by Matt Lincoln
“Is this your first time flying, young woman I don’t know?” I asked in a playful tone.
She lowered the phone and scrolled through the images she’d taken. I looked over her shoulder and saw there were no fewer than fifteen. When she caught me spying, she hugged the phone to her chest.
“Yes, strange American.” She chuckled, which made me wonder which definition of “strange” she meant. “I’ve never been on an airplane.”
The seat belt signs came on, and the lead flight attendant went through the standard instructions in both English and Spanish. Yoani listened with the seriousness of a patient taking life-saving medication. I tried to say something, but she shushed me before I got half a word out.
“I’m listening.”
It was kind of adorable. What was less adorable was the laser glare I got from Philippe when I turned in my seat to get a visual on our motley group. He looked away, but not before a sneer touched his upper lip.
“Your buddy Philippe doesn’t like me,” I said in a low voice. “I thought we were all good.”
She shook her head. “He is overprotective. I suspect he worries that you’ll try to seduce me and then turn me against my country.”
“Make you a spy?” I laughed but kept my voice quiet. Nobody more than six inches away could have heard me. “Hardly. You’ve been amazing, but this is a one-off. You’re too professional, too nice to be a spy.”
“Thank you?”
The corner of her mouth quirked upward, and the hint of a dimple appeared on her cheek. Our pilot chose that moment to start the engines, and Yoani stiffened. She clutched the armrest between our seats so hard that her knuckles turned white.
“It’ll be fine,” I told her. “The first time is the scariest. After that, it’s cake.”
“Tres leches?” A tremulous smile appeared. Before I could call her on the dad joke, the plane lurched backward. “We’re moving.”
“Yes. Yes, we are.” I ached to pat her hand, touch her arm, anything to soothe her nerves, but I hadn’t earned that. Yet. “When we hit the runway, takeoff will push us back into our seats. You’ll wish these seats had a little more plush.”
Her soft snort suggested all was not lost. The smile faded when we taxied out to the queue. Although it was a hub, the airport wasn’t the busiest in the world, and we got to the front of the line rather quickly. The engines whirred up, and brakes were released. Yoani took her breaths in measured beats. I knew because I heard her count beneath her breath.
“Uno, dos, tres, cuatro,” she counted through an inhale. Through her exhale, it was, “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco.”
A few rounds of that would make any healthy adult relax. The counting ended as the plane hurtled down the runway. She grabbed my hand and crushed it as the wheels lifted from the ground. The ground dropped away, and she realized we remained among the living. She dropped my hand.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
I rubbed circulation back into said hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve sat with a lot of people on their first flights.”
This was the truth, but it was also misleading. I had sat with sweating young men on their first drop flights. Those were always interesting, and I was glad I didn’t have to deal with that ever again.
“There’s Havana,” she gasped as she leaned closer to the window. “The baseball stadium, the port, the ocean, everything.”
Yoani took photos of the city, and then the wing, the wing over water, and the wing over clouds and water. She didn’t put the phone down until there was nothing to see but water. I was dying to talk with her, but I left her the space to enjoy a view she’d never experienced.
After a while, she broke from watching the world pass beneath.
“It’s so hard to believe everything is as small as it is,” she said in a thoughtful tone.
“How’s that?”
She removed her sunglasses, and the full force of those liquid eyes hit me like a tsunami.
“Everything seems huge in everyday life,” she said with slightly flared nostrils. “My mother’s illness, my neighbors’ children, my job, all the parts of my life are large to me. They tell you the world has over seven billion people, and they show you maps to prove that you live in a tiny area, but it takes seeing it from above to get… perspective.”
“Seeing it from this far above will do that to you.” I leaned forward and caught a glimpse of sunlight hitting the water. “When you fly over land, you don’t see the boundaries we slap into place, either.”
She rolled her eyes. “Every schoolchild knows that.”
“And every school child who goes on their first plane trip knows to keep their cameras handy.”
I pointed out of the window to the shift from blue-grey to green below us. Tiny islands with a slip of a ribbon made a fragile trail toward thicker, darker greens.
“Those are the Keys and Everglades. We’ll be in Miami before you know it.”
After half an hour in a holding pattern that took us inland and back out to sea, we circled in and landed. Diane and Sylvia Muñoz met us with a black Chevy Suburban and a red Dodge Charger. I raised a brow when I saw it was my department car.
“Who broke into my ride?” I asked with a laugh.
My dear boss Diane dangled the keys and nodded toward our guests.
“I can get keys to any of our cars.” She gave me a deceptively sweet smile. “Just a hunch, but I thought you might want to drive.” She handed me the keys and then turned to Yoani. “Señorita Nuñez, I’m Diane Ramsey, Director of the Miami MBLIS office.”
Yoani shook her hand and smiled. “Agent Marston speaks well of you.”
“That’s good to hear.” Diane returned Yoani’s smile. “It’s a pleasure to have you and your colleagues here.”
We introduced Diane to Philippe and Arturo. By then, Philippe had regained his usual good mood. He’d even stopped glaring at me. He did, however, make sure to sit in the right passenger seat in the back of my car. Diane sat up front, which put Yoani behind me in the back.
I felt Philippe’s eyes on me while Diane and Yoani chatted. The guy really had it in for me, I realized. When we arrived at our office, I held him back from the elevator. Everyone but Holm had gone on up. Holm lingered by the Suburban while I had a private chat with the Cuban bodyguard.
“What’s the deal?” I demanded of Philippe. “You’ve looked like you want to kill me all morning.”
His face darkened, and for a second, I thought he might throw a punch. Instead, he shook his head and worked his jaw. I stood relaxed but alert as I let him think through what he was about to do or say. Eventually, he shoved his fisted hands into his pockets and stepped back. He maintained eye contact with me.
“You like her.” It was not a question. “Do not deny it. I’ve seen this before. Men like you come to my country and say they fall in love with our women. They make our sisters, our friends think they’re special, and then they leave when vacation is over.”
I figured it was something like that.
“Yoani is a grown woman,” I told him. “She gets to make her own choices, Philippe. Unless she asked you to watch over her, you need to back down.” I softened my voice. “That said, you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to hurt her.”
“You don’t think you’ll hurt her?” He snorted and shook his head. “You’re just like every other man who does this. They say they won’t hurt our women, and then they do.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets. They were no longer fists, but they were far from relaxed. “Don’t hurt Yoani, Marston. If you do, I’ll end you.”
Philippe stalked toward the elevator, and Holm ran over to join him. I waved them on. I didn’t want to be in a confined space with Philippe. Not then, not ever.
CHAPTER 30
I joined the rest of the group in our largest conference room, which had been transformed into something resembling a situation room. The table had been shoved against a wall and now held two laptops and office supplies. A
bulletin board with a few printouts sat next to the windows.
“This room is set up for information sharing during this case,” Diane announced as I took a seat. “Our guests will be escorted at all times while in this building.”
“Which is fair,” Yoani said. “Joe Clime was escorted while at the Havana facility.”
They covered the rest of the security details as I scrolled through the files surrounding the case. Holm and Diane gave everyone in the room a rundown of what we knew about the case, but I kept coming back to the source of the car list.
“We have got to find Delgado.” I tapped my fingers on my armrest. “It’s a given, but I cannot emphasize it enough. Until we have his list and contacts, the operation will go on. I also want to know how deep he’s in on the people smuggling. We can’t forget that this is about more than vintage cars.”
“What do you have?” Muñoz asked. She sat on the far side of the room, away from the Cubans, as if they had anything to do with her family history.
“Manuel Delgado is a crafty fellow.” I set my tablet on my chair. “We think he lives in Florida. He may even operate out of Miami, given the large Cuban community here and port access. TJ has been going through records related to him and his grandfather, José. So far, we don’t have much to go on.”
“What are the chances that José changed his name after arriving in the States?” Holm leaned back and fiddled with a retractable pen. “It’s not unreasonable to think he’d want to lie low.”
“One would think.” I pulled up that file and cast it to the flat-screen monitor on the wall at the front of the room. “He went by his real name for a few years, but then he faded from records. There are no death notices or other records indicating he died or moved.”
Yoani frowned at the screen. “How do these people know that Manuel Delgado is a real person?”
“Do they care?” I sat on the edge of one of the desks that had been brought in. “They have access to the vehicles on the list, and they know the list was curated by José Delgado. It’s working for them, so why question it?”
“Imagine you are working for someone who holds all the keys to your business.” Yoani’s mouth quirked. Had she made the keys pun on purpose? “You believe this person is one thing, but you learn he isn’t. What does that do to your trust of this person?”
“It depends on who I am.”
I took a look around the room. Everyone on the MBLIS team had proven themselves time after time. I trusted each person with my life. Other people in my life weren’t who I thought they were when I met them.
Like Mike Birch, formerly known as John Cartwright.
“We know who Mike is now, and I still trust him.” I saw more than a couple of hard looks in the room. Yoani raised an eyebrow. Oh. “He’s helped us in the past, but some of you think he could turn on us, too. This is the point you’re making, isn’t it, Yoani?”
She nodded. “Let’s say word gets out in their group that Delgado is not who he says. That could hurt them.”
Holm brightened. “We can plant the idea, even if it’s not true. Divide the enemy and all that jazz.”
“Yoani, are you sure you’re not really an investigator?” I teased. “That’s some intuitive thinking there.”
“I read people.” A slight smile played at the corner of her mouth.
“First, let’s figure out if Manuel Delgado is the real deal,” Diane said. “If he is, we discredit him. If he’s an imposter, we leak it to the right people. What do we have on the family?”
“There’s a record of Delgado arriving in the States in what, fifty-nine? Sixty?” Muñoz leaned back and crossed her arms. “TJ is working on addresses, marriage and birth certificates, jobs, those kinds of things up until the time he went off the radar.”
Philippe stood. “How does this help us?” he griped. “We need to find the person who has the list now, not the one who used to have it.”
I gave him a level look. “Establishing a chain of custody will help lead us to where it is now. Delgado might have gone off the grid to handle underworld activities. The list could be part of something bigger.”
Arturo whispered something in Philippe’s ear. Philippe’s face darkened, but he nodded. He crossed his arms and kept his mouth shut after that.
Diane gave him a look and then turned to me.
“Have TJ compile a list of people of a similar age and demographic who emigrated at the time as José Delgado,” she ordered. “See if anyone else could’ve been involved in his dealings.”
“Got it.” I frowned at the elder Delgado’s photo on the monitor. “I’ll also have him go through driver’s records to see if new names popped up with this face after Delgado went off the grid.”
“Isn’t that a little vague?” Muñoz made that more of a statement than a question. “We can run facial recognition, but it’d take a while to go through what files are digitized.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I know, I know.” I put my hand down and met her eye. “Help TJ narrow down parameters to filter out people who wouldn’t match. Age, approximate region, that kind of thing. Start with Southern Florida and work your way up.”
Muñoz scowled but nodded. I knew she’d rather be working on her and Birn’s case, but we only had so many people cleared to work on this one. A handful of us, and a handful of Cubans in Havana, and that was it for the time being.
A knock at the conference room door almost covered the mighty yawn that erupted from Arturo. Diane answered the knock as I regarded the stolid guard. He’d been up all night with his twelve-hour shift and would’ve been getting shut-eye if not for our meeting.
“Unless any of you object, I think we can get out of here.” I smiled at the sleepy guard. “We’re off the clock for a few hours, except you, Philippe.” I couldn’t resist the small reminder that he was there for work, not fun. Well, not that much fun.
Diane closed the door and held out two sets of keys. She handed both to Yoani.
“We have a house ready for you,” she told the Cubans. “Your luggage is there. Any of the agents in the room may drive you around. Marston and Holm are you point men, but Birn and Muñoz are available as well.”
I turned to Yoani. “Do you want to check out the house, or do you want to sightsee?”
Yoani took a deep breath, which turned into a sigh.
“Both,” she said, “but there’s somewhere we need to go first.”
CHAPTER 31
Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut was the most kitsch thing in the Miami Beach area, even in the early afternoon. The outside looked innocent enough, other than a piña colada sign with the bar’s name on it. Inside, however, the tropical tropes took over.
“This is his?” Yoani’s eyes went wide as Holm led us in through the tiki-themed entrance. “He seemed so serious.”
“This is an insult to the eyes and ears,” Philippe muttered.
The Hut had opened less than an hour before we arrived, and there were no other patrons yet. I held onto a thread of hope that Mike wouldn’t be in that day. My hope flamed out when we found him puttering about behind the bar. A ridiculous palm-tree and pineapple shirt I hadn’t seen before flapped over a plain white shirt as he moved around.
“Hey, Mike,” I called out as we walked up to the bar.
He looked up. His customary grin faded as he recognized Yoani and Philippe. He rubbed above his lip, where his thick mustache had begun to grow back. It had to itch like hell, but nothing like the itch of being reminded of bigger issues. Holm took his usual seat at the end of the bar and pretended to study the drink selection.
“Can’t say as I expected to see you here, Señorita Nuñez,” he admitted. He nodded toward Philippe. “I’m sure you aren’t too happy about it either, young man.”
Philippe glowered and found a seat in a nearby booth. I groaned. Yeah, this was going to be spectacular. Ever since Mike broke the agreement, Philippe’s attitude had gone downhill. Now that he thought I was going to hurt Yoani, the sit
uation had the potential to turn into a shit show.
“Yoani asked us to bring her here,” I told Mike. “She—”
Yoani put her hand on my arm. “Mr. Birch, I’ve been angry, but Ethan keeps telling me that you are a good guy. I can’t ask about what happened between you and my government, but maybe we can make peace over what happened the other night.”
Mike relaxed his shoulders and picked up a clean tumbler. He pulled out a bottle of Four Roses and poured me a bourbon over rocks. He set a napkin in front of Yoani.
“Want anything? It’s on the house,” he told her. “It’s the least I can do after the trouble I caused.” He held up a finger. “Mind you, I’m not sorry for the results, but I’m sorry it caused you trouble.”
Yoani ran a finger over the cracking red vinyl on one of the barstools, shrugged, and took a seat.
“I’ll try this Four Roses. Neat.” The corner of her mouth curved up as she watched Mike pour. “We don’t get many outside drinks. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad.”
“This is an excellent use of your time in Miami.” He grinned, poured some for Holm, and then a tumbler for himself. “Mr. Molina, you want a taste?”
Philippe stood and deigned to join us at the bar. He settled in on Yoani’s other side and affected the charming air he’d sported when he first met us.
“I will try it.”
I raised a brow as Philippe was on duty as Yoani’s guard. Maybe they had different standards, or maybe he didn’t give two shits about it, but I decided not to say anything. Yoani had Holm and me for the day. She was safe.
Mike poured two shots’ worth into a tumbler and handed it over. Philippe’s dark eyes simmered, and he didn’t blink as he knocked it back. He set the glass down on the wood counter with a hard thunk.
“It’s not bad.” He pulled a bowl of pretzels over and munched on them.
“Okay, then.” Mike focused on Yoani. “You’re right that I can’t discuss what happened years ago. I’d hoped they’d forgotten, but apparently not.”