Havana Bay (21 page)

"I'm trying to imagine."

"Don't. They finally gave up and brought me back to
Havana and gave me a cushy job translating Spanish to
English. It was a comedown, but I was still full of
revolutionary zeal and I would translate thirty pages a
day until my Cuban colleagues took me aside and said,
'Jorge, what the fuck is the matter with you? We're each
translating three pages a day. You're upsetting the
quota.' I think the day I heard those words I understood
what Cuba was all about. The light dawned. Karl Marx
had hit the beach and all the mother wanted was a cold
daiquiri and a good cigar. You know, when the Soviet
Union was paying, it was kind of a party here. The
problem is, the party's over."

"Still..." Arkady tried to align the images of the
world-shaker and investment hustler.

Walls caught the look.» I know, I was
somebody.
Look, so was Eldridge Cleaver and Stokely Carmichael.
Brother Cleaver crawled back to the States to do time,
and Stokely ended up in Africa mad as a bedbug,
dressed up in his uniform and gun in Kissidougou waiting for the revolution to come knocking on his
door. So tell me, did Isabel ask you to get her out of
Cuba?"

"Yes."

"Well, she obsesses on this, she obsesses on men she
thinks can help. And she's right, they'll never let her be
a prima ballerina here and they'll never let her out. Do
you love her?"

"I just met her."

"But I saw you two together. Men fall in love with
her very fast, especially when they see her dance. Some
times they fall all over themselves to offer to help."

 
"I would help if I could."

"Ah, that means you have no idea of the situation."

"I'm sure of that," Arkady admitted.» Do you know
Sergei Pribluda?"

"I did. I heard they found him in the bay. Are you a
spy too?"

"Prosecutor's investigator."

"But Sergei's friend?"

"Yes."

"Let's talk outside." Walls led Arkady past the recep
tion desk and through the fronds of a small yard to the
street where a sleekly molded white American conver
tible with a red leather interior sat at the curb. On
rounded tail fins were silver rings and on the lid of the trunk the mere suggestion of a spare tire. As if he were
introducing a person, Walls said, "'57 Chrysler Imperial. Three hundred twenty-five horsepower V-8, TorqueFlite transmission, Torsion Aire suspension. Ernest Heming
way's car."

"You mean, like Hemingway's car?"

Walls caressed the fender.» No, I mean Hemingway's
car. It was Papa Hemingway's, now it's mine. What I
wanted to talk about is this letter coming from Russia
for Isabel. Did she tell you about her family?"

"A little."

"Her father?"

"No."

Walls dropped his voice.» I love Cubans, but they do
trim the truth. Look, these people bankrupted Russia.
At a certain point Russia was bound to say, 'Let's get
somebody sane in charge.'"

Why? Arkady wondered. Russia never had anyone sane
in charge. Why pick on Cuba? "What are you talking
about?"

"Lazaro Lindo was number two in the Cuban Party,
posted in Moscow, a logical choice. It was supposed to be a quiet coup, just a swift transfer of power and a
comfortable house arrest for Fidel. Lindo came back
from Moscow on a black plane and all the way he was
told about troops mobilizing and tanks revving. You
can imagine the scene when the poor son of a bitch gets
off the plane and there's Fidel waiting at the bottom of
the ramp. The same night the embassy in Moscow
bundles Mrs. Lindo and Isabel, who's two years old,
onto another plane for Havana."

"Fidel knew?"

"From the start. He let the plot roll to see who'd sign on. There's a reason the Comandante has survived this
long."

"What happened to Isabel?"

"Her mother went crazy and fell under a bus. Isabel was raised by her aunt under another name, which was
the only reason she was picked for dance school. Cuban
ballet is like Cuban sports, a miracle until you find out
how it's done. They search the country for little pros
pects and she was a star at twelve. The uproar when
they figured out she was Lazaro Lindo's little girl? Now,
they point to her and say, 'See how we let the children of enemies of the people rejoin society.' What they're
not going to do is promote the name Isabel Lindo on
the bill as a prima ballerina, and they're never going to
let her tour."

"Is her father still alive?"

"Died in jail. Somebody dropped a rock on him.
What I'm saying is, this is no ordinary message Isabel
wants from Russia. It might have all sorts of names and
accusations and the messenger may be very sorry that
he helped stir things up. She won't tell you that, but I
will."

"I appreciate it."

"She's difficult, I know. You can help."

"How?"

"Don't get her hopes up."

"Did Pribluda get her hopes up?"

"Sergei was going to work for me."

"As what?"

"Security."

"Security? What kind of security can a Russian offer
in Cuba? Is the Russian Mafia here?"

"Close. In Antigua, the Caymans, Miami. Not in
Havana, not yet. Actually, what I worry about now is
Luna. Have you seen the sergeant today?"

"Not yet. Luna said I would see him again, and I
don't think he's a man of idle threats. I doubt Sergeant
Luna knows what an idle threat is."

Walls went around to the passenger side and opened
the dashboard. Nested on chamois cloth was a huge
handgun with a slot trigger.» A Colt .45 automatic, a
classic, Fidel's favorite. Luna has been useful. He has a
lot of interesting connections. But you saw last night
how he's just getting out of control. I have to disengage and it might be easier with someone watching my back.
Maybe you'd be interested."

Arkady had to smile. Not much had amused him
lately, but this offer did.» Right now I'm watching my
own back."

"You don't look it. You have a 'fuck you' quality in
an understated way. You could do general security,
too."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"You'd learn."

"Actually, I prefer safer work."

"It's absolutely safe. The truth is, Arkady, I live in
this tropical paradise on sufferance. There are people
who would seize any opportunity, any embarrassment
and say, 'Screw George Washington Walls, he's yester
day's news; if the Americans still want him, send him
back.' In my situation, the quieter the better."

"Well, that's interesting, but I'm only in Cuba a few
days."

"People say that. People say they're just coming
through Havana, but you'd be surprised how often they stay. Someone conies around the world to a place like
this, it's not pure chance. There's a reason."

 
Chapter Twelve

Arkady expected that any minute Luna would drop
from a street sign or pop up from a manhole cover and
make good on his promise to "fuck him up." Fucking
up and killing were close but not the same. There was
that added sexual charge, the suggestion of rough mat
ing, as if a missing eye or ear were a reasonable token
of intercourse. Killing was clean. Fucking up sounded
messy.

Strangely enough, though, Arkady felt revitalized.
Not exactly happy, but fueled by the search for the
photograph and the small license it gave him to ask questions about Pribluda. Amused also, in a time of
depression, by the implausible offer of employment
providing security for an American radical like George
Washington Walls. Perhaps because Havana was so
unreal to him Arkady felt slightly invulnerable, like a
man aware he is only having a nightmare. Luna was a nightmare figure. Luna was perfect.

When he got back to Pribluda's flat he propped the
front door shut and carried a bottle of chilled water to
the office, where he turned on the computer and, when
the machine demanded a password, entered
gordo.
The machine chirped and the screen blinked and offered
icons:
programs, startup, accessories, main,
printer.
Twenty-five years in the KGB and an agent
used a turtle's name as his password. Lenin wept.

Still interested in Pribluda's last day, Arkady went
through
accessories
to
calendar.
Hours, days,
months rolled backward without appointments, but
what curious comfort to take, he thought. He couldn't
speak Spanish, but he could navigate the universal PC desktop. CUMIN was the Cuban Ministry of Sugar and charts, RUSMIN the Russian Ministry of Trade, SUG-
FUT the futures prices of Cuban, Brazilian and Indian
sugar as they competed in commodities pits. Mean
while, a downstairs din of drums and maracas suggested
that Erasmo the car mechanic was at work. Arkady intended to talk to Mongo and find a photograph of
Pribluda, but first things first, while he had the
inspiration.

He opened
sughab,
which divided Havana into 150
sugar mills. The last file saved was
comcfueg.

Commune Camilo Cienfuegos is the former Hershey
sugar mill east of Havana. Visits to the field uncover
poor Cuban maintenance of antiquated equipment.
However, we must also frankly acknowledge that
Russian ships carrying spare parts have failed to materialize, the latest being a freighter which was
expected to make Havana by last week. It is suspected
that the ship's captain has diverted it to another port
along the South American coast and sold its cargo
for a better price. Regrettably, this makes negotiations
with the Ministry of Sugar more difficult.

Arkady supposed the Cubans would be testy about
that. He started a search for the Havana Yacht Club. Nothing. Rufo Pinero. Nothing. Sergeant Luna and, for good measure, Captain Arcos. Nothing. Opened the E-
mail outbox and inbox. Empty.

A document labeled
azupanama
caught his eye
because Vice Consul Bugai had mentioned successful
negotiations between Russia and Cuba thanks to a
Panamanian sugar broker of that name, and Arkady
thought it might be interesting to see what role the
commercial attache Sergei Pribluda had played in that.
He hit
retrieve,
and from its grave sprang a short,
one-sided correspondence.

[email protected]/IntelWeb/ru Wed Aug 5 1996
A.I. Serkov, Manager
Diamond International Trading
1123 Smolenskaya Ploshad, Rm. 167
Moscow

Dear Serkov,

Greetings from the land of mambo kings. I am just
now getting used to sending mail through the inter
net so I hope you are all well, etc. The weather is
agreeable, thank you. Let me know if this reaches
you safely.
Yours,
S.S. Pribluda

It was like watching someone learn to ride a bicycle.

A.I. Serkov

Diamond International Trading

Dear Serkov,

Progress.

Yours,

S.S. Pribluda

Arkady liked the sound of that. Progress! Russian
and to the point. Also interesting in that it had no E-
mail address or time sent, suggesting that it was a note
for a real message to be sent from an encrypted machine at the embassy.