Falling Darkness--A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Karen Harper

  “Look at that red soil with all this tobacco,” Heck said.

  Lexi piped up. “I thought tobacco was bad for people, Mommy.”

  “Cuban cigars are famous, and a lot of people like them,” Claire said only. She was exhausted. She’d taken one of her earlier meds with a gulp of water from Nando’s canteen. She hoped she’d warded off the chance of a narcoleptic nightmare, but she feared falling asleep in the middle of a step or word. All she needed was a psychotic bad dream now when reality was so awful.

  “Hate to admit it, but this is real pretty land,” Jace said. “I see patches of tomatoes and what might be coffee besides the tobacco. I could use a good cup of java right now.”

  “It’s the Castros and their cronies who are bad,” Heck put in, “not Cuba or its people—most of them, I mean.”

  They found Nando’s house just where he’d said they would. It looked like a kind of stucco with a slightly slanted, orange tile roof, but many of the tiles were cracked or broken. Nando stood in the door watching for them. Beside him stood a short woman, her long white hair in the setting sun such a contrast to Nando’s salt-and-pepper look. His skin was much bronzer than hers.

  “Maybe his mother live here too,” Heck said. “Generations, the old ones, at least, stick together, even if he said his daughter lives in Havana, goes to university.”

  Though no other houses or people on the road were in sight on this western edge of the village, Nando quickly herded them inside. Despite the warm breeze and fingers of red setting sunlight stretching through the glassless windows and door before Nando closed it behind them, Claire shivered.

  Inside, standing in the small, central room with its table and few chairs, Nando introduced them—with Heck’s help—to Carlita, his wife, not his mother. Nando whispered something to Heck, who in turn told them in a hushed voice, “Her hair go white real fast when the sharks take their only son.”

  Claire bit her lower lip and blinked back tears. Lexi had been abducted once and that had been a near-death experience for her. As different as she was from this woman, Claire immediately sympathized with her. Their names even seemed an echo of each other. Yet they were so far from home—wherever that was now—and so far from safety.

  * * *

  Sleeping on a tile floor with only a piece of canvas under him didn’t bother Jace. In Iraq, he’d been through worse, even though pilots were usually housed in the best of the worst places. His stomach was full of fish, black beans and rice, though he sure could have used a beer or something stronger than some sugary drink called guarapo, made from sugarcane juice. The coffee, though, had been home-ground, hot and strong.

  With the other men, he’d sat outside after dark on the small back patio, hearing the sound of the sea. The patio was eroding from sea salt air and age, but just a few steps away served as a urinal for the men while the women used a chamber pot inside. Nita, who didn’t speak much but to Claire, Lexi and Carlita, had told them that it was Carlita’s dream to have a toilet with running water and a drinking spigot someday soon, just like the ones in the village that had better pipes. At least they had running water from a cistern in the small kitchen. But the stunning view out the back of the little place—wasn’t that worth something?

  Jace shifted onto his side. Bronco, lying next to him, looked like he slept the sleep of the dead. Except he snored. Nick had insisted on taking the first watch. He was sitting up with his back against the wall near the front door, which had no real lock on it, just a double-hooked latch. Hell, in a way, they all had their backs against the wall.

  Claire and Lexi slept in the second small room off this main one in the Hermez daughter’s single bed. Nita was in a sort of sagging cot in that same crowded room. Clarita had fussed over Lexi, washing her hair and combing it out. Then Claire and Nita had washed their hair in rainwater from a barrel out back. All that by lantern light, though they said the village had electricity between blackouts. No wonder Nando had considered two rafts to sell on the black market a gift from God.

  Jace just hoped when the urban daughter, Regina, called Gina, showed up for a weekend visit tomorrow she wouldn’t be a flaming commie or want to turn them in. How much were people brainwashed on this island, especially in Havana? In a wood-framed photo, Gina stood before a mural of Fidel and Che Guevara with the words Viva La Revolucion!

  Jace had noticed that Heck spent a lot of time staring at the picture as if he knew her. She was easy to look at. Glossy long dark hair and flashing brown eyes. Lithe, young, sexy in trendy clothes that would have done her well on Miami Beach. Her tight T-shirt read in English I’m gaga for Lady Gaga!!! She looked like she came from another planet compared to this fisherman’s house where she’d grown up. He’d seen no photo of the lost son Alfredito or of the family together.

  The wind had picked up outside, and Jace saw Nick stand and look out the front window through the open wooden shutters. It was pitch-black outside. Keeping quiet, Jace got up and stepped over the sleeping Bronco, who would be taking the early-morning watch after him and Heck.

  Jace whispered to Nick, “I’m awake. I’ll start now.”

  Nick nodded and fist-bumped Jace’s shoulder. He moved to take his spot on the floor. Jace thought that they could almost be friends, especially since Nick, WITSEC alias his brother Jack, wasn’t sleeping with Claire tonight.

  When Nick lay down with a deep sigh, Jace did some stretching to get his blood moving and his muscles awake. How did things keep spiraling down, getting worse? It was as if they were under some curse.

  With his back to the wall, he sat on the floor and became one with the night shadows.

  * * *

  On Saturday—Claire thought she was losing track of time and her sanity—Nando went fishing since he’d lost his catch when he’d brought them home the day before. Carlita walked to the village to meet the 11:00 a.m. bus their daughter was supposed to be on. See, Claire told herself, time did not stand still, even here where it seemed it should.

  “Let’s have a powwow before Carlita gets back with their daughter,” Nick said to their group, and except for Nita, who stayed inside with Lexi, they all went out on the patio. The village of Costa Blanca circled around the fishing dock about half a mile to the east, and they could see some of it from here.

  “This girl Gina is obviously way different from her parents,” Nick began. Considering how intent and edgy everyone looked, he felt like he was making a plea in a courtroom. “Who knows what they indoctrinate students with at the university? Nando told Heck that Gina is studying to be a doctor, so she’s probably bright and as modern as it gets around here, maybe a dedicated Communist. No doubt ambitious, though Nando said doctors earn minimal wages.”

  Claire put in, “But wanting to go through all it takes to be a doctor for little money makes me think she could also want to help people. She sounds altruistic or at least a people person.”

  “Good point, forensic psychologist,” Nick said with a nod and a smile. “I’m remembering why I hired you to figure people out for me, even ones who are gone from this earth. I need—and value—all of your opinions, because we’re still flying blind here.”

  “Flying’s my gig,” Jace said. “Like you guys said, we’ve got to get to the internet somehow, so we can send out an SOS for help. And fast, before someone figures out we don’t belong and calls in the—whatever they call them here. Man, I’m starting to feel we’re on an alien planet, like in that old TV show Star Trek.”

  “Just hope it doesn’t turn into Star Wars,” Nick said.

  * * *

  Claire thought it seemed not only a breath of fresh air but a whirlwind that came through the front door with quiet Carlita. Gina Hermez was gesturing with both hands and talking rapid-fire Spanish, until she suddenly switched to English.

  “Who says nothing happens outside Havana?” the pretty girl exploded as her big
dark eyes jumped from one of them to the other. She propped her hands on her shapely hips before flinging gestures again. “Well, that’s just another government lie, because you are really, really here!”

  She wore cutoff jeans and a pink crewneck sweater that might have come from Abercrombie & Fitch. Her glossy raven hair hit below her shoulder blades, and her clear plastic backpack was crammed with books. She spoke strangely accented English, Claire thought—most forensic psychologists were good at placing accents—with a Slavic or Russian tang to her voice, not the usual Hispanic lilt.

  “It’s kismet our papa found you,” Gina went on before anyone else could speak. “And where we lost Alfredito. Please, let us sit at the table and talk. And, oh, a bonita little girl...”

  Everyone talked at once then, cross-counter introductions, greetings. Nick made some explanation of their plight, using the cover story they had been flying to a vacation when their plane went down, and that the man who owned it was going to be very angry if he caught up with them, so they needed to call a lawyer friend of Nick’s in the States.

  “You are a lawyer?” Gina asked. “You know what Shakespeare said—‘First, let’s kill all the lawyers.’ Now, you know, we Cubans are well educated, yes? Free education, free health care here, so not all bad, but the joke now is if we could only find breakfast, lunch and dinner, yes, Mama?”

  Carlita, who seemed to have next to no English, said nothing but beamed and nodded. It was obvious she adored her daughter but probably didn’t understand her much lately, whether she spoke English or Spanish. What a contrast in the two women, Claire thought, hoping she and Lexi never got that different. The new Cuba versus the old, that was for sure. And, however Gina had got the money, Claire had seen Carlita quickly put some paper bills in a jar. Claire decided she’d tell Nick. When they left here, he could leave some American money for them as well.

  “Of course, I can help you find assistance in Havana,” Gina promised, without taking a breath, “but since you are illegal Norte Americanos, sometimes called Yanquis here, and since you not come by legal means, we have to be careful. Oh, it’s my dream to go to your country. Doctors are special there, have more money and respect, yes?”

  The one thing Gina said, Claire noted, that didn’t jibe with her good English vocabulary and slight Slavic lilt was that she said jes instead of yes, just the way Heck did.

  “That’s true about doctors in the US,” Nick said. “As for Havana, we have friends who can come for us if we can just get them word, then settle things at home about the lost airplane later. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves in any way.”

  “Well, they cannot come here to get you, ’specially in Havana, or Raul’s security arrest you,” Gina explained. “Once you contact your friends, you need a rural meeting spot, probably for a boat, not a plane, maybe around where Papa dropped you off. Cuba security can find illegal planes in our airspace.”

  “Good advice, because, of course, we don’t want to take the chance of being detained or being publicized or even recognized.”

  “Right. I love that you use big words. I need to learn more and more, but I comprendo—understand—what you say. Lucky you have two good Espanol speakers here,” she said with a blinding smile that took in Heck but not Nita.

  Claire had been studying Gina intently, trying to psych out her true character and intent. But she also noticed that Heck—who had been introduced to Gina as Berto Ochoa—was all eyes for the senorita. He practically had his tongue hanging out.

  “Oh, for sure,” he said, sounding as breathless as if he’d run miles. “Anything I can do to help, work with you, I will.”

  Oh, boy, Claire thought. You might know hormones were roiling here. She hoped it could work to their advantage, but what if it didn’t? Matters were already complicated enough considering her own problems with Jace and Nick, not to mention Heck keeping an eye on Nita since she and Bronco were lovey-dovey.

  While Carlita, with Nita’s help, put quesadillas on each plate and poured homemade papaya wine, Gina suggested something they hadn’t thought of, something that made Claire hope they could believe and trust her.

  “I got to explain something to Berto here—” another smile at Heck “—since he say he is a—what was that?—a computer trekky?”

  “A techie,” Nick corrected her.

  “Oh, yes. But I think I know a way getting to the internet that is safer than going near the embassy. We have what you call internet cafés, only the lines long and most Cubans believe what they write is watched by—you know—the government,” she added, whispering. “I have a laptop, but it only connects with university areas that been approved and what we call SNet, the Street Net. If you have any money, you should check into a real nice hotel, then rent an hour of worldwide net online, maybe between eight to fifteen dollars, so pretty expensive.”

  If this woman thought that was expensive, Claire thought, things were indeed bad here.

  Lowering her voice again, Gina went on, “They say others—well, you know, the government—watches that internet for problems, so the hotel, bigger the better, might work best.”

  Her voice returned to normal range and she began to gesture again. “See, I was dating a musician, played at the Nacional, best hotel in Havana. Foreign tourists, European, Canadian stay there, not so many Americanos anymore, not for years, since the horrible dictator Batista and his gangsters ruled here, but that might work for you. If there’s any rooms available, if you have some cash. Cash is king here, American dollars, even.”

  Nick told her, “We might be able to arrange that. When you head back to Havana tomorrow on the bus, can we all go along, maybe the last bus in the evening?”

  “First of all, no streetlights there. Dark for you to be getting around at night. Besides, I have to take a bus at dawn, but I know where I keep you hidden until afternoon. Then you go to the hotel about the time a plane would land and you would arrive. We take another taxi to the airport first, since you got some money.”

  This girl was proving herself as bright as she looked, Claire thought, even thinking of little details, but was she after their money or did she really want to help? At least there was just one more night’s sleep here in crowded conditions with the breeze whispering through the old wooden shutters and bad dreams to make her think someone was coming after them.

  Claire hated to dwell on dangers, but they’d been through so much. When she first became a Certified Fraud Examiner and Forensic Psychologist, she’d never imagined it would lead to more than interviews of Americans who might have broken the law, even though she’d realized she could be dealing with criminals. And Nick as a criminal defense attorney certainly never planned to be defending his own life.

  Later, over a dessert of amazingly little bananas that had been soaked in rum, though Claire made sure Lexi’s was without the liquor, Gina was still talking. “I know where to get some clothes to loan—or is it lend?—you all, except little Meggie, but we will manage. And you won’t have suitcases, but I know where to borrow one or two. Still, once we leave this casa, ’specially when we be in Havana,” she said, looking intently at each of them in turn, “until you get a place to stay, think of it as hiding in the shadows so you not get caught.”

  4

  After several more rural stops, the bus to Havana became crowded, though they all had seats since Costa Blanca was near the beginning of this line. Nick noted there weren’t many cars on the road until they neared Havana.

  “No es facil,” Gina whispered to him and Claire from the seat behind and patted them both on their shoulders as if to buck them up. Lexi was on Claire’s lap, nodding in sleep, and Gina was sitting with Heck. “That’s my motto,” Gina said. “Nothing is easy, even getting around in the city. We’ll get out near where I live.”

  Nick had noticed, despite the buzz of voices on the bus, that Heck and Gina had somet
imes switched to Spanish, though she’d said she wanted to practice her English. Claire had clued Nick in like he was some idiot about Gina and Heck. At least Heck was smitten, because you couldn’t really tell about her. They needed her to help them, but Nick agreed with his personal forensic psychologist that Gina needed watching. Everyone in Cuba did. No es facil, indeed.

  At first the city seemed to him a sprawl of huge, block-like apartment buildings with an occasional blast from the past like an aging Spanish hacienda, some with wash on the line and people watching out the window. Many were smoking. Kids played in the potholed streets, and old men sat on barrels over games of checkers. They passed a series of buildings painted Pepto-Bismol pink. Nick’s stomach was roiling and not from being rattled on this bus. He could use some of that stuff right now, but what couldn’t they use? He’d quietly left one of his smallest bills, fifty dollars, in Carlita’s money jar. He was nervous about flashing big bills—would stores even have change?—to get underwear and a change of clothes for everyone.

  Claire poked him in the ribs. At least she had the brains not to say anything. Their Spanish might be sketchy, but they could both translate the words on the huge mural with Fidel Castro’s bearded profile they were passing: Solcialismo o muerta. In other words, Socialism or death. Somehow, that threat was the least of their worries right now.

  But when they looked out the other side of the bus, it was pure beauty. They were driving along what Gina called the Malecon, a gorgeous avenue with a seawall and the glittering water just below. People were strolling or just hanging out. He spotted some who must be tourists.

  “Caramba! There, there!” Gina said, bending low to look ahead of them. She pointed at a huge, turreted building, blinding white in the sun on an elevated area overlooking the city and the green-and-violet sea beyond. “The Hotel Nacional de Cuba,” she told them, then repeated it to Bronco and Nita, who were sitting behind her. Jace was across the aisle, sitting next to a man who was bringing sunglasses into the city to hawk on the streets. “Later,” she told Nick. “We will go there later, not looking like this, yes?”