“Human life is human life,” she said. “I don’t like the taking of it.”
“You think I do? Well, you’re wrong if you do,” he said. “I don’t. So light a candle for them if you want, but you’d be wise to go about your business. The world is what it is. Pierre, Leo, and their cronies had a lot of enemies. The most likely explanation for what happened was that the reception committee was for Leo and his boatmen, not us.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“But we go on that assumption,” he insisted. “I know there are people here who have me in the crosshairs. Probably more than I know. I’m in enemy territory. The walls have ears and people talk.” A beat and he added. “I have relatives here. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Of course. You mentioned an uncle and my best friends at the FBI filled in a few blanks, also.”
“That was nice of them,” Guarneri said.”What about a CIA check?” he asked. “Surely you got a briefing there too.”
“You asked me that already and the answer hasn’t changed. I talked to several CIA people,” she said. “The subject was Roland Violette more than you. If they had anything on you, they weren’t willing to share it with me,” she said.
“I’m flattered. Or insulted,” he said. “Eventually I’ll know which. Can’t ever trust them, you know,” Paul added with a smile.
“Who? Trust who?” she asked.
“CIA,” he said. “Bunch of rats if there ever were some. Goes way back. Batista. Kennedy assassination. Bay of Pigs. Five hundred plots against Fidel. Jimmy Rosseli. Sam Giancana. Lucky Luciano. I don’t think those button-down buttheads in Langley have told the truth one percent of the time when it comes to this island. They’ve told the same lies so many times they actually believe them.”
“I know,” she said. “But there are some people at the Agency I know personally. Them I trust. Most of the time, not all of the time.”
“We’re on the same page, then,” Guarneri said. And he drained his glass. “You haven’t heard from ‘the Violet,’ right?”
She snuck a glance at her phone again, just in case there was a message waiting. There wasn’t. “No,” she said.
“Then I suggest we proceed with my mission here,” he said. “If you hear from your pigeon, we’ll recalculate the time.”
“Fair enough,” Alex said.
“How much do you know about this place?” Guarneri asked. “I mean, really know?”
“What place? The hotel? Havana?”
“Cuba.”
“I’m learning fast,” she said. “And I’m getting the idea that an hour of hanging with you is worth two weeks of study back in New York.”
“That’s probably true. Look, bribery is a way of life here, just like anywhere else in Central America,” he said, rambling. “There’s no legal way to get ahead so everyone jockeys for an illegal way, or at least those who are still trying to get ahead. Most of the population here has been beaten into the ground. The clever people have left, the wealthy people have left. The only people of any import who are still here are the people who can’t beat the system. Most work for the government. You know how that operates. The people pretend to work and the government pretends to pay them. You know what would work best?” he asked. “You know what would get this place moving again? If the Castro Brothers drop dead at the same time, the embargo gets lifted, American companies pour in, and the economy gets jump-started …”
While Paul talked, Alex sipped her drink. Then she watched as the two undercover policemen ditched their beers onto the bar. They snapped to attention. They were more in her line of vision than Paul’s. A wiry little man had come into the room, white shorts, badge, and a hefty sidearm. He seemed to be a commander of some sort. The cops at the bar were afraid of him, and a team of uniformed people followed. Everyone in the area gave way.
Horribly, the realization was upon her. Her heart kicked in her chest. “Paul, put down your drink and shut up,” she said.
He stopped in midsentence. “What?” he asked.
Alex nodded toward the bar as a tense scene unfolded. The wiry little man was vehemently chewing out his undercover guys, who looked scared to death. Other drinkers moved away. The other uniformed officers lurked behind their commander who was making the guys in the plantation shirts sweat.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He looked, took a second to focus, then looked away.
“Uh-oh. We’ve overstayed our welcome,” he said with rising urgency. “That’s a political division of the police department. That sawed-off little stump with the ‘stache is a commander. He’s ticked because his guys were goofing off. He’s only going to be on the street checking if something big is afoot. The shotguns tell us they’re ready for serious trouble.”
“It’s worse than that, Paul,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Take a good look,” she said. “And try to get the booze out of your system. Don’t you recognize him? That’s the commander from the beach.”
He looked again and turned away fast when he recognized the man. Paul cursed long and low. “Okay. We need to get out of here,” he said. From a mood of boozy reverie, he was suddenly sharp as a tack again.
“Fast. But not together,” Paul said, leaning back and turning away. One of the men with a shotgun was scanning the room.
“They’re blocking the door,” Alex said. “We have to walk right past them to get out.”
“Yup,” Paul said. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“Me? Alone?”
“In thirty seconds,” he said, “before they start giving this room a thorough toss.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Leave through the men’s room window,” he said. “It’s got a grate that lifts off.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked it earlier,” he said.
“What if they have that exit covered?”
“Then I’m sunk,” he said.
“How about I go through the window and you try to waltz past them?” she suggested.
He shook his head. “Won’t work, Alex. They’re more likely to recognize me than you. I get the window, you get to flirt past the toros like a good Latin chica.”
“You’re a pig.”
“I know. We’ll discuss that later.”
He reached into his pocket and drew out a set of keys. He opened the ring and separated one key from the rest.
“Listen carefully. Five blocks from here, south on the Calle 43, there’s an old Toyota Land Cruiser. Dark green, beat up, looks like a Jeep, and a license plate ending in four-three-one. It’s a family jalopy. So I’d appreciate being able to return it without bullet holes.”
“You’re cautioning me about bullet holes after the landing we had?” she demanded.
“Yes, I am,” he went on. “I want to return the Jeep without a problem at the end of our visit. Anyway, it’s just past the La Sultanado intersection. This is an extra ignition key in case I don’t get there.”
“What about the door key?”
“There are no doors. This is Cuba.”
He handed her the key. “Are you checked into a hotel?” he asked, as the cops were starting to wander through the crowded room.