William Heffernan - Red Angel

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You recall that I asked Senorita Mendez if she was familiar with our Cuban-African religions?” He waited while Devlin nodded. “Well, in Cuba, even today, the people will consult the priests of these religions about their illnesses. Some will even go to a priest first, to see if they really need a doctor. And even the more sophisticated people-those who believe in the powers of scientific medicine-will still consult these priests after they see a doctor.” He smiled. “Just to be certain the doctor was right.” He wagged his head from side to side. “Even Fidel does this. In fact, he once had a personal physician who was also a babalau , which is the highest rank among these priests.”

Martinez seemed to fight back a smile, as if he were enjoying the look of surprise on Devlin’s face.

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, it is so. These beliefs are very widespread. They are at every level of our society. And among the poor and less educated they are even more strongly held.” He raised his hands, indicating futility. “So from the start, as you can imagine, Maria Mendez had this obstacle to overcome. But she was not only an intelligent woman, she was also a wise one. She formed very strong alliances with these priests. And she seduced them into helping her. And it worked, you see. Within a few years all the children of our island had been inoculated against the great diseases that had always killed so many of our people. All pregnant women were receiving prenatal care, and the doors to the hospitals-once closed to everyone but the rich-were now flooded by people seeking care. And today everyone receives this care. Today Cuba has more than sixty thousand doctors serving the people, all of it her doing. And it has the lowest infant mortality rate in Latin America-the same rate they have in France and Italy and Israel.” He raised his hands, then let them fall back to the table. “So now, perhaps, you can see why the people love her, why they think of her as their Angel Rojo. Their Red Angel.”

Devlin was about to reply, when he noticed Martinez’s eyes snap toward the entrance of the bar. He turned and found a tall, uniformed officer approaching their table. When he reached them, Martinez was already standing.

“Colonel Cabrera, I am at your orders,” Martinez said.

A small smirk formed on the colonel’s lips. He was tall and angular, with a carefully trimmed beard as black as his eyes. His tan uniform was crisply starched, as though it had just come off a hanger. “You address me in English now, Major?” There was a cutting edge to the words.

“In deference to our guest. Colonel.”

Devlin noticed that Martinez’s eyes were hard, almost defiant. They remained that way as he turned abruptly and extended a hand toward Devlin.

“Colonel Antonio Cabrera, may I introduce Senor Paul Devlin of the United States. He is here-”

“I know why he is here,” Cabrera said, cutting him off.

Devlin stood and offered his hand. “Everyone seems to know who I am. Are the Cuban police always this well informed?”

Cabrera inclined his head, as if accepting an undeserved compliment. “Had I known you were arriving today, I would have met you at the airport, senor. Unfortunately, I was not informed until you had checked into this hotel.” His gaze hardened on Martinez. “Obviously, the major’s information was superior to mine.” The colonel’s features softened. “I was hoping to offer my condolences to Senorita Mendez.”

“I’m afraid she’s asleep,” Devlin said. “The news about her aunt’s death, and the theft of the body, came as quite a shock.”

Cabrera nodded. “Understandable, of course.” He had put as much sympathy in his words as possible. Yet his demeanor showed none of it. He remained erect and formal and intimidating, as if those were things he could never quite shed.

“Has there been any progress in the investigation?” Devlin asked. “Anything I could pass on to her?”

Cabrera shot Martinez a look. Devlin could not tell if it was a warning to remain silent, or simply because their dislike was mutual.

“I’m afraid there is not much I can tell you. We believe enemies of the revolution stole the body. The plan may even have come from Miami. There are Cubans there, as you know, who are always seeking ways to undermine the government. It is why the matter has been turned over to State Security.”

“You have suspects?”

“Yes. That I can tell you. There are suspects presently under investigation.”

Devlin nodded. He had used the same line of bullshit more times than he cared to remember. If this were New York, it would mean the investigation had hit a brick wall.

“Then I expect we’ll have a body to bury shortly,” Devlin said.

“It is our hope, senor.” Cabrera let his eyes fall hard on Devlin. “You plan to remain, then?”

“I don’t see that we have any choice,” Devlin said. “I don’t believe Senorita Mendez will want to leave with her aunt’s body still missing.”

Cabrera seemed to grow another inch or two. “Then I would like you both to come to my headquarters tomorrow to discuss certain matters.”

“When?”

“Would late afternoon be convenient?”

“I’m sure we’ll make it convenient,” Devlin said. “How do we get there?”

Cabrera’s eyes shot to Martinez, cold and hard and filled with contempt. “Perhaps the major would be kind enough to bring you.”

“I am at your orders, Colonel,” Martinez snapped.

“Yes, I know you are,” Cabrera said. There was a small smile on his lips, but it held nothing but disdain.

When Cabrera had left, Devlin noticed that the hookers had all disappeared from the bar. One glimpse of the colonel’s crisply starched uniform had sent them scurrying into the night.

“So now you have met our Technical Department of Investigation, our secret police,” Martinez said as he reclaimed his chair.

“I thought you said State Security wasn’t the secret police,” Devlin said.

Martinez held out one hand and wiggled it back and forth. “It is more complicated than that. But I will explain tomorrow. For now, I would like you to agree to go some places with me in the morning. Both of you, if possible.”

“Where?”

“I would like to invite you to meet a very close friend of the Red Angel. He is a man who may have some interesting things to tell you. Then I would like to take you to meet the Red Angel’s sister, your lovely Adrianna’s other aunt. And finally, I want you to accompany me to the home of Plante Firme, one of the most revered priests of the Regla Mayombe.”

“A witch doctor?”

“Much more than a witch doctor, my friend.”

Devlin sat back and shook his head. “And why are we doing all this?”

“I assure you it will be necessary if we are to find the body of the Red Angel.”

“We?” Devlin stared across the table, incredulous. “I thought State Security was doing that.”

Martinez shook his head. “No, senor. We will find the body. Provided you are willing.”

Cabrera’s car was parked half a block away, with a clear view of the hotel’s front entrance. He sat in the rear and watched Martinez leave. Two young men sat in front, both dressed completely in white. One turned to look at him, as if anticipating an order.

“It will not be necessary to follow the major,” Cabrera said. “That is already being done. I want you to concentrate on our two visitors. I want the names of everyone they contact. And I want those names quickly.”

“Should we take action if-”

Cabrera waved a hand impatiently, cutting the man off. “First I want to know who is helping them. We do not want just one or two vipers. We want the entire nest. But do not underestimate the man. He is a trained detective, so you must assume he is a danger to us.”