Four Months in Cuba Page 7

  “You can still be your own man. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “What about if I run the operation?”

  “I would have a problem with that.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I’m in.”

  As expected, in the weeks that followed, there were times when I regretted making that offer.

  Chapter 8

  When I left Gabriel’s room, I told him not to contact the DDO’s office for a reassignment request until I’d had a chance to speak with Carlton.

  Since Gabriel had worked with Carlton before, he knew what a stickler he was for observing Agency rules, and he immediately agreed he’d wait to hear from me before getting in touch with the DDO.

  Instead of going back up to my room, I took the elevator down to the lobby. From there, I followed the signs past the gift shop to the outdoor swimming pool. On the horizon, just beyond the pool, were the blue waters of the Caribbean and the private beach reserved exclusively for guests of the Meliã, complete with red-striped cabanas and white Adirondack chairs.

  That’s where I headed.

  The moment I sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs, I spotted a young couple in a cabana about a hundred yards away, but, other than the two love birds, the beach appeared to be deserted.

  I pulled out my Agency phone and called Communication Services. Once I’d given them my four-digit code, Carlton came on the line.

  “Okay, I did it.”

  “Did what?” he asked.

  “Just complicated my life.”

  “You didn’t shoot somebody, did you?”

  A few years ago, I’d called Carlton about a messy situation that required a cleanup crew. That scenario had complicated both our lives, so I knew he wasn’t joking.

  Truth be told, he seldom joked about anything.

  “No, I didn’t shoot anyone, but I did ask Keith Gabriel if he’d like to be reassigned to the Peaceful Retrieval operation.”

  “You’re not forgetting what happened in Libya, are you?”

  “I doubt if I’ll ever forget Libya. But here’s the thing, Douglas. We needed a Plan B just in case we aren’t able to identify someone in Lorenzo’s organization willing to provide us with the intel to go in there and grab Ben. Before Keith got the stand down order from the DDO, he’d already come up with a plan to get inside Lorenzo’s compound.”

  “What sort of plan?”

  “It needs a lot of tweaking, so I’d rather not go into any of the details right now.”

  Carlton cleared his throat, a sure sign he wasn’t happy with my response.

  But, a few seconds later, he said, “Have Keith make the reassignment request, and I’ll let the DDO know I want him briefed into the operation.”

  “Thanks, Douglas.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Did the analysts in the ASA department come up with anything on Mateo Aguilar?”

  I heard paper shuffling on the other end of the line.

  “I’ll have Katherine send you her preliminary report, but here’s a few of the highlights. First, it appears Mateo does run a taxi privado service, so he was telling you the truth about that. Second, he has less than fifty pesos in his bank account. Since at least half the population in Cuba functions exclusively on cash, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s living in poverty.”

  “He sounded pretty convincing when he said he needed money to fix his car. On the other hand, I noticed he was wearing an expensive pair of sunglasses.”

  “Here’s what I found troubling. When Katherine dug into the DSE files, she discovered Mateo was arrested by them four years ago for violating Cuban currency laws. He was sentenced to six months in prison, but since his release, there’s been no notation in the files about him.”

  “That’s unusual, isn’t it? Don’t la policía keep tabs on anyone they’ve arrested, even after they’ve been released?”

  “That’s right, and in the Cuban judicial system—if you want to call it that—six months is a short sentence.”

  “What’s your assessment then?”

  “My assessment is that your initial impression of Mateo was correct. You need to watch your back tonight.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “No, Titus, what I’m saying is that you literally need someone to watch your back tonight. Tell Keith his first assignment is to provide you with backup when you meet with Mateo.”

  After assuring Carlton I’d have Gabriel on my tail all evening, I said, “That’s all I have. I’ll contact you later.”

  “Don’t hang up yet. I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s your dog doing at my house in Fairfax?”

  * * * *

  A month ago, when the DDO had called me back to Langley, I’d left my dog, Stormy, in the care of Nikki Saxon, a police detective in Norman, Oklahoma.

  I’d met Nikki while living in Norman during a medical leave inflicted on me by the DDO.

  In reality, the medical leave had been the DDO’s way of punishing me for publicly accusing him of being responsible for destroying my network in Tehran.

  Even though he’d recently restored me to active duty status—primarily because of Carlton’s intervention—I didn’t believe the DDO would ever do the forgive-and-forget thing with me.

  My first encounter with Nikki Saxon had taken place under less than ideal circumstances—I’d discovered a dead body in a church, and Nikki had been the detective called in to investigate the murder.

  Once it had become obvious I was being considered a suspect in the case, I told Nikki I was a covert intelligence officer in the CIA, a disclosure strictly forbidden by Agency regulations, but a revelation I thought necessary in order to clear my name and help her find the real killer.

  Despite our rocky start, Nikki and I had become good friends, and that friendship had been one of the main reasons I’d purchased a farmhouse in Norman and the acreage that went with it.

  Since then, my relationship with Nikki had moved beyond the friendship phase to a different phase, one I wasn’t able to put an identity tag on just yet.

  While I knew it was more than I-think-you’re-a-beautiful-woman-and-I-enjoy-being-with-you phase, I wasn’t sure what to call it because I had no idea where we were headed.

  Despite our growing intimacy, Nikki and I had a lot of obstacles to overcome if we were ever going to have a lasting relationship. Most of our difficulties stemmed from my inability to share my secret life with her. But, added to that, was my own introverted personality and self-protective attitude I’d developed in my teenage years—the result of growing up with an alcoholic father.

  Last week, as I was closing out Operation Citadel Protection, I was able to have dinner with Nikki because she was in Virginia attending the FBI’s Law Enforcement Training School at Quantico, an intensive sixteen-week course designed to teach local law enforcement the basic techniques of counterterrorism.

  Although I couldn’t say for sure, I suspected Carlton had contacted one of his buddies at the Bureau and asked them to send Nikki an invitation to attend the FBI’s sixteen-week course.

  After she passed the course, Nikki would become part of the Department of Homeland Security’s national defense team, and when that happened, Carlton assured me I would no longer be in legal hot water for telling an unauthorized person—i.e. Nikki—I was employed by the CIA.

  Even though I imagined Carlton had called in a few favors at the FBI to secure Nikki a spot at Quantico, I didn’t find his behavior all that unusual. In the last twenty years, he’d often interfered in my personal life, in spite of my protests.

  When I’d arrived back in the D.C. area, Carlton had insisted I stay at his country estate outside of Fairfax, Virginia. Since his wife, Gladys, had passed away, he seldom stayed at the house, preferring instead to live in his townhouse near Langley and leave the care of the estate to his live-in housekeeper and her husband, who also served as the estate’s groundskeeper.

  Carlton had indicated
he was offering me the house because he wanted me to have a place to entertain Nikki when she arrived at Quantico for her FBI training. Although he occasionally had ulterior motives for fostering his own agenda, this time, I felt sure he was expressing his true feelings since he often lamented to me about my lack of close friends.

  Because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I’d agreed to stay at The Meadows—a name Gladys had given the estate—until I returned from my overseas assignment.

  However, there were times when I rebelled against my handler’s controlling nature.

  The night before I was to leave the country, an opportunity had presented itself for a little payback when Nikki called to let me know Stormy would have to be boarded at a kennel while we were both away from Norman.

  Instead of doing that, I’d suggested she bring Stormy with her when she made the trip to Virginia.

  After I let her know I’d be out of town when she arrived, I’d given her directions out to The Meadows and told her to leave Stormy in the care of Carlton’s groundskeeper, Arkady.

  Although Carlton didn’t particularly like dogs, he’d allowed Arkady to bring his own dog—a golden retriever named Frisco—with him when he’d come to live at the estate.

  Even so, when I told Arkady a beautiful woman would be arriving at The Meadows with a companion for Frisco, he’d warned me Carlton might not be as tolerant of Stormy as he was of Frisco. He’d even suggested my boss might banish me from his estate for good if he ever found out I was boarding my dog at his house.

  I’d assured Arkady that wouldn’t happen.

  Now, I was about to find out.

  * * * *

  Before responding to Carlton’s question, I glanced over at the cabana occupied by the two love birds. Their earlier bliss had now given way to a heated argument. As their voices grew louder, I was able to make out the gist of their conversation.

  He was angry about something she’d said about him, and she was trying to tell him he was misinterpreting her remark.

  Carlton asked, “Are you going to answer my question? Why is your dog out at The Meadows?”

  “Arkady invited Stormy over to visit Frisco. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I do mind. I mind not being told.”

  “It was a last-minute deal when my plans to leave Stormy with one of Nikki’s friends in Norman fell through. Since you invited me to stay at The Meadows, I figured that invitation also included my dog.”

  The couple’s argument had now reached a crescendo. The guy was just about to walk out of the tent, but the woman grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear.

  “Why would you think that? You know I don’t like dogs.”

  “When you invited me to stay at your house, you said it was because you wanted me to have a place where I could entertain Nikki when she was at Quantico.”

  “What’s that got to do with your dog staying there?”

  “I told Nikki to bring Stormy with her because I wanted her to be impressed with your generosity.”

  Carlton cleared his throat. A moment later, he said, “Just make sure your dog doesn’t mess up Gladys’ rose garden.”

  In the cabana, the young couple had obviously resolved their differences—harmony had been restored by a few well-chosen words.

  Perhaps harmony would prevail at The Meadows as well.

  Knowing Stormy, that didn’t seem likely.

  * * * *

  When I returned to Gabriel’s room and told him Carlton had given him permission to contact the DDO and request reassignment to Peaceful Retrieval, he looked surprised.

  I wondered if he thought there was a possibility Carlton might nix the whole idea of working with him after what happened in Libya.

  He said, “I’ll contact the DDO right away.”

  “Douglas also wants you to watch my back tonight when I’m out doing the touristy thing with Mateo.”

  “Why? Did the analysts come up with something on the guy?”

  When I told him about Mateo’s short prison sentence, he said, “That could mean he’s a DSE informant.”

  I agreed there was a possibility Mateo was on their payroll, and, although I didn’t mention it to Gabriel, I also figured that was the reason the yellow caution light had gone off when Juliana and I had encountered him at Café de Isabella.

  “I’ve always found snitches give off a certain scent when I’m around them,” Gabriel said. “See if you don’t agree when you’re with Mateo tonight.”

  “So you want me to give Mateo a smell test?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “My main objective tonight is to get Mateo to talk about the night he took Ben to Club Nocturno. I’ll be satisfied if I’m able to get even a few of those details out of him.”

  “Think positive thoughts. Maybe he’ll give you something we could use to rescue Ben.”

  “That would be an added bonus.”

  “When you talked to Douglas, did you tell him about my plan to rescue Ben?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did mention it to him.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t give him any details. I told him the plan needed some tweaking, and I’d get back to him when it was ready.”

  “What kind of tweaking are we talking about here?”

  “The kind that makes it a workable plan.”

  Chapter 9

  I was down in the hotel lobby thirty minutes early for my seven o’clock appointment with Mateo Aguilar.

  As I stepped off the elevator, I saw Gabriel heading out a side door toward the parking lot where his rental van was located.

  Once I made arrangements with Sofia to page me when my taxi privado driver showed up, I walked across the lobby to the gift shop and purchased a newspaper. After that, I wandered over to the coffee bar and studied their menu for a moment.

  When I walked over to La Casona, one of the restaurants in the Meliã, I finally spotted the DSE officers. The two men were standing in front of the flower shop, chatting with the clerk.

  I took a seat in a cushy chair next to a large potted plant. The location afforded me an unobstructed view of the revolving front door and the DSE officers milling around the flower shop. Plus, I could see Sofia standing behind the registration desk smiling at me.

  The spot I’d chosen was perfect for monitoring Mateo when he entered the lobby. I was especially interested in observing how cognizant he was of his surroundings.

  Would he immediately head over to the front desk to have me paged or would he spend a few minutes trying to find me in the crowded lobby?

  More importantly, would he acknowledge the presence of the DSE officers?

  A few minutes after I sat down, a mini-van from a Canadian tourist agency pulled up to the curb and deposited a handful of guests at the front door. As soon as they entered the lobby, an all-male mariachi band came out of the La Casona restaurant and began serenading the newly arrived guests.

  Even though it looked as if the mariachi players were acting spontaneously, I had to believe the Canadian tourist agency had hired them to entertain the tour group.

  As the band members stood around strumming their guitars and singing love songs, the females in the tour group voiced their approval. Soon, the ladies’ appreciative screams drew the attention of the DSE officers who walked across the lobby to investigate.

  Seconds later, I realized the hotel’s entryway was now completely blocked off by the serenading mariachi band and the Canadian tourists. To make matters worse, the DSE officers were no longer in my sightline.

  I abandoned the cushy chair and moved towards the registration desk, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mateo entering the lobby from that vantage point. However, before I could take up my new position, Mateo Aguilar suddenly materialized out of the crowd and waved at me.

  Sometimes, the best laid plans of mice and men—and also spies—often go awry.

  * * * *

  Mateo had parked his uncle’s black Chevy Malibu at the far end
of the circle drive in front of the hotel.

  As we walked toward the car, he said hello to the doorman from the hotel, who smiled and gave him a friendly slap on the back. Earlier, he’d received a similar enthusiastic welcome from Sofia—minus the slap on the back.

  “You must do a lot of business here at the hotel,” I said. “Everyone seems to know you.”

  “They always remember their friends, and I try to be as friendly as possible,” Mateo said, rubbing his thumb and index finger together to indicate cash was involved in his friendliness.

  “Is your clientele mostly tourists?”

  “Yes, mostly tourists. They love to ride in old American cars.”

  He opened the back door of the Chevy and gestured me inside. “I’m sorry the Bel Air is still in the shop. Otherwise, you would have been able to experience the ride for yourself.”

  I pointed toward the front seat. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather sit up front with you. That way, I’ll have a better view of the city.”

  “Of course, Señor Bandera,” he said, closing the back door and opening up the front passenger door. “Just give me a moment to make room for you up here.”

  “Would you like some water?” he asked, removing a small Styrofoam cooler of bottled water from the front seat. “It’s free with the tour.”

  “Maybe later,” I said.

  After placing the cooler in the backseat, he slid behind the wheel and said, “Now tell me, Señor Bandera, where would you like to go this evening?”

  After asking him to call me Nacio, I recited why Nacio Bandera was in Santiago, and then I told him I’d like to see the Velazquez Museum. He seemed disappointed at this request, but when I added I might also like to see what Santiago had to offer in the way of nightlife, he appeared more enthusiastic at the prospect of our evening together.

  As we headed north into the downtown area, Mateo played the role of a tour guide and pointed out some of the interesting sights along the way.

  Whenever he directed my attention out the passenger side window, I used the occasion to steal a glance in my sideview mirror to see if I could spot Gabriel, who was supposed to be shadowing us.