Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  There was no way to know if Nelson’s presence in Santiago was simply a stroke of good fortune or a deliberate manipulation of events on Carlton’s part.

  It didn’t matter to me which one it was.

  I was just glad Nelson would be around tonight, because I had a feeling we might need all the help we could get.

  Chapter 19

  The ride up the Sierra Maestra mountains to El Bonete was full of twists and turns, and Gabriel maneuvered the van through every curve on the road and around every bend in expert fashion.

  Nevertheless, from where I sat in the back seat, I thought he looked more like an actor in a comedy skit than a covert operative on a rescue mission.

  The jazz musician—dressed in his white suit and white shirt—was hunched over the steering column like an old man. His hands were gripping the wheel at ten and two, his eyes were glued to the road, and his long black curly hair was spread out across his shoulders.

  At least he wasn’t wearing his bow tie—the one decorated with white sequins. It was inside his trumpet case.

  He said he planned to put it on once we arrived at our destination.

  I’d noticed the bow tie when Juliana and I had stored our weapons inside the false bottom of Gabriel’s trumpet case. His handgun was already inside the case.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Gabriel carried a uniquely decorated firearm.

  It was a Sig P226. The weapon had black grips, a contrasting stainless-steel frame, and a couple of golden trumpets engraved on both sides of the slide.

  We had no way of knowing if Lorenzo’s guests would be required to pass through a security check before being allowed to enter the compound, but since Stevens said he’d seen a guard carrying a screening wand, we presumed no one would be allowed to enter the compound with a weapon.

  However, we felt sure the guards wouldn’t give Gabriel’s trumpet case more than a cursory inspection, and once we were inside the compound, we’d be able to retrieve our weapons.

  The three of us didn’t have much to say on the way up to El Bonete, but after we turned off the main highway and onto the road leading up to Lorenzo’s compound, Gabriel asked me a question.

  “How long has Rafael Lorenzo been involved in drug trafficking?”

  “A long time,” I said. “Coach indicated he was with the Jalisco cartel before joining Los Zetas, and that was probably twenty-five years ago.”

  “Why?” Juliana asked.

  Gabriel shrugged. “I was just trying to figure out how many lives he’s destroyed, and I was wondering how long he’s been doing it.”

  “Too long,” Juliana said.

  Gabriel nodded. “I agree. We all aspire to be, but Lorenzo has destroyed the aspirations of hundreds of people.”

  “If you’re saying Lorenzo’s drugs have killed a lot of people, then you’re right,” I said.

  Gabriel shook his head. “No, Titus. Being is more than just living. Take Lorenzo’s wife for example. Her aspirations are also unfulfilled.”

  “What makes you think Reina has unfulfilled aspirations?”

  Gabriel pulled in front of Lorenzo’s compound and gestured toward the concrete wall surrounding the property. “She aspires to be free,” he said. “She’s tired of being Lorenzo’s prisoner.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The two of us made a connection the night we met at the club. I could sense her pain.”

  If the guard at the front gate of Lorenzo’s compound hadn’t stopped our vehicle and asked to see our invitations at that moment, I probably would have ridiculed Gabriel’s observation about Mrs. Lorenzo.

  That would have been a mistake.

  * * * *

  After the guard checked our invitations, Gabriel was allowed to pull in line behind the other partygoers’ vehicles. A few minutes later, we drove through the gate of Lorenzo’s compound.

  Once inside, another guard asked us to get out of the van while a member of Lorenzo’s security detail ran a handheld metal detector over us.

  As soon as we passed that inspection, the guard asked Gabriel for the keys to his van so he could open up the cargo doors and take a look inside.

  Even though Gabriel willingly handed him the keys, when the guard opened the van’s rear door and picked up his trumpet case, Gabriel rushed over to the vehicle.

  “Let me help you with that,” Gabriel said, placing his hands on the lid and fumbling with the clasps. “Sometimes these latches can be tricky.”

  When Gabriel finally opened up the case, the guard seemed mesmerized by the sight of the golden trumpet nestled inside the plush blue velvet interior.

  After staring at it for a few seconds, he reached over to lift the instrument out of its padded holder.

  At that moment, before the guard had time to react, Gabriel grabbed the trumpet out of the case. Walking a short distance away from the van, he lifted the horn to his lips and began playing the strains of a familiar Cuban song.

  His impromptu concert quickly drew the attention of the other guests waiting in line, and when he ended his little ditty, they immediately broke into applause.

  After Gabriel gave them a little bow, acknowledging their appreciation for his talent, he placed the trumpet back in its case. When he snapped the lid, the guard immediately handed him back the keys to the van and told him to drive up to the house and park in the designated area.

  As we drove up to Lorenzo’s house, Juliana commended Gabriel on his well-timed diversion.

  I also gave him kudos for his quick-thinking.

  “Nobody touches my trumpet,” he said.

  * * * *

  The area designated as guest parking for the celebration was a concrete apron in front of Lorenzo’s multi-bay garage. The surface was so wide it could easily accommodate dozens of vehicles.

  The Ops Center said the drug lord often parked cargo trucks on the property, and they assumed Lorenzo had designed the area in front of the garage for that purpose.

  Last week, Gabriel and I had spent a couple of hours in his hotel room going over the recon photos of the parking area to determine where he should position the van in order for Juliana and me to get Mitchell safely inside the vehicle without drawing the attention of any guests at the main house.

  There were three possibilities, but the ideal spot appeared to be along the edge of the driveway next to the last garage bay.

  When we arrived at the area marked off for vehicle parking, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the space was still available.

  The moment Gabriel put the van in reverse and began maneuvering it into the parking spot, I unbuckled my seatbelt and went back to the van’s cargo compartment where I opened up Gabriel’s trumpet case.

  After lifting out the blue velvet lining and removing our handguns, I holstered my Glock, handed Juliana her Kimber, and passed the Sig over to Gabriel.

  Juliana placed her weapon inside her purse and said, “Now I feel dressed for the party.”

  Gabriel looked over at her and nodded. “You make that red dress look good.”

  She did.

  The last thing I did before the three of us exited the van was to insert an earpiece in my ear and do a comms check with Carlton.

  “We’ve got a visual on your vehicle,” Carlton said. “Stevens was able to place the CCT device on one of the security cameras when Keith was at the front gate blowing his horn.”

  “Keith’s timing was perfect, wasn’t it?”

  Although Gabriel and Juliana weren’t able to hear Carlton’s voice through my earpiece, Gabriel looked over at me when I mentioned his name.

  “While the timing may have been perfect,” Carlton said, “you can’t deny it was reckless.”

  “Oh, I agree,” I said, giving Keith a nod.

  * * * *

  The focal point of Lorenzo’s property was his sprawling sandstone house. The dull beige exterior was offset by the red-tiled roof and colorful landscaping, which included red flamboyant trees, purple bougainvillea, and dark
green palm trees.

  Even though I’d studied the aerial photographs of Lorenzo’s house, now that I was viewing the house from ground level, it seemed much more imposing. Part of the reason had to be all the extra lighting Lorenzo had installed.

  While the lights gave the exterior of the house a festive look, the glare from the bright lights made it almost impossible to see anything else on Lorenzo’s property.

  I knew this had to be intentional on Lorenzo’s part because the lights obscured the darkened guesthouse at the southwest corner of the property and prevented any guests from seeing the guards patrolling the perimeter of the compound.

  Even so, as Gabriel, Juliana, and I walked up the sidewalk in front of Lorenzo’s house, I looked over to see if I could get a glimpse of the guesthouse.

  While the glare from the lights made it nearly impossible for me to see much more than a faint outline of the house, when I detected movement near the front of the structure, I was able to make out the figure of a man holding an assault rifle.

  I assumed his partner was somewhere nearby.

  Two hours from now, at precisely nine o’clock, an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV), better known as a drone, would leave Guantanamo Bay Naval Base and travel approximately fifty miles west to Lorenzo’s compound.

  As the MQ-4C Triton hovered over the guesthouse, the drone operator back at Gitmo would deliver the UAV’s payload, a non-lethal chemical agent with the capacity to immobilize the guards for at least an hour, maybe even longer.

  The Ops Center said when the men woke up, they might feel a little woozy, but until they discovered Mitchell was missing, they would probably just think they’d neglected their duties and drifted off to sleep.

  As the guards slept, the POA called for Juliana and me to remove Mitchell from the guesthouse and get him over to the van. By that time, Gabriel should have finished up his portion of the evening’s entertainment, and the four of us would leave Lorenzo’s compound together.

  If the POA went as planned, Operation Peaceful Retrieval would have no problem living up to its name.

  While I was optimistic, I wasn’t naïve.

  No operation ever went as planned.

  Chapter 20

  Like many wealthy homes in the Caribbean, Lorenzo’s house was designed with an open floor plan. However, the drug dealer had taken the look to an entirely different level by completely blurring the lines between indoor and outdoor living.

  As soon as I stepped inside the front door, my attention was immediately drawn to an incredible view of Lorenzo’s swimming pool outside. My line of sight ran from the front door, all the way through the living room, across the patio, and out to the Olympic-size swimming pool.

  I figured there had to be a set of sliding glass doors somewhere between the living area and the patio, but evidently, the doors had been designed to disappear into the woodwork, which made his enormous living space seem even larger than it really was.

  To my left was a well-stocked bar, with a couple of bartenders in attendance, and off to my right was a long table. It extended past the living room and onto the patio and was filled with a variety of Cuban delicacies.

  At least two dozen people were helping themselves to the food, and an equal number were doing the same with the drinks. An even larger number of individuals—probably around thirty—were wandering between the living room and the patio. Another group of invited guests were standing out by the pool or seated on chairs around the patio.

  A five-piece band was providing the partygoers with live music. The band members were standing on an elevated portion of the patio, which had been converted into a small stage. Surrounding the stage were huge flowerpots full of orchids. Just below the stage was a baby grand piano.

  Javier Santino, Club Nocturno’s manager, was standing a few feet away from the piano, and when Gabriel spotted Santino, he said, “It’s showtime, folks. Let’s break a leg.”

  After those encouraging words, Gabriel left us and walked over to speak with Santino. Meanwhile, Juliana and I made our way past the swimming pool and over to the buffet table.

  It was obvious Lorenzo’s pool would not be used for its intended purpose this evening because floating across the surface of the water were hundreds of burning candles, each one ensconced in its own little boat shaped like a lily pad.

  I was more interested in people than lily pads, and after grabbing a couple of croquetas de pollo—chopped up chicken coated with bread crumbs—I stood off to the side and scanned the room.

  My immediate objective was to spot any of Lorenzo’s goons who might be trying to blend in with Lorenzo’s guests.

  They weren’t that hard to find.

  The men were positioned around the room in more or less the same formation they’d assumed the night Lorenzo had made his appearance at Club Nocturno.

  I figured if they were that predictable, Juliana and I would be able to slip away from Lorenzo’s house and get down to the guesthouse without being missed.

  “I counted four of them,” Juliana said when she walked up to me carrying a plateful of food. “How about you?”

  “I counted four as well,” I said. “Let’s go out to the patio and see if we can find some good seats for Gabriel’s performance.”

  Because of the comms unit I was wearing, Carlton had been able to hear every word I’d just spoken to Juliana.

  I had to assume everyone else in RTM Center E, including the DDO and Senator Mitchell, had also heard my conversation. Unless I disconnected the unit, that would be true for every word I spoke during the rest of the evening.

  While I was expected to give the Ops Center as much information as possible, I also had to be circumspect about it. Otherwise, if I appeared to be talking to some non-existent person, I might draw the attention of Lorenzo’s security detail.

  That problem was easily solved as long as I pretended to be carrying on a conversation with Juliana.

  Earlier, when I’d warned her my conversations might not make much sense to her, she’d assured me she’d been around Gabriel long enough that any nonsensical talk wouldn’t be an issue for her.

  Carlton said, “You have four hostiles inside the house. Did I hear that correctly?”

  “These are pretty,” Juliana said, pointing down at the candles floating in the pool.

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  Juliana gave me a strange look. “What’s correct?”

  “Oh, I forgot,” she said, when I pointed to my ear. “Sorry.”

  “Copy that,” Carlton said.

  Most of the seating for the evening’s festivities consisted of several rows of folding chairs set up around the patio and at the far end of the swimming pool.

  As we walked around the patio, I looked over at Juliana and asked Carlton, “Where would you like for us to sit?”

  Carlton said, “There are two empty chairs in the next row over from where you’re standing. They’re at the very end. Take a seat there.”

  As soon as I directed Juliana over to the seats, I understood why Carlton had chosen them. They were the last two seats in the row, and they were located right next to a set of steps leading down to the walkway that connected the main house to the guesthouse.

  Although it appeared to be the perfect spot for a quick getaway, I realized my view of the guesthouse was obscured by two large banana plants on each side of the walkway. Until Juliana and I got past them, we wouldn’t be able to tell if the drone’s payload had successfully incapacitated the guards.

  When we sat down, Carlton began to give me a readout of what he was seeing in the Ops Center at Langley, where at least a dozen images of Lorenzo’s compound were being displayed on the wall of video monitors in RTM Center E.

  “Besides the four security personnel at the front gate, there are four more deployed around the perimeter of the property. Counting the two at the guesthouse, and the four you spotted inside the house, there are fourteen hostiles in the compound.”

  “Exactly what we expec
ted.”

  “No more. No less.”

  “I like the no more part.”

  “Oh, me too,” Juliana said, nodding her head as if she knew exactly what Carlton and I were discussing.

  “Alex Nelson has just entered the compound and should be arriving at the party momentarily. Let me know when he’s inside the house.”

  “Don’t you have visuals inside the house?”

  “No, we only have eyes on the grounds and patio. The CCT unit isn’t able to access the cameras inside the house.”

  I told Juliana, “Alex should be here any minute.”

  She nodded.

  Carlton answered, “That’s correct.”

  * * * *

  Lorenzo’s honored guests weren’t required to sit in the rented folding chairs. They were seated on padded chairs behind a speaker’s table near the stage.

  Draped over the front of the table was a banner which read, La Celebración del Turismo Cubano.

  The governor of Santiago, Ignacio Gilberto, was there along with Cuba’s trade minister and the Canadian trade representative, plus members of Santiago’s tourism council. Seated next to the governor was Rafael Lorenzo.

  He and the governor were engaged in conversation, and judging by the look on Lorenzo’s face, whatever they were discussing was a serious matter. However, since Lorenzo was such an intense guy, they might have just been talking about the weather.

  Lorenzo’s wife, Reina, was seated at the other end of the table. She was surrounded by several other ladies, one of whom I recognized from the other night at Club Nocturno.

  Every now and then, she would glance over at Gabriel who was about twenty feet away from her talking to the piano player and preparing for his performance.

  As I watched her watching him, I thought about what he’d said about her. If she had a melancholic spirit or considered herself Lorenzo’s prisoner, I saw no evidence of that. From my vantage point, she appeared to be enjoying herself.