William Heffernan - Red Angel

Sauri held up a hand. “Cayo Largo is of particular concern. It is more than one hundred kilometers to the east of Isla de la Juventud, an unlikely choice for such an activity. It is something that might be questioned.”

“It also has an existing airport, capable of handling reasonably large aircraft,” DeForio said. “We would argue that building such a facility on another key would add considerable expense to our overall plan-an expense that would be reflected in our ability to purchase other facilities in Havana and Veradaro. I think any reasonable government official will accept this. Especially if there is a strong suggestion from the Ministry of the Interior.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “After all, it’s not a lie, my friend. Even we have financial limitations.”

DeForio walked around the table so he was standing next to Sauri and Cabrera. “As you know, any other activities we engage in on these keys will not be part of our formal agreement with the government. Or any informal agreement. They will strictly involve you and Colonel Cabrera, and anyone else you choose to involve out of necessity. We will, however, compensate you both-as agreed. When the documents are signed, we are prepared to make initial payments of five million dollars to the accounts you specify. That’s five million for each of you, with the understanding that you will handle payments to others as you see fit.” He raised his hands again. “Nothing on paper, no questions asked. As far as we are concerned, it’s nothing more than a finder’s fee.”

“And future payments?” Cabrera asked.

“As agreed. A two percent royalty on all product shipped from Cuban soil.”

“And we will have men present to assure the accuracy of the count?” Cabrera asked.

“Definitely. Nothing leaves any of the keys without first passing your people. Sort of an unofficial State Security inspection.” He smiled at the two men. “I estimate your compensation at around ten million a year. For each of you.”

“Payable in installments at the time of each shipment,” Sauri added.

“To whatever foreign account you specify.” DeForio hesitated a beat. “This, of course, is contingent on your assurance that no attempt will be made to alter the present government for at least five years.”

Sauri laughed softly. “And this to assure the U.S. economic sanctions remain in place.”

DeForio nodded. “It’s the only way we can limit big-money competition for the properties we want. We don’t want to find ourselves bidding against well-financed hotel chains. We already lived through that in Vegas and Atlantic City.”

Sauri rubbed his hands together. He glanced at Cabrera. “Fidel would be amused, no? If he knew. Imagine, the Mafia keeping the revolution in power so they could eliminate capitalist competition. Of course he does not know it is the Mafia. He believes he is dealing with an unscrupulous foreign corporation operating out of the Bahamas-one that is simply trying to subvert the American embargo.” He laughed more heartily this time.

“But he has signed on to our initial plan. Resort gambling on the Isle of Youth.” DeForio intentionally formulated his words as a statement, not a question.

“Yes, yes,” Sauri said. “It was difficult to convince him, but finally he agreed. The country is in economic crisis, and the revenues this will generate could equal our present losses in sugar, which we once hoped would carry our economy through difficult times. The fact that this gambling would be limited to the Isla de la Juventud made it palatable. It spares the people of the mainland, and will not appear to be a return to the days of Batista.”

“Five years from now it may be different,” DeForio said. “At least that’s our hope.”

Sauri laughed again. “And your power then will be such that your hopes will undoubtedly become reality. But it will not matter then. In five years Fidel’s life will be closing in on eighty years. If he has not already retired, steps can then be taken.”

“That, of course, we will leave to you,” DeForio said. “By then, our investment plan will be completed, and the sanctions will no longer be a concern. In fact, it would benefit us if they were lifted.”

“Something I am sure you will arrange,” Cabrera said.

DeForio smiled. “You never know.” He raised a finger. “But we’ll always be grateful to the Comandante.” He brought the finger to his nose and tapped lightly. “Hey, who can tell? Maybe we’ll be so grateful, we’ll contribute to Fidel’s pension.” He paused for effect. “Or a little something for the monument on his grave.”

Martinez removed his earphones and dropped them in his lap. Devlin did the same. He was seated across from the major, and he took time to study his face. The man did not look pleased. Not like a cop who had just busted a major case. You son of a bitch, Devlin thought, certain now that this was what Martinez had been after all along, the game he had been using them to play.

“I’d expect you to look happier,” he said.

Martinez raised his eyes and expelled a long breath. “Hearing that your government has agreed to play the whore to criminals is not pleasant news, my friend.”

Devlin stared him down. “What about using innocent tourists and a bereaved young woman? How does that play for you, Major?”

Martinez placed his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. “It is time to go now, my friend. We have an endgame to conduct before our chess match is finished.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Martinez started toward the door, followed by Devlin and Pitts. “Before he reaches the comfort of his car, our deputy minister. Senor Sauri, will be taken into custody by my men. He will be placed under house arrest in his own home until I have presented our evidence to his superiors. Other of my men will arrest Colonel Cabrera. He, too, will be taken to his home, where I will interrogate him. It is an action which I invite you to attend. Perhaps we will learn more about the Red Angel’s disappearance.”

“What about that scumbag DeForio?” Pitts asked.

“He will be placed in one of our detention cells, the same place were Senor Cipriani is now housed.” He gave them his Cuban shrug. “Unfortunately, in time, we must avail him of the right to contact the American Interests Section at the Swiss embassy. But I doubt he will be treated sympathetically.”

“And then?” Devlin asked.

“Then we will attend to Senor Rossi.”

Devlin took the major’s arm, stopping him. “It’s nice to see you know his name.”

Martinez gave Devlin a wistful look. “ Si , senor. I know his name. I have always known his name. But let us delay your questions until this endgame is finished.”

Juan Domingo Argudin, the Abakua who had accepted Rossi’s contract, smiled as he watched Devlin leave the Capri Hotel. The old man had been right. The man he wanted killed had been found just as he had said-by following this Cuban major who had been helping him from the start.

It had not been easy. This major was no fool, but the old man’s plan had been a good one. He and his fellow Abakua had used three cars, and they had abandoned their customary white clothing. Then fate had intervened as well. Something had happened, and the major and his men had suddenly begun rushing about, all precautions abandoned. Now, he was certain, they would take this American to a place where the kill could be accomplished in a way that would permit his own escape.

Argudin signaled to his men in the second car. One of them had just been released by the police. He had driven the truck in their first attempt to kill the Americans, and Argudin had promised him he could kill the big American who had beaten him outside Plante Firme’s home. He knew the man would do everything in his power not to lose them.