Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  Her short black metallic dress fit her slim figure like a glove and shimmered every time she took a step. I knew she had to be at least ten years younger than Lorenzo, and I figured she was probably his second wife; possibly wife number three.

  As Mrs. Lorenzo was being seated, she glanced over in my direction.

  I gave her my best smile.

  She immediately looked away.

  Since the Ops Center had nothing in their databases on Mrs. Lorenzo, I snapped a couple of pictures of her with my sat phone, and I did the same with the other members of Lorenzo’s party.

  The four beefy males seated near the doorway had abandoned their table as soon as Lorenzo had entered the club. Now, they were stationed at strategic spots around the room. Presumably, they were there to observe their boss and keep an eye out for any troublemakers.

  I had the distinct feeling the one nearest me—a guy wearing a heavily stitched leather belt with a scorpion on the belt buckle—knew I had a weapon on me. He kept looking over at me like he thought I might harbor ill feelings toward Lorenzo and want to do him harm.

  Smart guy.

  Juliana leaned toward me and whispered, “Could things get any worse?”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  * * * *

  After Lorenzo and his entourage were seated, I noticed Gabriel had exited the stage and was talking with the band members who’d been performing at the club when we’d first arrived.

  I told Juliana, “I think I’ll go have a word with our musician.”

  “Too late for that,” she said.

  “We’re back,” Gabriel said, hopping up on stage again. “This time I brought along a few friends.”

  The audience immediately roared their approval as the band members joined Gabriel on stage. Once the drummer had grabbed his sticks and the guitar player had strapped on his guitar, Gabriel gave them a nod.

  “Ready?” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Once again, the piano player gave Gabriel a short introduction, but this time he was joined by a bass guitar, drums, and a saxophone.

  As he raised his horn to his lips, Gabriel smiled at the audience and said, “Time for some fun.”

  This time, the song he’d chosen was anything but slow and lazy, and as soon as the audience recognized he was playing “A Night in Tunisia,” they went crazy.

  The composer, Dizzy Gillespie, had been a big fan of Cuban music, and after the famous trumpeter had been invited by Fidel Castro to headline an international jazz festival in Havana in the late 1980s, the Cuban people had fallen in love with the musician, as well as the song.

  When Gabriel told the audience his next song, “Manteca,” had been co-written by Cuban composer, Chano Pozo, a roar went up from the crowd.

  Included in Gabriel’s second set were other well-known Cuban favorites, and if the decibel level in the club was any indication, the crowd loved it.

  When Gabriel announced he’d be taking a short break, the audience gave him a standing ovation.

  However, I wasn’t sure the jazz musician was that well received at Santino’s table.

  * * * *

  During Gabriel’s performance, I’d glanced over at Santino’s table numerous times, but each time both Lorenzo and Santino were staring straight ahead at the stage, showing little or no emotion.

  However, on the other side of the table, Mrs. Lorenzo, along with the two ladies with her, appeared to be enjoying themselves. They were swaying to the beat of the rhythm, laughing at Gabriel’s attempts at humor, and clapping along with everybody else in the room.

  Now, all three ladies had their eyes on Gabriel as he made his way over to where Juliana and I were seated.

  After Gabriel sat down, he twisted the cap off a water bottle and said, “Sometimes I find it hard to justify a person’s existence.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked.

  “What? You mean you don’t have the same problem?”

  “I mean this is hardly the time to—”

  “Heads up,” Juliana said, cutting her eyes over at Santino’s table.

  A few seconds later, Lorenzo was standing beside our table.

  The rest of his entourage was right behind him with Santino bringing up the rear. The guy with the scorpion belt buckle moved closer to our table.

  Gabriel and I both stood to our feet, while Juliana remained seated.

  “Rafael Lorenzo,” the drug lord said, extending his hand toward Gabriel.

  “Keith Gabriel,” the jazz musician replied, shaking the man’s hand.

  Lorenzo pointed toward his wife. “This is my wife, Reina. We both enjoyed your performance very much.”

  I noticed he didn’t bother introducing his wife’s companions, nor did he appear the least bit interested in me or Juliana.

  Gabriel smiled. “It’s all about my soul. I just play what’s in my soul.”

  Lorenzo looked as if he thought Gabriel might be indulging in some of the product he was importing from Medellin, Colombia, but then Reina Lorenzo nodded and said, “That’s what I was hearing. It was beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Reina looked up at her husband, “Why don’t we invite Mr. Gabriel to perform for our guests when you honor the governor?”

  Before Lorenzo had a chance to reply, she addressed Gabriel, “How much longer will you be in Santiago? My husband is hosting an event for the governor in a couple of weeks, and I’d love for you to be part of the entertainment.”

  Gabriel appeared to think about her question a moment. “I’m still scouting out some locations for my music video, so I should be in Santiago for a few more days.”

  I felt sure the evening had been saved, and Gabriel was about to be issued the coveted invitation to La Celebración del Turismo Cubano.

  Then, he blew it.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if you had a local musician to entertain the governor?” he asked. “I’m just a tourist here.”

  I held my breath.

  “But that’s perfect,” Reina said with a big smile. “My husband is honoring the governor for his efforts to bring tourism to Santiago.”

  The two ladies standing behind her nodded in agreement, while they continued to ogle Gabriel from head to toe.

  Reina glanced over at her husband. “That would be perfect, wouldn’t it, Rafael?”

  Whether Lorenzo thought it would be perfect to issue an invitation to someone his wife obviously admired was debatable, but he immediately turned to Santino and said, “Take care of it.”

  When Lorenzo and his party returned to their table, Santino stayed behind to give Gabriel the details of the event. Once they’d worked out all the logistics, Gabriel introduced Juliana and me as two of his friends and asked if we could be added to the guest list as well.

  Santino nodded and wrote down our names. Then, he pointed up at the stage where the band had reassembled. “When you finish your next set, let’s talk about booking you for another evening.”

  Gabriel said he’d be honored, and after Santino walked away, he looked over at Juliana and me and said, “I’d say this gig has been a success, wouldn’t you?”

  Indeed. A smashing success.

  Chapter 16

  Even though it was past midnight by the time we left Club Nocturno, I texted Carlton and told him Juliana and I would be doing an official update on Peaceful Retrieval within the hour.

  When we arrived at the safe house, Gabriel offered to do the update with us, but I suggested he go back to the hotel and get some rest.

  “You don’t think Douglas needs to hear my perspective on the Governor’s Gig?” he asked.

  “What perspective would that be?”

  “He might be interested to hear how I was able to get Rafael Lorenzo to show up at the club tonight.”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “I’d be interested in hearing that,” Juliana said.

  “Okay, so here’s what happened,” Gabriel said, glancing over at Juliana who wa
s seated in the back seat. “Earlier this week, Santino told me Lorenzo’s wife was a big jazz music fan, so I’m sure when he heard my trumpet solos during my first set, he must have called her and invited her to come down to the club to hear me play.”

  I asked, “But why did you change everything up after she got there? If she came to hear you play, why did you have the band join you on your next set?”

  Gabriel sighed. “You really should be more observant, Titus. The club’s clientele is all about the beat; they wanted rhythm, not technique. Didn’t you notice how much they applauded during my second set?”

  Juliana nodded. “You’re right. You really got the crowd fired up.”

  “And to think you did it without matches,” I said.

  Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. Are you speaking metaphorically?”

  I opened the car door. “Let’s talk about this later.”

  He leaned his head out the door as Juliana and I got out of the car. “We should also talk about justifying the existence of someone like Rafael Lorenzo. Do you realize how many people that man must have tortured or murdered? Personally, I don’t think a man like that deserves to go on living.”

  As Juliana and I entered Una Casa Sin Esperanza, I decided not to mention Gabriel’s sentiments about Lorenzo to Carlton.

  It would only cause him to worry even more about Gabriel, and, right now, I was worried enough for both of us.

  * * * *

  Once we entered the upstairs bedroom where the communications equipment was located, it didn’t take Juliana long to establish the video linkup with the Ops Center.

  As the image of RTM Center E pixelated across the computer screen, I was a little surprised to see no one was seated at the main console. A few seconds later, Coach walked over and told us Carlton had been momentarily detained, and he would be handling the update until he arrived.

  Before giving Coach the Operational Field Update (OFU), I uploaded the photos I’d taken of Lorenzo’s wife and her companions, plus the one photo I’d been able to get of the guy with the scorpion belt buckle.

  Once Coach had received the photographs, he notified Juliana and me he was about to turn on the recorder and begin the official recording.

  We both told him we understood.

  He pushed a button on the console and said, “Titus Alan Ray, Level 1 Covert Intelligence Officer, initiating the OFU on Operation Peaceful Retrieval, Code 57213. Also present, Juliana Lamar, Level 2, Covert Operative.”

  I’d scarcely begun the OFU when Carlton slipped into the room. When I paused, he shook his head and gestured for me to continue the narrative without stopping the recorder.

  An OFU narrative was supposed to be brief, just a bare bones accounting of how the interplay of events, circumstances, and people had come together to produce an outcome.

  In this case, I explained how Gabriel’s performance at Club Nocturno had gained us access to Lorenzo’s compound. Although I put a little more flesh on the bones than that, I didn’t go into the details of Gabriel’s song selection nor did I choose to include Gabriel’s own perspective about the evening.

  After I’d officially signed off the OFU and Coach had turned off the recorder, Carlton asked, “What’s your assessment, Titus?”

  I hesitated a moment before giving him my answer. While I wanted my handler to be aware of any potential pitfalls with the POA, I was also committed to being supportive of Gabriel, despite his peculiarities.

  I knew I probably had a few idiosyncrasies of my own.

  I said, “If Lorenzo’s wife hadn’t been there, I’m not sure Keith would have been invited to this shindig, but she turned out to be his biggest fan, and that’s why we got the invitation.”

  Juliana added, “Lorenzo didn’t seem to be very happy about how much she appreciated Keith’s performance.”

  Carlton nodded. “That could be a good thing. If he’s jealous of Keith, then maybe he won’t pay that much attention to anything else going on at his party, especially what’s happening down at his guesthouse.”

  I said, “Now that we’ve been able to obtain access to Lorenzo’s compound, does that increase our chances the DDO will sign off on the POA?”

  “I’ve just come from seeing the Deputy, and he’s already approved the POA and signed off on all the protocols. You’re good to go.”

  “That was quick.”

  He ran his hand over the top of his head. “I wasn’t alone at the meeting. Senator Mitchell was also there.”

  “Was he there as a Senator or was he there as a father concerned about his son?”

  Carlton chose to ignore my question, and by the frown on his face, I got the feeling he wished I hadn’t asked the question in the first place, at least not when there were other Agency personnel in the room.

  “The Senator was there delivering the new email he’d just received from Los Zetas about Ben,” Carlton said. “This time the message included a ransom demand.”

  “How much are they asking?”

  “Ten million dollars.”

  “What?” Juliana said. “That’s incredible.”

  I was speechless, and by the look on Coach Thompson’s face, I figured that number had also surprised him.

  “Why would they even make such a demand?” I asked. “Isn’t the going rate for a high-profile kidnapping around a million dollars?”

  “They’re asking ten times that much because they’ve got leverage now—ten gas canisters full of leverage.”

  * * * *

  Perhaps none of us should have been surprised at this development. Los Zetas was now in possession of a weapon of mass destruction. It was inevitable they would eventually threaten to use it.

  Carlton pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. “Here’s the message Senator Mitchell received from the cartel earlier this evening. I’ll read it to you.”

  “Have you decided how much your son is worth to you, Senator? Never mind. We asked him instead. He suggested ten million dollars. That sounds like a fair price to us. If you think this is too much, I’m sure you know we now have the means to take the lives of not just your son, but many other sons in any city we choose. JB649280LP. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Is that the serial number from one of the canisters?” I asked.

  Carlton nodded. “And it’s the reason I was late getting down here. The DDO had a difficult time finding someone at the Chemical Materials Agency in Aberdeen who could verify that number. Evidently, unlike the rest of us, they don’t work on the weekend.”

  He folded up the email and put it back in his pocket. “That number’s authentic all right. We now know for certain the cartel has at least one canister of sarin gas, and we can assume they have nine others exactly like it.”

  I asked, “Did the Senator know about the missing canisters before he received the email from the cartel?”

  Carlton said, “Yes, the DDO briefed the members of both the House and Senate Intelligence Committees about the missing canisters yesterday afternoon. He said Senator Mitchell didn’t seem overly concerned about the matter yesterday, but today, it was a different story.”

  “Was the email the reason the DDO gave the quick go-ahead on the POA?”

  “Not exactly,” Carlton said. “Since I just put it on his desk this morning, I don’t believe the Deputy had time to review it before the Senator brought him the email.”

  “But you said—”

  “I’m getting to that,” Carlton said. “After Senator Mitchell showed us the email, he started pushing the DDO to revise the timetable and rescue Ben immediately—like tomorrow, before the cartel gave him a deadline to transfer the money. That’s when the DDO told the Senator he’d already approved the POA for August 8, and he couldn’t rescind the protocols without putting his operatives in danger.”

  I wasn’t sure why the DDO had lied to the Senator, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was some Machiavellian power play on his part.

  Coach said, “Moving th
e timetable up would be problematic. I’ll need at least another week to work out the kinks in the logistics of the protocols.”

  “There’s no need to worry about that. The timetable remains the same,” Carlton said. “The Deputy worked out a compromise with the Senator.”

  “Please tell me that compromise didn’t involve bringing the media into the picture,” I said.

  “No, I don’t believe the Senator wants that. But he did ask the DDO to reactivate the Joint Task Force and have them assist the Mexican government in finding those missing canisters.”

  “I agree,” I said, “and I think the DDO should put Frank Benson in charge of the Joint Task Force and send him down to Mexico immediately. Frank’s good at finding stuff.”

  Carlton, who knew my history with Benson, smiled at my suggestion. “I’m not sure who the DDO is going to put in charge of the Joint Task Force, but I know the Deputy is well aware of Frank’s qualifications.”

  “What about the photograph?” Juliana asked.

  Coach said, “You mean the new reconnaissance photographs?”

  “No,” Juliana said, “the proof of life photograph Los Zetas always sends when they email the Senator about Ben.”

  Coach Thompson looked over at Carlton who shook his head. “The Senator said they didn’t send a photograph of Ben this time.”

  I said, “That’s unacceptable. Senator Mitchell should immediately demand a proof of life photograph.”

  “He’s already done that. When he acknowledged receipt of the email, he told the cartel he wasn’t about to pay any ransom until they gave him proof Ben was still alive.”

  “Has the Senator gotten a response yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How long has it been?”

  Carlton looked down at his watch. “About five hours.”

  Juliana said, “Lorenzo’s been at Club Nocturno all evening. Maybe that’s why the Senator hasn’t heard anything yet.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Carlton said.

  He didn’t sound very convinced of that.

  * * * *