Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  I licked them off.

  “More,” I begged.

  When he put the bottle to my lips, I propped myself up on one elbow and gulped the liquid down until he jerked the bottle away.

  “Where am I?”

  The square-shaped room looked no bigger than a room in a cheap motel. The dirty gray walls held no pictures, the floor was bare concrete, and the windows were boarded up. A tiny kitchenette took up one corner of the room. The furniture was a bed—the one I was lying in—a table and two chairs.

  The man ignored my question and clicked a walkie-talkie.

  “He’s awake.”

  As I struggled to sit up, I suddenly realized my legs were shackled—two leather bands were clasped around each ankle with a heavy metal chain holding them together.

  When the man noticed I was trying to swing my legs over the edge of the bed, he quickly pulled a gun out of his waistband and pointed it at me.

  “Stay where you are,” he shouted.

  My feet were shackled, the room was spinning, and my head was still full of cobwebs.

  He didn’t need to worry.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  * * * *

  Moments later, when the door opened and Rafael Lorenzo walked in, I experienced a sudden rush of adrenaline which helped clear away the remaining cobwebs.

  Lorenzo strolled over to the table. He had a Haitian passport in his hand—presumably the one belonging to Nacio Bandera. The sight of it caused me to say a quick prayer for the synapses in my brain to start firing properly. I also mentioned I wouldn’t mind having some insight into what was going on.

  Just before Lorenzo sat down, he nodded at the man who was pointing the gun at me.

  He immediately lowered the weapon.

  “Señor Bandera, we meet again,” Lorenzo said, thumbing through my passport. “I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

  “What are these circumstances? Why am I here?”

  Instead of answering my questions, he pointed to a page in my passport. “I see you traveled back to Port-au-Prince last Saturday after the tourism celebration.”

  I nodded. “Señorita De Santos and I had to leave. She came down with appendicitis.”

  “So why did you come back to Santiago?”

  “To finish my work.”

  Lorenzo continued flipping through the pages of my passport. “You mean your work for the Haitian National Museum?”

  “That’s right, but what does that have to do with why I’m here?”

  Lorenzo closed my passport and leaned forward as if he were about to tell me something confidential. “Your position at the Haitian National Museum has everything to do with why you’re here, Señor Bandera.”

  He reached inside his front pocket and pulled out my cell phone. “When we first met, you told me you were the archivist at the museum, but recently, I’ve learned you’re also its major benefactor. I don’t know much about museums, but I know it takes money to run them, so I have to believe you’re a wealthy man. Is that correct?”

  I saw where this was going now.

  Lorenzo had kidnapped Nacio Bandera as a source of revenue. Teddy Bear Man must have passed on the exaggerated story Mateo had told the guards when we’d asked for a tour of the coffee farm. Now, Lorenzo was planning to hold the so-called major benefactor of the Haitian National Museum for ransom.

  According to Carlton, Lorenzo needed cash, so his actions made sense. On the other hand, what about the millions the cartel was supposed to be getting from Senator Mitchell as payment for Ben?

  Had something happened to Ben or was Nacio Bandera merely another means of easy money for Lorenzo’s coffers?

  “I guess it all depends on what you call wealthy,” I said. “In a country like Haiti, it doesn’t take much to be considered wealthy.”

  He looked down at my phone. “I see you talk to your brother at least once a week. Would he also be considered a wealthy man?”

  Nacio Bandera’s phone had plenty of fake emails and bogus contacts on it—courtesy of Support Services—so I figured Lorenzo must have found the emails and phone calls from my phony brother.

  I shrugged. “I guess so. When my father passed away, we split an inheritance.”

  “How do you think your brother might feel about using some of that inheritance to purchase your freedom?”

  “My freedom? You’re going to keep me here against my will?”

  He attempted a laugh, but it sounded more like a menacing growl from a junkyard dog. “That’s right, Señor Bandera. My foreman said you were interested in having a tour of my coffee plantation. A tour is out of the question, but at least now you’ll be able to say you spent some time at one of Alma de Cuba’s coffee farms.”

  As he slipped my phone back in his pocket, he said, “In a few days, we’ll take a picture of you, show your brother you’re still alive, and begin the negotiations for your future. In the meantime, don’t get too used to these accommodations; when it gets dark, you’ll be moved to a more secure location.”

  When Lorenzo stood to his feet, the guard stepped in front of him and pointed his gun at me again.

  Lorenzo said, “Don’t even consider trying to leave the cabin, Señor Bandera.”

  He nodded his head at the guard. “Enzo here is an excellent marksman, and he has my permission to shoot you if you show any inclination to leave us.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured Lorenzo. “I won’t be going anywhere.”

  That was true.

  I planned to stick around until I found Mitchell.

  * * * *

  Enzo was a man of few words. All he did was nod at me when I pointed toward the bathroom and asked him if I could use the facilities. When I asked him if he’d remove my shackles, he shook his head.

  I managed to shuffle over to the bathroom and get in and out of there without falling, and when I came back in the room, an older woman was putting a tray of food on the table.

  When she looked up, I nodded at her and said, “Gracias.”

  She gave me a toothless smile. “De nada.”

  After she left, I hobbled across the floor and sat down in front of a plate of chicken and rice, a small bowl of soupy black beans, and a plate of fresh pineapple.

  I was starving, and the food looked delicious, but before I started stuffing my mouth, I gestured at Enzo and said, “You want some of this? I don’t mind sharing.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “I didn’t drug your food.”

  I looked down at the plate. “Oh, I never thought of that.”

  I picked up my fork. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  While I was eating, I made another attempt to engage Enzo in conversation by asking him where he was taking me when it got dark. All he said was, “Not far,” and that ended that.

  When I’d finished eating, Enzo clicked on his walkie-talkie and said, “He’s done.”

  A few minutes later, the old woman showed up at the cabin again.

  This time she wasn’t alone.

  Teddy Bear Man was with her.

  * * * *

  After the old woman removed the food tray and left the cabin, Teddy Bear Man sat down at the table across from me.

  “I’m Felix Alvarez,” he said. “I’m the foreman here at Número Diez.”

  Alvarez was a muscled-up man with rugged features. There was a hardness about him that totally belied the sorrowful look I’d seen on his face in the basilica when he’d placed the teddy bear at the foot of the statue.

  I said, “I don’t believe we were formally introduced the other day when I was here with my driver. I’m Nacio Bandera.”

  He didn’t acknowledge my introduction.

  “After you were brought here last night,” he said, “we packed up your clothes and the other personal items we found in your room at the Meliã and checked you out of the hotel. If you follow—”

  “I’m surprised the management allowed
you to do that.”

  “They didn’t have a choice.”

  I looked away for a few seconds, pretending to consider the implications of what he’d said, and then I asked, “What about the SUV I rented?”

  “That’s also been taken care of.”

  “I see.”

  “If you follow our instructions and don’t cause us any trouble, you’ll be allowed to have your personal belongings while you’re here. That doesn’t include your phone or your laptop.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Do we have an understanding, Nacio?”

  “Yes, I think we do.”

  “Good. First things first. I noticed your computer has a password on it. What is it?”

  “Ah . . . okay.” I stared at him. “I’m sorry; I guess I’m a little nervous. I recently changed the password, and I’m trying to remember what it is. I think it’s 2448archivist.”

  I didn’t mind giving Alvarez the password.

  I knew as soon as someone powered up my computer using that password, the Ops Center would immediately delete everything on it that might possibly connect Nacio Bandera to the CIA.

  Besides that, by allowing the cartel access to the laptop, I’d be helping the Ops Center pinpoint my location.

  Even if they knew I was at Número Diez, as long as Lorenzo had his army of thugs guarding the place, I wasn’t expecting them to send a Special Ops Team to rescue Ben and me anytime soon.

  As I thought about Carlton mounting a rescue operation, I suddenly remembered the last words he’d said to me before I was kidnapped by the cartel.

  “That’s why you’re there, Titus. I trust you’ll find a way to get Ben out safely.”

  He was right.

  That’s why I was here.

  * * * *

  Alvarez took out his cell phone and texted someone Nacio Bandera’s password. While he waited to hear if the password unlocked the laptop, I decided to see if I could unlock a few of Alvarez’s secrets.

  I took the bold approach.

  “Was that your wife I saw the other day?”

  He jerked his head up. “When did you see my wife?”

  “You were talking to a woman on the front porch of the farmhouse the day I stopped to ask for a tour of the plantation.”

  He nodded. “Yes, she’s my wife.”

  “If she cooked the meal I just ate, please tell her it was delicious.”

  “My mother-in-law does most of the cooking.”

  “Really? Your mother-in-law lives here with you? Are your kids here too?”

  He clenched his jaw. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I was just trying to be friendly.”

  Alvarez looked across the room at the guard. “You know, Enzo, I don’t believe we’ve had one here like him before. He wants to be friendly.”

  Enzo shrugged.

  Alvarez looked back at me. “And he doesn’t seem to be upset he’ll be staying with us for a while.”

  “I always try to make the best of things.”

  A few seconds later, Alvarez received a text, and after reading it, he stood up and said, “Congratulations, Nacio. The password you gave me worked. Your computer’s up and running now.”

  “Please don’t delete any of my work files. It’s taken me years to gather all that data.”

  “Surely a smart man like you must have some kind of backup system.”

  “Yes, you would think a smart man like me would have a backup, wouldn’t you?”

  Alvarez addressed Enzo. “It’s time to take our guest down to Cabin Thirteen. You can remove those before you leave,” he said, pointing down at my leg irons. “I don’t believe Nacio’s planning an escape. I think he’s decided to cooperate with us.”

  He turned and addressed me. “Am I right, Nacio?”

  He was right about one thing.

  * * * *

  When Alvarez left, Enzo stuck his hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key. After tossing it to me, he clicked his walkie-talkie and told someone we were headed down to Cabin Thirteen.

  As soon as I unlocked the leather straps from around my ankles, Enzo gestured at the bed where my Las Avispas ball cap was dangling from one of the bed posts.

  “Put it on.”

  I’d purchased the cap because the curved bill on it shielded my face and made it harder for someone to remember my features. I figured Enzo wanted me to wear it for the same reason—if we ran into one of the farm workers, he didn’t want them to remember me.

  I was good with that.

  Enzo opened the door.

  Jamming the gun in my back, he said, “When you go out there, take a left and keep on walking.”

  Although it was dark when I stepped outside, there was enough moonlight for me to see the single-room cabin I’d been in was one of several housing units I’d seen in the satellite surveillance of the property.

  As Enzo and I walked down the narrow dirt road in front of the other cabins, I noticed there were lights on inside, and, unlike the cabin I’d just left, their windows weren’t boarded up.

  Directly behind the cabins, I spotted the outline of the barn, and when Enzo and I reached a clearing at the end of the row of cabins, I was able to see the barn itself.

  As soon as I spotted four men with AK-47s patrolling the perimeter, I figured Lorenzo had decided to store the chemical weapons inside. I deliberately slowed my pace to see if I could spot any other details.

  Enzo was having none of that.

  “Keep moving,” he said. “Cabin Thirteen is up ahead.”

  The next three housing units were larger than the single-unit cabins and reminded me of army barracks. Standing outside one cabin were three men in work clothes. However, they ignored us as we walked by, even though Enzo was holding a gun at my back.

  As we approached Cabin Thirteen, I noticed the windows had iron bars across them, and a man was sitting on the front porch cradling a rifle in his arms. Enzo nodded at him as he got out of his chair and opened the door for us.

  It didn’t escape my attention he was also wearing a sidearm in addition to the rifle he was carrying.

  Cabin Thirteen wasn’t a barracks.

  It had been remodeled to accommodate a couple of jail cells.

  As soon as I saw them, I was reminded of a jail scene from an old Western movie.

  Each cell was fitted with iron bars and contained a single bed, a sink, and a toilet. The two cells were at opposite sides of the room from each other and between them were some chairs and a table. In the far corner of the room was a twin-sized bed and a small dresser.

  The Man With The Rifle gave Enzo a set of keys, and after he holstered his handgun, he used one of the keys to open the door of the cell on my right.

  When Enzo ordered me inside, I hesitated.

  My hesitancy seemed to anger The Man With The Rifle, who ended up giving me a hard shove.

  As soon as I was inside, Enzo pulled the door shut and immediately locked it.

  “What’s his name?” The Man With The Rifle asked Enzo when he handed him back the keys.

  “Nacio Bandera.”

  “Well, Nacio,” he said, walking over to my cell, “I’m Victor. I hope you’re not half as much trouble as that one is.”

  Victor gestured over to the other cell where Ben Mitchell was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Mitchell said, “How much trouble could he be with a name like Nacio?”

  Chapter 44

  Victor grabbed a bottle of water out of a Styrofoam ice chest and tossed it to me through the bars. After that, he proceeded to lecture me on the house rules.

  The rules mainly consisted of following orders and not causing trouble. He concluded his lecture by describing the consequences for breaking the house rules. There were two of them—losing one’s privileges or losing one’s life—and Victor said he would choose which consequence applied to each offense.
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  Once he’d concluded his lecture, Victor put his rifle over his shoulder and walked out the door.

  “To be perfectly honest,” Mitchell said, once Victor had left, “this isn’t exactly the way I’d envisioned my rescue. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but I am a little curious about your plan.”

  “Do these walls have ears?”

  Mitchell shook his head. “Are you kidding? There’s nothing remotely high-tech about this place.”

  Although his hair was a little longer, Mitchell looked about the same as he had in the last photograph I’d seen of him. However, when he stood up and walked over to the cell door, I noticed he was limping.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s almost healed up. I won’t have any problem walking out of here.”

  “Did you try to escape?”

  He shook his head and pointed at my cell. “The guy who occupied that cage a week ago decided he’d had enough of the waiting, and he made a grab for Victor’s keys. I was sitting there at the table about to have my picture taken, and when I saw what was happening, I tried to help him. That’s when Victor swung his rifle around and hit me in the leg. It’s pretty bruised up, but it’s not broken.”

  “Who was the guy?”

  “He was a Canadian. He said he ran some kind of large corporation. Victor refused to give him any food for twenty-four hours as punishment for breaking the rules. However, a day after the incident, Alvarez walked in and announced the guy’s family had agreed to pay his ransom, and after that he was gone.”

  “Anyone else been in this cell since you’ve been here?”

  “Yeah, one other guy. He died a week after I got here.”

  I pointed at a bloodstain on the back wall of my cell. “Did Victor shoot him?”

  “No, he was already sick by the time I got here. I’m not sure who he was; he didn’t talk much. Most of the time, he was curled up in the bed complaining of a headache. Sometimes he threw up, especially when Victor tried to force him to eat, and just before he died, he started bleeding from his nose.”

  “If they were holding him for ransom, I’m surprised Alvarez didn’t get him some medical attention.”