Red Angel (20 page)

“Let us hope it is not an omen,” the major said.

A steady stream of people moved along the walkway that led to the entrance of the shrine. Young men and small boys lined both sides, offering bits of stone and postcard-sized pictures of the Virgin. Devlin took a piece of stone that appeared to be granite and handed two dollars to a small boy with hungry eyes. The child quickly rattled off something in Spanish and gave Devlin a picture as well.

“They’re a dollar each,” Adrianna said. “He doesn’t want to cheat you.”

Devlin ruffled the boy’s hair, then reached in his pocket and handed the child two more dollars.

“The kid would never make it in New York,” he said as he led Adrianna toward the entrance.

“Why?”

“Too honest.”

Adrianna slipped her arm into his and squeezed it against her side. “But cute and clever,” she said. “Clever enough to get two extra bucks out of you.”

Devlin stopped and turned her to face him. “You think I’ve been had?”

“Oh yes.”

His face broke into a wide grin. “The little bugger,” he said.

They passed through a gate in the low iron fence that surrounded the shrine, then through a high arched doorway. Inside, they found themselves in a modest room, no more than twenty by thirty feet. Directly opposite, facing the entrance, was an ornate altar of Gothic arches and marble pillars. Set in its center was a statue of the Virgin of Caridad. The statue was dressed in satin robes of gold and ocher, and had a smaller statue of the infant Jesus cradled in its arms. On each side of the altar, and hanging in display cases on all the walls, were gifts of thanks to the Virgin, intermingled with pleas for help. A framed notice explained that there were thousands of these gifts and pleas, with many thousands more locked away in storage vaults, Hemingway’s Nobel medal among them.

Devlin and Adrianna moved among the offerings. There were hundreds of military and sports medals, baseballs, soccer balls, small dolls, several full military uniforms, numerous passports and identity cards, even one membership card in the Cuban Communist Party. Most touching were the photographs and accompanying letters, each asking the Virgin to intercede on behalf of the person pictured. Some of the photos were of persons who were gravely ill, but most were alleged to be political prisoners, others, people who had simply disappeared. One photograph, Devlin noted, was draped with both a rosary and a red-and-white-beaded bracelet representing the Afro-Cuban god Chango.

Adrianna read one of the letters that lay beside the photograph of a young man.

“It’s from this man’s mother,” she said. “It says he was a soldier in the army, and that he was taken away at night and accused of spying. His mother says he was innocent, but was
never given a lawyer until the day of the trial, that he was convicted after only an hour of testimony, and has spent the last ten years locked in a cell with seven other men. She says he is very sick, and will die unless he is freed, and that she has appealed to the government, even to Fidel, himself, but that no one will help. Now she is turning to the Virgin as the only hope for her son, who she says is a good Catholic.”

Devlin studied the photograph. It showed a young man, dressed in the uniform of a baseball team. He was no more than nineteen or twenty when the photo was taken, and had dark, bright, happy eyes.

“Do you think that’s true? That he was never given a lawyer until the day of the trial, then convicted within an hour?”

Devlin nodded. “Martínez explained the different court systems here. Civilians have to be given a lawyer within ten days of being charged. From that point on, it’s pretty much as it is back home. Bail. House arrest if you’re sick or old. Innocent unless the state can prove otherwise. Martínez says the military isn’t bound by those rules. There, you can be held indefinitely, and you’re guilty unless you can prove them wrong. And you get one day in court to do that, with a lawyer you’ve never met, or even spoken to, going up against a panel of five judges, three of whom are military officers who approved the charges in the first place.”

“God.”

“I don’t imagine it makes for very high morale, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They aren’t doing much soldiering anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every Cuban man has to spend two years in the army. He gets his basic training, but then he’s usually sent to work on a farm. That’s the army’s main function now. Providing cheap agricultural labor. It also runs a chain of hotels for the tourist industry. Martínez said the government gave them that job almost ten years ago, because they didn’t have anything else to do.”

Devlin took her arm and led her back toward the door. “We better check with Martínez and see if his block watcher showed up.”

Adrianna put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Do you think we’ll find her, Paul? Find her body?”

Devlin shook his head. “I don’t know, babe. I think we’re getting close. But there’s too much going on that I still don’t understand. I have no idea how the game is played here. Hell, it’s worse than that. I don’t even know the name of the game we’re playing.”

Outside, they found Martínez just inside the low iron gate. He was speaking with a smallish man, about fifty years old, dressed in rumpled trousers and a work-stained T-shirt. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and matching three-day growth of stubble on his cheeks.

“This is Señor Miguel Caputo,” Martínez said. “He works as a foreman on a nearby pineapple farm, and also as one of our CDR officers here in Cobre.”

Devlin sighed inwardly. The man didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Martínez rattled off a quick explanation of who Devlin and Adrianna were, and it was met with a broad, almost toothless grin. Caputo turned to Adrianna and jabbered away in rapid-fire Spanish.

“He says he is honored to be of service, and that his entire neighborhood will be honored to have helped the police in this way.”

Devlin nodded and smiled at the man. He turned to Martínez. “That’s great,” he said. “I’m happy he’s honored. But what has he got for us?”

Ollie Pitts wandered through the gate. “Who’s honored?” he asked.

“Señor Caputo,” Devlin said. “The CDR guy.”

“So what’s the little snitch got to say?”

Martínez gestured with his hands, urging patience. “He has just arrived this very moment. Allow me to question him.”

Martínez began with the man as Adrianna translated for Devlin.

“Martínez is reminding him that he filed a report about strangers coming to the village. Caputo is saying yes, that’s true, that at first two strangers came to stay in a large house that sits on a hillside over there.”

Devlin and Adrianna turned to where the CDR man was pointing, but apparently the church blocked the hillside in question. Devlin shook his head in frustration. Adrianna continued to translate.

“He says one of the strangers is an old man, who seemed to be sickly. The man with him is younger, but not too young, and is bigger and more robust. He says there were four Abakua with them. Then more men came today. A small man, who could be a gringo, and a Cuban who looked like a policeman. They had two Abakua with them as well. He says the second group of men left by car about an hour ago.”

Devlin turned to Martínez. “The gringo? You think, maybe, Cipriani?”

Martínez questioned the CDR man again, then turned back to Devlin. “The description is fitted to him. But right now I am more interested in the one who seems to be sick. I have already left instructions that Cipriani is to be stopped if he tries to take a plane from the airport.”

“What if he leaves by car?” Devlin asked.

Martínez shrugged. “There is a main road that takes twelve hours to reach Havana. On this road we would find them. But there are also many small roads through the mountains, and few police to patrol them. If they choose this way, then it will be difficult for us. But I doubt he will travel that way, unless he suspects we are pursuing him. It would take him two days to reach Havana, and Cabrera will want
his information more quickly. And if this involves the death of the Red Angel, he will not want it discussed on the telephone.” He raised a finger. “But this other man. He is a mystery. And he is apparently ill, and has at least four Abakua with him. This we must investigate.”

“Who’s watching the house now?” Devlin asked.

A group of worshipers was moving past and Martínez lowered his voice. “Señor Caputo says his wife is being of service in his absence.”

“Jesus.”

Martínez’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Is this not how you would conduct a surveillance in New York?”

Before Devlin could answer, Caputo let out a shout and threw himself forward. Devlin spun around just as a man in a white shirt sent a knife slashing toward the little pineapple foreman’s throat. Caputo moved just in time, and the knife cut across his shoulder. Devlin pushed Adrianna behind him, his hand instinctively reaching for a nonexistent pistol, as Caputo staggered and fell to one knee. The assailant advanced, his knife low, his eyes fixed on Devlin. Behind him, a knife flashed in the hand of a second man. Devlin concentrated on the first man, his attention fixed on the knife, his own hands held slightly above the blade so he could ward off any upward thrust.

The first man feinted to his left, then took a quick step forward. Just as he was about to hook his knife upward in a killing thrust toward Devlin’s heart, Caputo threw his body into the man’s knees. The assailant staggered, still lunging forward, but Devlin grabbed his wrist, twisting it away. His other hand shot out, slapping the back of the man’s head, then pushing down as his knee smashed into the attacker’s face.

The man hit the ground and his knife spun away. Devlin’s eyes snapped up, searching for the second man. That fight was already over. The man lay on the ground, Martínez’s
pistol only inches from his face, Ollie Pitts’s size-twelve shoe pressed against his throat.

Adrianna came into Devlin’s arms and hugged him. Her entire body was trembling.

“Abakua?” Devlin asked, over her shoulder.

Martínez’s men raced in from the parking lot. Martínez turned away from the fallen attacker and holstered his automatic.

“Yes, they are Abakua,” he said. His face filled with rage as he stared at the fallen CDR man. Blood poured from a wound only inches from the small man’s throat.

Martínez snapped out a command, and one of his men raced back toward the parking lot. Then he knelt next to the fallen man and spoke soothing words in Spanish.

“He’s telling him that his man is going for a medical kit and to radio for an ambulance,” Adrianna said. She watched as Martínez took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. “I think he’s worried the knife may have hit an artery.”

Devlin pulled away and knelt down next to Caputo. The little man’s color had faded badly, and he seemed about to go into shock. Devlin turned back to Adrianna and asked for the shawl she was wearing, then covered Caputo’s body as best he could.

“How’s he doing?” Devlin asked.

Martínez’s head snapped up. “Who, this unimportant little pineapple farmer? This … snitch?”

“He’s a brave man.”

Martínez looked down again, and ran a hand along Caputo’s forehead. “When he was just a small boy, he fought in these mountains with Fidel. He was twice wounded. When the revolution ended, the Comandante personally awarded him a medal for his courage.” He looked up again.

Devlin chewed his lip. “I owe him,” he said.

The major’s eyes did not soften. “Yes, señor, you do.”

* * *

They hit the house half an hour later. Martínez’s men moved in quickly and professionally. Doors were smashed open, and the house was searched room to room. It was empty.

Caputo’s wife arrived and told them that a car had left with six men and headed for the shrine. She said she followed it to the foot of the drive that led to the parking area and saw it leave quickly. That was almost a half hour ago, she said. And, when it left, the car held only four men.

Martínez told her what had happened and ordered one of his men to take her to her husband. Adrianna and three of Martínez’s officers had remained with the fallen CDR man to await the ambulance that had been summoned from Santiago.

Devlin glanced at his watch. “The four who took off could be at the airport by now,” he said.

“I will radio ahead,” Martínez said. He gave Devlin a steady look. “Whoever they are, they were waiting to see you dead.”

I give to you several choices,” Martínez said. “I have available to me a very fast boat that can get you to Key West in a matter of hours. I believe a telephone call can also have American police waiting there when you arrive.

“Next is our own court system, a choice that will undoubtedly lead to one of the many prisons that are even less pleasant man the Villa Marista.

“Finally, you may choose to help the police in their duties, and when all is finished, you may find yourself sitting on one of the lovely beaches of Brazil.”

Robert Cipriani stared at his shoes and said nothing. He was seated in the same room where Baba Briyumbe had been questioned. Cabrera’s man, Major Cepedes, was under guard in an adjoining room. The two Abakua, who had accompanied them to the airport, were now sharing a cell with the pair arrested in Cobre after the attempt on Devlin’s life. Much to Martínez’s displeasure, the four men who had fled the shrine by car were still at large.

Cipriani looked up at the major. His eyes were devoid of
any hope. “I’ve already answered your questions. I want to be returned to the Villa Marista.”

Martínez turned to Devlin and Pitts. “This is the first time in my experience that anyone has volunteered for a cell in the Villa Marista. State Security must have greatly improved the accommodations.” He spun around and brought his face within inches of Cipriani’s. “This is your last chance. If you continue to tell me you were released, under guard, so you could visit an anonymous friend, you will be held incommunicado for ten days, as our law allows. Then you will be placed on trial for conspiracy to commit murder. I suspect Colonel Cabrera will also charge you with escape, and Major Cepedes will be given a medal for achieving your capture. If you are found innocent of these charges, you will be placed on the fast boat I spoke of, and returned to the United States, where a long prison term awaits you. Now speak, or prepare yourself for everything I have told you.”