Devil in a Black Suit

by Colleen Helme

  Ending the conversation, she slipped the phone back into her bag and glanced at Ramos. “That was Noah. He’s back at the hotel with the information we’ve been waiting for. I’ll probably need to spend the rest of the day with him figuring things out.”

  Ramos nodded and checked his watch. He didn’t have time to go back to the hotel before his meeting with Vincente. “You go ahead. I’ll let you know when I’m done with my meeting.”

  “Okay. Should I take your bag back to the hotel for you?”

  “Oh, yeah that would be great.” He handed her the box of cigars. After taking it, Sloan held onto his hands and glanced up at him.

  “Good luck,” she said, concern and worry filling her eyes.

  “Thanks.” He knew she wanted to kiss him, and had been flirting with him all morning. But it was the worry in her gaze that caught at his heart. Letting out a breath, he threw caution to the wind and captured her lips in a searing kiss filled with forbidden desire.

  Then he pulled away and hardened his heart. Sure it was nice having someone concerned about him, but he had to face reality, and so did she. “I don’t want to hurt you Sloan. You know this isn’t going anywhere. It can’t.”

  She let out a breath and swallowed. Then dark fire sparked in her eyes. “I know that. And it’s not. Call me when you’re done.”

  He would have believed her denial if that kiss hadn’t affected her so deeply. It was easy to see the warm flush in her cheeks, and the dazed look in her eyes. With a lift of his brow, he sent her a quick nod.

  Her eyes flashed and she turned on her heel, retracing her steps back to the hotel. He watched her for a long minute before following the stone wall to a bridge he could cross. Letting out a breath, he shook his head. Being with Sloan was just asking for trouble, and he should know better than to let his guard down around her.

  Pushing thoughts of Sloan from his mind, he retraced his steps from the day before, crossing through the square and into The Vedado. In the full light of day, he noticed the tall palm trees and flowering bushes surrounding the estates that he’d missed the night before. Away from the crowds and smell of tobacco, the air carried an earthy scent.

  Though not as crowded here, there were still plenty of people out. It reminded him that Vincente might have him followed, so he made sure to keep track of the people around him. As he arrived at the house this time, he opened the gate and strode straight up the steps to the front door.

  After a quick knock, it wasn’t long before the door opened and Vincente’s wife, Yanara, greeted him with a smile. “Please come in,” she said, opening the door wide. He preceded her into the house, noting the high ceilinged room with arching doorways and wainscoting around the ceiling and floor.

  A flash of recognition brought him up short, then just as quickly left. He knew he’d been there before, but he couldn’t seem to remember any details.

  “Please sit down,” she said, motioning to the couch in the large living room.

  Instead of leaving to get Vincente, she sat down in a winged-back armchair and smiled at him. “I’m sorry to tell you that Vincente isn’t here, but he found something that he wanted me to give you.”

  As Yanara stood to retrieve the item, Ramos’s chest constricted with disappointment. He let out a resigned breath and glanced at the woman. If Vincente knew his father, she might have known him too. Maybe she would be more forthcoming than Vincente if Ramos poured on the charm.

  She returned with a small, square box and handed it to Ramos. “It’s not much, but there are a few things inside that belonged to Rafael.” She smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead and open it.”

  Ramos let out a breath and gently pulled off the lid. Several photographs were stacked inside, along with two or three envelopes holding letters. As he pulled out the photos, he caught sight of a medal hanging from a worn, striped ribbon.

  He turned his attention back to the photos, drinking in the pictures of his father standing proudly in a military uniform with a much younger Vincente by his side. The next few photos had both of his parents standing together, with his mother wearing a white wedding dress. They smiled with happiness, and a stab of pain pierced Ramos’s heart.

  “That was on the day of their wedding,” Yanara said. “They were so happy.”

  “You knew both of them?”

  “Oh, sí, very well.”

  Ramos glanced through several more pictures of the wedding party, wondering who all of the people were, and if they were his relatives. He thought one of the younger women looked like his Aunt Rosalyn. Then he came to another photo of his parents with his mother holding a baby.

  “Their oldest son,” Yanara said. She glanced at Ramos, studying him with pointed interest. “They were overjoyed to have a baby boy.”

  Ramos swallowed and glanced at the next photo. It was of him as a young child, probably around two years old. His father knelt down next to him with a smile of joy on his face, and Ramos was reaching to touch his face with his small fingers. The love in his father’s gaze reached out to him, catching his breath and filling his heart.

  The last photo showed him a little older, standing in front of his parents and holding his father’s hand. His mother held a baby in her arms. His brother. Ramos’s throat tightened, and he quickly shoved the photos into a stack before setting them back in the box.

  Yanara glanced at him with curiosity.

  Ramos took a moment to get under control, then he met Yanara’s gaze and tried to give her a relaxed smile. “These are great.” He glanced down into the contents of the box and pulled out the medal, hoping to get Yanara to talk. “What was this for?”

  “Let me see.” She took the medal from him and examined it. “This is very old. It probably belonged to Rafael’s father. He took part in the Cuban Revolution, you know. He was a very important man in the military.”

  “What about Rafael? Do you know why he left Cuba?”

  Yanara let out a breath and shook her head. “He loved Cuba. I know that much. But I think he had other ideas that were not good. It was hard on Vincente when your father…” She glanced at Ramos with wide eyes. Then she smiled, and let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, but you look just like him. It was not hard to guess. Please…take these. They belong to you.”

  Ramos didn’t deny it, and relief poured over him that she knew the truth. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  She shook her head, and her eyes darkened with wariness. “No.” She glanced away before catching his gaze. “You should go back to your home in the states. Live your life. There is nothing here for you.”

  Surprised at her vehement denial, he could only believe that she knew his father was dead. He glanced back at the photos, then nodded his head, and slipped the lid back on the box. “Thanks for this.”

  She nodded and smiled, but it was filled with sadness. He rose to leave, tucking the box under his arm and she followed him to the door. As he stepped onto the porch, he turned back to her with a nod of thanks. She took a breath, and glanced toward the street. “I meant what I said. Go home.”

  Before he could respond, she closed the door.

  Chapter 12

  Ramos knew she was warning him, but from what? Why would anyone in Cuba care about him? He made it back to the hotel and stepped into his room. After a quick glance around, he knew his things were where he’d left them.

  He set the box on his bed and put a call through to Sloan. “I’m back.”

  “Great,” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “Fine. Not what I expected, but I think it helped.”

  “Good. Uh, I’m right in the middle of working out a strategy. Can we meet in an hour or two? I’ll know more by then, and I’ll be able to share everything with you.”

  Ramos checked his watch. It was just after one p.m. “Sure. Call me when you’re free.” She agreed, and they disconnected.

  Ramos let out a breath, then opened the box and studied the photos more carefully. He closed his eyes and tried to place the
faces to a memory, but they were like strangers to him. Those quick flashes of his father were no more than a shadow in his mind. Even his mother wore such a happy expression that he hardly recognized her.

  Remembering nothing more, he pulled out his bag and placed everything from the box inside a zippered compartment. Then he took out his phone and pulled up the Internet. In the search engine, he typed the words, “Prisons in Cuba.” Glancing through the responses, he found one called the “Villa Marista,” which was said to house political dissidents.

  Was this where his father had been taken? He pulled up the address and found that it wasn’t far, just on the outskirts of Havana. With time on his hands, he decided to take a ride past the place, just to see what it looked like.

  He locked up his room and headed down to the lobby of the hotel. The concierge, a middle-aged woman, was eager to help him. He asked if there was a car or motorcycle available to rent. “Si, we have car rentals nearby.” She told him where to go, even saying that he’d probably find a scooter there that would fit his taste.

  He thanked her before cringing at the idea of riding a scooter. With several taxis on the lookout for paying customers, it was easier to find a ride with one of them than rent a car.

  After getting in, he told the driver that he only had an hour or so, and wanted to see the sights. He hoped that, during the ride, he could ask about the Villa Marista without seeming too obvious.

  Ramos actually enjoyed the ride through Havana, and his driver was more than happy to give a guided tour, especially since he was able to do so in Spanish. They drove past the National Capitol Building, and then the baroque Catedral de San Cristóbal and Plaza Vieja, whose buildings reflected the city’s vibrant architectural mix.

  They also drove by La Cabaña, an 18th-century fortress complex that stood watch over the eastern side of the harbor entrance. With the hour almost gone, Ramos finally asked if they could drive by the Villa Marista.

  The driver’s gaze jerked to the rear-view mirror, glancing at Ramos with sudden understanding. He gave Ramos a quick nod and agreed to drive past the compound. The driver didn’t speak again until they reached the Villa, then he pointed it out while slowing the car to a crawl.

  The gray block building was surrounded by a tall fence with razor wire along the top. A guard station stood beside the closed gate. All the windows along the side of the building were barred, and a state of neglect and despair hung heavy over the scene.

  As they drove away, the driver told Ramos that the Villa had once been a Catholic seminary, but was now used as an interrogation center. He glanced once more at Ramos and told him that it was said that the interrogation techniques learned from the KGB eventually made everyone “sing” who ended up there.

  Ramos’s stomach clenched with the sick feeling that, if his father had ended up there, he was probably long dead by now. At least he fervently hoped that was the case. He couldn’t imagine living in that hell for all these years.

  Then there was Vincente. If he was the head of the police with their KGB tactics, could he have been the one who’d masterminded his father’s kidnapping after all? Had he killed his father?

  The driver interrupted Ramos's thoughts, asking him where he’d like to go next. Ramos had seen enough of Cuba to last him for a long time. He thanked the driver for the tour and asked to be taken back to his hotel.

  Getting out of the taxi, Ramos thanked the driver again and gave him a generous tip, then headed back to his room. With a heavy heart, Ramos was more than ready to return to his normal life. He would accomplish nothing by killing Vincente and, like his aunt had said, his father wouldn’t have wanted that. He’d want Ramos as far from this place as he could get.

  Ramos got back to his room and packed up his things, ready to put this all behind him. As he finished up, his phone rang.

  “Hey Ramos,” Sloan said. “Can you come to my room?”

  He wanted to tell her that he was leaving, but decided it would be better to tell her in person. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He knocked on the door, expecting to see Sloan. Instead, the door was opened by a man wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He had a short beard and close-cropped hair, but he wasn’t as tall or as muscular as Ramos, and his eyes narrowed with distaste.

  Ramos wasn’t sure how long they would have stared at each other, but Sloan quickly pushed Noah out of the way and beckoned Ramos inside. He entered the room with misgiving. This wasn’t his job. What was he doing here?

  “Thanks for coming,” Sloan said, smiling with encouragement. She glanced at Noah, and her expression hardened. “Noah, get over it.”

  Noah twisted his lips and shook his head, but didn’t move away. “So this is your boyfriend. You think he’s going to help us?”

  “Noah! Stop it. We need him.”

  With a resigned sigh, Noah turned away and threw himself into a chair, rubbing his head with his hands. “You’re right. Sorry Sloan. I just have a hard time working with a criminal.”

  Ramos held back a chuckle, but he couldn’t suppress his smile. This guy was a straight arrow, and he felt a little sorry for Sloan. “What’s going on?”

  “Let me bring you up to date with what we have,” she began. “A few months ago, our source found an exchange between a Cuban government official and a known Russian operative. They spoke about the performance of the gift the official had been given, and how it had exceeded his expectations. Our source believes it has something to do with the attacks on our embassy. We set up a dead drop where he left us some vital intel.”

  Sloan folded her arms and began to pace back and forth. “With this information, we can get eyes on the device.”

  Ramos caught her gaze. “Device? What kind of device?”

  “We don’t know, exactly. That’s why we need to get in there to see it. But, from everything we know, we think it is some kind of a sonic device. All of our embassy workers who have suffered problems heard multiple, high-pitched, shrieking noises.”

  “Were they directed at the embassy?”

  “No. Our diplomats were targeted in their own homes. Right after the attacks, they reported severe symptoms including deafness, vision problems and difficulty concentrating. But no one can figure out what would cause that unless it’s some kind of a sonic device. Even our scientists are stumped. If we can get a look at it, we’d have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

  Sloan opened a folded blueprint and tapped her finger on the part circled in red. “This is an old mansion that’s not far from our diplomat’s home. It’s also close to Old Havana and most of the embassies. This circled room is on the lower floor in the back.

  “The mansion is used as a government office building. The upper floors are for the housing department. Since a lot of people go in and out of there, getting inside isn’t a problem. But we need to go to the lower level, and that’s a problem because there’s more security there.”

  “That’s why we need you,” Noah said, glancing at Ramos. “Our source left a couple of ID badges to get inside the room on the lower level. You’d pass as Cuban, where I wouldn’t.” He held up the ID badges, which dangled from black lanyards. “Luckily, I have the equipment to doctor these up with photos of you, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Shouldn’t? Do you even know what kind of security we’d have to pass through?” Ramos asked.

  “Some,” Sloan said. “My source said the badges would get us into the room without a problem, but I don’t know what kind of security is on the lower floor.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time observing the building,” Noah added. “From what I could see, the employees work a regular eight-to-five day. I think using the badges is a better idea than trying to break in after dark.”

  “I think we need to move on this now,” Sloan said. “How soon can you get the badges ready?”

  “Not long,” Noah answered.

  “Why so soon?” Ramos asked.

  Sloan shrugged. “I don’t know
. It’s just a feeling I have that we need to get this done, before anything jeopardizes the mission, or they move the device. If something happened to our source, we’d miss our chance. We’ve known about the building for a couple of days, so we’ve been observing it. I even changed my appearance and went inside to the housing department, so I know what to expect. We just didn’t have a way into the lower level until now.” She glanced at Ramos. “What do you think? Will you help me?”

  Ramos let out a breath. This whole thing seemed rushed, and he didn’t like feeling pressured. But, as much as he didn’t want to get involved, he also didn’t like the idea of Sloan going in there without him.

  Seeing his hesitation, she continued. “It would just be a matter of slipping inside. Once we’re in the room, we can grab the device and then get out.”

  Ramos shook his head. She thought that would be easy? “What if it’s too big to move?”

  “I think it has to be portable since it was used at the diplomats’ homes. But if it’s too big, then I guess we’ll have to get creative and break it or something. At the very least, we can take photos of it.”

  The hope in Sloan’s gaze made it hard for Ramos to let her down. “I guess I can help you, as long as there’s a way out that doesn’t include getting caught.”

  “Of course,” Sloan said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “That’s where Noah comes in. He’ll cause a diversion if we need it.”

  “I’ll be monitoring you the whole time,” Noah said. “I think if you enter the building just before the work day ends, you could leave at the same time as everyone else. Then, if something happened, you’d have a better chance of getting lost in the crowd.”

  “That should work,” Sloan said, checking her watch. “We have two hours before five o’clock. Why don’t we get started on those ID badges?”

  As they followed Noah to his room, Ramos could hardly believe that he’d agreed to help Sloan. Again. She’d barely given him a moment to think it through. And he’d agreed. What was wrong with him? In Noah’s room, Ramos glanced her way, watching as Noah set up his equipment and took her picture.