Randy White - North of Havana

I still didn't understand. "Who's not the reason?"

"You didn't see him?" Geis took the binoculars for a moment. Held them to his eyes, then handed them back.

"Take a look at the other big guy. The one right there… or wait… Now Taino's blocking him."

I knew then who he meant.

I looked beyond Taino and saw the man's back, his shoulders, the graying hair above the white guayabera shirt that probably smelled of cigars. I saw the attitude, the way he enlarged his own space, no one addressing him directly but deferring to him by avoiding eye contact and allowing him room. I saw the beard when he turned away from the fire; read impatience in his movements, an imposing quality; not very happy with events, a displeasure that radiated from him and seemed to diminish the physical size of the five men nearby… all but Taino. Taino continued to throw and study the coconut husks. He, too, created his own space; the two of them, he and Fidel Castro, standing close but in their own orbits.

"That yacht's Fidel's. He travels with a captain, a mate, and a cook. All three of them are working in the cemetery. Not a single goddamn security man with him."

Geis had his mouth close to my ear. I continued to watch through the binoculars.

"It's because of what Taino told him: You've got to go before the gods… no, you've got to stand before the gods with open hands and an open heart. Which means no weapons. Taino says the word, the Abakua, they'd hack him to pieces with their machetes. Jesus, what a setup. It's like the guy's asking to be put out of his misery."

I watched Castro say something to Taino. Watched Taino say something to his two fellow priests before he assumed a thoughtful pose. He was looking at the coconut husks as if the answer were in them. Castro said something else; used big hand gestures. He probably was not pleased that he had come so far to be coronated with the medallion of Yara Hatuey… but no medallion.

Geis said, "We've got to move. I've got to account for Adolfo. For all I know, he's off in the trees right now trying to figure which end of the rifle to aim. If he gets a shot off,

Taino'll have them chop up everyone around just to prove he wasn't involved."

I said, "You've got the thermal scope. Use it." Then looked to see that he already was.

I checked the perimeter of the clearing. Saw what might have been one of the Abakua standing back in among shadows near the tree line. Saw a third now walking near the stone cottages.

A guard?

Then I saw another, smaller shape near the water but away from the docks… someone child sized-maybe Santiago-sitting on what appeared to be a broken plaster grotto. What was a kid doing there? The statue inside the grotto had been torn away, but the soft foundation remained. A place for the lepers to pray or maybe feed the birds.

Birds…?

I'd just seen some birds. As I swept the binoculars past the cottages, I'd seen white-crowned pigeons spooking from their roosting place among the trees, scattering high above the firelight.

I took a last look at Castro-Why had the other men moved away, leaving him to stand alone in front of the fire?

Separate, isolate, destroy…

I pushed the binoculars toward Geis. "You're right, we need to move. I think Adolfo's right below us."

I was pretty sure I knew where Dewey and Tomlinson were, too.

As we worked our way through the trees down the ridge, I heard what, at first, I thought were gunshots… then realized that they were the tentative beats of a drum.

A rim-shot sound. Like a mallet striking a hollow log.

Startled, Geis hissed, "Shit!" and began to run… then nearly stopped: "Oh."

He was about ten paces ahead of me. He headed downhill again, moving quickly but making very little noise. Kept my eyes on his back as the drumbeat continued… a drumbeat that soon marked the rhythm of a man's deep voice; a voice with a singsong imperiousness: Nangare, Nangare, Nangare, Nangare, Nangare…

A voice that was answered by other men's voices in chorus: Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Olorum Mafoiu… Olorum Mafoiu… Olorum Mafoiu…

Taino was leading his people in a chant.

Or was that Castro's lone voice?

The ridge flattened toward the clearing. Mostly scrub-oak trees and pines through which I could now see the gray shapes of the cottages… could see the remains of the burned-out building and the fire beyond… could see that

Castro remained alone in front of the fire, head tilted upward, palms out in some kind of ceremonial stance while, nearer to us, the chant continued: Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Nangoreo… Nangoreo. .. Jimaguas… Jimaguas… Jimaguas…

Geis had stopped abruptly. Stood there crouched, frozen.

Why?

He held his hand up, touched a finger to his eye-look- and pointed.

Ahead of us, in a thicket of trees, stood a man. He had his back to us; was silhouetted by the fire. I could also see the silhouette of a rifle barrel extended over the limb of the tree against which the man was braced.

Let my eyes focus on the silhouette… then refocus beyond the limb, some forty yards away-his target, Fidel Castro.

The light was poor. I couldn't see that it was Adolfo Santoya, but I knew it was he-the man I knew as Valdes, and liked-so I continued walking. I wanted to get in front of Geis. Wanted to grab Santoya from behind and talk some sense into him before Geis had the chance to use the knife I could now see him reaching to unsheathe. Heard Geis hiss at me as I passed him; felt him press something into my hand-the knife-and I carried it with me as I took my time, putting one slow stride in front of another, watching Santoya.

But, as I drew closer, I noticed that there was something very strange about the way Santoya was standing. He seemed to sag there, his head thrown back. There was no movement; no nervous shifting or lifting of hands, no swatting of bugs… much too calm for an amateur to do what he planned to do.

Now I put my hand up, telling Geis to stop. I stood there for a few seconds before I whispered, "Valdes." The name he would associate with my voice.

The man did not respond.

I turned to Geis; touched my eye, then my chest-body heat. Waited until he had checked the area with the thermal monocular. Watched him hold up two fingers, his fist, then flash four fingers followed by five: two men, not moving, forty or fifty meters away. They were in the tree line to our right.

Less carefully, I approached the man with the rifle. Said the name again- Vaides-and I knew that he was dead even before I touched his shoulder… then pulled on his shoulder, and his body came loose from the crotch of the tree in which his head was wedged, though his head remained.

The tree had made a handy chopping block.

His eyes still wide open, his face drained white, Adolfo Santoya remained staring at the man he had wanted to assassinate. One more Santoya from a family who had all been failures at that task. He had given up everything to help his country-an idealist-but he'd been caught by surprise from the rear.

I took a quick look behind me; pure instinct mixed with horror.

"Either one of the Abakua got overeager, or Taino's got someone doing my work for me." Geis was standing there. Waited-was he going to rob Adolfo, too? No. He hardly paid the corpse any attention, as he whispered, "This must mean Taino's going to do it himself. He's got no other reason to have Adolfo killed. Say the gods ordered him; get his priests to agree. Maybe that's what this ceremony is about, only Fidel doesn't know."

Meaning kill Castro. Geis's attitude was: New target, same job.

He said, "I'll try to find some high ground, get a good field of fire. The moment he makes his move, I'll open up. That'll make my boss real happy." He grinned, lifted Adolfo's head by the hair, said, "This will, too"-before he dropped it on the ground.