Havana Best Friends (28 page)

Elena reached across the table and poked him in the ribs. “Well, say something. You think I’m joking?”

“Show me,” he said.

Grinning widely, she led the way to the bathroom first. Miranda took in the tools on the floor before peering at the cavity where the diamonds had lain undisturbed for forty-odd years. Next she took him into her bedroom and pointed to the bedside table. Miranda approached the piece of furniture and stared reverently at the stones for almost a minute before choosing one, turning on the lamp, and examining it under the light. It was the first brilliant-cut, in fact the first gem, he had seen in his life. He returned the diamond to the pile, turned off the lamp, and faced Elena.

“Daughter, the Special Period is over for you.”

Elena laughed her throaty laugh and clapped her hands in delight, then checked herself. “Assuming they are the real thing.”

“Oh, you can be sure they are,” Miranda said as he leaned against the dressing table. “You put two and two together and make four. The owner of this building built it with embezzled funds, lived in this apartment. When we moved here the tenant of apartment six – Tomas something, I don’t remember, he left in ’63 or ’64 – told me the man’s surname. Consuegra rings a bell. And, yes, I seem to recall this tenant said he had a son and a daughter. The rumour was he paid Batista two hundred thousand dollars to be appointed Treasury Undersecretary.”

“Oh, c’mon, Dad,” Elena said, sitting down on the bed. “Spare me the propaganda.”

“You don’t know. That was how things really worked. I’ll tell you a story, one I have reason to believe is true. There was a guy who paid three hundred thousand for the post of chief of the Havana Port customs. He was so brazen about taking bribes from importers, exporters, and professional smugglers that Batista himself fired him after three months. You know what his
alleged comment was? ‘A little foot-dragging and I would have lost money.’ ”

“Wow.”

“According to this Tomas, Consuegra must have known how to swim
and
watch over his clothes, because he kept his post for nearly three years. I seem to recall he was an accountant by profession. Obviously he hid these diamonds here dreading confiscation. When he realized Batista was doomed, he probably sent most of the money he embezzled abroad. From the Treasury it must have been easy to manage it; just a few bank wires, I presume. But you can’t wire diamonds. Smuggling them out was too risky, so he hid them here figuring the Revolution wouldn’t last and he would recover his treasure.”

Elena was now convinced that the diamonds were not fakes. But then another problem occurred to her and she raised her eyebrows. “But, Dad, how can I sell them? I mean, you know, I just can’t say, ‘Look what I found. I want to sell this.’ ”

“Of course not. You find a treasure, any kind of treasure, you must turn it in to the government.”

“That figures. So, what should I do?”

“The first thing you’ve got to do is keep your mouth shut. Don’t mention this to anyone except me.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. Make me some more coffee. Let’s try to work out how you should go about it.”

“I had been thinking about sounding out a foreign businessman.”

“Possibly. You know one?”

“Who, me? No. The only foreigners I’ve met are Sean and Marina.”

“Let’s go back to the kitchen. I need coffee. My brain works better with caffeine in my bloodstream.”

The meter read $12.10. Marina gave the driver $25 and left the taxi. A porter pushing his cart approached her. She shook her head and entered the terminal. She went to the information counter first and learned that no plane bound for Canada had departed in the last twelve hours; the next one was scheduled for 3:15 p.m., a LACSA flight to Toronto. She thanked the woman, then looked around. The usual hubbub. Trying to appear unconcerned, Marina sashayed from one end of the terminal to the other without spotting Sean. She eased herself into a plastic chair close to the empty LACSA counter and braced herself for a long wait. Her watch read 9:32. She inhaled deeply and looked in all directions, an action she was to repeat regularly for the next hour and a half.

Sitting in a pew close to a side door in Santa Rita de Casia, two feet away from his captor and pretending to be unconcerned, Sean let his gaze wander. He was unable to identify the richly adorned images on the high altar, except for Christ on the cross. Saints, he reckoned. Confessionals, candlesticks, the smell of burnt wax. Maybe thirty people alternately sitting, kneeling, and standing. No stained-glass windows, though. It was a modern, simple church; not one of those massive three-hundred-year-old cathedrals so common in Europe and Latin America.

Sean considered his options. Truman would take him to Elena’s, threaten her with the gun, search her apartment, try to
find out the truth. How would she react? When renting the room where he was searched Truman had said a few words in Spanish, not many, but enough to ask simple questions. What would her reaction be? Tell all? It was reasonable to assume that in the presence of this menacing stranger she would side with him. What about Marina? Perhaps she would think of searching for him at Elena’s, of confiding to the Cuban teacher the predicament she was in, the kind of bastard he was.

Well, the Argentinian would change her mind when she realized he had been kidnapped, hate herself for having imagined he had betrayed her. That would make two backups should things take a turn for the worse. The women might help him overpower Truman. Or they might freeze. He could try to hit his captor on the head with some object, the cane if nothing heavier was available, then grab the gun and shoot him if he had to. He’d have to improvise. Maybe Elena would deny the find and they could persuade the cocksucker that there had been no diamonds behind the soap dish. Perhaps Truman would believe his version after inspecting the bathroom. And he wouldn’t kill them if he was convinced they hadn’t found the gems.
Don’t count on it
, Sean said to himself.

He had to hand it to him: Truman was considerably shrewder, much more cunning than he had figured. He’d never know how the guy had found out when they were flying to Havana, the hotel where they would stay. Maybe he had kept watch the night before from this same church. The apartment building was not visible, but most of the park and a section of the sidewalks of 26th could be kept under observation without attracting attention. But how could he have overheard? Had he planted a bug? Sean realized he’d never know that either. Possibly he had stalked Pablo from
here too. But, having missed the stones hidden in the cane, Truman might be persuaded that they hadn’t scored, that several people had been duped by the fantasy concocted by a dying old man. This psychological advantage was Sean’s secret weapon.

Truman was also planning his next move. He was running out of time. As soon as Mass ended they would leave, mixing with the rest of the congregation, then stroll to the apartment building. A couple of tourists amazed at the ficus. Once in the apartment he would find out the truth if he had to pull her teeth out. He would bind and gag them – sheets, curtains, towels, whatever was available – and make a thorough search. Should he find nothing, he’d leave them tied up and take the first plane out; but if the diamonds were there he’d break two more necks. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Truman chuckled. Sean stole a sidelong glance at his captor.

Elena and her father were debating the best way to profit from the diamonds when the buzzer rang. Both frowned before Elena jumped up from her seat with a fresh grin. “It must be Marina and Sean. They said they would drop by in the morning to say goodbye. Come, I want you to meet them.”

Miranda thought for a moment. “No, I’ll stay here. It’s best if they don’t see me.”

“Why?”

“I’m a convict. I’m not supposed to talk to foreigners or know what’s going on here.”

“But they don’t know you’re a convict.”

“Elena, believe me, it’s best if they don’t meet me.”

The buzzer rang for the second time.

“Okay.” Elena, sounding unconvinced, left the kitchen.

She flung the main door open and faced Sean. His expression was different, troubled. She noticed he needed a shave. Behind him stood a tall, overweight man who hadn’t shaved in two or three days, his right hand buried in the pocket of his sports coat. Both had dark crescents under bloodshot eyes and looked as if they hadn’t slept the night before. Since day one Sean had inspired confidence; the man behind him wouldn’t inspire confidence in a lifetime.

“Hi, Sean.”

“Hi, Elena.”

“Y Marina, ¿dónde está?” she asked as she stood on tiptoes to peer past them.

Sean guessed what Elena was asking.
She isn’t here, cross her name off
, he thought. “Can we come in?” he said, giving Elena a fast, conspiratorial wink.

“What?” Elena asked, in English.

Sean shrugged and raised his eyebrows. The overweight man whispered something in his ear. “¿Podemos pasar?” Sean repeated with a lousy accent.

“Sure,” Elena said, with a wave of her arm. Why were they drenched in sweat? Leaning on his cane, Sean limped in. The hulking man followed. An unnatural, indefinable aura also came in. Elena knitted her brow.
What’s wrong?
she asked herself as she closed the door. When she turned to face them, she spotted the gun the stranger now held in plain view and gasped.

“Silencio,” the stranger said.

Elena gave him a quick, acquiescent nod.

“¿Dónde está?” Truman asked.

“¿Dónde està qué?” Elena said, just to gain time. She had realized what the stranger was trying to get his hands on. Her father came to her mind.
Hide, Dad
, trying to be telepathic.

“Habla o te mataré,” Truman said in Spanish. Talk or I’ll kill you.

Elena identified panic worming its way out through her brain cells, squeezing her bladder. Who was this bull of a man who had brought Sean to her place at gunpoint? Where was Marina? What the hell was going on? She was speechless for a few seconds. “¿Qué quiere saber?” What do you want to know? she finally managed to ask.

Truman had reached the limit of his Spanish vocabulary, a few phrases picked up in Central America. He was frustrated; anger boiled inside him. “Tell the bitch I’ll kill her if she doesn’t come clean,” he ordered Sean.

“Be sensible,” Sean said, trying to placate the man. “I told you she doesn’t speak English. That was why I brought the Latin broad with me. There’s nothing here. We found nothing, goddammit. Now, Ernie, let’s be reasonable … stop this …”

“Don’t fucking ‘Ernie’ me, Lawson. I’m not stupid. I heard you hammering away somewhere in this apartment. You said it was a soap dish in the bathroom.”

“That’s correct,” Sean admitted, hoping to gain a few more minutes.

“Let’s go see,” Truman ordered, pointing to the hallway with his gun and pushing Sean. Having understood the word
bathroom
, Elena mustered enough courage to turn and lead the way. Had Sean told him that the diamonds were in the bathroom? As she went past the swinging door to the kitchen, out of the corner
of her eye she tried to see if her father was visible. He wasn’t. She figured he had heard the brief exchange, realized something was wrong, and hid behind the door she never closed.
Don’t come out, Dad, please
. She stopped at the entrance to the bathroom.