Randy White - North of Havana

One more lunacy from a man whom Dewey had once described as maybe the wisest person she knew…

The chanting, the dramming, had stopped; I could feel the silence created by the unexpected gunshots as I ran toward the fire at the center of the clearing. Taino was still there, standing with Molinas, Orlando, and the two other priests… Castro, too, set off to the side but down on one knee as if he'd been ducking… and I knew' that part of the reason they remained frozen was the shock of hearing shots and realizing that Castro had not been hit.

When they noticed me coming, I slowed to a walk. I didn't want to panic anyone. I wanted to communicate an air of being calm and in control. They'd run from a crazy man. Better off to take their chances running than stand there and be shot.

I could feel their eyes watching me as I entered the perimeter of firelight. I had the automatic rifle in my left hand. It was aimed at Taino. I had the. 45 Browning in my right. It was aimed at Castro. I saw Castro's expression change, then change again-yes, he was afraid… and yes, he recognized me. He gave me a searing look; began to speak, but I interrupted loudly, though I did not yell. People in control never yell.

I said, "No one talks but me-not a word! I'm here to make a deal." I looked at Taino. He'd been backing away, trying to get Molinas and the others in front of him as a shield. I motioned with the rifle-don't move!-then said, "If anyone attacks me or tries to interfere with my friends, I'll shoot Taino first, then I'll open fire on the rest of you. You understand me?"

I watched the priests nod. They understood; were frightened enough to agree to anything. Molinas, his nose still crooked, was nodding right along with them.

I continued, "But if you do exactly as you're told, the only person I'm going to shoot is him." And I looked at Castro.

There was a long, nervous silence. Were they supposed to answer? Did anyone have the courage to answer? Then everyone listened to Taino say agreeably, "May I speak?"

I made Taino call all his people to him; made them approach the fire and put down their weapons. Then I ordered them to sit with their backs to me, no moving, no talking.

And we sat there and waited in the silence of black sky and meteors.

I had once loved silence, but not now. My wandering thoughts had a single destination, the reconstruction of a single lovely face… and so I did not allow my thoughts to wander. I kept them on business. Survival-that was now my only business.

There were fifteen men in my little group, but I knew there was at least one, maybe two, of the Abakua missing.

There was no bow and arrow among the little pile of cane knives.

They were probably out there in the trees… or maybe working their way around to the water… watching me, awaiting their chance. Were I in their position, I would have been making similar moves.

The missing Abakua worried me, because I knew what I was going to do; what I had to do, because I no longer had the inclination or the energy to resist it.

I could remember Tomlinson's words: Fighting your own nature-that's your karma.

Well… I don't believe in karma. The realities of nature, however, cannot be argued,- nor can the instincts that guide each and every successful species. Members of an animal community survive because, instinctually, they are accountable to the needs of their own species. Members that did not behave accountably could not survive-nor should they survive.

What would the Abakua do when I acted upon my own instincts?

They would act upon their own-naturally.

Now I was sitting near the fire with my back against a big gumbo limbo tree; kept checking my watch. It had been more than two hours since I'd heard the little diesel engine in No Mas clatter to life. More than two hours since I had watched the old sailboat hunt her way out of the bay, then vanish through a distant wall of mangroves toward dazzling starlight to the northwest.

Was two hours enough? They had only twelve miles to travel.

Yes… probably; even if it wasn't, they were close enough. I'd been prolonging it, postponing the inevitable. I pictured Tomlinson at the wheel of No Mas-or maybe Rita-sailing the long beam reach into international waters and safety. Imagined Dewey sitting at the VHF radio below, waiting for word from Tomlinson: "Call Key West Coast Guard, tell them we're in danger and need an escort." He was sailor enough and smart enough to do exactly that.

But would Dewey be able to function after what she'd been through?

Probably… She was a strong, strong woman; more importantly, a good person, and the good ones always find a way to endure. I pictured her, my lost friend-for she was certainly lost to me now-out there gathering herself, drawing on all that strength, already beginning the slow, slow process of putting the broken pieces back together.

At least, that is what I imagined. It is what I hoped. It was what I wanted, not just for her sake, but for my own.

As Tomlinson had said, Guilt is the curse of those who care…

I got to my feet and checked my watch a final time: five minutes until midnight; almost Christmas in Cuba. Then I signaled Taino, Molinas, and the priests to get up; Castro, too, and I waved him toward me. "Get over here!"

But tyrants, I had already learned, made rotten hostages.

Castro didn't budge; he stood there hunched like an old silverback gorilla. "What do you want? What right do you have to order me around!"

At different times over the two hours, I'd had to fire a total of three warning shots past the man's ear just to make him sit still and be quiet. Before the third, he had snapped at me, "You were a shitty catcher! I think you were the worst catcher I ever had!" And I had replied, "Well you're a shitty president and a shittier excuse for a pitcher, and pitchers aren't supposed to think," before putting a round so close to his head that he would feel the atmospheric shock of the slug's passage.

Now I was tempted to fire a fourth, but said instead, "I saved your life tonight. The least you could do is cooperate." I was looking into the face of Taino when I said it; saw surprise, then anger.

I kept looking at Taino as I said to Castro, "Send a man to your yacht and have them call in a helicopter. You and I are flying back to Havana. Everything your Russian bodyguard told you was true. He and I were working together. That's what I mean-we saved your life tonight."

I heard Geis's real name for the first time when Castro whispered it: "Leonid?"

I nodded toward the stone cottages. "He's in there dead. They killed him. There were three assassins; your investigators will find their bodies. Now get going!"

I watched Castro think about that. Maybe he believed me, maybe he didn't, but he liked the idea of calling in his air force. But before Castro strutted off-he'd make the call himself-he whispered the name again in a kind of haze of realization: "Leonid?"

Lenny… the man I found repugnant because he insisted we had so much in common; but he'd been right; I knew it to my marrow, and if I wasn't certain then, I proved it to myself when 1 turned to Taino and said, "Remember the tall girl, Dewey? She was one of the most decent people I've ever met. And she was my friend."

As I said it-she was my friend-I watched the involuntary smugness that came into Taino's eyes… and then I saw the smugness change to fear because he was looking at me, seeing what was in my face… and then I shot him before he could move or speak-a clean head shot from a good angle, but I added another to the chest just to make sure.

I used the Browning because a handgun seemed more personal.

It was not unlike the dream that haunted me: a human head vanishing in an explosion of iridescent vapor. But unlike the dream, I could see the residue of Taino's face fade from gray to white, could see his white robes sponging scarlet, could watch his quivering hands stiffen and go still.