Escape to Havana

by Nick Wilkshire

  Then again, the more Charlie thought about it, the more the night’s events just went to show the Cubans were as clueless as he was as to the floorboard cache. Why else would they need to eavesdrop on Charlie and Gray’s conversation just to find out there might be something worth checking out under his bedroom floor?

  As he lay there in the dark, with his mind whirling and the possibility of sleep becoming more remote with each passing hour, Charlie looked at the clock on his night table: 3:00 a.m. So much for the good night’s sleep he was counting on. Even if he did sleep in, he was still going to feel like shit in the morning when he went in. Thinking of the office, it occurred to him that he still hadn’t found Teddy’s rubber bone. He sighed and looked at the clock again. Searching the house for a stupid rubber chew toy at three in the morning did not really appeal to him, but neither did another day of ducking calls from Stewart’s assistant, or worse, his wife.

  Charlie groaned and got out of bed. After a brief stop at the fridge for a drink of cold water, he was about to check behind the furniture in the living room when he realized he hadn’t checked the basement yet. He opened the door and cautiously descended the darkened stairway. At the bottom, he reached around the corner and flicked the switch and felt a surge of pride at the way the room filled with the light from the bulb he had wired up himself.

  After a cursory search of the floor revealed no sign of the rubber bone, Charlie looked around the room, unfurnished apart from some shelving in the rear corner and a heavy wooden storage chest near the crawlspace under the stairs. He pulled open the doors of the chest, in the unlikely event that Marta had put the chew toy in there. As far as he knew, she never ventured into the basement. He pulled out the only drawer and saw it was empty, apart from a collection of dust balls and long-dead and dried-up insects. He tried to move the unit out from the wall, but realized with one tug that it wasn’t going anywhere. He gave it another yank for good measure, but it didn’t budge. No wonder it had come with the house — it would take a small army to get it up over the stairs. He shone the flashlight down the back of the unit, and after he was satisfied that Teddy’s bone wasn’t wedged there, he leaned up against it and looked at the open space under the stairs.

  Charlie shone the flashlight into the corners underneath the stairs and smiled as he caught sight of the end of the blue rubber bone sticking out of the corner where Teddy had stashed it. Charlie had to get down on his hands and knees to reach it, and he tugged it out and retreated hurriedly, for fear of encountering God only knew what kind of creature that might inhabit a dingy Cuban basement. But in his haste to back out and straighten up at the same time, he forgot that he had left the drawer to the unit open, an error that he would soon regret as the back of his head crashed against the heavy wood. For a split second everything went black and he could have sworn he saw stars.

  He collapsed back onto his knees with a loud curse and, rather than trying to stand up again, waited for his head to clear. He ran his hand over the back of his skull and was relieved, and not a little surprised, to find it free of blood. He could already feel the outline of what was going to be one hell of a bump, though. He felt something flutter past his ear and swatted at it instinctively. But instead of some creepy-crawly, Charlie watched as a sheet of paper fluttered by and came to rest on the floor in front of him. Picking it up, he saw that it was a handwritten note addressed to “Javier.” The flowery stationary, and the pronounced curl of the letters, was distinctly female. Charlie read the text and, though he didn’t get all of the Spanish, he knew he was reading a love letter, and he felt instantly intrigued and guilty all at the same time. The writer was expressing her love for Javier, who Charlie assumed could only be Javier Garcia, and the note was signed “QS.”

  Looking up from where he sat on the floor, Charlie saw the end of an envelope taped to the bottom of the drawer, and what looked like another similar note sticking out. He removed the drawer, careful not to rip the envelope or its contents, and flipped it over onto the top of the unit. He detached the envelope and opened it up. Inside he found a half-dozen notes, all on the same stationary. They were all addressed either to “Javier” or simply to “J,” and all were signed at the end with the same initials in the same ornate handwriting: “QS.”

  Charlie forgot all about the throbbing in the back of his skull and pored over the notes, reading them one after the other. The more he read, the more interesting the notes became, and though he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of his translation, he could tell what he was reading was pretty steamy.

  “You’ve lit the flame of passion deep within me …”

  “I burn for you …”

  “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth …”

  Charlie sat there, looking at the collection of notes, with a new respect for the former occupant of his house. To have elicited such passion was impressive. He looked at his watch and recoiled at the time — it was after three-thirty. He had to get some sleep. He gathered up the letters and stuffed them in his pocket, put the drawer back in the unit, and was about to turn off the overhead light by pulling the chain, but decided against it. Better to turn it off at the switch, or next time he would be fumbling around in the dark trying to feel for the chain. He grabbed the rubber bone and made his way back upstairs, just as the pain began to return to his head.

  Charlie lay in bed, rubbing the ever-growing bump on the back of his head. It had been twenty minutes since he had downed a couple of Tylenol, and he thought the pain had begun to dull a little. Whereas before he had been pre­occupied with who might have disturbed his floorboards, his mind was now alternating between two entirely different topics. The first was the love letters, and who the mysterious QS might be. According to Sanchez, it could have been anyone, but Charlie couldn’t help wondering whether QS was the wife of someone who had discovered her extracurricular activities with Garcia and brought them, and perhaps Garcia himself, to an end. Or maybe it was just one of a number of women that Garcia was romancing, all at once, at the time of his death. The letters were undated, so there was no way to know whether they had been stuck to the bottom of that drawer for a month or a year. Charlie couldn’t help being intrigued by the fact that such a renowned ladies man had felt they were special enough to keep secreted away. Maybe he had felt the same way about the mysterious QS.

  As the Tylenol kicked in and his eyes began to grow heavy with sleep, Charlie’s thoughts turned to Gray. Did she feel any of the same passion for him, he wondered? Or would she return to Ottawa without a second thought for him? One thing was for sure. He was going to miss her when she was gone.

  Chapter 32

  Charlie heard the sound of the security door slamming shut down the hall, followed by Bruce Redden’s familiar voice. A moment later, Redden walked by and gave a wave.

  “Morning, Charlie.”

  “Bruce, Antoine,” Charlie replied, as Lefebvre appeared behind Redden.

  “Is Jillian already here?” Redden asked, as Lefebvre looked at his feet. Charlie could only imagine how Redden might have embellished his late night encounter with Charlie at the hotel.

  We were standing there at the elevator door and Gray’s panties fell right out of his pocket….

  “She didn’t come in on the morning run with you?”

  Redden and Lefebvre exchanged looks.

  “No. She didn’t show up,” Redden said. “We waited around for an extra five minutes. We just figured, you know …”

  No, I don’t fucking know.

  “… she made her own way in,” Redden completed his thought and searched Charlie’s face for something that would confirm what he had obviously been thinking.

  “Did you call her room? Maybe she slept in,” Charlie said, calling out to his assistant, who appeared a few seconds later between the two men at his door.

  “Alena, could you call the Meliá Habana and see if Ms. Gray is in? She missed the morning run with H
ector and we think she must have slept in.”

  She nodded and disappeared to make the call, while Charlie checked his emails again, just to make sure Gray hadn’t sent him a message saying where she was. Seeing nothing, he rattled off a quick message in the hope that she had her BlackBerry turned on: Meeting’s about to start. Everything ok? Let me know if you need a ride.

  Redden looked at his watch. “The meeting’s supposed to start in five minutes.”

  “I don’t suppose she met Sanchez first,” Charlie said, as his phone began ringing. He felt a sigh of relief as he saw the number on the handset display. “That’s the front gate — it’s probably her now.” He snatched up the phone as Redden and Lefebvre stayed in the doorway. “Yes, oh it’s them? I’ll be right there. Señor Sanchez as well? Good. Any sign of Ms. Gray, the lawyer from Ott— No? All right.” He hung up the phone, his disappointment obvious.

  “She’s not with him?” Redden’s mischievous look was gone, replaced with one of concern, most likely for the potential delay to the project’s progress if she missed the important meeting.

  Charlie shook his head and was about to say something when Alena appeared at his door.

  “She’s not answering at the hotel.”

  “Well, they’re waiting for me at the gate,” Charlie said, getting up out of his chair. “Why don’t you guys head over to the conference room. We’ll have to get by without her. Alena, can you keep trying her room?”

  “What’s going on?” Landon poked his head in the doorway.

  “Oh, hi Drew,” Charlie said, reaching for his jacket. “It’s Jillian. She didn’t make Hector’s morning run from the hotel and there’s no answer in her room.”

  “When’s your meeting?”

  “Now. Well, in a few minutes.”

  Landon looked at his watch. “I’ve got to be back here for noon, but I could take a run over to the hotel and see if I can track her down, if you like?”

  Charlie nodded as he slipped into his jacket. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. I’ve got to go down to the gate.”

  “I’ll come down with you,” Landon said as they made their way past Redden and Lefebvre.

  “We’ll meet you in the conference room,” Redden called out as Charlie and Landon went through the security door at the end of the hall.

  “Is everything okay, Charlie?” Landon asked, once they were on the other side of the door.

  “I don’t know. It’s really odd for her just not to show up like this.”

  “When did you see her last?” When Charlie didn’t respond immediately, he added: “I just meant …”

  “I saw her last night,” Charlie said quickly. He sensed Landon knew, and was confident of his discretion. “I dropped her off at the hotel around one.”

  “I’m sure she just slept in.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Charlie said distractedly as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  The meeting with the Cuban property delegation had been uneventful, and the final form of the documents had been agreed upon, subject to comments from Gray, whose absence Charlie had attributed to a sleep-in or a sudden but minor illness. He was shaking hands with Gustavo Ruiz’s second-in-command at the front gate, and promising to be in touch to arrange the signing, when he spotted Landon hovering near the embassy’s front steps.

  “Any sign of her?” Charlie asked, after he had finished seeing the Cubans off.

  Landon shook his head. “I spent ten minutes knocking on her room door.”

  “You sure it was the right room?”

  “I got housekeeping to let me in. It was her room all right, but no sign of her.”

  “That’s odd.” Charlie rubbed his chin.

  “Yeah,” Landon continued. “I talked to the girl at the executive counter on the ninth floor. She said she thinks she saw Jillian leave early this morning with some guy. She said he wasn’t Cuban, more like South American … and she said he had his arm around her.” Charlie’s concern must have been obvious. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

  “Really? Our lawyer doesn’t show up for a meeting, doesn’t leave any kind of message whatsoever, and the front desk sees her being walked out of the hotel with some stranger.”

  Landon said nothing.

  “I’m sorry Drew. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just worried about her, that’s all. There’s something not right about this.”

  “You’re not thinking this has something to do with Amirjit Saini are you?”

  Charlie stared at him for a moment. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Two women, both connected to diplomatic missions, both—”

  “Jesus, don’t even say that!”

  They both stood there, Charlie rubbing his finger over his top lip.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” Landon backpedalled, but Charlie had stopped listening. Something had occurred to him that set his feet in motion toward the front gate.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I … I gotta go. I’ll be right back,” Charlie muttered, heading out the gate and crossing the street toward the parking lot.

  Chapter 33

  Charlie drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he waited for the line of cars to edge forward to the corner. Reaching it, he squealed the tires as he took the right turn off Fifth Avenue toward home. His mind was whirring, flooded with images of Gray, in his arms on the Malecón, swimming in his pool, lying in his bed … and being escorted out of her hotel by God only knew who. He gave a curt blast of the horn as he neared the entrance to his house. The guard shuffled over, annoyed at having his cigarette break interrupted.

  “Gracias,” Charlie muttered as he jumped out of the car and raced up the front steps. He took them two at a time, and once inside he bolted up to the bedroom, pulling open his top dresser drawer and retrieving the bundle of love notes he had found in the basement the night before. He stared at the first one and felt his legs give out under him as he backed up and sat on the edge of the bed. He just sat there for a moment, staring at the two letters at the end of the note. It wasn’t QS, as he had mistakenly thought the night before. It had taken Landon’s mention of her name to make him see the flowery script in a different light — as AS, for Amirjit Saini. Garcia had been seeing Amirjit Saini.

  Charlie re-read the letters, one after another, with a new focus on their content. She was saying she would follow him anywhere. Did that mean back to Venezuela? She said she didn’t care about her job, that she just wanted to be with him. Charlie checked again in vain for a date on any of the notes. Were they from months or years ago, or was it a matter of days before Garcia had ended up incinerated in his car in Caracas? Either way, it would only have been about a week or two after Garcia’s death that Saini disappeared. He recalled the night he had met her at the ambassador’s reception, and her mention of South America, when he had asked her about her plans after her Havana posting was up. She had changed the subject quickly, and there was that unmistakable sadness in her eyes. As he sat there on the bed, tying together everything that had been in the back of his mind on the drive over — things he had been too afraid to actually consider as real possibilities — a clear picture emerged. Saini had gone missing because she was connected to Garcia. The dope had been under Garcia’s floorboards. Garcia had overseen the diplomatic shipments of building materials for the Venezuelan embassy. Société Immobilière had built it, and SI had connections to the one person Charlie feared the most in Havana: Diego Medina.

  Sanchez had warned him about the risk of something other than building materials coming in under diplomatic cover for the Canadian project. And Gray had said she had heard of it happening elsewhere. Apparently, it had happened here already, but instead of black-market building materials, Garcia and Medina must have worked out a deal to bring in something far more rare, and valuable, in Havan
a: drugs. Had Garcia gotten greedy? Had he decided to skim some of the shipment for himself? Charlie remembered that Saini’s house had been ransacked before she was taken. Charlie’s had too, but not before someone, likely Medina, had tried a more subtle approach by means of the lovely Maria Aguirre. Charlie could no longer pretend that his post-coital memory loss wasn’t the result of some sedative that she had slipped into his beer, giving her ample opportunity to look through the house while he dozed. He could only assume that Garcia had refused to give up the hiding place, even if it cost him his life, not to mention Saini’s.

  Charlie froze as a thought occurred to him. Could it have been Medina, or one of his goons, who had escorted Gray out of the hotel this very morning, his arm around her in an apparently casual gesture, while a knife or a gun in his belt prevented her from making any attempt to flee? But why had they taken her and not him?

  What had he gotten her into?

  He tried not to think of where Gray was at that very moment, preferring to focus on a plan to get her back to safety. It was simple enough: trade the dope for Gray. Which would be great if he hadn’t dropped it in the pool….

  With nothing to exchange, Charlie decided he had no choice but to go back to the embassy and tell Gord Connors everything, right away. Surely, he would realize that Charlie was no dope dealer. The riskiest thing he had done in his twenty years as a bureaucrat was to partake in an unregulated lottery at the office by buying fifty-fifty tickets. Who would believe he was capable of importing a couple of kilos of cocaine with the intent to distribute it around Havana? He jumped up off the bed as another thought occurred to him. Maybe they could test the pool water for traces of the stuff that would support his outlandish story. Either way, he didn’t care anymore. He stuffed the letters in his pocket and raced down the stairs. He was almost at the front door when he heard the doorbell and whipped the door open to find the guard standing there, his finger still on the button and a look of surprise on his weathered features.