Escape to Havana

by Nick Wilkshire

  He pulled in behind a rusty Lada and the humid air smothered him the moment he stepped out of the air-conditioned interior of his car. He made his way over to the entrance and exchanged pleasantries with the doorman, slipping him a few pesos and asking if his car would be all right where it was.

  “No problemo. You enjoy your meal, my friend.”

  “Gracias.”

  Charlie stepped through the open doorway, noting the massive wooden door — it had to be at least twenty feet high — as he headed toward the spiral staircase. He walked across the creaking hardwood, past a row of clotheslines adorned with the laundry of the various inhabitants of the building’s lower floors. He could see lights toward the rear of the building where the private apartments were, and the sound of laughter and Cuban music followed him up the crumbling stone steps that led to the next level. He could hear the soft echo of music and muffled voices on the other side of an ornately carved door, and as he opened it he was immediately assailed by the smells and sounds of a bustling little restaurant.

  “Buenas tardes, Señor,” a smiling hostess said, closing the door behind him. Charlie mentioned Sanchez’s name and was immediately led down a narrow and stifling corridor, past a cramped and hectic kitchen, and into the first dining room. They continued to another, much smaller, room where Sanchez and Gray sat by an open window, chatting over a glass of wine. The incoming breeze, although humid, was refreshing in comparison to the rest of the restaurant and it carried the familiar scent of Gray’s perfume as she rose to peck him on the cheek.

  “Glad you could join us,” Sanchez said, shaking Charlie’s hand as they took their seats.

  “Me too,” Charlie replied as the waitress hovered and he accepted a glass of white wine. “This is quite a building,” he added, settling into his chair.

  “As long as it doesn’t pick tonight to fall down,” Gray remarked. “I noticed some reinforcing rods on the second floor.”

  Sanchez laughed. “Don’t worry. I acted for the engineering firm that did the structural assessment of this place. It’s not falling down any time soon, despite appearances.”

  Their casual chat over drinks soon turned to the afternoon meeting that Charlie had missed with the Cubans, and Gray and Sanchez were quick to point out that, with the exception of some minor amendments, their draft agreement had been accepted.

  “Any idea when we might see their changes?” Charlie asked, knowing that would be Stewart’s first question in the morning.

  “Well, this is Cuba,” Sanchez hedged. “But we did get the sense that Ruiz had left them with instructions to speed things up.”

  “So, I’m right in thinking a couple of weeks?” Charlie guessed.

  “Something like that, yeah,” Sanchez agreed.

  “So add in translation time, and review by good old Ottawa,” Charlie added, winking at Gray, “and we could have a deal signed in a month.”

  “Cheers to that, then,” Sanchez said as the waitress returned to take their orders. Sanchez asked for a little more time, as they hadn’t even opened their menus.

  “The fish is great here,” he said, without bothering to look at the menu. “I highly recommend either the snapper or the dorado.”

  “I’m going to go with the snapper,” Charlie said, turning to Gray.

  “I’ll try the dorado.” She closed her menu and smiled at him.

  After the waitress had taken their orders, Gray leaned over the table and looked at Sanchez. “So, what was it that you couldn’t tell us this morning, at SI’s offices?”

  Charlie felt his stomach constrict as Sanchez looked first at him, before turning his attention to answering Gray’s question.

  “I recognized a guy in the hall,” Sanchez began. “It’s probably nothing, but let’s just say he’s somewhat of a well-known figure around Havana. A Colombian.”

  “Colombian?” Charlie heard himself ask. He had been hoping the conversation might quickly switch to another topic, but now his heart was racing.

  “He’s been associated with a certain element, if you know what I mean,” Sanchez said, lowering his voice.

  “I’m not sure I do,” Charlie said, trying to conceal his growing alarm.

  Sanchez frowned. “Let’s just say there’s a strong connection between Cuba and some of the South American countries. It’s mostly Venezuela, but Colombia as well, to a lesser extent.

  “I read something about the Venezuelan thing,” Gray said. “How they ship oil to Cuba in exchange for medical services.”

  Sanchez nodded. “Yes, Cuba has an abundance of well-trained doctors. Many Venezuelans come here for treatment, especially eye surgeries.”

  “I noticed a bunch of people at the hotel were wearing eye patches,” Charlie said, almost to himself.

  “Me too,” Gray said. “But what was this Colombian doing at SI’s offices?”

  Charlie sipped his wine and wished he had ordered something stronger. He didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, especially in light of his recent visit with Tate Martin, who was still rotting in a Cuban jail.

  “That, I don’t know,” Sanchez said.

  “What’s his name?” Gray asked, as an assortment of appetizers arrived.

  Sanchez paused until the waitress had left before leaning in to whisper the name. “Diego Medina.”

  “I know it sounds sort of ignorant,” Gray said, “but I can’t help associating Colombia with the cartels.”

  “I don’t think it’s ignorant at all,” Sanchez replied, taking a sip of wine.

  “But what would the cartel be doing in Havana, anyway?” she continued, keeping her voice low. “I thought there wasn’t a drug trade here.”

  “It’s true that there are stiff penalties for traffickers in Cuba,” Sanchez said. “And the drug trade doesn’t exist to the same extent because of the scarcity of hard currency, but that’s not to say it isn’t around, just like gambling, prostitution, and the rest.”

  Charlie was growing more uncomfortable as the conversation continued on its course. He tried to focus on the food for a while, until a piece of fried potato got stuck in his throat and he gagged, taking a healthy gulp of water to dislodge it.

  “Are you okay?” Sanchez asked, as Charlie coughed into his napkin and took another swig of water.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he said, avoiding Gray’s eyes as she continued.

  “I’m not sure I like the idea of this Medina guy being connected to SI if we end up in business with them,” she said with a frown.

  “Let me make some discreet inquiries at the office,” Sanchez said. “His being there might be nothing more than sheer coincidence.”

  “It would be good if you could check,” Gray said. “Don’t you think, Charlie?”

  He nodded quickly, glad to be moving away from the topic. But if he was hoping for a switch to tomorrow’s weather forecast, he was soon disappointed.

  “What do you know about Javier Garcia?” Gray asked, sipping her wine.

  “Not sure I know the name,” Sanchez said, putting down his fork and buttering a roll.

  “He was Charlie’s counterpart at the Venezuelan embassy until a few months ago,” Gray paused before adding, “and the former occupant of his house.”

  Sanchez kept chewing as he looked from Gray to Charlie. “Are you thinking he may have had something to do with the break-in at your place?”

  “God, no,” Charlie sputtered, taking another sip of wine to conceal his discomfort. But neither the cold, dry liquid nor the breeze coming in through the open window could stop little beads of sweat from forming on his forehead.

  “We’re just curious,” Gray said, the picture of calm.

  “I don’t really know much about the Venezuelans, and I’m not sure who handles their legal work. I could ask around if you like?”

  Charlie waved a hand. “Don�
��t bother, Sam. I’m sure the break-in was just some misguided thieves who thought they were going to roll the pad of a rich diplomat and ended up at my place instead.”

  “Well, it is a very impressive house. If I were looking for somewhere to rob, it would sure be on my list,” Sanchez said.

  “So, who’s up tomorrow?” Charlie said, intent on keeping the conversation away from anything else he might have told Gray in post-coital confidence. He was beginning to wonder what else she would blurt out before the meal was over.

  As they finished their appetizers, Sanchez excused himself to go to the men’s room. He wasn’t gone for more than a few seconds when Gray broke the silence.

  “Is everything all right, Charlie? You’re acting a little strange.”

  “I’m acting strange,” he said, in an animated whisper. “I told you those things because … actually, I don’t know why I told you those things, but I certainly didn’t expect you to repeat them to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.”

  “Relax, it’s only Sam. I’m just trying to help. Don’t you want to know more about this Garcia guy…? And I saw your reaction today when you saw that Colombian. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Look, I appreciate you’re trying to help, but I really don’t think—” He stopped talking when the waitress arrived to take their plates and an awkward silence descended over the table until she left.

  “I think you’re overreacting, Charlie.”

  He was about to respond when Sanchez reappeared.

  “Now, Charlie,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m very interested in your views on détente with the U.S. Does the embassy really think it’s the first step in ending the embargo?”

  “The political section is certainly taking the meeting seriously,” Charlie began, glad to be onto a new topic of conversation, as Gray hid her expression in her wine glass.

  Chapter 28

  Charlie navigated the car north through the darkened streets toward the Malecón. He and Gray had parted with Sanchez at the entrance to the restaurant after the meal, and the silence had been unbearable ever since. Finally, Gray broke it.

  “Look, I don’t know what the big deal is. I would have thought you’d be interested in finding out more about Garcia, given what you found under the floor of the house he used to live in.”

  Charlie continued driving, unsure of whether he was taking Gray back to her hotel or his place. He was thinking the former, and her tone only made that destination clearer.

  “I was just surprised that you would have mentioned any of it to him, that’s all.”

  “I was only trying to find out if there was an actual drug trade here. It’s not like I told him you’d found a couple of keys of the stuff under your floor.”

  “It’s my fault,” he said, wondering whether he had overreacted just a little, though he still felt annoyed. “I should never have involved you in the first place.”

  Silence reigned again as he drove west along the waterfront, and Gray opened her window.

  “I’ve got the AC on,” he said.

  “I prefer the breeze,” she replied, looking out the window. He switched off the air conditioning and put his own window down, letting the muggy night air in. As they hit the underpass that led out to Miramar, Charlie realized he would soon have to make a decision about where to take her, but their continued silence decided for him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, as he turned off Fifth Avenue.

  “To your hotel.”

  She looked out the window and he heard a little huff of disapproval. As he pulled up to the entrance to the hotel, she looked at him.

  “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was pick a fight.”

  Charlie turned to face her and his annoyance melted away.

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, as she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door. “I don’t know why I got so bent out of shape.”

  “You’re probably just stressed, that’s all. It’s your place that was burglarized, not mine.” They sat in silence for a moment, her hand on the door handle. “Can I buy you a nightcap at the hotel bar?” she said, a smile appearing on her delicate features.

  They walked into the lobby of the hotel and were instantly hit by a wave of cool air and the sound of a live band performing something that was loud and fast enough to keep a dozen or so couples moving on the dance floor beside the lobby bar. Even from fifty feet away, the sound was earsplitting.

  “Want to try the one by the pool?” she said, raising her voice so he could hear her over the music. He nodded and followed her downstairs and out into the open-air hallway that ran along by the pool and led to a smaller bar. There was music there as well, but it was recorded and much more subdued. They snagged a table at the edge of the pool with a view out to the ocean and took a seat. As he sat there looking at her, with the warm breeze blowing onshore, whatever irritation Charlie had felt earlier was long gone, replaced by a smile.

  “What?” A grin of her own formed at the edges of her mouth.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, out with it.”

  “I was just thinking …” Charlie said, looking around. The bar had only a dozen or so customers, and the waiter was on the far side, apparently engrossed in conversation with the bartender.

  “We might get better service from your mini-bar.”

  She smiled. “You’re pretty forward, aren’t you Hillier? I only invited you for a nightcap. Nobody said it was going to be in my room.”

  They lay on the bed in the dark, a thin sheet covering them as he stroked her hair and watched the sheers over the open patio door fill like sails with each onshore gust, then fall again. Gray rolled off him and sat up on the edge of the bed.

  “Why don’t you see if you can find us a cold drink in the mini-bar?” she said, as she slid off the bed and padded across the tile floor to the bathroom. Charlie reached over and fumbled with the latch on the small fridge, finally springing it free and scanning the contents by the interior light. He pulled out a couple of beers and the two glasses from the nearby shelf, slipped his underwear on, and made his way out onto the balcony.

  “There you are.” Gray appeared in a white nightshirt and sat next to him, and the two of them sipped the cold beer and looked out over the water. The wind was creating little ridges of white near the shore, visible because of the powerful floodlights at the hotel’s perimeter, just fifty feet from the waterline. “Another beautiful night in paradise.”

  “It’s nice to have an ocean view,” Charlie commented.

  “I learned my lesson last time. My view was of that Russian embassy building. What a monstrosity.”

  “It’s creepy, isn’t it?” Charlie said, nodding. The compound’s main feature was a large tower that, whether by design or not, resembled the handle of an enormous sword, thrust deep into Cuban soil. The twin red lights at the top of the structure lent it an even more sinister air at night, as though the beady eyes of some robotic monster were surveying everything below. “I suppose that was the point, right? Scare the crap out the locals.”

  Gray ran a hand through her hair. “Speaking of creepy, how do you know that Colombian guy that Sanchez was talking about — Diego Medina? You can’t tell me you didn’t recognize him from somewhere.”

  Charlie took a drink and looked out to sea. “He showed up at my house a week before the break-in.”

  “I thought you said your visitors were hookers.”

  “He was with them, the second time, driving. I caught a glimpse of him sitting out in the car.”

  “I guess he’s not the kind of guy you easily confuse with anyone else.”

  “He’s a scary-looking dude all right,” Charlie agreed.

  “So maybe he was the girls’ pimp.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  They sat there for a while
in silence, staring out over the water and up into the inky blackness above them, before Gray spoke again. “You think there’s another reason he was there?”

  “It’s possible, but I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

  “You think he’s—”

  Charlie put his fingers to his lips and she stopped talking. She leaned into him and put her mouth next to his ear.

  “You think he owns … it?” she whispered.

  “That would be pretty much the worst-case scenario, don’t you think?”

  “But it’s been almost a week since the break-in,” she said, leaning in to whisper again. “From what Sanchez was saying, this guy doesn’t seem like the patient type.”

  “That’s the only reason I can sleep at night.”

  They stopped talking, each of them contemplating the dark waters beyond in silence.

  “It’s getting late,” he said after a while, “and I should let you get some sleep. We’ve got another full day tomorrow.”

  He got dressed in the dim light of the hotel room, then she followed him to the door and kissed him goodbye. “I’m glad you came by tonight.”

  “Me too,” he said, hugging her as he opened the door. “And we’ll do the swim at my place later in the week. Maybe tomorrow night?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He checked his watch as he made his way down the hall toward the elevator. It was almost one in the morning and he was feeling tired. He realized as another guest passed him by in the hall that he could have done with a quick look in the mirror before he left Gray’s room, and by reflex he ran his fingers through his hair and began smoothing his shirt.

  Waiting for the elevator, his reflection in the large mirror confirmed that he really did look as though he had just rolled out of bed. He was still smiling to himself as the doors slid open and he made to enter the elevator, oblivious to the man standing at the rear of the car, waiting to step off.