Escape to Havana

by Nick Wilkshire

  “What is it?”

  “For you, Señor. Delivered earlier this morning.”

  Charlie took the envelope from the guard’s outstretched hand. “Delivered…? By whom?”

  The guard shrugged. “It was in my hut when I come back from my rounds.”

  Charlie looked at him to see if he was telling the truth. The man’s usual bored expression showed no sign of duress. “Gracias,” he said, swinging the door shut as the guard turned to leave.

  Standing there in the vestibule, he tore open the envelope. The note inside, typed and in English, was short and to the point. It read: You have 24 hours to return our property, or the woman dies. If you say anything to the police or anyone else, the woman dies. We will contact you again soon.

  Charlie read the note three times over as his mind swam. He couldn’t go to Connors now, and without the coke to exchange…. Just then his BlackBerry started ringing, and jolted him out of his waking nightmare.

  “Charlie, where are you?” Landon’s voice was a harried whisper.

  “I’m … on my way back. What’s wrong?”

  “Connors is looking for you. He seems pissed off, and he was asking me about … well, you’d better hurry up.”

  Chapter 34

  Charlie sat in the chair in front of Gord Connors’s desk, trying to get his story straight in his own head as the sec­urity officer spoke to someone on the phone. He had come straight over upon his return to the embassy, and by the look on Connors’s face when Charlie had poked his head around the door, it was not going to be a pleasant meeting.

  “All right,” Connors said into the handset. “I’ll let you know the minute I do.” He hung up the phone and looked across the desk at Charlie. “Shut the door.”

  Connors’s tone betrayed his mood and Charlie felt his knees wobble a bit as he got up to close the door.

  “That,” Connors said, before Charlie had regained his seat, “was Jillian Gray’s boss. She’s not a happy camper.”

  “I … I guess not,” Charlie said, settling back in his seat and trying to find something on the desk to look at. He could feel Connors staring at him.

  “When was the last time you saw Jillian Gray?” he asked suddenly.

  Charlie looked up. “Um, I guess it was last night. After our meetings had wrapped up, we went to dinner with Sanchez.”

  “And what time did dinner end?”

  “I don’t know, maybe ten, ten-thirty.”

  “Did she get a cab back to her hotel?”

  “No, I had my car, so I took her,” Charlie said, trying to avoid as many outright lies as possible. He could tell Connors wanted more specific answers. “I mean, I dropped her off.”

  “And you didn’t see her again last night?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “You haven’t seen her since, then?”

  “No,” Charlie repeated, trying to infuse a twinge of protest in his response. Connors seemed unconvinced, and looked ready to put the screws to Charlie when his phone rang again. He sighed as he looked at the displayed number.

  “Shit, that’s the diplomatic police.”

  “You want to take that in private?” Charlie offered, trying not to sound too eager.

  Connors sighed. “Don’t leave the premises. I need to take a statement.”

  “A statement? What for?”

  Connors glared at him as he picked up the phone and put his hand over the receiver. “Just don’t go anywhere.”

  Charlie returned to his office, and was only at his desk for a couple of seconds when Landon appeared at the door.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure, Drew, come on in,” he said, as Landon shut the door behind him and sat down.

  “Connors knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “About you and Gray. That you’ve been … well, you know.”

  “Shit, I knew it.” Charlie slumped into his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

  “I didn’t say a word, I swear,” Landon said.

  “It’s all right, Drew,” Charlie said with a sigh, as he imagined how he was going to explain himself to Connors now. “I ran into Redden at the hotel late the other night, coming from her room. He must have blabbed.”

  “This is serious, Charlie.”

  “We’re both adults, for God’s sake. Besides, you’d think he’d be more concerned about her whereabouts right now, instead of her love life.”

  “I don’t think you understand.”

  “What?” Charlie stared at Landon for a moment as his brain assorted the possibilities, then selected the worst-case scenario. “He doesn’t think—” he began to say, then stopped himself. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I overheard Redden talking to the architect earlier,” Landon said. “Saying Connors was thinking about taking you into custody.”

  “What?”

  “I know you didn’t … I mean, I know it has nothing to do with your relationship with her, but is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Charlie looked at him for the split second needed to plant a seed of doubt in Landon’s mind. He badly wanted to spill the beans to someone, anyone, but all he could think of was the note, and it paralyzed him with fear.

  “Come on, Drew. This is me, Charlie. You know I wouldn’t hurt a flea, especially not her.”

  Landon seemed to be about to say something else when there was a loud rap on the door, and Connors appeared in the doorway.

  “Head of mission wants to see us both. Now.”

  Charlie and Connors were shown into the ambassador’s office as soon as they arrived, which was a first for Charlie, and a regrettable one at that, since he was hoping to have a few minutes to collect himself before facing Stewart. He felt flushed and dizzy as they entered Stewart’s office.

  “Come in, sit down,” Stewart said, shutting the door behind them as they took a seat around the coffee table. Stewart sat on the same side as Connors, and Charlie felt instantly outnumbered.

  “You all right, Charlie? You look a little … off.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”

  “Water please, Martine,” Stewart said curtly, waiting by the open door while his assistant fetched a couple of glasses and some bottled water.

  “Now,” he said, returning to his seat. “What’s all this about our legal counsel going missing? I just got a call from an assistant deputy minister from Justice, all hot under the collar and wanting to know how we lost one of his lawyers down here.”

  “She didn’t show up for a meeting this morning, sir,” Charlie began, filling the glass with water and pausing to gulp down a mouthful. “So Drew went over to the hotel and checked her room. She wasn’t there.”

  “When was the last time anyone saw her?” Stewart asked.

  “Last night.” Connors looked at Charlie as he replied. “Charlie and Sam Sanchez had dinner with her, then dropped her off at her hotel around … when was it, Charlie?”

  “Ten or ten-thirty.”

  “And you tried her BlackBerry?” Stewart said.

  “Yes, sir. She’s not responding to messages,” Charlie replied.

  Stewart stroked his chin with a finger. “Could she be sick? Where did you eat?”

  “La Guarida,” Charlie said. “Sam had the same entrée and he’s fine.”

  “Hmm,” Stewart looked at Connors. “Have you been in touch with the Cubans about this?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re aware of the situation and have offered their help, although technically it’s too early to file a missing person’s report.”

  “Well, how does Justice know she’s missing, then?”

  “I think one of her colleagues on the property team might have said something to someone in Ottawa, and word got around,” Connors said. Charlie stared at his feet.

 
Redden….

  “Bad news travels fast, I guess. So, what do we do?” Stewart seemed troubled by the news.

  “There’s not much we can do, other than what we’ve already done,” Connors said. “The Cuban police are on notice, and if she hasn’t turned up by tomorrow morning, we’ll file a formal request for assistance. In the meantime, we keep trying to get in touch with her.”

  “The Cubans don’t think this is related to that awful business with that poor Saini woman, do they?” Stewart asked.

  “There’s no reason to connect the two events,” Connors said, turning to Charlie. “Right?”

  “No. No reason,” Charlie said, managing to sound convincing and determined to survive this meeting so he could work out a plan.

  “When was she due to leave?” Stewart was looking at his watch.

  “This afternoon, originally, with the rest of the property team,” Connors said. “But she changed her flight to Sunday. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

  “I think she mentioned sticking around for a bit of R&R, yes,” he replied.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Stewart looked at Charlie for a moment, then back at Connors. “Are you in contact with Justice on this, Gord?”

  “Yes, I spoke to Gray’s boss and promised to keep her briefed.”

  “Good. Let’s just hope she turns up by the end of the day. I’ll need an update this evening if she hasn’t.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stewart sighed as he glanced at Charlie. “That’s all.”

  Charlie stood up and waited for Connors to join him, but Stewart waved him off. “I need a minute with Gord … alone.”

  “Of course. I’ll catch up with you later,” Charlie said, looking at Connors and making his way quickly to the door. He returned to his office and fell heavily into his chair, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out his next move. He glanced at his computer and noticed a couple of new emails, one of which featured Tate Martin’s name in the subject line. Ever since his visit to Villa Marista, Charlie had been making daily phone calls to various people in the Cuban government, asking for Martin’s immediate transfer to a more suitable facility.

  He clicked on the message and was pleasantly surprised to see that his efforts had not gone unrewarded. Martin had been transferred to La Lima, a minimum security prison in Havana. The message was short and lacked any explanation as to why Martin had been sent to Villa Marista in the first place, but Charlie wasn’t going to quibble — he had gotten the result he wanted. At least something positive had happened, he thought, imagining Martin’s relief at the transfer. But the reprieve was short-lived, as Charlie’s thoughts returned to Gray and how he was going to get her back safely. Suddenly, something occurred to him, and he was out of his chair and hurrying down the hall, hoping he could make it to the front gate without Connors stopping him.

  Chapter 35

  Charlie sat in the interview room at La Lima prison, wondering how much longer they were going to make him wait, or whether they were going to let him talk to Martin at all. Usually, consular visits were arranged well in advance, and the Cubans were sticklers for procedure. It had taken a fair bit of persuasion on Charlie’s part to get this far, but he still wasn’t sure he would get a meeting. He glanced at his watch, worrying that the longer he was out of the embassy, the longer Connors might think he was trying to give him the slip.

  He heard footsteps outside in the hall and a few seconds later the door swung open and Martin appeared with a guard. He was sporting a fresh uniform and a shave and looked much better than the last time Charlie had seen him. He stood as Martin approached and realized that, unlike the previous visits, Martin wasn’t shackled. The guard allowed Charlie to shake his hand and then left, closing the door behind him.

  “You look good,” Charlie said, as they took their seats.

  “I don’t know how you did it, but all I can say is thanks, man.” Martin shook his head, and Charlie saw a brief smile appear on his face for the first time.

  “I told you not to give up.”

  “What’s up with you though?” Martin said, his features clouding. “You look terrible.”

  Charlie was struck by the irony of his own situation being worse than the prisoner he was visiting, but decided to get to the point. “I was hoping you might be able to help me, actually.”

  “Anything,” Martin replied with a shrug.

  “Last time we met, you mentioned the investors in the new hotel you were going to be competing with were Colombian.”

  Martin nodded, his face taking on a puzzled frown.

  “Do you know who’s building it?”

  “I think it’s a Spanish contractor.”

  “It’s not Société Immobilière, is it?”

  Martin shook his head. “No, it’s not them. It’s definitely a Spanish company. I can’t remember the name.”

  Charlie nodded. “What about Diego Medina,” he said, lowering his voice, “have you ever heard of him?”

  Martin looked blank. “No. Who’s he?”

  “I know he’s Colombian, and I thought maybe he was connected to the hotel project, but I could be wrong.”

  “What’s going on, Charlie?”

  He looked at Martin and shook his head. “I can’t really get into it right now. I was just looking for general info …”

  “What does this Medina look like?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Big guy, dark features and a brush cut. He’s got a fairly distinctive scar here,” he said, pointing to his cheek. He noticed Martin’s eyes had widened visibly at the mention of the scar. “What is it?”

  Martin leaned forward across the table, prompting Charlie to do the same. His voice, when he spoke, was barely more than a whisper. “The man you’re describing … I’ve only heard of him by his nickname, and if it’s him, whatever you do, you want to stay the hell away from him, Charlie.”

  Charlie felt himself swallow hard.

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “There are some dangerous people in Havana, but this is the one guy you want to steer clear of, you know what I’m saying?”

  Charlie could tell by Martin’s expression and the barely audible whisper that he was scared, and that even if he did know more, he was unlikely to share it here, where their conversation might very well be recorded.

  “You said he had a nickname?” he whispered.

  Martin nodded, before inching even closer to speak it, with a gravity the sent a chill down Charlie’s spine.

  “They call him La Muerte.”

  Charlie swallowed hard, then took a deep breath as the two men sat in silence.

  “It seems this place is a bit better than the Villa Marista,” Charlie said, changing the subject in an attempt not to let his growing fear get the better of him.

  “It’s night and day,” Martin said. “I can’t believe you managed to pull it off. What the hell did you do, anyway?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I guess they got sick of my letters, emails, and phone calls. I didn’t even ramp it up to getting the ambassador involved.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance you could get me out of here?” Martin’s plaintive expression told Charlie that the transfer from Villa Marista had given the hotelier hope. The last thing he wanted to do was crush it. It also occurred to him that any doubts he had had as to Martin’s innocence had waned with each visit.

  “I’ll get you out, Tate,” he heard himself say, although he had no idea if he really could. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

  Chapter 36

  Charlie pulled up to his house and nodded to the guard as the gate closed behind him. He felt as though he were functioning on autopilot — driving the car, walking to the front door — all of these things were taking place, but he didn’t notice them, he was so consumed with trying to figure out what he was going to do when Diego Medina conta
cted him next.

  After returning from his visit to Martin, Charlie had spent his time trying to avoid Connors, but in the end he had been forced to give a statement, a false statement at that, given that he had refrained from mentioning that he had, in fact, seen Jillian Gray much later than the ten-thirty time he had decided to stick with for official purposes. He had also neglected to mention that he had been seduced and drugged while his house was searched a few weeks ago, or that days before that he had discovered enough dope under his bedroom floor to put him behind bars as a trafficker in most jurisdictions, before promptly dumping it all into his pool….

  What the fuck were you thinking!?

  He felt drained as he put the key in the front door, but despite his mental exhaustion, he was no further ahead in formulating a plan. These sorts of situations always arose in the movies, and the hero always had a foolproof plan that would outwit the bad guy at the last minute. But hours after receiving that fateful note, Charlie had come up with precisely nothing.

  Tossing his keys on the hall table as the door swung shut behind him, Charlie took a few steps before he registered the fact that the hallway was dark. He reached for the light switch and realized it was already in the on position. He flicked it back and forth a couple of times before it dawned on him that the power was out.

  Perfect.

  He sighed and continued on toward the kitchen, immediately re-immersed in the mental struggle of trying to figure out what to do next. The sound of his own footsteps on the tiled floor took on an otherworldly echo as he paused near the entrance to the living room, darkened even more by the trees outside the front window. He resisted the temptation to reach for the light switch, and as he stood in the doorway to the room, unable to make out more than rough outlines of furniture, he felt a chill descend his spine, just before the deep voice came from somewhere within the gloom.