William Heffernan - Red Angel

Maria Mendez rolled her eyes. She turned to Adrianna. “Listen to this man. He is the father of all scoundrels.”

“But a devoted scoundrel,” Martinez said. “Both to you and to the revolution.”

Maria Mendez reached out and pulled Adrianna to her again. “At least he was not able to kill you all,” she said. “If I had known of his insane plan, I never would have allowed it.”

She glanced past Adrianna’s shoulder. Martinez was still standing before her, and Devlin thought he saw a small smile begin to form on her lips. “Thank you for your protection, Arnaldo. Even if it was unnecessary and overdone.” She paused a moment. “And what have you done with Cabrera?”

Martinez inclined his head to one side. “I am afraid he is no longer with us.”

A cold glint came to Maria Mendez’s eyes, and Devlin realized he was not watching some helpless old woman.

“And that thief Sauri?” she asked.

“He is under house arrest,” Martinez said. “We also have in custody Senor Cipriani, Senor DeForio, and the manoso Rossi, who had hoped to make use of your body.” He raised a finger. “Which reminds me. There is a certain service I believe you can perform for Senor Devlin. If you will permit me, I will arrange it for tomorrow morning.”

“Is this another of your scoundrel’s tricks?” the old woman asked.

“But of course,” Martinez said. “But it is one I think you will enjoy.”

An hour later they were seated in a semicircle about Maria Mendez, listening as she explained how she had learned of the plan to bring gambling to the Isle of Youth.

“I was told of this plan by Manuel Pineiro, who once ran our intelligence service. He was very concerned, and believed something very wrong, perhaps even corrupt, was happening.” She shook her head. “But he was retired for many years, and no longer had strong contacts in the Ministry of Interior. He said they just brushed his concerns aside.” Her eyes hardened. “And then, of course, he was killed. In an ‘automobile accident.’” She shook her head. “I did not even suspect he had been murdered. So I went to Sauri, who I knew, and expressed my opposition.”

“What did he do?” Adrianna asked.

“At first he tried to bribe me,” she said, laughing. “He said the government would add a condition to the plan-a demand that the foreign developers build and endow a children’s hospital on the Isla de la Juventud.” She held up one hand like a traffic cop. “This made me suspicious. Sauri had always opposed all my efforts to draw money away from the revolution’s grand projects.” She waved her hand in a broad circle. “And to use that money for our deteriorating health programs.” She wagged a finger. “Now, suddenly, the health needs of the people were important, and he wanted to include them in his plan. It was a miracle. And it smelled like old fish. That is when I went to Martinez and told him he must investigate.”

“And that,” Martinez added, “was when I learned that Cabrera’s men had put our Red Angel under strict surveillance.”

“And then you started to tumble to the rest of their plans,” Devlin said.

“Yes,” Martinez said. “But before I had adequate proof, they moved against her.” He nodded toward Maria Mendez, momentary relief flooding his eyes. Then it was gone as he hardened himself against any display of sentiment. “The rest, of course, you know,” he added.

One of Martinez’s men entered the house and came to him. After a whispered conversation, Martinez excused himself and left.

Adrianna reached out and took her aunt’s hand. “Have you known Martinez a long time?” she asked.

The old woman laughed. “For a hundred years,” she said.

“And you trust him?”

Maria squeezed her niece’s hand. “Completely.” She rolled her eyes. “He is a scoundrel, of course. But it is his job to be a scoundrel.” Her face became tender as she spoke about her friend. “And it is a thankless job. Of this there is no question. The secrecy of who he is, and what he does, denies him any recognition from the people, or even from his family and his friends. To those who know him personally, he is simply a police administrator who has risen so high and no more-a very modest success in life. For a proud man like Martinez, this is difficult, I think.”

Their heads turned as the door of the cottage opened. Martinez stood holding the door back, his eyes filled with mischief. Adrianna let out a gasp as a second man entered.

Fidel Castro walked slowly across the room. He was dressed in his trademark fatigues, free of any decorations or distinctions of rank. His gray-streaked beard hung to mid-chest, and his gait reflected his seventy-three years. He was a tall man, easily six-three, and he had the bearing of a man used to deferential treatment.

Devlin and Pitts stood as he approached, but Castro ignored them. He went straight to Maria Mendez and began speaking to her in Spanish.

The old woman immediately cut him off. “Speak in English, Fidel. I have guests who do not understand our language.”

Castro stiffened at the rebuke, then shook his head as if it were an indignity he should have expected.

“You know my English is bad,” he said. “Why do you make me do this?”

“It is a courtesy,” Maria snapped. “It is also my wish in my home.”

Castro raised his hands and let them fall back. “I come to tell you I am happy you are safe, and you treat me this way.” He looked down at Adrianna. “This is your niece?” he asked.

“My niece, Adrianna.”

Fidel reached down and took her hand, then bent and kissed it. Devlin detected a slight flush come to Adrianna’s cheeks.

“Your aunt torments her oldest friends,” Castro said. He gave Adrianna a sly wink. “But we all still love her … in spite of herself.”

“You do not love me enough to get me the medical supplies I need.”

Castro raised his hand-in exasperation this time. “You no longer work for the government. You resigned in protest. How can I get you anything?”

“Of course I resigned,” Maria snapped back. “You had abandoned the people’s needs. Something was needed to bring you to your senses.” She turned to Adrianna. “And do you know what he did? He had the government announce that I retired. Not that I resigned in protest, that I retired. ”

Castro waved his hand in the air. “Let me announce that you have unretired. ”

“Never.”

Castro shook his head. “I will find a way to get you the medicines and equipment you need. I do not know how, but I will find it somewhere.”

Maria stared at him for several long seconds. “And prostitution? Will you see to it that this disgusting practice that puts our young women on the streets-a practice you have permitted to return to our country-will you see to it that this is ended?”

Castro looked at the ceiling. “I will do everything in my power to see that the laws banning it are enforced,” he said.

Maria Mendez gave a firm nod of her head. “If you do these things, I will think about returning to my post,” she said.

Castro raised his hands, then let them fall back to his side in a surprising gesture of helplessness. “Torturer,” he said. He looked at the others as if seeking support. “She was this way even in the mountains when we fought Batista. Never a word of respect. Only arguments.”

Maria snorted, but said nothing.

With effort, Castro knelt before her. He took her hand. “You are a stubborn old woman,” he said.

“And you are a stubborn old man.”

“ Si. We make a good pair,” Castro said. He placed a second hand on top of hers and stroked it gently. “I am pleased you are well. Cuba would be a poorer place without you.”