cuba, a second of Havana and its environs, another of the resort community of Veradaro, and a final detailed rendering of a large island off Cuba’s southern coast, the Isle of Youth.

DeForio pointed at the final map. “This of course will be our initial thrust, the Isla de la Juventud, the Isle of Youth. At present we’re planning resorts in Los Colonos and Playa Bibilagua in the north, and another at Playa Roja on the southwestern coast. There are already hotels in these locations that we can buy and then expand to suit our needs. We would like, of course, to offer gambling at these locations as soon as we begin operating.” DeForio pointed to the maps of Havana and Veradaro. “We also want the right to purchase or build hotels in both Havana and Veradaro over the next five years. These, of course, would remain free of gambling, subject to renegotiations later, when the present leaders of the revolution are no longer in power. With all those points in mind, my principals have agreed to your demand that five hundred million U.S. dollars, which is one quarter of our anticipated investment, be turned over to the government at this time, to be used in site development by government engineers, and to pay workers for the first phase of construction. It’s understood that ten percent of that amount, or fifty million, will be used to cover costs incurred by the government.” He looked up and smiled. It was a nice way to describe an official government bribe. DeForio brought his hands together. “Now, we’re prepared to transfer this good-faith money-all five hundred million-as soon as the final agreement is signed.” He pushed the financial projections across the table. “As you will see, this is one quarter of the two billion we expect to invest in Cuba, the percentage you requested to show our resolve in this matter.”

“And the percentage of profits?” Sauri asked.

“As we agreed earlier,” DeForio said. “Fifteen percent of all gambling revenues off the top, paid as a tax to the government, providing we also have use of several small keys off the island’s coast, particularly Cayo Largo to the west.”

Sauri drummed his fingers on the table. “And these cayos will be used to transport narcotics to the United States?”

DeForio looked down at the table. “That is not part of our formal plan, as you know. Let’s just say the cayos will be used to defer some of the costs of the project.”

Sauri smiled at the choice of words. The smile didn’t carry to his eyes. “This of course is a great personal danger to us.” He nodded toward Cabrera. “In the past, the government has taken a hard line with those involved in drug traffic. You recall the trial of certain military leaders in 1989, and their subsequent execution. One of those men, Alexis Lago Arocha, lived only a few houses from my own. His children were friends of my children, so it is a very vivid memory in my mind.”

DeForio’s face became solemn. “It is a danger, but one I am sure we can overcome. Nothing in the agreement reflects any questionable activities on the various keys, only the storage of construction materials.”