by Linda Bond
…
An older woman, dressed in black, held on to a picture, clutching it to her chest like a prized possession. She swayed back and forth wailing as a half dozen younger people swayed with her in a circle. Each person held a candle, flickering in the already oppressive heat, and they sang together in one strong voice melting in with the hot breeze. “They’re mourning someone.” Despite her fluency in Spanish, Rebecca could only make out about half of the words from this distance.
“The old woman’s grandson,” Esmeralda whispered.
“Why are they here?” Cradling her son in her skinny arms, Maria looked as if she’d pass out at any moment.
And then it hit Rebecca. “They’re here because this is the last place her grandson was seen alive.” As she said the words, an image of Domingo’s pockmarked face materialized. The reality of what must have happened to him slapped her and left an invisible imprint that stung.
Esmeralda leaned in closer, her stale breath a reminder they’d been walking in the dust and dirt for hours. “How do you know that? They didn’t say that, no?”
Rebecca exhaled, wishing she could clue Dallas in on her thoughts, but he was already too far away. He’d shoot differently if he thought this group could be tied to Domingo, the young boy’s story coming sadly full circle.
She pictured Domingo standing with fists on hips, so proud of his boat, so sure it would get him to America. “When we got here, however many days ago, a group of young kids were trying to leave the island by boat, a homemade boat that didn’t look like it would make it ten miles out. I guess even though the Cuban government says you can leave now, many Cubans are still trapped by their poverty and lack of resources. I tried to convince them to go on Antonio’s yacht.” She looked away, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry. “Domingo wouldn’t listen. He left on that thing.” Damn it! The cocky little shit didn’t make it. How many others died just like him? Still today? What were all these damn political negotiations worth if kids were still taking to the Florida Straits? She sent a silent prayer that if he did perish at sea, his death had been quick and merciful.
The snap of tree branches made the hair on her arms stand up.
“It’s me.” Jose Carlos back from the La Libertad.
He nodded at everyone as if counting heads. “Where’s Dallas?”
“Still shooting video.” She pointed in the direction of the family. “Don’t worry. He’s not using a light, and they haven’t seen him yet.”
He nodded. “The captain is on board. But not Antonio.”
Rebecca’s stomach clenched. Why should she care? Antonio had used her, and then lied to her, and now he was probably betraying her by killing the one man she’d longed for her entire life. She tried to shake the ugly thoughts away, but they stuck to her like a new tattoo. “Why are the lights off on the yacht?”
“For safety.”
Right. Antonio had mentioned some kind of government base near by.
“And out of respect for the grieving.” Jose Carlos took to one knee and looked right at her.
A ball of regret lodged in her throat. “Domingo?”
Jose Carlos shrugged, but at this close range, she could see the sadness in his eyes. “Maybe.” He shook his head and looked back at La Libertad. “The captain says he tried to tail the small boat to America, but they traveled too slowly, and eventually he decided to ensure the safety of his own passengers. If he had called the Coast Guard, they would have sent Domingo and his friends back to Cuba.” Jose Carlo stood up and brushed himself off. “We need to get Maria and Tonito on board.”
Rebecca hesitated, wondering if she should break away and interview Domingo’s family members first. The old Rebecca wouldn’t have hesitated. It was her job. But no, not tonight. She would trust that Dallas’s video would speak for itself. Nothing she could ask would be as powerful as what was naturally unfolding before his viewfinder. “Okay, I’ll go get Dallas.”
“We board quietly.” Jose Carlos offered Maria assistance. She handed her son to the beefy man, flipping a sharp-edged gaze Rebecca’s way.
I got the message already. “What do we do next?”
Chapter Thirteen
Standing top deck on La Libertad, in the silver light of the moon, Rebecca smelled the onions and sweat first.
The hair on the back of her neck sizzled as soon as the scent whooshed up her nostrils.
“Hey, American.”
Rebecca whipped around. That voice was coming from the dock below. She ran to the edge of the yacht, looking down. Her heart stalled. Lord, of all people to show up now, why him? “Hello, Ignado.” She hated the sound of his name. Hated him.
Ignado stepped out of the shadows, walking right past the grieving family still huddling together like wounded refugees on the dock, and placed his booted foot on the first rung of the ladder leading up to the La Libertad. “Going somewhere, America?”
How should she answer that? The way the tattooed man would expect? “Of course not. We’ve been waiting for you and Antonio.” Shooting a quick look over her shoulder, she caught Dallas’s eye. Her photographer had been quietly videotaping the family on the dock, keeping his distance by staying on board. He turned toward Ignado’s voice, bringing the camera with him. Rebecca knew Ignado wouldn’t be able to see Dallas from below. She gestured casually with a nod for Dallas to come toward her. Whatever happened next, she needed it documented on video. “Where’s Antonio?”
Rebecca clicked on a flashlight, just in time to catch a snakelike grin slither across Ignado’s ugly face. “He’s in jail.”
She swallowed. Was he lying? “You don’t seem too upset about it.”
“Turn off the light, America.”
“It’s Rebecca.” Asshole. She flicked off the flashlight.
“Antonio tried to kill your father.”
The initial sting of those words had already beaten her up. This time when she heard them, she raised an eyebrow, a gesture so subtle she doubted Ignado could even see it in the pre-morning light. “Tried?”
“Ah.” Ignado removed his boot from the ladder, resting both hands on his hips. “So you already knew.” He nodded, smiling. “I was hoping I could be the one to break the news to you.”
Her stomach clenched. “That my father is dead?”
“Actually, he’s still alive and well.”
Butterflies of hope tickled her insides. But why did Ignado sound so happy about that? “And Antonio?”
“Not as lucky.”
Her heart flip-flopped. “Where is he?”
“I told you. In jail.”
A heavy knot of dread formed in her stomach. She didn’t expect that. “He’s been arrested?” Stupid question. Why else would he be in jail? Jail was better than dead, but she wanted to hear Igando confirm Antonio was still alive. She clasped a hand at her throat, throwing a quick glance at Dallas. He’d found a place to shoot video from the shadows.
“Want details?” Ignado’s voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm.
Dallas nodded, holding out a microphone to show her he could pick up the sound of Ignado’s voice.
She turned back toward the big bully. “Of course, Ignado. We can’t leave without Antonio.” Could he tell she was baiting him? “What happened? When will Antonio be here? And why did you leave without him?”
The wicked grin on Ignado’s face stilled her. “We got a tip your dad was visiting a hotel in Havana. I guess he screws his new mistress there every other night.”
Nice. Keep a straight face. She bit her bottom lip. Your father may have given you DNA, but he’s no reflection of you. You have his name, but nothing else.
“We figured we could kill him when he left. He’d be without security. Not wanting the world to know what a whore he is.”
She choked on those last words. Did Ignado know what had transpired between her and Antonio last night? Was that a subtle jab? Had Antonio, like a typical man, bragged about his conquest? She chewed her bottom lip, hoping she wasn’t in the
camera’s view. Wondering if she was, would it pick up her legs trembling?
“We sprang on him as he left the hotel for his car. But”—Ignado raised his hand, forming a fake gun with his fingers—“Arturo had security waiting, and bam.”
She jumped. “Bam? Antonio got shot?”
Ignado laughed like an evil man.
She knew from day one something was seriously wrong with the tattooed guy. “He’s okay, right?” Jesus. Shut up.
“You care so much for the man who wanted to murder your father?”
She dropped her gaze. What should she say? She didn’t know which side Ignado was on. As a daughter, she should care about the fate of her father. As a woman drawn to a man, as fucked-up as that might be, she couldn’t help but hope Antonio survived with a chance of getting out of trouble. And she couldn’t deny her desire to help him.
“You seem a bit conflicted, America.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Who are you rooting for? Your father, the Communist, or your lover, the activist?”
Her knees gave out, and she wobbled. A hand on her back gave her the confidence to right herself and stare the evil below in the face. What did Ignado hope she would say? She rolled the dice. “Where is my father now?”
He smiled and held out his hand. “Come with me and find out.”
“Don’t go, Rebecca.” Esmeralda whispered. She’d come topside and must have been the hand steadying her. Rebecca could feel tension even in her fingertips. Perhaps she hated Igando, too?
“Your father wants to meet you.”
She didn’t believe Ignado. Her father had made no effort to meet her in all these years. “How did my father find out about me? Being here and all?” She hated the fact that her voice shook. She dropped her gaze, breathing deeply to better control it.
“Antonio gave you up when Arturo’s security force put a loaded .357 to his head. He used information about you as bait, hanging it out there, reeling the old man in.”
She closed her eyes, trying to picture Antonio, the man she’d come to know so well, on his knees, with a gun to his head, begging for his life, willing to sell out anyone to save himself. The picture never came into focus. Antonio would not do that. Rebecca just knew it.
“Antonio betrayed you.”
Ignado had to be the one lying.
“He betrayed me, too. That’s why I’m here. I made a deal. My life was spared so I could bring you to Arturo.”
Rebecca ran a hand through her hair, thinking, trying to figure out what to do. If she went with Ignado, she might finally get a chance to meet her father. Even if her dad were a devoted Castro man, he wouldn’t hurt his own blood relative, right? And then she could see if Antonio really was in jail. If he was, maybe she could convince her father to let him go. Because despite everything that had happened last night, her heart ached to help Antonio. “Where would we go? Havana?”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Dallas burst out of the shadows. “I knew I shouldn’t have brought my ass over here with you. I’m ready to go home and now you want to play the Walton family? Well, good night Jim Bob, we’re outta here. We’re not going to Havana.”
“I agree with Dallas,” Esmeralda whispered.
“You two aren’t. I will go with you, Ignado. But on one condition.” This was her chance to protect Dallas, Maria, Tonito, and Esmeralda. It’s what she had to do. “I will get off the La Libertad, but once I do, the captain gets to leave right now with everyone else on board. Once he’s gone, I will go with you.”
“Oh, hell no,” Dallas barked.
It was a risk. She would be walking with Ignado, a man she didn’t trust, into the great unknown. But she knew the captain of La Libertad wouldn’t leave Antonio here in Cuba for long. He’d come back for them both. Jose Carlos would, too, after he secured Antonio’s family’s safety in Miami or Tampa. And Dallas would stir up more media interest in their whereabouts.
Ignado threw his head back and laughed. “You would risk your life to help Antonio’s family? Knowing he would not do the same for you?”
Yes, Antonio would. Instinctively, she knew that. But better to play along. “I want to meet my father, Ignado. You know that. That’s what this is about.” And she did, but she also wanted to do more.
Antonio had not killed her father. That she knew now for sure. So she had to try to help Antonio. She was under no illusion it was going to be easy. She wasn’t James Bond, and this wasn’t an action-adventure movie. She couldn’t just storm the jail and break him out. But before she could come up with a game plan, she had to know what was really happening in Havana.
But she did not trust Ignado.
Not at all.
As if he could read her mind, he whipped out a gun. “Let’s go then, America.” His hands were steady. Always steady.
“I don’t need a metal escort. I am agreeing to come of my own free will.” And I’m armed, too, sucker.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let the rest of your crew go back to the United States, do you, America? They could cause big problems for Arturo. And me.”
So that’s whose side Ignado is on. She should have figured. “Get below deck, now!” Rebecca fumbled in her pocket, praying she wouldn’t shoot her own foot before she could draw Antonio’s weapon and bluff Ignado. “This is between you and me, Ignado.” She pulled the gun out and took aim, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff and pull his trigger first. “If I stay, they leave. Otherwise, we’re all leaving. Right now.”
“Don’t be naive,” Ignado snarled. “You don’t think I’m going to let you call the shots? I am not Antonio. And I was not stupid enough to come alone.”
And with that, the trees began to dance, swaying as men in dark camouflage exited their hiding places, armed and ready to shoot.
Jose Carlos burst out of the shadows, his gun drawn. “Get below deck, Rebecca! Now!”
A series of shots fired.
Rebecca screamed. Backing up, she racked the slider on top of Antonio’s gun, loading a bullet.
A projectile whizzed by her ear.
Shit. They’re really shooting! That’s it. Lowering the gun she didn’t really know how to use, she turned and ran like hell to the opening leading below deck.
The motor kicked in. Thank God, the captain wasn’t on Ignado’s side.
Hand on the doorway into the galley, she flipped around, and the whole scene before her slowed down. Ignado rose above the deck line. He had climbed the ladder and was now stepping on board. She raised Antonio’s gun, hands quaking.
A pop sounded and Ignado grabbed his chest, his gaze landing on her, wide-eyed and frozen, shocked maybe by the pain or maybe by the fact that a bullet had gotten him before he could kill her.
He hovered on the top rung of the ladder. First, his weapon slid from his long fingers, then his arm of tattoos dropped to his side. His body, stained now with a growing red splotch, wobbled. His eyes rolled back and he fell, disappearing from her view.
A splash.
Then a flurry of bullets.
Shit. Ignado’s posse was still attacking the boat.
The motor screamed, and the yacht jerked forward, taking a part of the rickety dock with it.
A bullet pinged the side of the hatch where Rebecca stood. She ducked and was pulled back into the cabin suddenly by Esmeralda. “Tu eres loca? Get below.”
Rebecca felt crazy. “Where’s Dallas?” Last time she saw him, he’d been shooting video on deck, barely concealed.
The La Libertad bucked like a bronco being held behind a rodeo gate, and then suddenly, released, it surged forward.
Rebecca couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She stumbled toward the closest seat and fell into it. The hand holding Antonio’s weapon was shaking so badly she feared the gun would go off. She tried to place it gently on the table, but it rattled as it hit the glass. “Oh Jesus.” Laying a flat hand on top of the gun, she started to cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Did I shoot Ignado?”
>
“No, I did.” Jose Carlos jumped from the top deck, grabbing on to the counter as the yacht kicked in to a higher gear. “Traitor.”
Rebecca slid down the couch as the yacht jerked to one side. The gun flew off the table, hitting the floor and sliding into the kitchen. Jose Carlos stuck a foot out to stop it. He glared at her. “Let me handle the weapons. You’re going to get one of us killed.” He knelt and picked up the gun, pocketing the weapon.
“Think the Cuban Coast Guard will chase us?” Esmeralda had gone pale. She sat next to Maria, who held Tonito up against her chest like a blanket. The little boy sucked his thumb, his chest rising and falling in silent sobs.
“We’ll know in less than ten minutes,” Jose Carlos said.
“Why?” Did she want to know the answer?
“If the Cuban Coast Guard takes off from the pier at Mariel, that’s how long it will take them to catch up to us.”
The heat rushed out of Rebecca’s face.
“Find the life jackets and have them ready,” Jose Carlos shouted as he leaped through the door. “The captain will be running full-out.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sitting in an edit bay in her Central Florida television station, Rebecca had but one goal for the next two hours. Take control of her story.
After barely escaping Cuba in the early-morning light, they’d made it to Miami in less than six hours. The captain had dropped Esmeralda, Tonito, and Maria off at the marina and had waited with them for members of the local Catholic church to come pick them up. An advocate Jose Carlos knew at the church had offered to help the family with the immigration process. Rebecca hadn’t wanted to leave them, but knew they were in good hands.
She also knew when she’d caught Miami’s local news in the marina lounge that she and Dallas were still headline news.
Just like Antonio had predicted.
She and Dallas had jumped into a car the captain had waiting for them at the marina and drove the four hours back to Tampa, only stopping once at a McDonald’s drive-through to grab a burger, extra fries, and some soda. A ridiculous choice—yes. But Dallas had insisted, and after the events of the last forty-eight hours, she owed him at least a Big Mac. She’d learned a long time ago, a full photog was a happy, productive photog. Thank God the captain had thought to give them cash. But they still didn’t have their iPhones.