Suspicion of Rage (16 page)

She'd heard a key in the door, and her heart had nearly stopped. When she told him her fears, he laughed. He gave her a croissant and coffee and a kiss on the cheek, and they went out on the balcony to talk. He told her that Hector Mesa had dug up the answers to most of his questions.

Well, of course Hector could dig them up. He had ties to God-only-knew what kind of spies, counterspies, and paramilitary fanatics. Such a shadowy little man, hiding behind a suit and black-framed glasses. He had spied for U.S. counterintelligence; he had assassinated leftists and organized raids into Cuba for Anthony's grandfather, none of which Gail was supposed to know about. Hector would fall on his sword for Ernesto Pedrosa. Gail assumed this meant that Hector wouldn't stab Anthony in the back with it.

It was true about Everett Bookhouser. He was a spy. No, more than a spy. He'd been seen in meetings with the president's national security advisor. Bora in Morocco to an American diplomat. Graduate degree in international relations from Georgetown; fluent in Arabic, French, Russian, and Spanish. In the 1980s, stationed in Israel. Most recently in Pakistan, mission unknown. Also unknown: why Everett Bookhouser would be interested in Ramiro Vega.

As if scanning a list floating somewhere over the ocean, Anthony told her about the man he would meet today at the park near the Capitol. Major General Abdel Evaristo García. Never married, no children. Age fifty-six, deputy minister of MINBAS—the Ministry of Basic Industries. Member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Studied military science in Moscow. Served in Angola, then headed a military mission in Ethiopia. Injured in battle, taken hostage. His jaw had been broken during an interrogation. Awarded a medal: Hero of the Republic of Cuba. In the 1980s, in charge of getting weapons to insurgents in Central and South America. Rumors of contacts with arms dealers in states of the former Soviet Union and the Middle East.

"In 1988, Garcia was promoted to general and in the same year assigned to the Cuban nuclear program. The Russians were financing a reactor in Cienfuegos province, but when the Soviet Union collapsed, construction stopped. Since 1996, Garcia has been at Basic Industries. He's not well known by the public or popular among the rank and file, but very close to Fidel's brother, Raúl, who may be the next
líder máximo
when Fidel is gone."

Anthony glanced into his coffee cup, finished off what remained, and set the cup beside Gail's. "They say that on a clear day, if you stand on top of this building with a telescope, you can see Key West." He nodded toward the wider street to their left, barely visible around the side of the building. "That's La Rampa—the ramp. The street goes down to the Malecón. Before the Revolution, this area used to be wild. Gambling, strip clubs, prostitution, the Mafia—"

"I'll put it on my tour." Gail shifted her eyes back to Anthony. "I gather that you still don't know why Garcia wants to see you."

"No, I don't. If he wants to go fishing, that's okay with me. Would you stop worrying?" Leaning on one elbow, Anthony reached out and pulled her to him. "I am sorry to have left you last night, even for one minute."

Sliding her arms under his jacket, she set her chin on his shoulder. He felt solid and warm. In the far distance a stone lighthouse and the walls of a fortress rose up from a promontory across Havana Bay. She said, "Do you have to go? I wish you wouldn't."

"Well, I don't want to make it tough for Ramiro. He works for him."

"That is so lame. Ramiro's career doesn't depend on what
you
do. There must be a better reason than that. Why?"

Anthony's lips found the tender spot under her ear.
"Cielito,
do you remember what we said about this trip? It's the honeymoon we didn't have time to take. Let's do something, the two of us. Why don't we rent a car and drive to Varadero Beach today for lunch?"

"Anthony—"

"The water is beautiful, like turquoise. You think Irene would mind watching Karen?"

She put her hands flat against his chest. "Why do you
have
to meet Garcia?"

His brows made a little lift, matched by his shoulders. "Because if I don't, he will put us on a flight to Miami, and we'll have to explain to U.S. Customs what we were doing in Cuba. I don't want any problems, not for you and your mother, the kids—"

"Oh, God. I knew it."

"It's not a big deal, but I tell you something like that, you start worrying about it, getting neurotic, you know how you are—"

"You
lied.
Do you think I can't handle it? Or what, exactly?"

"Are you trying to start a fight with me? Sweet-heart?" He tilted his wrist to check the time. "We should get back to Malta's before everyone wakes up."

"Wait," she said. "I have to ask you something. I asked you beforehand I never got a good answer."

"Cono."
He let out a breath. "All right. What?"

"How did Bookhouser persuade you to get involved? No, not persuade,
force,
because otherwise, you wouldn't touch it." She hugged his arm tightly. "Anthony, I swear to God I don't want to fight with you, I just want to understand what's going on. I love you, and I'm worried, and if you think that's neurotic, too bad. Why are you doing this?"

Anthony took a few seconds to reply, "For Marta. For my family."

"What does that mean?"

She could see the thoughts assembling themselves into proper order in his mind. He said, "Last month a Cuban Army major named Omar Céspedes walked into the American embassy in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and requested political asylum. He was interviewed at length by the CIA, and he alleged that Ramiro Vega wanted to defect. Is this true? I doubt it. Céspedes got this alleged information from a source that Bookhouser refuses to name. Ramiro has never shown the least indication to me that he wanted to leave. I said to Bookhouser, forget it, I'm not interested. Then he told me that Ramiro is in danger. He has rivals who think he's gaining too much power. They want to get rid of him. They would accuse him of taking kickbacks from foreign companies. Theft from the state. If it's true, it could be serious for him."

"How serious?"

"Life in prison. If they were really out to get him ... they could sentence him to death—"
 

"Oh, God."

"They haven't used the death penalty in a long time."
 

"But they could."

"They could, if they want to make an example."

Gail took a breath. "So you're going to tell Ramiro he has to get out."

"I'm going to try. Bookhouser could have made it up." A slight smile curved Anthony's lips. "He gave me a number to call after I speak to Ramiro." Anthony jerked his head in the direction of downtown Havana. "He's probably down there now with his cell phone in his pocket. This is what I will do: I will ask Ramiro if he wants to defect, he will tell me I'm full of shit, and I call Señor Bookhouser to give my report. If he wants anything else, he can go to hell." When his eyes moved to Gail, they held a challenge. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yes. Thank you." She kept the emotion out of her voice, but the flutter in her stomach had returned.

He continued, "I give you one other item of interest. Omar Céspedes was on Garcia's staff at MINBAS. Garcia has to be aware that Céspedes defected. I think he wants to find out what's going on, and that I can tell him."

"Wonderful. Abdel Garcia thinks you're working for the CIA. Where's he taking you?"

The smile reappeared. "Don't worry. He won't tie me to a chair and beat me with a rubber hose. Maybe we'll go for a drink at the Hotel Inglaterra. It's not far from the park where he's going to pick me up. I should take your mother there sometime. Irene would like it, all the mosaic tile and the fountain and the indoor garden."

"How civilized."

Anthony took Gail's hand, and he must have felt her icy fingers. He curled them around his own and brought them to his lips, warm in the roughness of his beard. "Take a nap while I'm gone. We have dinner tonight with José and Yolanda. Remember?"

"God, I forgot all about it. Do be sure to tell General Garcia about your friends in the opposition. We'll be lucky if he doesn't kick us out of Cuba for that."

"I am sure he's aware of it," Anthony said. "Remind me to give you some money. I want you to buy some wine for dinner, would you, sweetheart? Something nice. One red, one white. And a decent bottle of Scotch. Marta knows where." He picked up the cups and stepped toward the open sliding door.

Gail said, "How do you take kickbacks if you're a general in the Army? Not to say Ramiro
does.
I'm just curious."

He turned around. "Well, if you're dealing with foreign companies, you could make sure they get their electricity connected on schedule. You suggest that finding good workers might cost a little more. That sort of thing. The army controls sixty percent of the Cuban economy. They have turned into CEOs and bureaucrats. Fidel Castro put them in charge so that he, as commander-in-chief, can retain control. The generals don't do such a bad job. They aren't as corrupt as the rest of Cuban society, where larceny is a form of survival."

"Could it be," Gail suggested, "that the CIA wants Ramiro for his knowledge of the economy?"

"Hardly. The U.S. knows exactly what's going on. We know their banking system and their foreign debt, how many dollars they spend on frozen chicken parts from Texas, and how many dollars they collect from tourists at the Tropicana night club, everything."

"Chicken parts from Texas?" Gail repeated.

"It's called a special trade agreement," Anthony said. "The embargo is full of holes."

"And used for political purposes on both sides," Gail said.

"Exactly."

She said, "Do you think it's true that Ramiro is taking bribes?"

"That's not something he would confide in me, is it? I wouldn't be surprised if he's hedging his bets and stashing money offshore. He would be stupid not to, in these times. It may certainly be true that he has rivals. That I would not doubt."

"What is it? That he wants changes, and they don't?"

"It would be the other way around. Ramiro is not a reformer. He's a
duro,
a hard-liner. He makes jokes, but most of them do, at least in private. They don't want changes, because where else could they find a job? A very funny man, my brother-in-law. He voted to enshrine socialism in the Cuban constitution, forever untouchable."

Anthony held up his hands. "Enough. Let's get out of here." He tugged Gail inside and slid the door shut. The mechanical whir from the adjacent rooftop ceased, leaving near total silence.

"Then why do they want him so badly?"

"What?"

"Bookhouser and company. If Ramiro is so dedicated to Cuba, why do they want him?"

"Because he's a general. Because they think he will jump ship, and so few of them do. Because they have their heads up their asses. Get your purse. Did you leave anything in the bathroom?"

"No, nothing," Gail said. "What's he like, Everett Bookhouser? Does he wear a black suit and sunglasses?"

"Yes, and so does his dog." Anthony crossed to the table and dropped the cups next to the bag he'd brought from downstairs. The croissants still lay there, uneaten. "He looks like an accountant."

"Sort of harmless?"

Anthony glanced at her. "Sort of invisible. He's getting a little bald on the top, so he buzzes his hair. Pale eyes. He's about my age, a little shorter. Muscular. It doesn't show under the suit, but you see it in his hands."

Gail picked up her purse. "You know, Hector told you something that stuck in my mind. He said Bookhouser is fluent in Arabic." She watched Anthony scan the room for anything they may have left behind. He automatically patted his pockets. She said, "Don't you think that's a little strange?"

"What is?"

"That Everett Bookhouser speaks Arabic?"
 

"Strange?"

"Yes. What's he doing in Havana?"

"He is also fluent in Spanish."

Gail said, "Your grandfather told me that Castro is sending money to Al-Qaeda."

"My grandfather is a lunatic. He's sure that Castro is making a nuclear bomb. He promised George W. Bush half a million dollars for his reelection if he would invade Cuba. Listen. Tonight at José's, I might have to leave a little early. Ramiro and I have a date. Don't worry, José will see that you get back safely to Malta's. Take a taxi. Don't let the driver charge you more than five dollars. And make sure my son doesn't go anywhere. Danny thinks this is spring break in Cancun."

Opening the door, Anthony motioned for her to hurry up.

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and glanced both ways down the hall. She whispered, "Anthony. If you're in more danger than you're admitting, I will break your neck. I swear I will."

He kissed her quickly. "No, sweetheart. We haven't yet had a proper honeymoon. I wouldn't deprive you of that."

"You're so full of it.'!

"And I love you too. Come on, let's get out of here."

 

 

 

 

12

 

 

Karen's eyes came open, and she jerked like someone had tried to push her down the stairs. She lifted her head, and for a minute she couldn't remember where she was, except on a narrow cot with her legs tangled up in the sheets.

Looking around, she saw Janelle's double bed and her arm hanging over the side of it, and her long, curly hair. She was breathing funny, first a little click in her throat, then a soft buzzing noise. Karen pushed up on her arms to see past Janelle. The other side of the bed was empty. Angela wasn't there.

The light coming through the lace curtains was so dim she thought that the sun was just up, or else it was going to rain today. She lay back down but the dream echoed in her head, too distant now for her to say what it had been about. She listened for sounds in the house and heard nothing. She wondered if her mother and Anthony were home. They had left last night after dinner, and her mother had said don't wait up.

Karen wouldn't have cared about it, their leaving like that, but she wanted to ask her mother what was going on with the general and his wife. They'd started yelling at each other in their bedroom, and somebody had thrown something against the wall. Janelle had acted like they did it all the time. Angela had given Karen a look, like
don't even ask, so
Karen hadn't. She'd wanted to put on her headphones and listen to music, but Danny and Gio had borrowed her iPod. Karen didn't know what they'd done with it. Probably taken it with them and lost it, with her luck.