Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

Within a few minutes we pulled up to a small stucco house, nearly hidden by vegetation. Tomás got out and knocked on the door. The way our luck was running, this was probably Antonio’s house.

An elderly lady came to the door, and she and Tomás exchanged words, then Tomás motioned for us to join them. We got out of the taxi and Sara and the old lady — Camila — chatted for a minute, and Sara said to me, “This is good. Give him a twenty.”

I gave Tomás a month’s pay, and he gave me a wink and wished us buenas noches. Camila didn’t ask about luggage or passports and she invited us inside as she scanned the block, then closed the door and locked it.

The casa’s front room was small and shabby, but neat and clean. On the wall was a nice black-and-white photograph of a young Fidel Castro. Camila showed us the baño and the small kitchen where, said Sara, we could have coffee in the morning, no charge. The price for the room was five CUCs, up front, and I gave Camila a ten, which made her happy, and she offered us some leftover rice and beans if we were hungry.

“Ask her if she has any Canadian Club.”

Sara said something to her, and Camila poured us two glasses of rum, compliments of the house.

Camila showed us to our room, a tiny space filled with a double bed and a wooden bench. A small barred window let hot, humid air into the room. On the wall facing the bed — where the flat-screen TV should be — was a crucifix.

Camila smiled and wished us buenas noches and I bolted the door behind our hostess.

I asked, “Are we safe here?”

She motioned toward the crucifix. “He’s watching over us.”

But look what happened to him.

We clinked glasses and sipped our rum. “What would you like to do?” I asked.

“Get out of my clothes and have sex.”

Just what I was thinking.

We lay in the dark room, naked and sweaty. “Aside from the money, what is it that we’re here for?”

“The deeds and titles to the stolen properties.”

“What else?”

“It’s something that you will understand as soon as you see it.”

“Is it worth risking our lives for?”

“Trust me, Mac.”

“I do.”

“Do you love me?”

“I came for money, but I’m staying for love.”

She rolled on top of me. “We’re going to have it all. Money, love, and... justice.”

And hopefully a long life to enjoy it all.

We rose before dawn, got dressed, and slipped quietly out of Señora Camila’s four-star casa.

Sara said we weren’t far from the Plaza of the Revolution, and we walked there to look for a taxi. There weren’t many cars or people on the dark street, but a Policía Nacional Revolucionaria car slowed down, and the driver gave us the once-over. I was glad we didn’t have the Glock.

We walked into the plaza and I could see the building that sported the metallic outline of Che Guevara, lit with spotlights. HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE.

Sara said, “That’s the Ministry of the Interior — the ministry of torture and repression.” She told me, “That’s coming down when the regime falls. I’ve designed a beautiful building for that space.”

“Good. That one’s ugly.”

“Uglier on the inside. And if you ever see the inside of that place, you’ll never see the outside again.”

I didn’t doubt that. It seemed like a long time since my first day in Havana, when I’d had my picture taken in this plaza with Sara Ortega. If I’d known then what I know now... who knows?

Sara spotted a black Cadillac, maybe 1957, parked in the square, and we walked toward it.

I asked, “How do you want to handle Antonio’s offer?”

“I have about fifteen hundred American dollars in the hotel safe that I’ll give him this morning. I’ll agree to give him three hundred thousand pesos tonight when he assures me... in my room... that we can get on the ship to Barbados.” She added, “We just need to get through this day.”

Antonio must be very pleased with himself. Getting laid and getting paid.

The Caddy driver was asleep, and we woke him and he took us to the Parque Central.

The breakfast room wasn’t serving yet, but I snagged two cups of coffee and we took them up to my room.

There was no sign that the room had been entered or searched, and my travel guide and treasure map were still in my backpack.

Sara turned on the TV to Tele Rebelde and said, “I have a strong feeling that today is the day we meet our contact.”

“Well, it’s today or never.”

“And if we don’t... we have the map. That’s all we need.”

Well, a ride to Camagüey might help. But why mention it?

She finished her coffee. “I’ll meet you in the breakfast room.”

“Be nice to Antonio today.”

“He doesn’t expect me to be nice. He expects me to be good.”

She left and I undressed and got into the shower, which was warm today. A sign from God.

I sat in the breakfast room with my coffee, waiting for Sara. Antonio was not there, but Tad was, and he got up from his table and came over. “How are you feeling?”

“I wish that toilet on the bus was working.”

“We can stop at a farmacia and get you something.”

“I just need some gummy rice. But thanks.”

“Will Sara be joining us?”

“She will.”

Tad sat, uninvited. “May I be honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“You and Sara have missed a lot of this trip.”

You ain’t seen nothing yet.

“I need to file a final report with the Office of Foreign Assets Control, and your and Sara’s absences, if they continue, can cause the Yale educational travel group — and both of you — some problems.”

“Sorry, Tad. I certainly don’t want any problems with the Office of Foreign Assets Control. But you understand that we’re having a... sort of romance, and she — we — want some time alone.”

“I understand that, but—”

“How are you doing with Alison?”

“But you’ve agreed to the conditions—”

“I promise that you won’t have to worry about us for the rest of the trip.”

“All right. Thank you.” He hesitated, then said, “Antonio has asked me and Alison about both of you.”

“Really?”

“Is there... any problem I should know about?”

“That’s very kind of you to ask.”

“Well...?”

Well, this might be an opportunity to cover our tracks and also cover our asses. “This is Cuba, Tad. And Sara Ortega is anti-Castro, and Antonio is a chivato. Do you know what that is?”

“I do.”

“So next time he asks about us, tell him to go fuck himself.”

“I...”

I leaned toward him. “If Sara and I should fail to appear one morning, do us a favor and call the embassy.”

Tad seemed speechless. And a bit pale. Finally, he said, “Maybe you should leave the country.”

“We’re thinking about it.”

“All right... can I help?”

Tad was really okay. And I knew he’d call the embassy when Sara and I didn’t show up tomorrow morning. And the embassy would call the Ministry of the Interior, who would deny having us in their custody — which might be true, but maybe not. In any case, I think I covered most of the bases, and gave Tad two plausible reasons for our disappearance — prisoners of love or prisoners of the state.

“Maybe you should visit the embassy today,” he suggested.

That wasn’t possible if Antonio was telling the truth about Sara and me being on a watch list, and in any case the embassy was only a Hail Mary option. Camagüey was the next stop. I said, “Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“Well... this is Cuba...”

“Right. Do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone. You and I and Sara can talk tomorrow.”