Authors: William Heffernan
Adrianna took a deep breath and pushed the gate open, just as a hand reached out and took her arm. She twisted around and found herself facing two men. The one holding her arm had a thin mustache and a self-satisfied smile on his face. The other, standing directly behind the first, was taller and heavier and stared at her with open hostility. Both were in their early thirties and both wore civilian clothes, but there was no question in Adrianna’s mind that she was facing two of Cabrera’s men.
Adrianna pulled her arm free and glared at the man who had grabbed her.
“How dare you place your hands on me?” she snapped in Spanish.
At first the man seemed surprised, then his satisfied smile returned.
“I beg your forgiveness, Señorita Méndez,” he said in Spanish.
Adrianna noted there was no regret in his voice.
“Colonel Cabrera wishes to speak with you. State Security has located the remains of your aunt, and it is necessary that you make a formal identification.”
The second man had moved closer so he, too, could grab
her if she attempted to run. Adrianna struggled to appear unconcerned.
“I see,” she said. “That is very good news. Please tell Colonel Cabrera that I will come to the Villa Marista later this afternoon. Right now I must see my other aunt, who has been taken ill.”
The first man smirked at her. “I think your aunt has recovered from her illness. She left her home more than an hour ago.” A car pulled to the curb behind him, and he gestured toward it. “I think we will go now.” he said.
Adrianna shook her head. “No. I will wait for my aunt.”
The second man stepped forward and took her wrist. His hand felt like a vise, and as she tried to pull away, he quickly slapped her elbow forward and twisted her arm up behind her back. Adrianna closed her eyes against the pain.
“Do not make us hurt you, señorita,” the first man said. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Beautiful women should be given pleasure, not pain.”
Adrianna pulled her head away and glared at him. Her anger produced another smile.
“Now I think we will go,” he said. “The colonel has been searching for you for more than a day. And he is a man who does not like to be kept waiting.”
Devlin stood in the apartment window, staring out at the house in Guanabacoa. Cabrera and DeForio had left fifteen minutes earlier, followed by Pitts and two of Martínez’s men.
The owner of the apartment stood behind Devlin muttering in Spanish. Two more of Martínez’s men stood next to the man, whose home had been invaded and temporarily seized with a flash of Martínez’s credentials. Now Devlin watched as Martínez approached the front door of the house across the street.
He knocked and waited until the door was opened by Mattie the Knife Ippolito. He could see the major bobbing his head submissively as he gestured toward the car parked in the driveway. Ippolito simply glared at him, then shut the door in his face.
“A very unpleasant gentleman,” Martínez said when he returned to the apartment. “I simply informed him that I was a mechanic who would be happy to serve him if he had difficulty with his car.” The major smiled. “He was very rude. From his accent I would say he is an American, perhaps even from your own city.”
“You’ve been to New York?” Devlin asked.
“Oh yes,” Martínez said. “I have traveled extensively in your country.”
Devlin stared at him. “Who the fuck are you, Martínez?”
The major made a helpless gesture. “I am a humble police officer. Like yourself, my friend.”
Devlin stared at his shoes. “Okay, Major. From one humble police officer to another, what now?”
“Now we go back to Havana and resume our surveillance. My men will remain here to watch the house. There are also several more watching the rear. They will notify me when we should return.”
“What about the ritual and the
nganga
?”
“It will arrive at night, my friend. Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow night. The Abakua
palero
will not want to draw attention to it. As I told you before, a
nganga
is not something that goes unnoticed in Cuba.” He placed his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “When the
nganga
arrives, or when our gentleman from Cobre leaves to go to it, we shall be there. Be assured, my friend. We are coming to the end of this mystery.”
Adrianna sat in a chair in the middle of an empty room. The two men who had taken her from her aunt’s house leaned against the wall watching her. The house they had brought her to was near the Marina Hemingway, and through an open window she could smell the sea and hear the sound of fishing boats returning to port.
Cabrera did not arrive until seven o’clock. He placed himself in front of her, arms folded across his chest.
“Where are you and your friends staying now, señorita?” he asked.
“You know where we’re staying,” Adrianna said.
“Oh yes. The Hotel Inglaterra. I know that much of your
clothing is still there. But the hotel informs me that the rooms do not appear to be occupied. Why is that?”
“The hotel is wrong.”
“Ah, I see. And the absence of any shaving implements, or cosmetics, or a simple toothbrush, is undoubtedly another mistake our hotel employees have made, no?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Cabrera stroked his well-trimmed beard and sighed. “It would be so much easier—for
you
—if you chose to answer my questions honestly. You are unaware, perhaps, that it is against our laws to give false answers to an officer of State Security.”
Adrianna stared at him. “Then I think you should arrest me, and contact the American Interests Section at the Swiss embassy.”
Cabrera threw back his head and laughed. “Perhaps in ten days, señorita.” His face hardened. “If you survive ten days.” He took a step toward her. “I want to know where I can find Señor Devlin and this Señor Pitts I am yet to meet. Then we can bring this matter to a conclusion. As I’m sure you know, it is also unlawful for foreigners to stay in our country without notifying the government of their living arrangements.”
“I don’t know where they are.”
Cabrera raised one hand and the two men left their positions against the wall. Adrianna could feel her legs trembling, and she fought to control them.
“If you refuse to cooperate with me, I will be forced to turn our interrogation over to my men.” He shook his head. “It is something I would regret very much. So, once more, señorita. Where are Señor Devlin and Señor Pitts?”
The door flew open behind Cabrera, and Ollie Pitts filled the frame. He was in a shooter’s stance, and the barrel of his pistol was leveled at Cabrera’s head.
“Your men go for their guns, and you’re a dead man, Colonel.”
Cabrera barked an order in Spanish and the two men froze.
“Who are you?” Cabrera snapped.
“I’m fucking Santa Claus,” Pitts said through a grin. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
Adrianna hurried across the room and placed herself behind Pitts. “How did you find me?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later. Tell those two wahoos to take their pistols out with two fingers, and to lay them gently on the floor. Then they should kick them over here.”
When the two men had followed Adrianna’s directions, Pitts turned his attention back to Cabrera. “You armed, Colonel?” he asked.
Cabrera shook his head.
Pitts smiled. “When I search you, Colonel, if I find out you’re lying, I’m gonna kick you in the nuts.” He reached down and grabbed his crotch.
“Comprende?
It’s gonna hurt like hell.”
Cabrera glared at him, then reached inside his jacket and withdrew a medium-sized automatic. He laid it on the floor and kicked it to Pitts.
Pitts glanced at it, and smiled. “Now don’t you feel better that you did that, Colonel?” His eyes hardened. “Now handcuffs and keys, plus the keys to both your cars. Tell your men to kick it all over here.”
Pitts collected the weapons and keys, then told Adrianna to cuff the three men together.
When she had finished, he gave Cabrera another grin. “You come out before we’re gone, and I’ll put small holes in your fucking heads, you got that, Colonel?”
Cabrera glared at him and nodded, and Pitts slowly backed himself and Adrianna out of the room.
Outside, he stepped over the unconscious body of Cabrera’s driver, reached through the open window of his car, and ripped the microphone from his radio. Then he did the same to the second car.
“That should give us time to get the hell out of here,” he said as he took Adrianna’s arm and led her to his own car.
“How did you find me?” she asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
Pitts started the engine and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “I’ve been tailing Cabrera. His driver went behind the bushes to take a leak, and I decided I’d take a little look around. When I heard your voice through that open window, I gave his driver a little taste of my sap and went in.”
Adrianna leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “He wanted me to tell him where you and Paul were. Once he knew that, I think he was going to kill me, Ollie. And then I think he was going to kill you and Paul.” She opened her eyes and looked at the hulking man she could barely stand to be in the same room with. “If you hadn’t gotten there …” Her voice began to tremble as everything caught up with her. She drew a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said.
Pitts winked at her. “Hey, forget it. Besides, we’re not out of this yet. When Cabrera gets loose, he’s gonna turn this city inside out. So we better find Paul and that sneaky little major. If we don’t wrap this mother up soon, we could end up in one of those goddamn voodoo pots.”
Devlin stared at Martínez. “This was a little too close, Major.”
“You are right, of course.” Martínez pressed an index finger against his lips, thought for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “I had hoped to keep our activities more hidden, but that now seems unwise. From this point Señorita Mendez will stay here unless she is with us. While she is here—and while we are elsewhere—two of my men will be inside the house with her, and two more will be stationed across the street. I will have to arrange for them to be out of sight, but that does not concern you.”
Devlin studied him a moment. “These things seem pretty easy for you to arrange. Why is that, Major?”
Martínez resisted a smile. “Ah, not so easy, my friend. Nothing in Cuba is easy. Sometimes it is simply necessary.”
Cabrera arrived at his home shortly after ten that evening. He lived in a two-story stucco house similar to the one occupied by Adrianna’s aunt, and only four blocks distant. Like
the Red Angel, he was unmarried, a man who had dedicated his life to his career, and his personal goals for the future.
His driver pulled the car to the curb. Cabrera waited as a second car pulled up behind him and disgorged four men. who immediately moved into positions at the front and both sides of the house. Then Cabrera climbed out and studied the placement of his men. The security was unusual, but after the incident at Marina Hemingway, the colonel had decided not to underestimate the audacity of his American opponents.
Fifty yards down the street, Martínez and Devlin watched Cabrera’s men deploy. They were in Devlin’s rental car, parked in the driveway of an unoccupied house, to which Martínez also had a key. Two of his men were already inside. Again, the major seemed to have come up with just what he needed on very short notice. When questioned about it, he had only smiled.
“Our chess game takes an interesting turn,” Martínez said. “It would seem the colonel has decided the black king needs protection.”
“What’s your next move?” Devlin asked. “I assume you’re playing white in this game.”
“Ah, white has already made its move, my friend. Now a discovered check will be revealed. Watch.”
Satisfied that the men were positioned properly, Cabrera started for the front door. Unlike the Red Angel’s house, his was not hidden behind a high hedge. There had been one initially, but the colonel had ordered it removed to provide a clear view of anyone approaching his home. Floodlights, not presently engaged, also had been installed to illuminate the front and rear yards.
Cabrera climbed the front stairs. Three feet from the darkened front door, he came to an abrupt stop. A circle of cloth hung from the center of the door. There were five black
feathers pinned to its surface and arranged in a circle around the skull of a bird.
The colonel felt a sudden chill. He understood the Palo Monte message. A curse had been placed on him, and the
mayimbe
—the spirit of the dead bird pinned to his door—would follow him everywhere until it was fulfilled.
Cabrera struggled against the fear. It was something instilled in him from his days as a child in the small rural city of Trinidad on Cuba’s southern coast. He felt frozen in place, and had to will himself to move. Slowly, he began to back down the stairs. Then panic set in and he whirled around and ran back toward his still-waiting car, shouting out orders to his men as he fled.
Martínez and Devlin watched Cabrera’s car race away, followed by the car holding his bodyguards.
“Are we going to follow him?” Devlin asked.
Martínez shook his head. “Another of my men will do so.” A small smile played across his lips. “But I suspect he is returning to the safety of the Villa Marista. Perhaps later, when he has calmed himself, he will begin to move again. But, unknown to the colonel, we have people waiting for him. We have the very efficient Detective Pitts at the Hotel Capri, equipped with a radio. And my men are watching the house in Guanabacoa should he later go to the man from Cobre. The lid on our box is closing, my friend.”
“What panicked him?” Devlin asked.
Martínez’s smile became full. “Let us drive down and see.”
Devlin stared at the warning pinned to Cabrera’s door. He turned to Martínez. “You put this here?”
Martínez shook his head. “One of my men saw it earlier and informed me.”
“Plante Firme?”
Martínez nodded.
“And this witch doctor just happened to have the colonel’s home address?”