Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  Certain factors needed to come into play to make everything work. So far, those factors were refusing to play our game.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mitchell asked. “You’re usually wide awake by this time.”

  I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

  “My head’s about to explode. I think I’m dehydrated.”

  “There’s a bottle of water at the foot of your bed.”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  The moment I stood up, I felt woozy, as if I’d just been body slammed by a three-hundred-pound linebacker. I took a few steps and tried to shake it off, but when I bent down to pick up the water bottle, I had to hold onto the bed to keep from falling.

  “Whoa,” Mitchell said. “Are you okay?”

  I twisted the cap off the bottle and leaned against the wall. “I’ll be fine,” I said, after taking a few swallows, “just give me a minute.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’d feel a lot better if it weren’t so hot in here.”

  “It’s not any hotter than it usually is.”

  I staggered over to the bed and sat down.

  Mitchell said. “Maybe you have a fever.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  I closed my eyes and fell back on the pillow.

  * * * *

  When I woke up again, I heard shouting. The noise made the pain in my head worse, and I pressed my hand against my forehead to ease the throbbing.

  I was burning up.

  Mitchell was right. I had a fever.

  I should tell him.

  I tried.

  The words refused to come out.

  I tried harder.

  “Ana mareed,” I said.

  Ben wouldn’t answer.

  Didn’t he speak Arabic?

  Where was he?

  Had he left Buenos Aires without me?

  * * * *

  Voices. I heard them all around me.

  I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  Someone put something in my mouth. I couldn’t swallow it.

  I retched violently.

  I wanted to tell Someone I was hurting.

  I was hurting so bad.

  The words. What were the words?

  Someone spoke.

  I heard Someone’s words; dengue fever, shock, dying.

  The words were Someone’s words, but I couldn’t find my words.

  There were no words.

  Only pain.

  * * * *

  Are you there, God? Do you care?

  I listened for an answer. Any answer.

  Silence.

  Only vast silence.

  You don’t exist, do you?

  He doesn’t exist.

  He does.

  Can you believe?

  I believe.

  Even when it’s dark?

  I believe even when it’s dark.

  I trust The Light.

  * * * *

  I was dying; painfully wasting away.

  It was a slow process.

  Eventually, it would end.

  My earth suit had malfunctioned.

  My body had broken down, gone off track, deserted me.

  I would leave it behind soon. Very soon.

  I was ready.

  I was ready to see The Light.

  Nikki said I would see the light, the light under the door.

  She was praying for me.

  You’ll be in my prayers, if not in my dreams.

  Nikki.

  * * * *

  I was sweating. My clothes were damp, clinging to me like I’d just run a marathon.

  I felt like I’d just run a marathon.

  I opened my eyes and sat up.

  Mitchell was staring at me from his jail cell across the room.

  “Welcome back from the dead,” he said.

  PART FIVE

  Chapter 49

  Monday, September 28

  Mitchell looked different. His hair was a lot longer, and he was wearing a different shirt. It was a blue guayabera. It looked familiar.

  I asked him, “Is that my shirt you have on?”

  “Seriously? You haven’t spoken one coherent sentence in a month and that’s your question?”

  “A month? I’ve been sick for a month?”

  “Well, technically, it’s been almost five weeks.”

  “What day is it?”

  “September 28.”

  I shook my head. “It’s all a blur.”

  “Alvarez said you had dengue fever. He told me you were dying.”

  “I think I was dying.”

  “A week ago, you were bleeding from your nose just like that other guy who died from the fever. A day after that you started hallucinating. You were babbling about a light.”

  “I think I remember that.”

  “It was just some mumbo jumbo. It didn’t make any sense. You also mentioned your girlfriend a couple of times.”

  “You mean Nikki?”

  “You have another girlfriend?”

  “No, just Nikki.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Don’t worry. You didn’t reveal anything personal. Even in your semi-conscious state, you managed to keep your secrets.”

  When Mitchell saw I was trying to stand up, he said, “Take it easy. You haven’t eaten solid food in a while.”

  “I feel pretty shaky all right.”

  I shuffled over to the sink and turned on the faucet. After splashing cold water on my face, I looked in the mirror.

  I was hardly recognizable. My skin was ashen—a color I usually associated with the deceased—and my eye sockets were hollow and gray. My gaunt appearance reminded me of the kind of scary apparition I used to see in a Halloween fright house when I was a teenager.

  “Victor may not want to take my picture today,” I said.

  “You’re definitely having a bad hair day.”

  I rubbed my whiskers. “My beard isn’t that bad though.”

  I turned away from the mirror and walked over to the bed. The pillow I’d been lying on was covered with dried blood and a stew of other unidentifiable substances.

  On the floor next to the bed was an assortment of plastic bottles.

  I pointed at them. “Is that what’s been keeping me alive?”

  “Pretty much. When Alvarez came down here to check on you, I heard him tell Victor to force you to drink, even if you couldn’t eat.”

  “What’s been happening since I’ve been sick? Has Alvarez mentioned anything about the Senator paying your ransom?”

  “A couple of weeks ago, he told me it could be any day, but since then, I’ve heard nothing. I imagine the DDO slowed down the process after you told him we were planning to escape.”

  “I’m sure Douglas is wondering why we haven’t gotten out of here by now. If we don’t act soon, Douglas may decide to go to Plan B.”

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “I have no idea, but he always has a Plan B.”

  “You don’t look well enough for us to think about executing our escape plan right now. Maybe we should wait a few days. Give you a chance to get your strength back.”

  “The best way for me to get my strength back is for us to get out of here. When we do that I—”

  Victor opened the cabin door and walked in. He did a doubletake when he saw me standing beside my bed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You survived dengue fever.”

  “Apparently.”

  He continued to stare at me. “Señor Alvarez will be surprised.”

  “I’m pretty surprised myself.”

  He pulled his walkie-talkie out of his pocket and gave Alvarez the news. I heard Alvarez say, “Bring him up to the house. Get him some clean clothes and make sure he takes a shower first.”

  “You heard him, Nacio,” Victor said, after he clicked off. “He wants to see you, but you’ll have to take a shower first.”

  “You won’t get any argument out of me.”

&nb
sp; * * * *

  Victor allowed me to go through Nacio Bandera’s carryall and pick out a clean pair of jeans and a shirt.

  By the time I’d showered and changed, I was so exhausted even my filthy bed looked good to me, but since I figured there had to be some reason Alvarez wanted to see me other than just curiosity, I prayed for extra strength and began the trek up to the farmhouse with Victor following behind me with his rifle.

  As we passed by the barn, I noticed there’d been some changes in Lorenzo’s security setup.

  Now, instead of six guards, there were only four, and of those four, only one of them was alert enough to turn his head in our direction when Victor and I appeared in his sightline.

  Although I was certain the canisters were still being stored in the barn, it appeared Lorenzo might be less concerned about Hezbollah coming after them than he’d been a month ago. Whether he’d actually received some intel to indicate this, or he’d had to reduce his security force out of necessity, I had no idea.

  At the entrance to Número Diez, nothing had changed. The cargo truck was still there, along with the concrete barriers. This time, though, it was Alvarez who met Victor and me at the front door.

  After telling Victor to wait on the porch, he motioned me inside. “You’re a lucky man, Nacio,” he said, as I stepped inside the entryway. “Not many people survive dengue fever.”

  “If by luck you mean I didn’t have anything to do with it, then I have to agree. Personally, I believe it was the power of prayer.”

  Alvarez pointed me toward the living room. “You may not believe this, Nacio, but I too am a man of faith, and I thank you for praying for my daughter.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s well now. Strangely enough, she also had the fever and survived.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He looked at me and nodded. “Yes, I believe you are.”

  * * * *

  I’d seen no evidence Lorenzo’s bodyguards were around, so I wasn’t surprised when Alvarez and I entered the living room and Lorenzo wasn’t there.

  “Sit in front of the desk,” Alvarez said, indicating a roll-top desk with a laptop computer on it.

  When he sat down next to me and opened the lid on the laptop, I thought I knew what was about to happen. My suspicions were confirmed a few seconds later when the computer screen lit up and Lorenzo’s image appeared via a video call.

  “Señor Bandera,” he said. “I heard you were back on your feet again. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful. Just great.”

  “You’ve had a remarkable recovery.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I wanted you to know while you’ve been sick I’ve been in communication with your brother. Even though I told him I felt sure you’d recover, he’s been refusing to pay your ransom until he could speak to you again.”

  “Ricardo’s always been the stubborn one in the family.”

  “I was about to give up on our negotiations when I heard about your recovery. Now that you’re well, if you can convince your brother you’re fine, we can finalize the details of your release.”

  “I’ll be happy to talk to Ricardo. We could do it right now if you like.”

  “Your brother seems eager to talk to you too. He contacted me by email just this morning.”

  Lorenzo nodded his head at Alvarez. “Felix will monitor your call to Ricardo. If all goes well, you’ll be seeing your brother again very soon.”

  “I hope I can make that happen.”

  Once the call had ended, Alvarez opened one of the desk drawers and removed my cell phone.

  After handing it to me, he said, “We’ll do this exactly the way you did it before. Put your call to Ricardo on speaker and don’t mention anything about your location.”

  Immediately after pressing Ricardo’s number, I had a moment of panic. Since I didn’t feel on top of my game, I wondered if I’d be able to pull off the doublespeak with Carlton.

  How could I let him know we were planning our escape for the following night and yet make it sound like I was giving him an update on my health? What kind of innocuous question could I ask him to make sure he wasn’t about to put his Plan B into action?

  As soon as the conversation began, I realized my ability to engage in doublespeak shouldn’t have concerned me.

  What should have concerned me was my ability to understand Carlton’s doublespeak.

  * * * *

  When Carlton came on the line, his voice sounded hoarse, like he hadn’t had enough sleep. This surprised me.

  Unless Carlton had a mission running, he usually maintained a very strict, disciplined regimen of diet, rest, and exercise. However, if he had an active mission running, he would stay in the Ops Center all night; usually in one of the On-Call rooms located next door to each RTM Center.

  Carlton often complained the beds were torture chambers and he got very little sleep when he stayed there. In fact, I could often tell if he’d spent the night in an On-Call room just by the sound of his voice.

  Now, however, I couldn’t imagine what kind of crisis would have required him to have an overnight stay in the On-Call room, since nothing had been happening with Peaceful Retrieval for at least a month.

  Nevertheless, as soon as I heard his greeting, I felt certain Carlton had spent the night in the Ops Center.

  I said, “It’s good to hear your voice, Ricardo. You sound tired, though.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Nacio. How are you? They told me you’d been sick.”

  “It was nothing. I’m fine now.”

  “When they wouldn’t send me a picture of you, I got worried.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to see me in person soon.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “If you pay my ransom, I should be home within the week.”

  Carlton didn’t say anything for a moment, but I felt sure I’d made it clear Mitchell and I were planning to initiate our escape plan in a few days.

  Finally, he said, “I wish you could make it sooner. In two days, Marwan and his buddies will be arriving, and I’d like to have you home before then.”

  I didn’t have a clue how to respond to that statement.

  Was Carlton referring to Marwan Farage, the Hezbollah terrorist I’d been with in Syria a few months ago? Why would he bring him up? And why would he mention his buddies?

  Suddenly, the synapses fired and the neural pathways exploded in a moment of clarity.

  “His buddies are coming? You mean they’re flying in from Venezuela?” I asked.

  “That’s right. I’m planning a party at the house. All your friends will be there. I hope you can make it.”

  “I hope I can make it too.”

  * * * *

  When Victor escorted me back down to Cabin Thirteen, there was a plate of arroz con pollo waiting for me, along with some black beans.

  The chicken and rice dish tasted almost as good to me as the finest steak, and I ate slowly, savoring every bite. In the meantime, Mitchell was pacing back and forth in his cell waiting to hear why Alvarez had wanted to see me.

  Once Victor had taken away my empty plate and left the cabin, Mitchell rushed over to his cell door and asked, “What happened? Has anything changed on the outside?”

  After I summarized my visit to the farmhouse and the video call with Lorenzo, I said, “Lorenzo sounded desperate when he told me to call Ricardo and assure him I was fine.”

  “Maybe that’s because negotiations with the Senator have broken down. He probably needs the money more than ever now.”

  “I suspect that’s true. I noticed his security setup at the barn has been cut back. However, from what I could see in the video call, he’s living in some pretty luxurious accommodations, and I don’t believe he’s in Cuba any longer.”

  “Why?”

  “In the video, it looked like he was on a yacht. When he was talking to me, I could see a porthole over his shoulder.”


  “Maybe he’s afraid Hezbollah has ordered a hit on him like they did on Cabello. He probably feels safer cruising around the Caribbean.”

  “That could be it, or he may not want to be around Número Diez when Hezbollah finally figures out he’s stashed the canisters here.”

  “You think that’s a possibility?”

  “I think it’s more than just a possibility. After my conversation with Douglas, I’m convinced Hezbollah is coming after those canisters, and I believe they’ll be here in two days.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mitchell said, grasping the bars of his cell. “He told you that?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  After I repeated what Carlton had told me about Marwan and his buddies arriving in two days, Mitchell said, “So you think he was just using Marwan’s name because he knew you’d associate it with Hezbollah?”

  “What else could he mean? He said he hoped I’d be home before they arrived. I believe he’s warning us the Ops Center has viable intel Hezbollah will be coming after the canisters in two days, and he wants us to get out of here before they attack the coffee plantation.”

  “Did you try to confirm that?”

  “I asked him if Marwan and his buddies were flying in from Venezuela because that’s where Hezbollah’s hit man went after killing Cabello. He gave me a positive response to that question.”

  “That’s it then.”

  “I didn’t have any problem deciphering the last thing he said. He told Nacio he was planning a party at the house and all his friends would be there. He told me he hoped I could make it, and he deliberately emphasized the word hope.”

  “I’m guessing that means he wants us to go to the safe house. You know the name of that house was Una Casa Sin Esperanza.”

  I nodded. “By referencing my friends, he must mean someone from the Agency will be there to help us get out of Cuba. I’m betting it’s Alex Nelson.”

  Mitchell was almost giddy with excitement. “Should we put our escape plan in motion tonight or wait for tomorrow night?”