Dead Man's Land

by Jack Patterson

  Who was this person who was murdered?

  With so much attention surrounding the man’s death—and with all the effort expended to bring him back to Cuba at the risk of inciting an international incident—Prado figured at the very least he should’ve heard about the man’s death. But he still had no idea who the man was or why there was so much attention surrounding the murder.

  Judge Cabrera cleared his throat. “So I understand, Mr. Prado, that you witnessed a murder before you tried to flee our beloved country. Is that correct?”

  Prado nodded. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Would you mind recounting for us here about the details of that night?”

  “Is this necessary? I’ve already told General Machado everything I saw.”

  Judge Cabrera’s eyes narrowed. “Everything?”

  “There’s nothing left to tell.”

  “Perhaps the name of the man you saw take the life of another man?”

  Prado slumped in his chair. “I’ve already said that I don’t know who it is. Why won’t you leave me alone about this?”

  The judge leaned forward. “A man is dead and justice needs to be served. Why are you protecting this man?”

  Prado threw his hands in the air. “I’m not protecting anyone. If I knew I would tell you, believe me. I’d do anything to end this harassment—except lie and falsely accuse someone.”

  A low murmur filled the room. But before the judge could respond, the entire building shook. Prado’s eyes widened as he glanced around the room at the military brass, who looked just as shocked. The room that was deathly silent just moments before was suddenly filled with a cacophony of cell phone ring tones and nervous chatter.

  What’s going on?

  One of the generals approached the judge and whispered in his ear.

  The judge addressed the room. “We’ll have to reconvene another time. Hopefully, Mr. Prado, you’ll have time to think about that night and the next time we meet, you’ll give me the name of the murderer.”

  Prado sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, and he wondered if he’d ever be free again, much less see his daughter.

  CHAPTER 31

  IF THERE WAS ONE THING Torres didn’t excel at, it was keeping his mouth shut. His incessant blathering resulted in him losing at least half-a-dozen girlfriends, three decent paying jobs, and nearly a finger. Despite his track record of loose lips and disappointing outcomes that should have served as a warning, he never once considered being quiet and melting into the background. And when he and Ortega were drinking cheap beer at a local bar on Thursday afternoon on the Isla de la Juventud, it would’ve been prudent to heed those warnings.

  But there were some things Torres just couldn’t do.

  “Anyone here tired of living in this hell hole?” Torres announced after his fourth beer. “Anyone? Because if you are, I can get you out for the right price.”

  “Go back to Miami,” a stocky man shouted across the room in perfect English.

  Torres stood up and sauntered over toward the man’s table. “What makes you think I’m from Miami?”

  “Bad hair, horrible accent, arrogant attitude. Do I need to go on?” the man shot back.

  “I might have bad hair, but you’re going to have a bad face by the time I get through with you.”

  The man stood up and puffed his chest out, almost making contact with Torres. “Is that so? I’d like to see you try.”

  Instead of responding with a quick comeback, Torres chose to use a different form of communication, hurling a sucker-punch into the gut of his equally mouthy friend. It only took a matter of seconds before it escalated into a full bar room brawl. Ortega jumped in on the action, landing several haymakers before one bar patron connected with a right hook across Ortega’s face.

  Less than ten minutes later, two Cuban police officers dragged Torres and Ortega out of the bar and to the police station, where they were booked and jailed.

  Torres had yet to sober up when he grabbed the cell door and screamed. “I want my lawyer.”

  A police officer ambled up to his cell and stared at him, looking Torres up and down. “Where do you think you are? The United States?” The man cracked a smile and turned around and walked away, while Torres screamed some more.

  “I demand to speak to someone,” Torres said. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “Nothing wrong? From this report, it looks like you did nothing right,” chided another officer.

  “This isn’t fair,” Torres roared.

  “You’re right,” one of the officers said. “This is Cuba. And you’re not going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 32

  WHEN CAL AND KELLY stepped off the bus and headed toward their hotel, the man who’d promised to follow them remained a safe distance behind them. As they neared the hotel, the man’s pace quickened and he guided them into an alleyway near the hotel.

  Cal spun around. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s not safe to talk in your room,” the man replied in a crisp American accent. “I know it’s bugged.”

  “Who are you?” Kelly demanded.

  “The less you know about me, the better.”

  “I’m running out of patience,” Cal said.

  “I understand. Here’s what you need to know. It’s dangerous for you to stay here any longer. You need to get out of the country while you still can.”

  Cal cocked his head and eyed the man. “And why is that?”

  “There are some things happening right now that could create trouble for you within the next day or two.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can’t go into details.”

  Cal sighed. “What? It’s above my pay grade?”

  “Actually it’s a matter of national security.”

  “Whose national security?”

  The man looked over his shoulder and then refocused on Cal and Kelly. “Look, if you’re going to ignore my suggestion and stay here, at least be helpful and find out what Prado really knows.”

  Cal looked at Kelly and they exchanged bewildering glances.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Cal said.

  “The murder that Prado witnessed—that’s the reason they brought him back. Find out what he knows and get out of here. There are going to be some disturbances occurring on this island in the next couple of days, and if you’re still here, the Cuban government might find a way to use two American journalists as scapegoats, if you know what I mean.”

  Cal stamped his foot. “No, I don’t know what you mean because you keep speaking in some code, like I’m supposed to know what’s really going on.”

  The man looked behind him again. “Just heed my warning. You won’t want to be around when everything goes down. It’s going to get ugly, especially for your baseball player friend.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  The man turned and slipped back onto the street and seemed to vanish.

  Cal and Kelly returned to their hotel room. Once they shut the door, Kelly wasted no time.

  “What was that all about?”

  Cal held up his index finger on one hand, while putting his other index finger to his lips. “Shhh.” Then he mouthed, “They might be listening.”

  He grabbed her hand and led her into the bathroom where he turned on the water in the bathtub and the sink. “If our room is bugged, we can’t talk about that.”

  “Who was that guy?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think we should get out of here, like he suggested?”

  Cal shrugged. “We still haven’t got what we came for, which is an interview with Prado. We need to hear his side of the story, even if it is just parroting what he said yesterday at the game. I want to look in his eyes and determine if he’s lying or not.”

  “And then what? Just leave Prado here when all hell is about to brea
k loose?”

  “Only if you believe mystery man. Who knows if he’s telling the truth? He could be a total crackpot for all we know.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving without him.”

  “And how exactly do you intend on getting Prado out of the country with us? In a suitcase?”

  She took a deep breath. “If I have to.” She paused. “We need to figure something out. We can’t just leave him here.”

  “Maybe he wants to stay here. His daughter is here.”

  “He was trying to make a new life for himself before all this happened. If he does make it, he’ll be able to pay someone to bring her out as well.”

  Cal shook his head. “I don’t know. How are we going to arrange that on such a short notice? We can’t exactly take him with us as a member of our mission team—a team we’re not even really spending much time with.”

  “Call someone, Cal. You know plenty of people. Maybe someone in the underworld can help you.”

  “I spend all my time dragging people in the underworld into the light. I’m not exactly someone they want to talk to.”

  She batted her eyes at him. “Just do it for me,” she pleaded. “Please?”

  “Okay, when you beg like that—I’ll make a few calls. But if we get caught—” Cal’s voice trailed off.

  “I know, I know. It’s a big risk.”

  “We have to think about Maddie, too. This isn’t just about us on some wild adventure. Our daughter is the most important thing in our life. You’re the one who’s helped me realize that I need to place safety first.”

  “I know. And I’m sure Isabel is the biggest thing in Prado’s life too, which is why he’s trying to make a better life for her. We can’t just leave him here in this godforsaken place. I think we can do this and be safe.”

  He cut his eyes toward her. “All right. I’ll go along with this for you—and for him. But there’s no room for error here.”

  Kelly waved him off. “Don’t worry about the details. You just figure out a way to sneak him off the island and back home. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  CHAPTER 33

  PRADO KICKED AT THE DUSTY cell floor and cursed under his breath. A perfect plan had gone sideways—and he was left to wonder how. He’d never heard of the Cuban government retrieving a player who’d defected. If he had, it certainly would’ve made him think twice about his plan to escape. Now regret was the only thing to keep him company in his cell.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  He wanted to see Isabel again and kiss her soft chubby cheeks. He lay back on his cot and closed his eyes, conjuring up images of her in his mind. She danced and giggled—and he picked her up. A smile crept across his face before the clanging of metal snapped him back to reality.

  “Get up. It’s time to go,” one guard said while another rushed in and put handcuffs on him.

  “Where are we going?” Prado asked.

  “Just keep walking and keep your mouth shut, traitor,” the guard said as he shoved Prado forward.

  Prado shuffled along the hall, stumbling forward with each push from the guard.

  He muttered a quick prayer underneath his breath, hoping it wasn’t the end.

  A big door swung open and they were heading into the lobby where plenty of activity was taking place. Other criminals were being processed. Police officers scurried about with file folders and coffee cups. A government news channel crackled over a radio in the back of the room.

  The guard guided Prado toward a small room off to the side, this time with a gentler hand. Before he opened the door, another officer unshackled Prado.

  “No girl should see her father like this,” he said, nodding at Prado.

  Prado forced a slight smile and rubbed his wrists. “Thank you.”

  He entered the room and looked down to see Isabel running straight toward him. “Papi!” she cried. She held her arms up.

  Prado swooped her up and flung her into the air. “Oh, I missed you so much, my little princess.”

  “You have one hour,” the guard at the door said before pulling it shut and locking it.

  Arms folded, Liliana sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. She didn’t even move when Prado entered the room.

  Once he put down Isabel, he turned toward Liliana. “Hey, baby. It’s good to see you.”

  She looked away and sighed.

  “Come on. Don’t be upset.”

  She snapped her head in his direction and glared at him. “I’m not upset—I’m angry. You abandoned your daughter so you could play baseball. You’re not fooling anyone. Everyone knows you came back because you couldn’t make it there. You weren’t good enough.” She stood up and started wagging her finger. “And now you just think you can waltz back into Isabel’s life—our lives—and act like nothing happened.” She paused and took a deep breath. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

  “That’s not exactly how it happened.”

  “Tell it to someone who cares.”

  Isabel started to cry softly. Prado knelt down to comfort her.

  “It’s okay, my little princess. Everything is going to be okay.”

  He gave her a hug and kissed her on the forehead.

  Before he could say another word, the door swung open.

  “Your time is up,” a guard said.

  “You said we had one hour,” Prado said. “That wasn’t any more than five minutes.”

  “It was five minutes too long,” Liliana said, as she stooped down to pick up Isabel before storming toward the door.

  “Wait,” Prado said. “Can’t I at least give her a kiss before you go?”

  Liliana never looked back, while Isabel’s cry escalated into a full-fledged wailing episode.

  Prado made a quick break toward the door only to be cut off.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the guard said, putting his hand into Prado’s chest. “You’re going with us.”

  The two guards escorted Prado through the main office area and back toward his cell. However, before they reached the access point for the main prison population, they took a sharp right and went down a corridor with small rooms on each side. Each one contained a small desk and several chairs.

  “Where are we going?” Prado asked.

  “You’ll see,” the guard said. “Just keep walking.”

  After traveling halfway down the hall, they stopped and entered one of the rooms. The two guards shoved Prado into a seat at a table; across from him sat several Cuban government officials, including Judge Cabrera.

  “Sorry about our delay earlier,” Cabrera said. “We must always remain flexible.”

  “I thought I was supposed to get an hour with my daughter,” Prado said.

  “Like all things in Cuba, be grateful for what you get,” Cabrera snapped. “This is not the vile smorgasbord of a country like the United States.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  The judge slammed his fist on the table. “What you meant was, ‘Thank you, Judge Cabrera, for allowing me to see my daughter today’—wasn’t it?”

  Prado nodded. “I do appreciate it.”

  “Good. Now, to the business at hand.” The judge shuffled through several pieces of paper until he stopped on one and appeared to be reading. “According to this report, you saw two men arguing on another dock before one of the men shot the other. Is that true?”

  “How many times do I have to recant this story?”

  “As many as it takes. Now, again, was that true?”

  Prado nodded. “And that’s all I saw.”

  “We know what you saw because the video camera captured you watching the two men fight. But the reason you’re here—the reason we retrieved you—is because we need to know who you saw fighting with that man.”

  Prado sighed and shook his head. “I’ve already told everyone who’s asked me that. It was dark. Some of the lights on the dock were out.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  Prado rested his elbows on
the table and put his hands on his head. “What do you want me to say? Is there someone that you’re perhaps trying to pin this murder on? Why is this so important?”

  The judge leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s important because there must be justice for these kind of actions. We can’t become a lawless society. There are rules—and consequences for breaking those rules. Someone broke the rules. Someone must be punished.”

  “Who died that night? I can’t imagine all this fuss over some trivial matter. Whoever died had to be someone important.”

  “I can’t discuss matters of this case,” the judge said. “But perhaps it will all come out if you’ll just tell me who you saw that night.”

  “I think I’ve made myself clear—I saw no one that I recognized.”

  “Very well, then,” the judge said as he stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The guards led Prado back to his cell and pushed him hard into it. Prado tripped and skidded across the floor.

  “Traitor,” one of the guards said as he spit at Prado.

  Prado looked up at the men and braced for a beating.

  One of the guards lunged toward him, but the other guard held him back. “He’s not worth it.” They both stepped back and locked the door behind them. “Besides, the judge told me we’re transferring him to the Combinado del Este prison in a couple of days. He will get everything he deserves there.”

  “And a little extra, too,” the other guard said with a grin.

  Prado stood up and grabbed the cell door. “Combinado del Este?” he said.

  The guards never turned back to look at him, dismissing him with the wave of their hands.

  Prado buried his head in his hands. His life as he knew it was about to be over.

  CHAPTER 34

  ON THE OTHER SIDE of the police headquarters, Torres and Ortega sat in their own cell. The ray of sunshine that had provided the scant stream of light into the room vanished as the sun dipped below the horizon. The other detainees grew rowdier with the near darkness. Only spotty lights in the main corridor glowed at this hour, creating a haunting effect. Torres wondered if they’d survive the night. Unfamiliar environment. Unfamiliar prison protocol. Then Ortega said what he was thinking.