Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  She suddenly got up from the dining table and walked into the living room.

  I followed her.

  After she sat down on the couch, she nervously brushed aside the hair falling down around her eyes and said, “We argued about the warehouse that night; I told you that the first day you arrived in Santiago.”

  “Yes, you did,” I said, sitting down next to her. “You said you thought Ben left the house without telling you because he wanted to prove you were wrong about the warehouse, but I think there’s more to the story than that.”

  She sat there without saying anything for a moment, and then she nodded. “You’re right, but it has nothing to do with the operation; it’s strictly personal.”

  “You know me. I’m a big fan of maintaining personal boundaries. If you don’t want to tell me, I’m good with that.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, nodding her head. “You can probably guess what we argued about. You were right when you said Ben wanted to have more than just a working relationship with me. When things began to heat up between us, I told him I was too old for him. He didn’t agree, and that’s when I said something I shouldn’t have said.”

  When Juliana paused and looked away for a moment, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Then, a few seconds later, she looked at me and said, “I told him I was more attracted to you than I was to him.”

  Even though I cringed on the inside, I did my best to avoid showing any outward emotion, Evidently, I wasn’t entirely successful, because Juliana said, “I can see you’re shocked by that.”

  “Uh . . . yeah . . . maybe; just a little.”

  She massaged her temples. “I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I thought it would unnerve him enough that he might forget about pursuing a relationship with me. Instead, he must have taken it as a challenge to prove himself to me. That’s why I think he went off on his own to explore the warehouse.”

  “You could be right. On the other hand, Ben mostly wants to prove himself to himself. That would have been enough reason for him to go explore the warehouse alone.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Is there something else you’re not telling me?” I asked.

  For a moment I thought she might try to distract me and change the subject, but then she said, “Okay, there is something else. The episode with Ben bothered me because it was similar to what happened the night my husband was killed. We had an argument that night about a case he was working on, and he left in the middle of the night without telling me. Later, his partner told me he had phoned him and said something about wanting to prove me wrong about one of the gang members he’d befriended. It turned out that was the gang member who shot him.”

  “You weren’t the one who pulled the trigger, were you?”

  “Of course not, and I thought I’d stopped blaming myself a long time ago, but when Ben was kidnapped, all those feelings came bubbling to the surface again.”

  “It probably didn’t help that your husband and Ben shared the same first name. If Ben’s name had been Buford, it might have been a lot easier on you.”

  She burst out laughing. “Buford? Are you serious?”

  “Don’t laugh. I plan to name my firstborn Buford.”

  “Is that right? Do you and Nikki plan to have children when you’re married?”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Honestly, I’ve never given it a thought.”

  She looked surprised. “Getting married or having children?”

  “Uh . . .”

  When I hesitated, she said, “You know, Titus, if things aren’t as serious between you and Nikki as I thought they were, then I want to be honest with you; I wasn’t lying to Ben when I told him I was attracted to you. Of course, I wish he hadn’t taken my rejection so hard, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  She reached over and laid her hand on top of mine. “Am I wrong to think you feel the same way about me?”

  As I looked into Juliana’s eyes and felt the sensuous warmth of her flesh against mine, I knew I’d come to a crossroads in my life.

  Should I choose the path I’d gone down before—that all too familiar road? Or should I choose the road I’d never taken?

  A battle raged inside of me; two sides fighting, one against the other. I couldn’t tell which side was winning; I didn’t know which side I wanted to win. In a moment of sheer desperation, I silently cried out to God to give me wisdom.

  That fleeting prayer settled the matter for me.

  I removed Juliana’s hand and laid it back in her lap.

  “You’re a very desirable woman, Juliana, but I’m committed to Nikki. When this operation’s over, I plan to ask her to marry me.”

  Chapter 41

  Friday, August 14

  When I cleared customs after my Aero Caribe flight to Maceo International Airport in Santiago, I headed over to the other side of the terminal to make arrangements for a rental car.

  However, before I made it over to the rental kiosk, I spotted Mateo Aguilar standing around the taxi privado area, and I quickly changed my plans.

  “Señor Bandera,” he said, “how are you? I haven’t seen you since the celebration. Did you leave Santiago?”

  “Señorita De Santos and I had to fly back over to Port-au-Prince when she came down with appendicitis.”

  Mateo nodded. “I remember she wasn’t feeling well that night.”

  “She thought she was just dehydrated, but she had to have an emergency appendectomy and won’t be able to travel for a while. For now, I’m here on my own.”

  “Are you still interested in making a trip up to El Cobre?”

  I pretended to think about his question for a moment.

  “You know, I think I might enjoy that. In fact, if you’ll take me by the Meliã first, we could head up there this afternoon.”

  Mateo jumped at the chance to have his taxi privado rented for the entire day, and five minutes later, I was sitting in the front seat of his ‘56 Bel Air.

  After I assured him his Bel Air was indeed a comfortable ride, he began ticking off all the touristy places in El Cobre he could take me.

  “I know you’ll want to see the shrine, Nuestra Señora de la Caridad. After that, we could visit the copper mine museum, and then if you want, we could take a tour of a sugarcane plantation.”

  “You’re the guide, Mateo, but if something else piques my interest along the way, I’ll let you know.”

  * * * *

  I left Mateo in the lobby of the Meliã and went up to my room where I deposited the travel bag I’d been given when I’d boarded the plane.

  Along with my Nacio Bandera passport and a change of clothes, the Agency had included an encrypted laptop computer and a sound-masking device in my luggage.

  I powered up the laptop in hopes of seeing a red alert box indicating the Ops Center had obtained images of Número Diez from one of our reconnaissance satellites.

  The alert box was empty.

  I turned on the sound-masking device and called Carlton.

  When I told him I’d hired Mateo to drive me up to El Cobre, he said, “What’s that all about?”

  “I figured since la policía are used to seeing Mateo bring tourists to the area, as long as I’m in his company, it won’t look suspicious if they see me taking pictures of the scenery. After I’ve seen the sights and had a chance to get the lay of the land, I’ll rent a vehicle and drive back up to El Cobre on my own.”

  “Check in with me when you get back to Santiago. I should have the recon images by then.”

  “Have you heard from the NSA? Have they been able to pick up any chatter about Franco’s murder?”

  “Plenty of chatter, but no one’s reporting any action. The cartel is flying Franco’s body back to Mexico for the funeral, but, so far, no one has emailed Austin King about Ben’s ransom payment.”

  “What was the DDO’s reaction to Franco’s death?”

  “The deputy is still dealing wi
th other issues right now, and we haven’t spoken about it. In fact, during the last thirty-six hours, we haven’t had any contact about Peaceful Retrieval.”

  “In that case, I have to assume you’ve exercised the Lupanov option.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Maybe we can wrap up Peaceful Retrieval before the DDO’s finished dealing with his crisis.”

  “I might avoid my own crisis if that happens.”

  * * * *

  Mateo kept up a running commentary all the way up to El Cobre. Mostly, it was about the history of the Virgen de la Caridad, a Virgin Mary statue found by three fishermen in the Bay of Santiago in the early 1500s.

  When they saw her floating in the water, the fishermen decided to give the statue to the men working the copper mines in El Cobre, and they immediately erected a shrine to her, naming it Nuestra Señora de la Caridad.

  In the early 1900s, after being venerated for four centuries and having countless miracles attributed to her presence on the island, Pope Benedict XV designated the Virgen de la Caridad as Cuba’s patron saint, and a basilica was constructed at the site of the original shrine.

  According to Mateo, when Fidel Castro brought communism to the island, visits to the shrine diminished, but now, since some religious restrictions had been lifted, it was a popular tourist site again, and Cubans were making yearly pilgrimages to visit the patron saint.

  As we came around a bend in the road at the outskirts of El Cobre, Mateo abruptly ended his non-stop narration and gestured dramatically at the basilica directly in front of us.

  The cream-colored church, with its red-domed roof, was an impressive sight against the backdrop of the lush greenery of the Sierra Maestra mountains. The scene resembled a magnificent painting, something an art gallery might have in its collection.

  As striking as it was, I was more interested in the Alma de Cuba coffee plantations located to the west of basilica, but I feigned interest in the structure anyway.

  At Mateo’s insistence, I purchased two bunches of flowers from one of the numerous street vendors who descended on us as soon as he parked the car. Later, when we entered the church, he instructed me to place the flowers on an altar in the vestibule of the basilica where there was a replica of the Virgen de la Caridad.

  Besides flowers, there were other items at the altar—photographs, books, rosaries, and even a shirt from a local soccer team.

  “When you bring the Virgen de la Caridad a gift,” Mateo said, “you can ask her for a blessing or a healing. I’m going to ask her to heal Señorita De Santos.”

  “I’m sure she feels better already.”

  As Mateo directed me over to the main doors of the basilica, I noticed a man entering the church clutching a small teddy bear. He quickly walked over to the altar, made the sign of the cross, and laid the teddy bear down beside Mateo’s flowers. After standing with his head bowed for a few seconds, he turned and walked out of the church.

  There were two things about the man that drew my attention. First, when he made the sign of the cross, I caught a glimpse of the letter Z tattooed on his right wrist. Second, when he bent down to place the teddy bear beside the altar, I spotted a gun tucked inside his waistband.

  Mateo was making his way down the main aisle of the basilica toward the front, so I used the opportunity to slip away from him and follow the Teddy Bear Man outside.

  The entrance to the basilica consisted of a series of three sets of steps, and by the time I made it outside, Teddy Bear Man had already descended the last set of steps. From there, I saw him walk over and get inside a dark blue Russian-made GAZ pickup.

  After the truck drove off, I hurried back inside the church and slipped in line behind Mateo, joining the other tourists and pilgrims who were gathering at the front of the basilica to view the four-hundred-year-old Virgen de la Caridad.

  When we arrived at the glass-enclosed display case, I made an effort to sound enthusiastic about the statue, but all I could think about was the Alma de Cuba emblem I’d seen on the back of the GAZ pickup as Teddy Bear Man drove off.

  * * * *

  Once we left the basilica, I asked Mateo if we could tour the sugarcane plantation next.

  “You’d prefer to go there instead of the copper mine museum?”

  I nodded. “I’d like to see some of the countryside north of El Cobre. I understand the scenery in that area is very beautiful.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, “you’ll enjoy the drive to the sugarcane plantation.”

  Once we got inside the Bel Air, he added, “The Alma de Cuba coffee plantations are also located to the north. You’ll get to see those as well.”

  “Oh, really? I’ve always been interested in seeing a coffee farm. What can you tell me about the Alma de Cuba coffee plantations?”

  Although Mateo wasn’t as well-versed in the history of the Alma de Cuba coffee cooperative as he was in the history of the Virgen de la Caridad, he was aware the Cuban government had full control over all ten farms, and he also knew Governor Gilberto was responsible for hiring their managers.

  We hadn’t driven very far outside the city limits of El Cobre before Mateo pointed out one of the Alma de Cuba farms.

  “Here’s Número Cinco,” he said. “It’s the largest farm in the cooperative.”

  As we drove past it, I took out my cell phone and took a couple of pictures. “You know, Mateo, I think I’d enjoy touring a coffee plantation more than I would a sugarcane plantation.”

  Mateo shook his head. “They don’t give tours of the coffee plantations to anyone but government officials and foreign dignitaries. They’re off limits to regular tourists. I believe I mentioned that when I saw you at Rafael Lorenzo’s party.”

  I nodded. “Yes, you did, but I’m wondering if they would be willing to make an exception for me. I may not be a foreign dignitary, but I do work for the Haitian government.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I could check with the governor’s office, but I imagine they’d want to see your passport before they’d be willing to issue you a permit.”

  Although I had no intention of allowing any government official to scrutinize my passport too closely, I said, “I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

  As we topped a hill, I spotted an abandoned gas station and some scattered farmhouses ahead of us. They were the same structures I’d seen in the drone footage across the highway from Número Diez.

  Mateo said, “Another one of Alma de Cuba’s coffee farms is just ahead. I don’t believe it’s as large as the last one.”

  As we got closer to the farm, I pointed over toward an official-looking sign with the Alma de Cuba’s emblem at the top and the words Número Diez printed in bold black letters in the middle.

  “Why don’t we stop here and ask someone if I could have a quick tour?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think we should do that. See the warning on that sign.”

  He was right. A no trespassing warning was written across the bottom of the sign.

  “I don’t mind doing the talking,” I said, taking my passport out of my pocket, “and I’d be more than happy to show them my passport.”

  He was still hesitant.

  To help him make his decision, I pulled a fifty-peso note out of my pocket. “I’ll add another fifty pesos to your fee for your trouble.”

  A few seconds later, Mateo made a left turn onto the road leading to Número Diez.

  * * * *

  It was a short drive up to the farmhouse, and as we got near it, the road split off, with the right fork leading over to the house and the left fork continuing on toward the barn.

  However, before we got to the house, we encountered a security barrier, and we weren’t allowed to go beyond the fork in the road.

  The barrier was nothing more than a simple wooden arm extending across the roadway, but there were two armed guards wearing green Alma de Cuba’s shirts standing beside it.

  Mateo immediately stuck his hand out of the window of the Bel Air and
waved at them. “Hola. Cómo estás?” he shouted.

  They motioned for us to get out of the car, and after Mateo killed the engine, we emerged from the vehicle.

  Mateo immediately put his hands in the air, and even though it didn’t seem like the sort of situation that called for this sort of action, I followed Mateo’s example and raised my arms anyway.

  In the end, Mateo decided to do the talking.

  At one point, though, when he was telling them I worked for the Haitian National Museum, I interrupted him and told the guards I was the museum’s archivist.

  It wasn’t long before I realized these men were nothing more than flunkies assigned to guard the gate. They had neither the appearance nor the swagger of Lorenzo’s thugs, and while they both carried weapons, they didn’t act like trained guards.

  While Mateo was trying to convince them I was a foreign dignitary and should be given the privilege of viewing the farm’s operation, I was trying to take in as much of my surroundings as possible.

  In front of us was the thatched-roof barn I’d seen in the drone footage. I couldn’t see any farm animals around, so my first thought was that it might be where Lorenzo was holding Ben.

  Of course, the farmhouse itself was also a possibility, and as I was considering this, I saw a man and a woman come out the front door. It appeared they were having an argument about something, but they were too far away for me to hear what was being said.

  A few seconds later, when the man glanced up and saw Mateo and me standing in front of the Bel Air with our hands raised, he immediately left the woman at the front door and hurried over to the security barrier.

  As I watched him walking toward us, I thought there was something familiar about him. Then, when he got within a few feet of the Bel Air, I recognized him as Teddy Bear Man from the basilica.

  This time he had nothing in his hand, although he did have a scowl on his face.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  When both guards started talking at once, he told them to shut up, and then he turned his attention to Mateo and me.